I'm using church/cathedral/temple interchangeably here, because I am once again pulling things out of my ass when it comes to canon content I don't 100% remember, yeehaw
\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/
When Tharja careens into Lissa's room, Chrom fears she's downplayed her injuries and is about to keel over. But despite being pale-faced and wide-eyed, Tharja looks frightfully alert as her gaze locks on to Chrom's. "He's in trouble."
Chrom bolts up as if electrified. There's no reason to ask who Tharja is referring to.
"Huh?" a sleepy Lissa exclaims, stifling a yawn as she holds on to her staff. "What's going on?" She looks between Tharja and Chrom before settling on the latter. "Hey, what happened? You told me you had an accident in the armoury, which is weird because it's midnight, but since I'm so nice I didn't ask—"
"No time," Tharja cuts her off as she barges into the room and grabs Chrom's half-healed arm. "Go grab your sword—"
"Wait, calm down everyone." Chrom splays his hands out before turning to Tharja. "What do you mean? Did you see him—?"
"My hexes. They went off..." she glances at Lissa, "recently, so I went to reapply them, and the moment I did — the more seconds we spent here dilly dallying, the greater danger Robin is in!"
"Robin?" Lissa asks, more confused, as a pit of dread forms in Chrom's stomach.
"Where is he?" Chrom asks. He is vaguely aware that Tharja has hexed Robin five ways from Saturday, but he's assured him that they're all minor ones meant to keep watch over loved ones. Despite Robin's nonchalant attitude, Chrom was initially wary, but the more time he spends with Tharja the more he suspects the rest of the Shepherds, himself included, have been similarly hexed.
"Outside the castle." Tharja vaguely points towards the city from Lissa's window, which oversees the southern suburbs of the city, the church of Naga towering above all other buildings. "And he's hurt, so we need to move—"
"My room," Chrom numbly says as he gets up. "I need to get the Falchion — Lissa, can you go wake Frederick?"
His worry must be all over his face, as Lissa pouts but gets off the bed, grabbing her harness for her staff and, after a moment's hesitation, her axe. Normally Chrom would think she's overreacting, but considering tonight's events...
They run down a corridor bordered by more windows. The night sky is cloudy, obscuring even the moon, bathing the capital in darkness. Perfect for sneaking around, and Chrom worries of Robin took his remark of starting anew too close to heart—
There's a glint of red in the distance, and Chrom turns his head just when the church of Naga's roof explodes in a fireball.
\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/
Chrom's surroundings are all on various degrees of fire. Debris from what once was the Cathedral's roof is scattered across the road, some embedded in buildings, others smouldering by the side of the road. Next to him, Lissa immediately scans the area and rushes to aid the wounded, Frederick close behind her.
"That way," Tharja points towards the temple, and Chrom's throat tightens. He has no clue how or why Robin ended up in Naga's cathedral of all places, let alone why it suddenly exploded.
The Morgans are close behind them, half-dressed but fully awake, Lucina by their side. Chrom looks back to see her aiding some of the people away from the burning buildings, and his heart lightens — even if she demonstrated as such in the past, it was always good to see a reminder that she inherited his good-natured side.
One of the Morgans points at a cloud of smoke close to the Cathedral. "More people there!"
Chrom is closest, so he rushes by the edge of the cloud and starts pulling people, priests he soon realises, out of the rubble. The poor people look as shocked at the destruction as the surrounding residents, which answers none of Chrom's many questions. By some miracle there don't appear to be any casualties despite the extensive property damage.
Just as when he thinks they've pulled everyone out, a lithe shape stumbles through the rubble that stretches all the way underground — from some collapsed basement or catacomb most likely. It's hard to see through the smoke, but as he gets closer to help, he notices matted blonde hair, white robes, and a beautiful face scrunched up in pain.
"Libra!" Chrom yells as he haphazardly jumps down the rubble and runs to support his injured comrade. "Tharja, go get Lissa and Frederick, Morgans, one of you go back and coordinate with the rest of the Shepherds — Libra, what happened?"
"In the temple," Libra coughs, his usual gentle voice coming out hoarse. "Sir Robin," he hisses and stumbles as Chrom holds him steady, even if his own heart feels like it's about to give out by the mention of his name. "Not his fault. I don't know what's going on... by all accounts, I should be dead. Yet I'm not."
"What?" Chrom asks as he half-carries the man out of the wreckage. The mere thought of Robin being stuck down there, possibly injured, possibly dead — no, unlikely, unless the Church has its own collection of awakened Dragon Fang swords.
Libra gives him an odd look, and Chrom thinks he may be concussed. "Did you know?"
"Stay with me, Libra, we'll get you to — Lissa here!" Chrom waves his free hand as his sister runs to them, panting.
She yells a few orders and Libra is laid down on a floor relatively free of rubble as her staff glows and white magic heals his most grievous wounds. Chrom does not get a good look, but the odd incisions on his shoulder and leg are more reminiscent of arrow wounds than blunt damage, and that only confuses him further.
Libra's face relaxes and his gaze becomes more focused.
"You said you saw Robin?" Tharja asks before the man has a moment to even gather his thoughts. Ordinarily Chrom would ask her to give him some space, but he's just as worried.
Libra tilts his head from where he emerged. "Down there, I presume. But..." His gaze shifts to Chrom, then Lissa. "Did you know?" he asks again.
"Know what?" Lissa asks as Chrom looks back where Libra indicated. There's no movement among the wreckage besides the odd fire.
Chrom frowns. "Focus on the rescue effort everyone, and evacuate everyone to any clinics available."
"Milord, we should evacuate as well," Frederick adds. "From what little the other priests saw, some type of... dragon is responsible for this catastrophe."
"Dragon?"
Frederick's frown deepens. "Yes. Massive. Dark purple colouration."
Chrom hopes his expression is misinterpreted as one of surprise rather than knowing horror. That sounds like...
He sits up and looks at the wreckage running from the basement. It'll be a tight fit, but if he can get in there, perhaps it may provide an opening...
The Falchion sits heavily in its sheath. "Frederick, may I borrow your sword?"
Frederick hesitates, but hands over his silver sword to Chrom as instructed. "Of course, milord, but why would you—?"
"I think I know who's behind this and the Falchion would be of no use." Chrom made a promise, after all.
"What do you mean — Milord, please tell me you're not thinking of rushing in—!"
"Tharja," Chrom calmly asks, "can I rely on you to buy me some time? Get the Morgans to help you too if needed."
"Of course," Tharja immediately replies.
Before Frederick or Lissa can protest, Chrom rushes down the wreckage. He hears vague shouts, then the sensation of dark and harmless magic as a obscuring fog rises behind him. He makes a mental reminder to thank Tharja and apologise to his sister and retainer.
Assuming he makes it out of this in one piece.
As he stumbles down the rubble, he spies an opening from where two slabs fell against each other in a mockery of an arch. Water runs through them, probably runoff from the ongoing firefighting attempts and a likely broken well. Strangely, he comes across no corpses as he carefully makes his way through them, then to a narrow corridor, then down a flight of half-collapsed stairs—
Something coils at the dark reaches of the collapsed staircase, retreating to the bottom. Chrom fights down his mind's very reasonable instinct to abandon this whole endeavour and run with his tail tucked between his legs, and rushes down the stairs.
And stops dead in his tracks.
He knows Grima is — used to be — massive. He still remembers first gazing upon the vast skeletal remains from which Plegia's capital emerged, of passing under ribs that surpassed Ylisse's tallest cathedrals, of teeth as big as himself. That vast scale combined with the abundant tales of terror struck a primal fear to him back then, unlike the one he felt when facing Grima — or his phantom apparently — as that was a mirage shrunk to his scale and wearing the face of a man he loved. No wonder so many of the soldiers on those ancient battlefields that survived the Fell Dragon's attacks went mad.
Now, the dragon before Chrom is considerably much smaller, but no less terrifying. His form takes up not only the large catacombs, but has broken through its ceiling to the cathedral's main chamber. His scales are rough and a dark purple as his massive form coils around itself like a snake. And his head...
Some of the ghastlier retellings of Grima's slaughter mentioned the Fell Dragon gorging itself on those unwise enough to stand in its way. Chrom thought them tall tales, until he sees the teeth poking out of the Dragon's maw like a crocodile's, and suddenly Robin's sudden aversion to meat makes a frightening amount of sense.
Chrom's dumb animal instinct momentarily takes over, and he grips Falchion. Grima freezes, and Chrom wonders why until he realises exactly who he is facing.
Grima is not merely the dragon that existed in mere gruesome legends, but someone Chrom shared a bed with, the one he opened his heart and home to, and the one who saw him through so many seemingly hopeless battles with an undying loyalty.
The one who couldn't stop having nightmares and would seek comfort while closing himself off.
Chrom takes a deep breath and slowly lets go of Falchion in favour of resting his palm on his silver sword. Though his hand is trembling and itching to grasp Naga's blade again, he forces a smile which comes off as a grimace. "Hi Robin. You've grown a bit bigger."
Much of Gri-Robin's form is shadowed, so Chrom only sees a slight movement of his head.
"... Son of Naga," the Fell Dragon's voice reverberates across the rubble, utterly alien in its malice and familiarity. "Bold of you to neglect your only advantage in this fight—"
"Come off it, Robin," Chrom says before he can stop himself. When the Fell Dragon does pause, Chrom gives him a challenging smirk even as sweat runs down his temple. "The pissed off Grima act didn't work out back then, and it's not gonna work now."
Gri-Robin does not respond. Just as Chrom becomes convinced he's broken through whatever facade Robin means to project, a growing ball of flame manifests by the dragon's head and hurls straight at Chrom. He rolls away, and the spell crushes against a pile of rubble, exploding into a ball of flame that causes Chrom to sweat more.
"Alright, so we're doing this again," Chrom mutters through clenched teeth. He doesn't want to fight Robin, but he won't make himself a standing target.
Maybe some levity would help?
"If you want to spar, that's fine, but let me remind you who won last time," Chrom says, trying and failing to muster up a grin. Their last spar felt like an eternity ago, before their fateful battle at the Dragon's Table. Chrom won, but he suspected it was because Robin was more preoccupied with other things and couldn't focus, as when he did Chrom would find himself outsmarted or outlasted.
A low growl emanates from the dragon, wiping Chrom's tentative smirk off his face. Robin's lips curl, revealing bloody teeth, and the same old growing terror from before grips Chrom. Robin would never act like this, and he momentarily fears the strange phantom force that Robin said his future self was overtaken by has now possessed him. Chrom's hold on the silver sword slackens, his hand aching for the power and protection of Naga's holy blade—
Until Grima's gaze falls upon him. The red iris-less eyes are utterly alien, but there are tracts of blood beneath them.
Chrom's face slackens in realisation. "You're hurt." Perhaps in other places too, as the dragon's coiled form obscures most of his body. "Robin, please talk to me. What happened—?"
Robin's tail lashes out. Chrom just about manages to climb on a nearby boulder as the dragon's tail sweeps the floor, pushing the smaller stones and water away with ease.
"What will always happen," comes Robin's voice with Grima's booming inhuman inflexion. "Human nature at its finest."
Chrom doesn't understand what Robin means by that, and that frustrates him to no end, both by Robin's insistence on cryptic, baleful remarks, and his own lack of knowledge of the Fell Dragon.
He jumps down from the boulder, and though he still holds on to his silver sword, his stance is defensive. "How did you end up here? Tharja almost had a heart attack when she realised you weren't at the Castle—"
Robin doesn't let him finish as another fireball comes his way. Chrom side-steps it with ease, too used to dodging Robin's magical attacks during their spars. With too much ease actually, as Robin's attacks back then had a greater oomph to them than this fireball...
Robin is attacking him, but is not putting any real effort behind it, just enough to appear threatening. What is his plan? If Robin is too injured to fight, why try in the first place? If he wants Chrom to get away, why not put more power behind his attacks?
Not to mention Chrom isn't in the best shape as well. Though he won't admit it out loud to this room's occupant, the bite on his shoulder is sore, slowing and limiting his movements.
"We were ready to run out in our nightclothes to find you," Chrom continues. "… Until the church exploded."
This time Chrom feels wind rushing around him, and he ducks as an Elwind's blade rushes past him, rolling into a puddle. Again he doesn't know how much damage it would have done if it hit him, and that worries him.
"I dragged Lissa along with Frederick, and fortunately enough we picked up Lucina and the Morgans along the way—"
"Enough!" the dragon roars.
"Agreed!" Chrom continues over Robin's yell. "I don't want to fight you! Hell, I don't understand why we're fighting!"
"Yet you still grip your blade."
'Because I am facing a massive dragon who keeps throwing fireballs at me,' Chrom wants to protest, but he suspects that won't improve the situation. He is getting fed up though, so he resorts to his most familiar battle tactic: he runs at the enemy.
Robin's hesitation at Chrom's sudden dash gives the prince enough time to jump over the first of many coils. He's not sure what he'll do once he reaches the dragon head — he's torn between a hug and a punch — so he leaves it to instinct.
Chrom jumps over the third coil when something large and grey approaches from his side, and he realises a second too late it's one of Robin's wings. The feathers are as soft as in Robin's human form, so the collision is more like being batted away with a pillow, but Chrom's subsequent crash against a pile of rubble is anything but.
Chrom tries to breathe but his ribs are sore, and the wound on his shoulder has reopened.
He cracks one eye open to see Grima's visage towering over him, every bit the great and terrible Fell Dragon that decimated empires and plunged continents back into the dark ages. His silver sword has been thrown to the wayside, too far for him to grab.
Without thinking, Chrom unsheathes Falchion. Grima hisses at the sound of Naga's blade exiting its sheath, rearing back like a snake about to strike.
Yet Chrom is having none of that.
Still holding on to Falchion, Chrom pushes himself to the side, ignoring the burning pain at his shoulder, grabs his discarded sword and runs at Robin again.
The Fell Dragon roars but retreats away from Chrom, his body pooling around the prince in a semicircular pattern. Robin tries to bat him away with the end of his tail, but Chrom deflects the blow with the flat of his sword and finally reaches the head.
Without missing a beat, Chrom lets go of his silver sword, grabs Robin by the horn and headbutts him, hard.
For a moment, Robin's utter shock is a sight to behold, but Chrom soon realises his mistake as the pain hits him too and he falls back on his ass, clutching his head.
Robin curls further into himself, and Chrom is pushed inward and up the length of the dragon's body, further disorienting him.
"You..." Grima's voice reverberates with an indecipherable emotion.
Chrom struggles to find his balance, and to distract himself from barfing, he rambles: "Did I ever tell you your dragon form is weird?" And immediately regrets it.
Robin goes silent and Chrom wonders if the concussion is getting to him too.
"I mean, your wings don't fit in with the rest of your body. And your horns must block your vision, that's how I managed to get so close."
Robin remains silent. Just as Chrom is about to ask if Robin finds it difficult to move around like a snake and how exactly he manages to take off, the Fell Dragon sprawls fully to the floor.
Chrom pauses. His remarks weren't that scathing.
"I have little strength left, Son of Naga. You have seen the betrayal and destruction that follows me. If you are to make a decision, make it now."
Because his head is still killing him, it takes Chrom a few moments to process the Fell Dragon's words. Once he does, he recalls the destruction, the ruined houses, the blood running down the Dragon's gums, the pieces of people he will inevitably find if he searches the area.
Yet Chrom also remembers Libra, caught in the middle of it all, miraculously alive, and apologetic on Robin's behalf, red eyes surrounded by blood, the overabundance of water and Robin's refusal to cast a lightning spell...
He's still holding Falchion in a death grip as he takes a step towards Robin. The dragon's eyes track him silently.
"Answer me one question first. Why attack me?"
"Because I am sick and tired of a fate I cannot escape."
And thanks to that answer Chrom makes his decision.
Before he reaches the head, Chrom throws Falchion away, holding back a flinch as it clatters. Hopefully Naga won't mind.
Slowly, Chrom leans over Robin's muzzle and pulls his arms around it, in an awkward mockery of a hug. They barely pass over the bridge of Robin's nose.
"I'm also tired of losing the people I care about."
He briefly closes his eyes and squeezes as much as he can, before he looks up at Robin. The dragon stares at him, unblinking. There is a huff, then another, and another, each more shallow than the rest. A strange membrane slides over Robin's eyes, then again, as a transparent liquid gathers under them.
Magic coils around them, but it's unlike anything Chrom has felt. Unlike offensive spells, it surrounds Robin's form and shimmers brightly enough that Chrom is momentarily blinded.
The next thing he feels is a pair of hands wrapped around him in a death grip. A pair of human hands. Robin's.
\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/
Robin can't breathe properly and it's all the fault of the idiot man embracing him. "You have a death wish."
Chrom laughs, hiding a pained grunt. "I'm not the one who asked to be stabbed in the head."
"And the fact you did not only proves my point," Robin hisses before he takes a choked breath. "Gods, Chrom, first Validar's plan, now this, do you place any value in your life?"
"You know I do," Chrom solemnly answers before his voice softens: "But you know I equally value the life of my friends."
"Then I amend my previous point: You're a trusting idiot with a death wish," the Fell Dragon accuses him with a trembling voice.
Chrom lets out a rumbling laugh. "Ouch. Tell me how you really feel, Robin."
"The fact you still calm me by that name..." Robin says in a low voice. He has to speak slowly, or he fears he'll lose any little coherence he has left. "You've seen all there is, yet you insist."
"Why wouldn't I? That is your name. One of them."
"You don't know that."
Chrom pulls back with a strange look. "Please don't tell me you've lost your memories again."
Robin bitterly laughs. "But you don't if I am Robin, you trusting idiot. You can't know if anything I've told you since I woke up is true," he continues even as Chrom opens his mouth to protest. "You don't know if I truly mean the things I say. You don't know if I'm biding my time until you grow old and weak. You don't know that I won't claw your throat out next time we share a bed."
"But I know Robin. I know who he is, how he behaves."
"There's a thing called acting—" Robin stops as his voice breaks because that idea would be too cruel, but when did that ever stop him—?
"Then I want to believe."
And that simple sentence brings tears to his eyes. "Sen-ti-men-tal i-di-ot," Robin utters, emphasising each syllable with a harmless slap at Chrom's forearm before he finally lets out a sob and leans towards the embrace.
Chrom looks at a loss for words. "… Are you crying?"
"I'm bleeding from ten different places. Might as well do so from my eyes."
"Ah." Chrom's hold loosens. "Are you badly injured? Do you need me to go fetch—"
Robin rubs his eyes. "So long as you don't use me as Falchion's sheath, I'll be fine."
And of course Chrom chooses this moment to hold him closer. Because he is just like that. In the end, Robin thought he would never be the master of his own fate, but then Chrom tore apart that deep-seated notion down by choosing forgiveness. Because he is kind, because he cares about Rpbin, like all the Shepherds do, like Libra...
Robin tenses with a growing panic. "Is Libra—?"
"Lissa's tending to him. He's injured but he'll be fine," Chrom reassures him with a pat on his back. Robin stays in place, even if he still feels like a coiled spring. "What happened? How did you end up here?"
Ah. Robin was hoping he had some more time to come up with something.
"… They tried to kill me," he starts and his bitterness momentarily overwhelms him, "but I shouldn't be surprised at this point, that's always how it goes," and he's getting lost in memories, "he tried it too—"
And Robin promptly clamps his jaw shut.
"... Who?" Chrom softly asks.
Robin doesn't want to talk, but the words come out of him like a waterfall. "I just," he sobs, "I just wanted to impress him, and then he tried to kill me. What kind of person does that?"
Robin wants to say more, so much more, but he cannot muster the words nor the strength.
Chrom holds him close as he slowly rubs his back. "Is that person... Forneus?"
When Robin goes still, so does the hand on his back, but Chrom's grip remains firm. He wants to deny the guess, but, just like in so many other ways, Chrom has pierced through his defences.
"That's the dastard," Robin hisses. "He was the first but not the last."
"Ah," Chrom hums, very carefully. "The other one would be the First Exalt...?"
"No. There was another one earlier," Robin answers, finding that line of conversation much easier. "I was stuck in that tomb for who knows how long and the first face I saw was some green-haired dastard with another one of these infuriating dragon fang swords." His lips curl to a scowl. "Naga's handiwork no doubt."
"Wait." Chrom's expression turns wary. "Green-haired man with a dragon fang sword?"
"Distant branch of the family?" Robin hazards a guess with a sardonic smirk. He looks up to see Chrom has gone pale.
"Robin, please don't tell me you actually fought against Saint-King Alm the First?"
"Is that the little worm's name?" Robin offhandedly asks with a scoff. "And don't get too excited. The little runt stabbed me in the neck. It hurt. "
"Yeah, he had a habit of doing that," Chrom numbly mutters. "You realise he's the one Valm is named after, right?"
Ah. So that's why that painting at Walhart's Castle looked familiar to him.
Still, he frowns. "He was tiny."
Chrom lets out a nervous laugh.
"No, I'm serious. He was Henry-sized." His frown deepens. "Then again, I think humans overall were smaller back then..."
"Why did he fight you?"
Robin wants to respond with 'for no good reason,' but he knows better than that. "They were an adventuring party travelling through a long-sealed maze. I'd be surprised if they didn't try to kill everything in their path."
"... I see," Chrom says, expectant.
"... And I may have been startled by their presence and sent a few Risen their way. And," he hesitates but if anyone deserves the truth after everything Robin has put them through, it's Chrom. "I was very hungry."
"... Ah."
"Tomb or not, this was my home, and they were trespassing so at the time I thought I had every right to have them as a snack," Robin quickly adds. Not that he would necessarily act differently now, but he is more aware of the moral grey areas of eating people. "But even if I wasn't hostile, they would have simply given me one look, gone 'ah, that giant dragon with six glowing red eyes and massive horns and weird bird-like wings is eyeing us like we're a tasty snack; Clearly, it's evil,' and tried to kill me."
Chrom stays silent, so Robin continues.
"And then there's fucking Naga — Full offence to you and your goddess. I won't apologise for tearing down this temple."
Chrom sighs. "Robin..."
"No 'Robin', as you said, this all could have been avoided." He laughs. "Look at all it took! Losing my memory, spending a couple of years with a bunch of humans, and tada! No more desire for destroying the world! But no, into the seal it is with her. Splendid how that worked out."
"Not that I disagree but," Chrom carefully says, making Robin tense, "even if we're not doing badly, you just attacked me."
"And all you did was bonk me on the head and I couldn't...!" 'Bring myself to,' Robin wants to add, but masks it with another bitter laugh. "Life is a giant joke, Chrom! A comedy at the expense of us all. Fucking awful."
Chrom lets out a short laugh which only proves Robin's point. "I don't believe that."
"Of course you don't." Robin chokes. "Gods, if this is what it's going to be while I'm awake I might as well seal myself back—"
"Please tell me you don't mean that."
"... No," Robin eventually says. "I'd miss you and your idiot shepherds." He rubs his eyes again. "Honestly, I don't know where you found them. My first thought when you introduced them was that they'd all go and get themselves killed by the end of the campaign."
Chrom lets out a rumbling laugh that shakes his entire frame. "But you made sure they didn't."
"Oh yes, you're all stuck here, suffering with me. No one escapes on my watch." He hugs Chrom tighter. "That's my revenge."
"I prefer this over the alternative."
Robin sniffs. "... Me too."
They stay together, holding each other close until Robin brings his breathing somewhat under control. When he pulls back, he wipes his human eyes, annoyed at how puffy they feel. His two lower sets of eyes are closed, still partially healed because of the limitations of his human vessel. The less that can be said about his sore joints, the better.
But even that pathetic form fares much better than his dragon one. His true body is too big, too clumsy, too tired. The pathetic spells he conjured to keep Chrom away only sapped at his remaining strength until he could barely move. The ability to turn back into a human was a welcome surprise. He's not sure how it worked, though he suspects it functions similarly to a dragonstone, only using his human body as a catalyst instead of a chunk of ore.
Yes, this will make future proceedings much easier. "So, what will it be?"
"Huh?" Chrom at this point is still sitting down, no doubt exhausted. His shoulder is bleeding, and the sight only makes Robin want to speed up this resolution.
"The Hierarch, Thorpe, Thorpe's goon, and some unlucky dastard dragged into their scheme," Robin blandly recites. Thinking back at their pathetic attempt to kill him brings a sardonic smile to his lips. "What's the sentence?"
It must take Chrom a moment to realise what he's asking, as his face goes through a series of confused expressions before settling on discomfort. "Robin, that's... They were trying to kill you. You were protecting yourself."
"Oh, I did much more than defend myself. There are chunks of them in my mouth and..." A sob comes out of him, which he disguises as a laugh, but then another sob comes and another and he doesn't have it in him to keep pretending. His emotional state is all over the place and Chrom's brilliant concussing manoeuvre didn't help things. "Things haven't changed one bit. Just like back then, just like I killed him, I—"
"Is this about—?"
"Yes, Forn-My creator," Robin cuts him off, and though he shouldn't be telling Chrom this, he can't stop. "I don't know what I did wrong. I tried to smile at him but it's difficult when you're thumb-sized and your mouth feels like a stuffed pincushion."
Brain damage. Robin must have brain damage, because he is tearing away at long scabbed wounds but instead of bringing back an old forgotten ache, there is a strange relief, as if his words carry away the pain instead of reliving it.
"That hypocrite wrote that he was afraid of me. Afraid! Of me! He was the one stuffing insects into corpses but just because I tried to help him with his work he suddenly grew a conscience!" Throughout his rant Robin keeps his head down, tugging at his hair to stop himself from clawing at a face younger, but otherwise identical to that old corpse.
"Ah... That does indeed sound nonsensical."
At Chrom's awkward answer, Robin looks up and his face is a mix of confusion and... sadness? Concern? He can't tell. Still, it's encouraging.
"It is! One moment I was telling him he should try placing the Thanatophage nests under a warm light to speed up their growth and next thing I know he's pouring acid on me!" Robin's smile turns manic. "So I went and used my power to grow and bit his upper half clean off." He swallows, hard. "But how is that not awful? Why did I even do that?! Out of all my options!"
"... I'm not sure what you're talking about, but it seems he tried to kill you first, so..." Chrom awkwardly trails off. "It's not your fault—"
"I had alternatives. I could have run away. I could have hid. I..."
"Robin, if I understand correctly, at that time you were a massive dragon and not very easy to hide."
Chrom is wrong but Robin is too tired to correct him.
"And now... you're one of us. You can't just up and leave me, the shepherds, Plegia, Ylisse. That would be like killing a person."
"I could make it work."
"You shouldn't have to." And before Robin can protest, Chrom takes hold of his hands. "And you're not going to be tried. I don't think we even have laws for this sort of thing."
"An oversight on your bloodline's part."
Chrom gives him a faint smile. "Perhaps. But even if we did, I don't think it would be right."
And Robin is back at Chrom's bedroom, presented with such an easy way out, such a simple way to let go of his past and start with a new slate scot-free.
"Then you know I disagree with that."
Because Robin knows what he's done. He knows it's not right. He knows others' actions can only dictate his own so far before the blame lands squarely on himself.
"... You were saying sorry," Chrom suddenly says and Robin looks up, confused. "During your nightmare. You kept saying sorry," he continues with an apologetic look. "I didn't want to bring it up back then, as..."
"That's not enough."
"It's a start."
"A start is not enough."
"Then the alliance with Plegia is. And it won't be the only one. If... I want to right many things as well, and I can only do them with your help. Together we'll get lots of chances to make sure it's enough."
Robin doubts that but appreciates the sentiment. "Love's making you blind," he says while failing to hold back a fond smile.
"Perhaps." Chrom rubs his head with a grimace. "I know for sure my head's killing me."
Robin resists the urge to copy his gesture. "The sentiment is shared. Did you really have to headbutt me?"
"Ah... It was a spur-of-the-moment thing."
"Please avoid it in the future. Your skull's not made of steel and I don't need any more brain damage."
Chrom laughs. "You made me promise not to stab you so I did the next best thing. If you ban headbutts too, then you'll have to face my fists, and I have a mean right hook."
And despite everything, Robin finds himself laughing as well.
"It's good that you're laughing, because since you are so eager to 'make things right', I'll be taking the cost of rebuilding this place of your wages."
Robin's laugh dies as he chokes and coughs. "My meagre savings are yours, my liege. Just let me stock up on beans first, I have a family to feed."
"I'll ponder on that," Chrom jokingly answers before he sobers up. "Just in case, I am joking — I'm not going to make you destitute. And you don't have to worry about the Morgans, they get their own allowance."
"But I already give them — oh those scheming two-timers," Robin fondly says, thinking of how he'll have to explain to them that their dad is experiencing financial difficulties — and then thinks a bit more about his current situation and pales. "Oh no."
"What's wrong?"
"How do I explain this? What do I tell them? I am sorry kids, your father had a bit of a mental breakdown and tried to get himself killed, but at least he's feeling better now," Robin recites in a mock deep voice before dragging a hand through his face. "Unacceptable. I'm a terrible parent."
"You're doing fine," Chrom quickly reassures him. "The Morgans adore you."
"I've just been copying..." Robin chokes on memory of purple shape with no face, "you and Lucina," he half-lies. "And of course they like me, you've seen how they act with anyone. They would even be fond of Validar." He shivers. "A terrifying thought."
Chrom must have realised Robin is having a moment, for he lets him continue his rant.
"Why am I even a parent? Which idiot version of me made the executive decision to have kids? I didn't even know I could have kids!" His despair gives way to a quiet resignation. "Maybe it was an accident like so many other things in my life. At least this one tackles me to ask for strategy lessons instead of trying to kill me."
"Now you do sound like an old man," Chrom says. Robin lets out a noise like a dying animal in response, and Chrom only laughs louder. "But I think your feelings are just the result of being a parent. I find myself doing the same with Lucina," he wistfully adds. "I'm not joking. I'll find myself thinking what she's doing and if she's safe, and then realise I'm slowly becoming Frederick."
Robin can't help but laugh at the absurdity of that statement. Despite everything, he can still make him laugh... "Chrom?"
"Yes?" Chrom says as he gets up and offers his hand to Robin.
The Fell Dragon takes it and is hoisted up. "You're kind."
Robin's compliment is as simple as they come, yet Chrom's eyes water and instead of letting go of his hand, Chrom pulls him into another hug. "I can only be because of you. Because you kept everyone alive and safe through your strategies, because you were there supporting me, even in my darkest moments. Because I don't even have to think about you possibly being a danger to anyone since you have that worrying quality of trying to solve that problem with any means necessary."
The last part is equal parts accusatory and concerned, so Robin hugs him back. "And I only do that because you've been kind."
"Ah, so it's a chicken and egg situation—"
"A nonsensical riddle. The egg came first of course."
Chrom laughs.
"You're the egg," Robin says, just to make sure.
Chrom stills, then holds him closer. "Thank you."
\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/
Robin: *does the emotional equivalent of opening himself up with a hacksaw*
Chrom: ...Ah.
*meanwhile Lucina, Frederick, Tharja and the Morgans are freaking out by Chrom's sudden disappearance combined with reports of a Grima-shaped dragon nestled in the cathedral*
[Not to blame them, as the two seemingly exist in a strange mix of slapstick comedy and period drama]
Alternatively:
Grima: Maybe if I bonk myself hard enough I can forget all my past trauma and go on living like a normal person
Robin: ... Well.
Anyways, there'll be 1 more chapter to wrap everything up (which will feature the rest of the Shepherds & a certain Manakete ayy), thank you everyone for sticking with the story! As always, you can find me at SleepDeprivedFemale on tumblr and Sleepy#3903 on discord ✌