More emotional gut punches here (both for the better and for the worse) :D
Blood and mild body horror (decomposing bodies) warning for this chapter
Also as this site doesn't have a strikethrough format option, I have underlined those sections as well. SO treat any underlined bits as strikethrough'ed (and subsequently the funky grammar will make sense lmao)
\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/
Robin is writing up his notes from the council meeting when he feels a tingling sensation at the back of his mind. His first reaction is blind panic as the sensation is similar to Validar's attempt at contacting him, but he quickly reminds himself the man is dead and regains his composure.
Robin looks down and clicks his tongue at the ink spilled from his shock. There goes his very nice diagram on Thorpe's commercial partners and their familiar relations.
The feeling returns, but Robin is prepared this time and merely tenses as it washes over him. He concentrates on it and makes out a whispered voice as if…
As if someone is praying at the Dragon's Table.
Strange. Though any blood spilled at the Dragon's Table in Grima's name forms a bond with him, the vast majority are too weak and would break the moment Robin tried to do anything with them. Only a few, reinforced by regular bloodlettings and the willingness of the participant, are strong enough to establish a two-way connection. His bond with Validar was among the strongest, going as far as to allow the man to affect him and his dreams.
Curious, Robin reaches back at the connection. "WHO IS IT?" he asks and grimaces as his voice comes out as deafening, like when he and Chrom faced his alternate self.
The other voice falters and stutters, apparently not expecting an answer. "L-Lord Grima! My apologies I didn't mean to disturb—I didn't realise you were listening—"
"I AM ALWAYS LISTENING," Robin responds as he once again hopes he can turn down his inner voice's volume so it doesn't sound like he is moments away from disemboweling its receiver.
The person at the other end stays silent, and Robin sighs. "YOU ARE THE PRIESTESS, CORRECT?"
"Yes, Lord Grima! The one you assigned as head of the Grimleal — thank you again for recognising my work and—"
"WHAT TROUBLES YOU?"
"Ah it's… it's nothing important—"
"IT IS IMPORTANT ENOUGH FOR YOU TO PRAY FOR GUIDANCE AT THE DRAGON'S TABLE," Robin cuts her off, impatient. "NOW WHAT IS IT?"
"Ah… you are correct," the priestess says after a few moments of silence. "I am going over some plans for dealing with bandits, and I've been given a ton of different strategies to choose from, but I don't know the first thing about tactics! I'm a healer, not a general, so I sought guidance at your altar—"
"LET ME SEE," Robin says as he forces more of himself through the connection, enough to feel the priestess' form get up. His vision doubles as she walks by the table before the Dragon's Table. Inside it is a single table stacked with papers and with a complete map of Plegia.
"Oh!" comes the priestess' surprised voice as she finally realises his increased presence. "Uh, I didn't expect you to be this literal milord—"
"SHOW ME YOUR PROPOSALS."
The priestess quickly takes out some papers from the large stacks and lays them over the map. Robin quickly reads each of them with a deepening frown.
The priestess's vision shifts after several minutes of inactivity from Robin's end. "… Lord Grima, are you there—?"
"DISCARD THEM ALL—"
"But—"
"—AND TAKE OUT A BLANK PIECE OF PAPER."
They take a couple of hours as they stumble over how to show specific regions in the map for Robin to lay out an actually effective strategy, accompanied by several alternatives depending on how the bandits react. By the end, the priestess is rubbing her wrist, a sizeable stack of handwritten notes underneath it.
"… AND WITH THIS YOU CAN KEEP TRACK OF ANY NEW HIDEOUTS THAT EMERGE." Robin concludes. He has not managed to lower his voice, but the priestess seems to have got used to it.
"I see…" She hums, her nervous stuttering having stopped some time ago.
"ANYTHING ELSE?"
"Ah… well, about your assignment in getting Plegia back on its feet…"
Robin listens as the priestess recounts about her progress, often going into rambling complaints about obstinate Grimleal. However, she quickly adds that there's no need for Robin to intervene as even the most stubborn Grimleal fear the consequences of disobeying Grima's will, proving Robin right when he told Chrom the council meeting would have gone better if he utilised more death threats.
"And with the bandits, the reason we're so desperate to contain them is because they keep raiding our already depleted food silos…"
"THE MATTER OF PLEGIA'S DEPLETED FOOD STORAGE HAS BEEN HANDLED. IN A FEW DAYS YOU WILL RECEIVE A YLISSEAN ENVOY OFFERING FOOD AID FOR A SEASON AND SUBSEQUENT EQUIPMENT TO AID FOR FUTURE HARVESTS. THEIR ONLY REQUEST WILL BE A PEACE TREATY, WHICH YOU WILL ACCEPT."
"Oh. Oh, that's excellent news! Thank you, Lord Grima!" the priestess says, and her genuinely heartfelt tone is strange to Robin. Even at his most reverent, Validar gratitude was always underlined by malice at Ylisse and its exalted bloodline.
The priestess must have mistaken his silence for expectation, for she talks again: "Ah… I assume you, or rather your Heart, has something to do with Ylisse's sudden goodwill…" She pauses with increasing discomfort as Robin stays silent. "Ah ignore me, it's all gossip…"
"YLISSE'S NEW EXALT IS A KIND-HEARTED MAN, TAKING AFTER HIS LATE SISTER," Robin says, though he frowns at possibly giving the Grimleal a wrong impression on Chrom. "BUT DO NOT DECEIVE YOURSELF BY THINKING YOU CAN TAKE ADVANTAGE OF HIS GOODWILL LEST YOU FIND YOURSELF SLAIN LIKE GANGREL."
"N-No milord," the priestess adds, some of her old dread creeping back to her voice.
"GOOD. KEEP ME UPDATED."
"As you wish," the priestess says, and though her return to her cautious tone is something Robin is used to, it doesn't sit right with him anymore.
"… GOOD JOB," he adds before he promptly shuts off the connection, going back to his ruined diagram.
\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/
"… I just fear one day I'll wake up still dreaming and try to rip his heart out," Robin hums as Tharja lays soft kisses on his neck.
"But you said you don't get nightmares when you're with him," she says as she reaches up and runs her hand through his hair.
He gives her a small smile that quickly drops. "True, but it only needs to happen once. It's not unusual for people to be startled awake from their own dreams and confuse reality, but I fear in my case the results will be a lot more violent."
Ah, so no wonder he's been so restless these past few days. The nights he spends in Chrom's or in her room must be the only ones where he can sleep soundly, and he's been rarely visiting her. Tharja hasn't directly asked Chrom how many nights Robin has spent with him either, as she expects the Exalt to go bright red and stammer out how this is not as it seems and all that nonsense, but she has been keeping track in her own ways. Robin hasn't spent a night with Chrom since the eve of the Council meeting, and his visits to her bedroom have been getting less and less frequent, though at least he has been visiting. A fool may think that's because Robin values her safety less, but she knows it's because at nights like these Robin wants security and understanding, something not helped by the ambiguity of his relationship with Chrom; as Captain and Tactician, as brothers-in-arms, as Exalt and Advisor, and as Naga's Chosen and the Fell Dragon Grima. Plus, she can't imagine Chrom being anything but awkward about this whole affair.
Which is why she wants to make sure Robin relaxes as much as he can in her presence, and why she merely hums at his reply, choosing to run her hands on his back, massaging the spots at the base of his wings. Those poor things get cramped from being bound up all day, and even Robin jokes he sounds like an old man with how much he complains about his back.
Robin lets out a content sigh and all but croons as he cuddles her closer, eyes closed. For a moment Tharja thinks he will finally go to sleep, but he stiffens and opens his eyes again seconds later.
Ah, this won't do, this won't do at all. Tharja gives him a peck, which he reciprocates with a kiss on the crown of her head.
Tharja's face grows warm and she holds him closer. He smells of ink and dust.
"Sorry," he hums as she hears his voice rumbling across his chest, "I've been keeping you up—"
"Are you sure you don't want to try more of my potions?" she quickly asks, still flushed. "I haven't tried every trick up my sleeve…"
He lets out a quick laugh. "Sure. Can't hurt to try."
"I think you should visit Chrom too," she adds, still amazed at how Ylisse's Exalt, Naga's Champion and so on, can look like a kicked puppy whenever dealing with matters of the heart. "If nothing at least to reassure him you're not ignoring him."
Robin sighs. "I'm not, just…"
"I know," she says, giving him another peck.
"I'm surprised you're not jealous. I thought that'd be the norm?"
Tharja knows Robin is trying to change the conversation, but that's fine. "Why would I be? Out of all the Shepherds, the other one you're as close to as me is Chrom. I would have an issue if he didn't see your worth and rejected you." A silly thought pops into her mind and she takes the chance to add some levity. "He's not the one jealous of us now, is he?"
"Huh, no," Robin quickly says. "He knows — he seems to know how everyone's doing, really — but he understands. If not, I would also have to be jealous of Sumia and Chrom in turn would have to be jealous of Cordelia and Sully and — you get my point," Robin concludes with a laugh as Tharja lets out a fake groan at the net of relationships he's trying to untangle.
"We're all a strange bunch," Tharja fondly says as Robin hums in agreement.
And they really are, besides their colourful characters and unusual battle prowess. It was also one of the reasons Tharja found herself at ease among the Shepherds, freed not just from the rule of the Grimleal but from other arbitrary rules shared by both countries.
Robin's pairing strategy, finding themselves in battle after battle, the fog of war making things like marriage or your typical relationships seem as distant as your home, the injuries serving as constant reminders of a possible death, tight quarters… No wonder they ended up with a more fluid set of relationships than the standard 'boy meets girl' type. Some of them will not last, some will turn into strong platonic bonds, some to just as strong romantic relationships, and maybe some of them will be formalised with marriage. As far as Tharja is involved, she is happy to have Nowi as her lab assistant/supplier of dragon scales, Gaius as a drinking buddy, Ricken as a pupil, Henry as a colleague/unnerving curiosity and Robin cuddling with her in bed.
"And I'm glad to hear I give you pleasant dreams too," Tharja sleepily says. Robin never said it in so many words, but from what she understands, with Chrom he has surreal but ultimately harmless dreams with the Shepherds, different from those he had with Tharja. With her, he still dreams of blood and battle, where he is fighting along the Shepherds as a human, where they have to defend some imagined fort, evade an enemy or rescue someone, similar to the dreams he had while actually travelling with them. He wouldn't be a hypocrite and claim that those are 'good' dreams, but he vastly prefers them over those constructed on the mindless slaughter he committed millennia ago.
She's not sure if it's purely psychological, or the result of his magic, still somewhat sealed within the Dragon's Table, acting on the former. The failure of her potions suggests the latter, but she would have to work with Nowi to eliminate other possibilities, such as his newfound inhuman anatomy — which she thinks is also a result of his leaked magic, and she would love to examine this further but she knows Robin wouldn't be too comfortable with.
But, speaking of comfort and the sleepless Robin by her side, she remembers one other thing she wanted to show him.
Robin lets out a grunt as she gets up and goes to a desk surrounded and piled on with ingredients for her spells. "Everything alright?"
"Oh yes, I just remembered I have a gift for you…" she giddily says, and Robin perks up at her tone, somewhat surprised and a bit hesitant.
She lifts a large glass jug meant for wine and shakes it, hearing the liquid sloshing inside. Robin still looks confused, probably thinking it's wine, so Tharja uncorks it and shakes it again.
It takes Robin a moment to sniff and realise the liquid inside is red but not wine, but as soon as he does he breaks into a smile. "Tharja, you shouldn't have!"
She grins as she places the jug by the foot of the bed and sets out to fish for a clean goblet among the chaos of her workstation. "There was a celebration, a wedding of some sort. The castle butcher had a big batch order and he knows when to contact me, as well as not ask questions."
Robin laughs again as she hands him a cup and the two sit by the edge of the bed, the jug nestled in his lap. "You spoil me."
"Of course. I know how much you love goat blood."
This is also something Tharja had to piece together, as Robin never explicitly told her. He can't eat meat anymore, no matter how much he craves it. She guesses it's because each bite must remind him of the crunch of metal and armour or arms wiggling around his feet, or of people trying to escape his jaws with their entrails hanging out. Nowi has similar issues from an old battle where she had to defend herself no matter the cost, and she is nowhere close to Grima's bloodthirstiness. Then again, Nowi can at least eat cooked meat, unlike Robin who blanches and throws up, even if it's his favourite food.
But he doesn't seem to mind blood. Tharja caught him by accident while she was looking for supplies in the castle's storage, and after their initial embarrassment, Robin told her it was because blood 'feels calmer'. He mumbled vaguely about slumbering in the Dragon's Table and the Grimleal's bloodletting, then something about liking it before that, before pausing with a faraway look, and Tharja did not pry any further.
Tharja was at first a bit saddened Robin didn't tell her, but it made sense when she thought about it. Even to those who know him as Robin, he can't admit he enjoys drinking blood, because as everyone knows killing and eating a baby cow is perfectly acceptable while drinking the blood of a butchered one is a big no-no.
She watches Robin fill the goblet and take a big gulp out of it with a fond smile.
"Say," Robin says as he refills his goblet, "back in Plegia when I told you I was Grima, you mentioned something about how that explains why all the hexes and curses targeting me were more potent. I know you like to experiment with these things, so if you want to try more things out, I can give you blood or—"
"It's on my back burner. I have other things I'm trying out now," Tharja lies, cursing her past self for that slip of her tongue. She would be absolutely delighted at performing hexes and curses enchanted by Grima's own blood, but she knows how overeager Robin is about those things.
"Oh?" Robin asks, expectant.
Tharja makes up some nonsense on the spot about goat's blood and animal-related curses, praying Robin doesn't know enough about this field to call her out on her nonsense. Thankfully he does not, and she turns the conversation to the theory behind hexes and curses, quickly finding herself lost in conversation. As they talk, Robin empties the jug, and Tharja makes a mental note to go into the town's butchers and check if she can get more blood from them.
"But let me know if you do want to experiment," Robin concludes as he licks his lips to catch any remaining blood and puts the goblet and jug away. "I'd be happy to help."
Tharja doesn't answer, pushing him back on her bed, tucking them both under the heavy duvet and snuggling close. Robin doesn't object, but even when he closes his eyes, he doesn't relax. Tharja is no better, her mind split over the excitement of actually testing her spells. All she needs to do is ask, and a few days later she's sure she'll have enough supplies to experiment to her heart's content…
Because Robin is helpful.
Which is not the first impression someone gets of him. Those on the battlefield see his grumpy authoritativeness and think him a taskmaster, others in peacetimes may see his dry wit, but she sees his helpfulness manifest in more insidious ways.
Tharja definitely didn't think of him as helpful at first. She joined the Shepherds because she could see how the battle was going and had no desire to die for a mad king, and quickly grew intrigued with the tactician, as she could sense a dark presence, a curse-like aura unlike anything she had seen before. Her curiosity quickly grew to enrapturement and the greater insight she got on Robin's personality the more she liked him. His occasional dry wit is amusing, his mind is brilliant, his insistence on bonds is sometimes grating but mostly charming, and his work ethic admirable…
And she wasn't the only one that noticed those things. The Shepherds all have in-jokes for one another, by now Tharja has gained her fair share of them, and with Robin they often centred on his workaholism and how he seemed busy at all times… All fun and jokes, but not to Tharja when Robin forgets to eat, or foregoes sleep or just starts acting like his own basic needs are secondary to the task he's been given.
Upon realising that, and seeing how much he and himself ragged, especially after the late Exalt's death, Tharja kept a close watch on him, sneaking bigger portions on his plate, or placing some by his desk…
And she doesn't want to ask for anything in return because of Robin's unnerving tendency to do as told. Chrom basically asked him to perform miracles in battle, and he did, along with smaller, seemingly innocuous tasks…
She remembers discovering Robin's aversion to vegetables and finding it cute — but also noting to make sure he ate enough — only for the next day for Frederick to say their vegetable stores were about to rot and needed to be eaten. Robin was among the first to forego the roast to stuff himself with stew. It was a small insignificant gesture in the grand scheme of things, but they all piled up to something worrying…
"How do you do it?" Robin sleepily asks, breaking her line of thought. "Out of all the Shepherds, you thread a fine line. All your hexes and curses…" he trails off with a sigh.
"… Easy." Tharja pats his cheek, so he opens his eyes to look at her. "I find someone that I care about," she says as she puts her hand behind his neck, "and I let no harm come to them and their loved ones."
She leans in for a kiss and hopes Robin understands.
\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/
Morgan strolls into his room with nary a care in the world. "Hey dad."
"Morgan," Robin greets her, not looking up from his parchment. He's looking over some reports of Thorpe meeting with the Hierach, and though it's not unusual, he can't help but worry. "I thought you were with your brother for sword practice?"
"Yeah, but he's improved a lot, and it's not as funny when he's not stumbling all over the place."
Robin is not sure if sardonic delight counts as healthy sibling interaction, but he has seen Lissa torment Chrom enough to know it is common.
"You're both quick studies," he says, "and how is your spellcrafting coming along?"
She gives him a wide grin. "I've mastered Arc-Tomes!"
Robin looks up from his parchment with a smile. "Congratulations! Carry on at this pace, you'll be casting Rexcalibur left and right."
"Really?" she asks, a bit too eager as she dashes to his side. "In that case, can I borrow your Mjolnir tome to practise?"
Robin gives her a sheepish grin. "Well, Morgan certainly helps himself to any of them." 'Frequently and without asking,' Robin mentally adds, but this Morgan also does the exact same with his silver swords. "But, it's also alright if either of you want to take a break," he adds. "We're not at war anymore, you're free to do what you want."
"Oh, I know, but there's still so much more to learn!" Morgan says with barely contained excitement. But for a second her expression falters. "As long as you're ok with it?"
"Of course! I'm just making sure you do what you want…" Especially because of all the red flags the Morgans have been giving him in how they were raised. "Your… memory hasn't come back?"
Which was another warning sign, especially when they first met and Robin knew nothing about them, and would be the first to admit that their vague backstory was suspicious. Then again, perhaps a predisposition to amnesia is something that runs in the family. At least they don't have his brand and will hopefully continue their lives as relatively normal teenagers with an ancient evil dragon now going incognito as their alternate-timeline father.
Morgan gives him a clueless look and plays with her hair, and it is a perfectly innocent gesture, but Robin can't help but feel there's something wrong with it. "No… But I don't really mind!"
Robin doesn't answer, staring at her instead. Morgan shifts around a bit, before she grows increasingly agitated and throws herself in her lap, giving him a tight hug.
"I'm glad you're here, dad," Morgan whispers, and Robin struggles to make out her words. "When we were at the Dragon's Table… Morgan and I didn't tell you cause we didn't want to worry you, but we were really scared we would lose you…"
Robin knew that back then. He saw it in their faces.
And he still tried to kill 'Grima' with his own hands.
"But you didn't, and the battle is over now," he softly says as she lifts her face. "Thanks to our bonds we all made it out alive."
She nods, but there's hesitation to it.
"Something wrong?"
"Uh, not really. Not yet, that is… But you always say how we should stay ten steps ahead of our opponent and be proactive and all that, and uh…" Her face scrunches up in thought. "How are you finding the council?"
Robin's smile drops. "Did something happen to either of you?"
Only the Shepherds know the Morgans are Robin's children, as they are the only ones who know about the weird time shenanigans with the Outrealms. Otherwise, there is no official document about their relationship, and even if someone made the connection between the two, they would assume they were his siblings or cousins, as people in their mid-twenties shouldn't have teenage offspring.
Even so, if anyone from the council mistook the Morgans as Robin's younger relatives… They can't do something truly rash like kidnap them, but they can very well make their life difficult and that thought has him seething—
"No, but I'm not blind, dad," Morgan quickly says, and Robin's anger subsides. "Just that it's clear they think you're suspicious, and that's only because you're from Plegia and are Chrom's second in command."
"I'm handling them," Robin half-lies as he rubs his eyes. So far he's just keeping track of their whereabouts, though he doesn't know exactly what they are up to, if they are up to anything in the first place. "They'll be more agitated than usual now that we're doing the post-war negotiations, but once that settles down they'll go back to their posts and continue life as usual." He winks. "After all, we are the heroes that defeated Grima."
Morgan lets out an amused snort, but it's forced. Robin stifles a yawn.
"You should get more sleep, dad," Morgan says. "You've been yawning more than Stahl."
"I'll keep it in mind," Robin says. Gods, if even they can tell… "Is there something else you want to talk to me about?"
Morgan goes silent again and stares at him. Her eyes linger too long on his lower ones, and Robin wonders if he's made the right decision by telling them of his true identity. Henry knows because of Robin's plans, Tharja because she would figure it out sooner than later, and Chrom because he was right in the thick of it, and from his supposed destiny of being the chosen one to slay him… All of them making a conscious decision of being by Robin's side through thick and thin.
And the Morgans are his children, even if from an alternate timeline. Above everyone else, they have the right to know, especially if them being half-whatever-Robin-is affects their growth or powers. So far they've been growing as a normal human would though, another small blessing.
"Ah, I were just wondering…" Morgan starts as she flops to a small couch by his desk. "If you are Grima then... what did you fight at the Dragon's Table?" She looks away and fiddles with her hands. "Why did Lucina's Grima… do what he did?"
Oh.
Robin should have expected that question. He should have a practiced answer that ties everything in a neat bow and extols the power of friendship or whatever.
"I'm not sure, but I can take a guess. When I…" he looks down at his hand, "woke up as Robin, part of me was still sealed away. That part of me contained my memories, which are…" He can't say anything more. Not to his child. "Well, let's just say I was a very unpleasant person to be around."
Morgan seems curious but doesn't ask. He's glad, because this was one part he wouldn't share, especially with family… Which is even a strange concept to think he has one.
"Needless to say, when memories that shape a person are mixed with potent magic, you end up with… a phantom of sorts, though less of a haunting and more of a… mirage who would act according to what shaped them."
And here comes the hard part.
"If my alternate self did end up killing Chrom, then…" He grimaces. "I'm ashamed to say I could see myself not putting up too much of a fight and letting those memories take over." If not encourage them…
And it's terribly selfish of Robin to fall apart because of the death of one man, especially when so many others have been so kind to him. Tharja, Lissa, all the Shepherds… hell, his own children, if the world they come from is any sign…
But the more he thinks about his alternate self, the more holes he finds in his doppelganger's plan. As his alternate self was older, he would know better than to try and underestimate Robin, and he wonders what his other self's ultimate goal was when he arrived in this world. With Lucina gone, his other self's last major obstacle would be gone, as all he needed to do was to seal the Outrealm gates and there would be nothing left to fear. Even if he feared that Lucina travelled to the past of her timeline, instead of an alternate one, why act so brazenly, especially during their final fight? Was it spite at everyone involved, or just wanting a reassurance that Chrom wouldn't stand by him when he found out what he'd done, or a suicidal despair—
All Robin knows is that in his nightmares back then, when the light faded from Chrom's eyes, so did what's left of his goodwill.
A terrible selfishness indeed.
"But that future didn't come to pass and I couldn't be more grateful for it," Robin eventually says and gives Morgan the brightest smile he can muster.
Morgan hums, but her pout stays. "And you sure you're ok?"
"Hey, I'm the parent here," Robin says as he reaches out and ruffles her head, earning him a ticklish snort. "But on a more serious tone, yes, I will be fine. The worst has passed."
She nods, then her eyes narrow in mischief. "I still think it'd be cool if we get extra eyes and wings."
Robin groans. "Pray you don't. Keeping them out of sight is a whole ordeal."
"We could say it's a manakete thing, and like, it manifested late."
"That's not how it works, and anyone who's not been living under a rock would see the six eyes and feathered wings and put two and two together."
Morgan slumps over her seat. "Aw, still…" She perks up quickly enough and gives him a curious look. "But I am curious since Gri-uh, your dragon form doesn't seem all that… dragon-like?"
Robin narrows his eyes. "… Ouch?"
"I mean, Tiki and Nowi have one set of scaly wings, one set of eyes, a shorter and bulkier body…" Morgan rambles, gesturing to each body part as she speaks, "and their horns are shaped differently too…"
"… That's because your father is a rebel and went against traditional dragon beauty standards," Robin jokes, hoping his answer is silly enough that Morgan drops the matter. "I think I look quite handsome."
Morgan blanches. "Dad—"
"Do you think my dragon form is ugly, Morgan?" Robin asks with mock disappointment. "Oh, the betrayal…"
"Dad," Morgan cuts him off again with a snort, and Robin drops the act with a laugh. "So…" she trails off as she gives him puppy dog eyes. "Can I borrow your Mjolnir tome? Pretty please?"
Robin gives her an awkward laugh. "Sure, but I'm supervising. The first time Morgan tried it, he almost got himself electrocuted."
\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/
"… And that's what happened to the courtyard tree." Robin recalls with a flinch. "Do apologise to Frederick on my behalf. Morgan was aiming for the dummy."
Next to him, Chrom laughs as he strips to his under-tunic. "I remember something similar happening when a certain someone tried their hand at an advanced tome as well."
It takes him a moment, but Robin remembers nearly burning down their camp when he first tried casting Bolganone. "Ah, well. The apple didn't fall from the tree, I suppose. Or killed the tree in this case."
After a few more restless nights, Robin took Tharja's advice and found himself in Chrom's room. He rationalised his decision as sound because nothing happened last time or any time he spent the night with Tharja, and because he was very, very tired.
Robin still kept himself scarce as he moved about. After a quick chat with Frederick, Chrom's guard has been enhanced to where Robin could no longer freely sneak about, so he stopped by Chrom's chambers in the afternoon. It was not unusual ashe was Chrom's advisor, but he would have to be careful in the morning and either sneak out the window or wait until noon and say he missed the guards during the guard change — which would probably reach Frederick and make him worry again, but Robin could handle him. Better than scandalising the court with more rumours of their Exalt cavorting with a Plegian.
However, because Robin arrived early in the afternoon in Chrom's room, he also brought up a few reports so that they would have something to do before the sun set. Chrom had given him a betrayed look at the small pile of parchments, but Robin brushed him off and soon enough it was business as usual with their newfound peace.
Unfortunately, similar to previous experience, their meeting overran into the middle of the night. They still have a few last reports to go through, though it's mostly on the whereabouts of minor nobles and the upcoming celebrations…
Though when Robin told Chrom they still have a few more papers to go, he simply let out a groan and said he was going to change to his nightclothes while making small talk.
Robin watches Chrom impatiently switch to a fancier night-time under-tunic — the perks of being a royal, he supposes — but as soon as Chrom does so, he flops onto the bed. "Oh wow. It's so soft. You should try it, Robin."
"I won't be bribed by a fluffy mattress."
"Come on, the moon's nearly halfway up the sky. We should call it a day…" Chrom trails off with a yawn and a stretch.
Robin finds himself copying Chrom, but stops himself just in time. This is why he is here, is he not? Get a proper night's rest… "Alright, you old man, give me a moment to tidy up…"
Chrom raises a fist in victory as Robin shuffles his paper into some semblance of order. He's already removed his robe and unbound his wings, so he just removes his backless top then strips down to his braies — no fancy special night-time tunics for him.
Chrom shuffles to the side and rolls down the thick duvet, patting the space next to him. Robin gives him a grumpy look as he lays down, and wow, the bed is softer than he remembers. Or maybe he's just that tired.
"We'll get the rest in the morning, don't worry. Just…" Chrom trails off with a yawn.
"It is late," Robin admits. "I thought we'd finish earlier."
Chrom smiles as he throws the blanket over them. "I can't keep up. I don't know how you do it, I watched you as we were beginning and your eyes were darting all over the place…" He frowns in thought. "Say, do you get double, or I guess triple vision if they're looking in different directions?"
Robin shifts as he tries to move into a comfortable position. "No… as it's not like when you cross your eyes," he says as he settles By Chrom's side, half of him resting on top of the man while he spreads his wings across the bed. "I suppose having multiple points of view would help. Like you had multiple visions but… disconnected from each other."
"Huh," Chrom says and stifles a ticklish laugh as Robin drapes his wings over him. They'll probably regret the blanket in the morning — Tharja complained that Robin's wings are a blanket of their own — but right now Robin's very cosy.
"It makes cross-referencing texts much easier," Robin adds, making Chrom laugh.
"Only you, Robin… but have you been getting enough sleep?"
"You'll be an excellent pillow," Robin hums. "As long as you don't try to eat my wings again."
"That's good," Chrom hums and wraps his hand around Robin's waist, keeping him close.
Robin closes his eyes, and though he's the most comfortable he's been in days, he notices Chrom remains tense.
Robin opens his eyes to see Chrom staring at the ceiling.
"What's keeping you up?"
Chrom startles before giving him an uneasy smile. "Ah, just thinking. Still worried over the council meeting I suppose."
"That's fair. But so far progress has been good, we've gathered the food aid and Plegia accepted our envoy…"
Chrom hums. "So you've said… but I still worry someone will try to sabotage us, or…"
Robin holds back a grin. "Let them try. I've been looking into the various members, looking at allegiances, weak points… anyone who goes against us will face the full force of the Exaltdom."
Chrom hums again, but remains uneasy. "You mentioned Thorpe and his granddaughter have been cozying up to the Hierarch?"
"Oh yes, and Canute's also made a generous contribution about the Temple's upcoming celebration… Our little trio of doom is probably trying to win him over to their side." He gives Chrom a fanged smile. "I've been keeping track of their movements, but there's little to worry about. The current Hierarch would rather die than plot against you, so they would have better luck talking to a brick wall."
"Right…" Chrom says, but he's still uneasy.
Robin's smile drops and he props himself on the elbow to face Chrom. "Yet that's not all that troubles you."
Chrom gives him a long look before he sighs. "High expectations, I suppose."
"From who?"
Chrom rubs his eyes. "Myself."
… Oh.
Robin sits back down and gives him a pat. "We're our own worst critics. You're doing great."
"Thanks," comes Chron's reply as he rubs the small of Robin's back to reciprocate. "… You can talk to me too, you know. If you want to."
Robin frowns. "About what?"
"About anything."
Robin narrows his eyes at Chrom's evasive answer.
"About — you know what I'm about to say." Chrom shifts to his side to face Robin. "About Grima."
Robin stares at him evenly. "… You're curious."
"I…" Chrom says in a false start. "I would be lying if I said I wasn't. But I'm mostly concerned—"
"Of what?" Robin shoots back, defensive.
"It can't be good to bottle these things up. Even if it's unpleasant—"
"I'm not…" Robin says increasingly agitated before he forces himself to calm down with a sigh. "There's not much to talk about. I just want to sleep."
Before Chrom can respond, Robin scoots away and shifts sides, then curses at the lack of support and rests fully on his stomach. Great, now his neck is going to cramp…
"It has to do with my father," Chrom suddenly says.
Robin stills, then looks back at Chrom. He knows enough of Chrom's father to know he did not talk about the man.
"The expectations I mentioned before," Chron continues, staring at the ceiling. "You know how much I don't want to become like him. But the more I grew, the more apparent it was that I was skilled at the blade and…" He grimaces. "You can guess what his and a lot of the council's expectations were."
Yes, Robin can definitely guess the expectations of a man who'd sworn himself to eliminate Plegia finding out his son was skilled with the blade.
"For the longest time I avoided talking to anyone about it and only grew angrier. I tried to drive people away from me, threw tantrums, the whole deal. Emm really was a saint in more ways than one…" Chrom's smile turns bitter. "And his legacy still haunts me. You see how I get when enraged, it's why…" he cuts himself off. "I was happy to be the second in line of succession and lead the Shepherds to support Emm as she needed. I was good at that. But now…"
"… I'm sorry."
"Don't apologise. Not for this." Chrom's face is unreadable. "You weren't the one who backed her into a corner."
"Still," Robin insists as he scoots back closer to him. "Though I didn't know your father, I know you Chrom. You are an excellent swordsman, but above all you're a compassionate man, and a fair leader. And you can just about charm the pants off anyone without realising it," he adds with a little grin.
Chrom's face breaks into a brief smile. "Ha, thanks."
Yes, Robin definitely stands by his last statement.
"But the point I was trying to make is that, when I was young, it wasn't until Frederick called me out on it that I… sat down and talked to someone about it. It didn't solve my issue, but it made it feel better. True, it still troubles me and most times it does I keep it to myself as I can deal with it, but I also know I have someone to turn to if I get overwhelmed." He turns to Robin with a soft smile. "And having that option of talking to someone is reassuring on its own."
Robin knows exactly what Chrom's trying to pull. He tried to get Robin to open up, failed catastrophically, and is now trying to reestablish the connection by opening up himself and not-so-subtly arguing in favour of Robin opening up too.
Problem is, even if he's aware of Chrom's manoeuvre, he finds himself taken in by his argument. And the silence that stretches between them is growing increasingly uncomfortable…
"… I was betrayed, so I killed my betrayer and then tried to do so to the rest of the world until your ancestor put a stop to it," Robin quickly says, looking down.
There, over and done. He can check that off his bucket list.
Chrom shifts next to him, but Robin absolutely refuses to look at his face. "Really, looking back at it, it might as well have been a childish tantrum. I'm not proud of it, and I'm not going to do it again."
But damn him if he ever admitted that last part to anyone else. For Naga in particular he has nothing but expletives, though he would probably tone it down for Tiki. Did the manakete know at some level Robin had always been Grima, or did she assume his amnesiac self's relation to the Fell Dragon was more like hers and Naga's? Did they even know what he truly was, not a pure Divine Dragon, but an alchemical combination of man and dragon?
And what happened to all the other dragons?… He told him very little of the outside world, but at least Robin knew at the time that dragons were the rulers of the land, so why were so many of them gone and why did the first human that visited the labyrinth carry a dragon fang sword—?
Augh, this was a whole stupid mess, and all Robin had were mere frustrating guesses.
His train of thought is interrupted when Chrom pulls him closer, placing Robin's head on the crook of his neck and softly kissing the top of his head.
Robin's not sure what the emotions that course through him after that are. His chest feels like it's about to explode.
"Thank you for telling me. I hope you're in a better place now."
It takes Robin a few moments to push the 'exploding chest' feelings down, but he can't resist the urge to tighten his grip around Chrom.
"Oh, definitely." He nuzzles his head at the crook of his neck, earning him a tickling laugh, and sighs. "If only there were people in the world like you Chrom…"
"There are," Chrom says, and his chest rumbles with his voice. "And there will be."
And maybe that's supposed to be reassuring, but Robin feels a knot of guilt form at the unsaid 'and there have always been'.
\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/
Robin is inspecting the aftermath of a battle. He's not sure what battle was fought here — he can't quite remember. He only knows that he's on the desert dunes of Thabes Plegia.
Grima walks among the corpses undisturbed. Though they haven't started rotting yet, the smell is terrible, baked by the bright sun overhead. Strangely enough, he can't tell which army they originate from. He sees Plegian uniforms mixed with Ylissean swords among Feroxian sigils and so many other markers of armies of countries and empires long gone, fallen to the Fell Dragon's rampage.
He spots a modest building on top of a dune and he treks up to it. It's a crumbling stone and mortar construction, roofless and with its exterior bleached white by the sun. Inside is a wide table covered with vials, flasks and little boxes of supplies for alchemy.
Robin finds some parchment and a quill and he makes some space on the table and sits down to write a report about the battlefield. He's not sure who he's reporting to. Maybe… Yeah, Chrom asked him to. He just has to get this finished and he can go back to the Castle and get a full night's rest—
A shadow rises behind Robin, humanoid. He gets up in alarm, turns back—
"Do you find yourself happy, my Creation?"
The alchemist stranger before him is dressed in a heavy cloak. His face is completely shadowed, with only a few tufts of greying hair showing through, and Grima knows who he is and what he's done to him—
"You're dead," Grima hisses as he gets up fully. He instinctively backs away, but he's already against the table, only to scold himself for even trying to do that in the first place.
That man takes a sip of his tea, like he did every morning before checking up on Grima and feeding the growing dragon with his blood. "So what of it? Do you think a man as great as I can be stopped by something so pedestrian as death—?"
"Yes," Robin cuts him off. "Nothing escapes death and you're no exception, worm—"
"Is that a way to refer to me, Creation?"
Robin bites his tongue as there is no way in hell he will refer to this man as Master with anything resembling respect. "Screw you, Forneus."
The man merely sips his tea again. "You've lost none of your charm. Or rather, you regained your lack of it. Goodness knows if you could ever have charmed all those humans on your side if you kept it." He strolls into the tiny room and Robin stays by his side of the desk, his nails digging into the wood. "But I am confused as to why you're letting this continue. I can't see why you keep up this charade after you regained your memories—"
"You don't know anything," Robin hisses back.
"I don't?" Though Robin can't see his face, he can picture his raised eyebrow. "Can you tell me what this is then? A change of heart? You're all sunshine and rainbows and hold nothing but love for all of creation—?"
Robin scoffs before he can stop himself. Even without his memories, his opinion on people in general was neutral, only salvaged by Chrom and the Shepherds and something he never thought much about, too busy with planning their next battles—
"I thought so." The man drags a few vials of the side of the table opposite of Robin's and rests against it. "I told you not to trust anyone. I told you what awaited you on the surface."
"Because you wanted me to only listen to you. Because you wanted to control me."
The man lets out a low laugh. "Was I wrong? Was the outside world different?"
"Yes," Robin cuts him off. "Yes, it is different. The people are different. I am different—"
"You're covered in blood."
Robin's about to shoot back that the man's gone blind until he looks down. His hands are bloodless, but there's dried blood under his nails, and his clothes, her robe, are red and torn.
"You've been covered in blood from the moment you were created," the man continues. "Yet I failed to realise that was a sign… the same way I failed by acting too late to stop you, and now it's too late for anyone to do so." His voice is a mixture of bitterness and pride. "Already you've broken most of Naga's seal and have wooed her champion. Your power grows with each life you take, and it will keep doing so until you're the only thing left. Already you've grown beyond anything I could have ever imagined, and you've consumed enough poor lives to practically live forever."
The room is getting smaller and Robin feels the walls close in. "It's not — I'm not—"
"Not that you slacked off as 'Robin' at all, considering your limitations," he thoughtfully says. "It must have been a jarring change, having to think and weigh each individual battle, but in the end you still stood triumphant over a mountain of corpses." He pauses. "Yes, the more I think about it, the more I realise why calling yourself 'Robin' isn't such a big change after all."
"I'm working to bring peace between Plegia and Ylisse."
"Which will last how long? Even if you hold a tight leash and those two countries prosper, will Ragna Ferox keep being neutral? Will Valm not eventually seek revenge for slaughtering the one king that unified all its disparate kingdoms?" He leans closer to Grima and though the man is shorter than he is, Grima's entire body tenses. "The throne is a country's own death sentence, sooner or later. You know this. You've seen this."
Yes, he has, and it's why Plegia's king is decided by a general assembly, but even that is an imperfect system and he can't ask Chrom to abolish the throne—
Robin makes a motion to leave this choking room, but that man catches his arm. "My greatest, unruliest, mistake…"
"Oh, come off it," Robin manages to say with a bitter laugh. "As if you ever brought any good into the world."
"Exactly. And yet even I feared you."
You know what, fuck this. Why is he even entertaining this stupid argument with a dead man?
Robin pulls his arm back to leave, but Forneus' grip is strong. "And now you've gone and bound yourself to your supposed enemy because… Because what? Because he showed you kindness when you were a blank slate? Because he stayed after supposedly knowing who you are, even when he hasn't even been exposed to a sliver of the hell that you are?"
"Shut up, this is — this is nonsense," Robin says as struggles to get out of his grip, but to no avail. "You're not — this isn't real. You're an illusion."
Forneus grabs his other arm and gets even closer. A third arm reaches out and pulls his hood back, and though his face is old and withered, Robin bears more resemblance to him than he ever did Validar—
"Of course I'm fake."
A fourth hand lands on Robin's cheek and he stills. It's warm. It's wet.
It's dripping blood.
Grima looks up at his Master, only to see a rotting face, its eyeballs long melted away and the skin covered in a thick film of worms and parasites.
"You killed me, Child."
Master's mouth opens again, but it merely gulps like a fish out of water, like he did after Grima dug himself out of his throat and even if he's dead he can't wrestle out of his grip and Grima's own mouth is bloody too, foreign blood that he can't swallow back down and chokes on it.
"And you will kill him before he kills you, like you did all others."
The walls crumble away to give way to the sandy dunes, now coated red as the dead rise, nameless soldiers he killed as Grima, enemy commanders he killed as Robin, their hands grasping at him, a thousand voices coalescing into Validar's, his pleading face appearing through the crowd as he begs for an answer why Grima has forsaken him when all he did was for his sake, from his runaway spouse to Gangrel's appointment and success at getting rid of one of Naga's so-called Champions—
\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/
*slaps Grima* this dragon can fit so much trauma
alternatively:
Tharja: This is my boyfriend, Robin, and this is Robin's boyfriend, Chrom, and this is Chrom's girlfriend, Sumia, and this Sumia's girlfriend, Cordelia, and her other girlfriend—
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Replies:
Guest #1: Death threats are just more efficient, it is what it is 😌
Guest #2: thank u and you're spot on Robin's meat aversion as seen above :P
RandomFFnetUser: First of all thank u, I love big reviews like this! And lol about the politicians, I based those previously off real-type archetypes (Canute is the industrialist w good PR, Boldyn is a war hawk/war profiteer, and Thorpe is one of those dynastical traditionalists), and adjusted for the setting of course.
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Next chapter will be up next Friday. Reviews are appreciated.