7. Childhood Friends
Chrom writhes about like a worm on a hook; not the most becoming behavior for a prince, but right now he doesn't care. Maybe if he struggles enough, his father will give up on this as a lost cause and let him go.
"We have new guests… And you WILL act the part of a prince around them." His father's words have a growl to them, and leave no room for argument. They also stop his squirming short. Chrom wonders if he might have any luck with slinking off to find Vaike or Sully; the two are likely somewhere beyond the city walls…
…But Duran's hand rests heavy on his shoulder, his father not allowing him any chance to protest. A sullen part of Chrom wonders if the lack of war makes his father anxious, and the man takes out all of that on HIM… But he also doesn't dare voice it aloud, or interrupt Duran.
"They've journeyed far, and will help to round out the mages in our court… In exchange for our protection." And likely give Ylisse emergency power against other nations, knowing how his father approaches diplomacy.
"As such, they'll be made to feel welcomed. They have a child your age…" Chrom scrunches his face. Just because there's a kid his age doesn't mean they'll be fun to be around. With his luck, they'll either be whiney and prone to crying like Lissa, or frustratingly aloof like Emmeryn. "She's known as Robin, daughter to the archmage Morgana, and is to be a peer of yours. So stop dragging your feet, and ACT like you're an heir to the throne!"
The hiss in his father's words jolts Chrom forwards, into the throne room. Into the sea of a thousand faces, all painted in courtly makeup and looking strange around him… Save for two strangers in the center of the room.
Except that they're not strange at all. Chrom gapes at them, knowing he's seen them before; less than a moon ago, when he'd managed to sneak outside the palace. He'd met them in the streets of the city for just a moment; it had been little more than bumping shoulders with the girl, picking up her book where she'd dropped it with an apology, and then having her mother whisk her away. At the time, they'd been full of a nervous energy.
Now, they look more like creatures in a cage, and he wonders just how willing they are, to be the honored guests of his father.
That fades away when the girl looks at him, and her mouth drops open. She slips past the grip of her mother and dashes towards him… Only to not realize just how well polished the floor is. She doesn't stop in time, skidding straight towards him. They both fall over with a crash, splayed across the marble of the floor.
Chrom walks away from that encounter with a bloody nose, and a new friend.
-o-o-o-
A year passes. He goes from the summer seasons of showing Robin around the palace grounds and daring her to steal treats from the kitchen, to dour fall. The leaves fall outside, and indoors Chrom finds himself locked in a single room and told to begin his studies in earnest.
He doesn't get how Robin can focus on her studies so well, when he wants to nod off just a few pages in. After the third reprimand from his tutors in the span of an afternoon, Robin takes pity on him.
"Read it aloud to me?" She suggests, and Chrom gives her a confused stare. "It'll help you focus. And when you're done, I'll take the next page. We'll get through it one page at a time."
Their tutor doesn't seem to mind, focusing instead on Emmeryn's progress. (Which is already leaps and bounds beyond his own.) And if it'll help pass the time in something other than a bored haze, Chrom is willing to give it a try. He picks up the book, giving the script a brief look of distaste. How a scholar could turn the story of the first Exalt into such a dry slog, he doesn't know.
"A…And so, the First Exalt journeyed through fire and war to find the dragon-god, Naga. To beseech her aid…" Under Robin's eyes, he finds himself reading a little louder, to make sure she hears. And to his surprise, when he reaches the end of the page, he isn't ready to stop. He clears five more, finally coming to the end of the chapter and finishing with the fall of the fell dragon.
He looks up, feeling proud of himself… Only to see that all his discomfort and squirming seems to have shifted to Robin. Her eyes are downcast, focused on the gloves covering her hands. Dimly, Chrom remembers that she was wearing gloves the day he met her, and usually favors some form of covering for her hands.
"Hey?" He tries, reaching over to give her a quick tap on the shoulder. She almost flinches under his hands, before realizing where she is.
"Ah… Good job." She tells him instead. Their tutor has also taken note, and praises Chrom for finishing. By then the class is wrapping up, the outdoors and training field are calling him, and he's all but forgotten Robin's odd behavior.
-o-o-o-
Another turn of the seasons pass. He spends more and more time in the practice field, heedless of the cold. The occasional touches of snow don't bother Chrom, as his father seems to approve of him being proficient with a blade. But on the flip side, it seems to worry Robin and her mother.
"You really enjoy fighting?" She risks saying one afternoon.
"It's what my father does." Chrom answers. "And… He keeps asking if I want to wield Falchion. I've seen that blade before. Gods know, I've learned its history thanks to you. And if I could be worthy of such a weapon, then…"
Robin frowns at that, but she doesn't argue with him.
"…I just worry you might fall behind in your studies." Robin says, nodding to a pile of neglected books he's dropped on a training bench.
"Maybe you can read them to me?" He half jokes when he suggests that… But instead, Robin gives a nod. And after just a few moments, Chrom wonders how he ever managed to train without her. He times his sword swings to her words, learning more about the first Exalt.
-o-o-o-
When the new year arrives, change comes with it.
His father has been spending less time in the capital, and more along the borders. Chrom hears rumors; that his father has been inspecting and building forts, agitating their neighbor Plegia. He hears some of the reports from Robin's mother, who always becomes more and more uneasy when she reads the letters from the border.
As he matures, Chrom finds himself dealing with a new form of growing pains; etiquette classes.
Over the past year, he's gone from squirming at the idea of romance to feeling oddly aloof. Speaking to women in the court is a rigorous, almost ritual process. Rather different than speaking with Robin.
When he brings that up, she stills at the words… And looks almost like she's been struck.
"…You… Don't consider me a lady?" Her voice comes out soft, while Chrom's mind scrambles to figure out just what he said wrong.
"I-it's just… It's easier to talk with you. I don't need to worry about causing offense… Or at least I thought that was the case-" He finds himself quieting. Robin gives him a half hurt, half angry look, before spinning away on her heel.
His emotions are a roil as he turns his back on her, going back to the royal suites. He passes the main hall… And pauses when he hears voices on the other side of the doors.
"You treat my daughter like she's a caged animal-!" He recognizes Robin's mother.
"And you expect her to be a noblewoman. She's anything BUT that." He freezes at his father's voice… And the venom behind his words. "I should have known what sort of monster you're harboring, when you first begged for sanctuary. I could have put you both down… Instead, I've allowed you to live, safe from the fanatics of your country. And now, I want to see my kindness repaid."
"But taking her to battle-?"
"Do you honestly think your child is fit for much else, then being a weapon? At least I can recognize that, with my own blood." Somehow, Chrom knows he's also part of the subject… And hearing his father talk at him like that makes his head spin. His father is without pity for any of his subjects, as he keeps speaking. "There's a fever pitch growing in Plegia. They need to be put down, before they turn their anger and fervor onto us. And you and your daughter are the equal of any war mage… And, my son needs to learn how to wage a war against hostile nations."
That spinning sensation bleeds down from his head and leaves him sick, as he listens. It's a wonder that he manages to stagger back to his rooms, and collapses into his bed. He tries not to cry, but a strange sorrow follows him into his dreams.
'He sees you, and your friend as weapons. Nothing more.'
When he wakes, it is to a changed world, and plans for an invasion along the border.
-o-o-o-
It takes months to reach the edge of Ylisse, as Duran makes plans to rally around a fortress right in the mountain passes.
The entire time, Robin keeps her eyes downcast. Chrom isn't permitted to speak to her, or her mother; both of them wear elegant chains around their necks now. Ones forged from cold iron, that properly mutes their magic.
Chrom isn't allowed to spend much time with them, either. It feels like his father is prying a part of him away, and locking it up. It pushes a cold feeling through Chrom… As well as a feeling of defiance. It's what gets him up early in the morning, sneaking across the camp to see Robin whenever he can. He tries to sneak her portions of his meals… Though each time he sees her, he can't manage words, and she can't seem to meet his eyes.
'I'm sorry.' He wants to tell her, but never gets the chance or the courage.
His father won't be swayed with letting them loose… Until the day finally comes, that they reach the border with Plegia.
Mountains frame them at their backs and sides. Desert stretches out before them, dunes like waves in the sea. The heat is enough to stop Chrom in his tracks… But what truly stops their march short is the mass of black, coating sections of the dunes.
With a sinking feeling, he also realizes that they've massed on the desert plain, standing between them and the Ylissean fortress.
"…Plegia massed a patrol for us." His father growls, glaring at the forces, crawling like locusts over the desert.
"Small wonder." Says Robin's mother, scowling at Duran. "You opted for a larger force, and one that moves slower in a mass; easy enough for advanced scouts and spies to pick out, and inform their masters."
Duran scowls at that, his eyes resting on the woman's neck.
"Too bad for them, there's a counter to this." He turns to Robin. The girl tries to shrink from him, but he brings his horse up, too fast for her to dodge. His hands snap around the iron collar on her throat, before forcing the lock open.
Robin collapses to the ground, like she's gasping for breath, after having her throat roughly handled and then freed. Duran motions for the same to happen to her mother.
A part of Chrom wants to cry out… But there's a brutal light to his father's eyes. A strange look that stills Chrom. And any words he might try to say are cut short, as his father draws a sword.
Falchion gleams painfully bright in the desert sun, almost blinding Chrom with how it flashes. With a quick cut, Duran levels the blade on the woman's throat.
"Now. Work your spells; show me why these heretics wanted your daughter." Duran's voice is oppressive, leaving no room to argue… And yet still, Morgana stares at him in defiance. Chrom only wishes he was made of the same stern stuff; he can hear a war chant and call building up along the desert, growing and swelling as the Plegians move closer.
And while they charge, there seems to be something else growing in the air. Almost a snarl, a silent command that drones on the edge of Chrom's hearing like a thousand malignant wasps.
"Chrom, you're coming with me. And I'll show you how to deal with heretics." Duran doesn't flinch from the cries. He curtly pulls the blade from Morgana's throat, wheeling his horse about. There's a bloodthirsty gleam to his gaze, as he looks back to the Plegian army.
"If they don't begin casting… Don't hesitate to make an example of them." Duran says to his officers. He doesn't leave them room to argue, and directs Chrom to mount up on his own horse. Chrom shakes as he climbs up; a part of him wants to refuse, to say they're all hopelessly outmatched… But Duran leaves him no room to argue.
It turns into a mad charge down the dunes, unflinching even as the Plegian mages unleash their spells. Fires lash from the sky, or explode from underneath the cavalry's hooves. Hearing the screams of the horses, feeling his skin blister from the Plegian flames, Chrom understands why Duran wanted his own war mages-
And in another moment, the skies boil overhead, as a different sound screams in his ears. Morgana and Robin must be working on their casting; he's all the more certain of that when lightning slams along the Plegian flanks, sowing sudden chaos and breaking up their spell casting.
It gives his father just enough time to lead his horse on a mad lunge into the ranks, laying about with Falchion. Chrom desperately tries to keep up and lash out with his own sword. It's a far cry from the training grounds; practice figures don't bleed or scream. They don't lash back at him, trying to open him from throat to stomach, or score cuts along his side. In all the chaos, Chrom has to fall back on reflexes. Strike, charge, doing his best to evade the enemy strikes-
Until a vicious spell makes the world turn to fire and black miasma around him. It knocks him from his horse, and sends him tumbling into the sand. His skin burns and bruises in equal measure, and Chrom can only skid along the ground. He comes to a stop, staring into the sky, catching his father still laying into the Plegians, even as he's overrun. Duran slashes with Falchion, the blade burning against the miasma, shedding gouts of blood as it swings-
Until another spell knocks the blade from his hand, and takes most of the flesh from Duran's arm with it. The blade arcs through the air, almost slicing Chrom's cheek as it sinks point first into the sand.
"Father-?" He can only whisper, before the Plegians swarm over Duran. His father can't even scream, and Chrom can't hear him over the clash of weapons.
"CHROM!" But he can hear someone screaming his name. Even as the Plegians turn to wash over him-
The sky turns an even darker color, and lightning slams down, engulfing the Plegians in ash. His vision is blinded by the flash, and Chrom can only focus on drawing his breath, and wondering where the voice and the spells came from.
He gets his answer, when a hand claps down on his shoulders. He can just make out a figure on a horse, pulling him back up even as his skin screams. His hands reach for Falchion, plucking it up from the sand; the sword feels oddly heavy and clumsy in his grasp.
"Oh thank the gods… You're still alive." He hears Robin's voice whisper in his ears. She wheels the horse around, racing back to the border, even as the skirmish breaks down into chaos all around them.
"You… Saved me?" Even after the threats and harsh words from his father? He knows the disbelief is thick in his voice. Robin says nothing, just keeps them racing for the border.
-o-o-o-
It's pure luck that they escape. Luck… And a demonstration of Morgana's magic. She'd blackened the skies, held off the pass alone as everyone else retreated through the canyon. And now… Now Chrom has no idea if she survived, or if his own father made it out.
He can only slump against Robin, as they ride back through Ylisse in silence. Even their own forces have scattered, some fleeing to the fortress. Others melting back into the countryside. It leaves them with an empty meadow to ride through, after they escape the grip of the mountains.
"Chrom… You're still alive, right?" Robin asks him, as the sun sets on the hills. He can't help but notice that the grass looks almost like blood, in the fading daylight. How many died in that skirmish alone?
'Enough that Plegia couldn't give chase to you… Gods, what was father thinking-?' Likely nothing he'd tell a simple weapon, like himself or Robin. Chrom grips at Falchion, almost ready to throw the blade aside.
"Chrom?" Robin presses.
"Y-yeah…" He mutters. He forces his fingers to slowly loosen on Falchion, so he can rest the blade in a makeshift scabbard. Robin gives the weapon a worried look.
"…So, what are your orders? Do we go back, and fight more Plegians?" There's a tension in her voice. "W-with your father missing, and your sister back in the capital, you're the next in command-"
"And I'm NOT my father." Chrom has already decided that much. "I… I don't know what got into him, but I don't want to be like that."
Not a murderer, or someone who only saw people as tools. Robin slows the horse, looking back at him. He takes one of his hands away from Falchion, resting a hand on her shoulders.
"Robin… I'm sorry." He wheezes out. "I… Do you want to go back to Plegia, after all that?"
Robin lifts her hand up, and clasps at his.
"No… Because… Like you said, you aren't your father. And besides, all my friends are in Ylisse anyway." Chrom can't keep a half hysterical laugh from bubbling out of him, a desperate blast of emotion finally shocking through his system. He wraps his arm around Robin, pulling her against him in an odd half hug. Robin doesn't resist it either, giving an odd and relieved sigh from the gesture.
He's lost a great deal… But at least he still has his best friend. And feels an odd twinge of something more, something he doesn't quite yet have a name for, as he hangs onto her. But he'll have time to figure it out later, as long as they're still together.