Robin's day off is anything but uneventful. Thanks to Iturbide for screaming with me while editing this monster (as well as her own literal monster fics).
Robin woke blearily to the sight of Mary's smiling, wrinkled face; she had somehow risen earlier, having laid out a clean set of clothes and warmed up the hearth all by herself. The rest of the servants were already stirring in their pallets.
"Milord has requested Your Highness for breakfast," she said.
Robin was in a much better mood than the previous day, slurping down her porridge and gnawing away at her plate of cow's trotters and kidney pie, ignoring the distinctly hairy eyeball the other advisors were giving her over the rims of their cups. She had gone to sleep feeling buoyed and refreshed over her conversation with princess Lissa and her family—and while Robin maintained her unhealthy habit of staying up later than necessary whilst slaving over her notes and diagrams, Lissa's cheery anecdotes of her son and castle life managed to stave off her night time anxiety and the nightmares that usually followed. A single, stress-free night proved most beneficial to her sleep, and it showed. Chrom grinned at her over his pie and she rolled her eyes upon noticing gravy had dribbled down his lip.
"You are all welcome to sit in on my audiences if you like," Chrom announced after the table was voided. "I would kindly ask you to refrain from complaints or suggestions because I have enough at the moment." Basilio roared with laughter.
Like the previous day, Chrom was dressed in full state attire, the difference that he had traded in his circlet for the headpiece Emmeryn used to wear. It was crafted in the shape of the iris Brand, but its resemblance to a halo was not lost on Robin. It was not as resplendent as she had remembered it, now that it was dented and scuffed...and one of the last physical remnants of Exalt Emmeryn. Yet poor Chrom still wore it with as much ease and grace as he could muster, and shouldered on with a smile as wave after wave of supplicants, nobles and peasants alike, approached his throne on the dais with their requests.
The petitions of nobility ranged from the reasonable to the insultingly frivolous: a duchess requested men to guard her property, fearful of a Plegian incursion as she lived so close to the border; a merchant with close ties to the duchy of Themis wanted compensation for his stolen flocks of sheep; the daughter of a minor lord had decided that her family's feud with their neighbours was to be continued and asked for military reinforcements to push the supposed intruders off their own land.
The state of the commoners was far more depressing. Each petition was a variation of asking for more food, more water, protection from roving bands of Plegian rogues, and if the army had been able to locate those family members or friends who had gone missing or died on the frontlines. Despite the stark contrast between the costly damascened velvet of a baron's waistcoat with the greying rags worn by a humble washerwoman, almost all shared that same underlying look of deep loathing and fear whenever their eyes set upon Robin.
She wondered why Chrom even bothered to invite her to sit in at all. She could see the use of having the other envoys, to show them how audiences were directed in Ylisse (Robin saw du Berry carefully whispering in his son's ears as they watched the proceedings), and to stir some sympathy for the Ylissean citizenry, if only to speed up the negotiation process. Yet her presence was clearly making others very uncomfortable, and amplified her feelings of isolation.
Would Daraen have felt that way if he were sitting there, in his rightful place? Would being here have helped him learn how to run his kingdom from his future throne?
Would he spend his time moping like you do? that voice sneered.
Mercifully, Chrom called a recess to stroll around the castle before dinner, and invited them all to join him. Again, Robin missed the elegance of Chon'sin, yet was struck by the well kept grounds and the remarkable craftsmanship that had gone into building the place. She would often run a hand over the stonework of the columns or catch herself surveying the pretty stained glass fitted into a few windows.
"I can't believe that I haven't shown you around yet," Chrom noticed her close attention to the castle architecture and pulled her aside. "Would you like that, Daraen? I know your stay has been short so far, but it'd be useful if you could navigate around here yourself."
"Look how cozy you two are!" Basilio's loud japing made the pair hyper aware of their close embrace, and they quickly separated. All the men were staring at them. "Wish I got special treatment like that. And we've been friends for longer, too! You wound me, milord Chrom."
Robin's sickly white skin made her flush all the more obvious, but it was Chrom's stammer that drew attention. "H-he doesn't really know his way around yet—what are you even complaining for? You know this place like the back of your hand!"
"Well, I'd certainly be happy enough to take the kid off your hands."
"The—Basilio, what?"
The enormous Feroxi laughed and clapped Chrom's back so hard the man practically bounced off Basilio's hand. "Kidding, kidding. You're so easy to rile up! Learn to relax a little."
Chrom's splutter was heard clearly over the awkward laughter of the others, who had never really grown accustomed to Basilio's particular brand of humour. At the very least he was attempting to be friendly.
"Anyways," Chrom said, "it's early enough that I think we can start with the view. Would anyone else care to join us?"
His advisors declined; a few Feroxi and Valmese, as well as the du Berry twins, agreed. Frederick was coming regardless. They all entered a tower and climbed up the long, winding stairs, greeting the few soldiers and arbalists on guard before the ramparts' walkways opened up to them.
The view was magnificent even from the keep. The entirety of Ylisstol seemed to stretch out before them on all sides and in all its glory: Robin could see the tiny figures of people bustling about before the majestic cathedral; horses and carriages made their way from the city square up the bridge connecting the castle to the city and back again; the din of the market and various pubs and alehouses, now in their dinner rush, added to the cacophony of smithies and guild houses at work. Dockhands unloaded wares from the boats carrying goods from downriver to the tune of music floating out of the magnificent playhouse on the riverbanks. At Ylisstol's very edge, blue-gray smoke from the tanners and the kilns hung languidly in the sky, with flocks of starlings twisting and turning in the air like great black ribbons.
It was very different from anything she had seen in Plegia, Regna Ferox, or Chon'sin, yet possessed the same sense of grandeur that the world seen from above usually does. Robin remembered her panicked entry to Ylisstol but a few days ago. What a difference it was! Her urgency left her with only a vague, blurry recollection of people and stonework flying by on horseback; here at the top of the castle keep was a clear, sprawling rendering of earth toned buildings and the green forests surrounding the enormous city.
Chrom noticed how raptly she focused her attention on the view and allowed himself to preen, proud that Robin was appreciative. "Beautiful, isn't it?"
"Very. You're a lucky man, to have all this."
"Well, I should hope that I'm worthy enough of it."
Robin raised an eyebrow. "Humility, in a prince? I thought that only existed in fairy tales."
Chrom laughed. He shoved Robin lightly. "If I'm such a rarity, does that mean you're selfish and cruel? Since you're so realistic."
She paused. Robin knew what banter was, but with men it was a strange, complicated ritual that Gregor said needed to be supplemented with roughhousing and sometimes even fighting. She had seen others go at it; why, she even had Daraen as a reference, but he was a sensitive boy who shied away from such contact. Did that mean she needed to punch Chrom back?
So she did, trying to put in a reasonable amount of force in her fist without hurting him. "Who's calling who selfish and cruel? I bet you've got a few flaws, Your Majesty."
"I was kidding! You're much too humble for your own good. If anything, you're the storybook character here."
"Oh, so first I'm mean, now I'm 'too humble?' Sounds like you're trying to insult me."
"Hey, don't try to twist my words!"
And so they went at it, trading quips and increasingly hard blows back and forth until it basically evolved into a shoving match. Robin was baffled by such a masculine practice—was there a winner? Was this how men their age bonded?—but it seemed good-natured enough. The du Berry twins were laughing behind their hands, and the older envoys grinned and chuckled, remembering their days of youth and similar friendships. Frederick, being Frederick, scowled but said nothing.
And besides, she could admit that there was a certain fun to it. And Chrom was smiling—
Chrom, however, was a man who was a poor judge of his own strength. With the sun shining on his brow and a grin lighting up his face, the prince gave a mighty heave that sent a very surprised Robin tumbling over the battlements and into the gardens below.
Shocked silence blanketed them.
Alpine du Berry covered his mouth with a hand. "Is he...dead?"
Frederick gave him a sharp look. He placed a reassuring hand on Chrom's shoulder, who had blanched a ghastly white. "Milord…?"
"I…"
Chrom carefully removed Frederick's hand and picked his way delicately over to the crenel. With the morbid certainty of dread, he slowly leaned over the edge—
To almost come nose-to-nose with Robin, who had floated up leisurely with her arms akimbo and her legs spread out in a strong, clear-cut stance. A chorus of astonished shouts followed her up from the gardens, with the guards and men on the ramparts joining in as well.
Robin cocked her head to the side innocently. "I'm sure that I'm not the first to tell you to mind your strength."
Surprise shut her up as Chrom's strong hands grabbed her waist in a firm grip, quickly pulling Robin out of the air, away from the parapet and down onto the walkway into an embrace. One arm came to circle her nape as a hand cradled her head and pushed it securely into the crook of his neck, which her nose barely reached.
He pulled back after a long period spent holding her in silence. Robin was completely sidelined by the gesture; the severity of his reaction rendered her mute, incapable of mustering a single word. She swore that she saw the beginnings of tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.
"Don't—don't scare me like that!" He patted her down (she carefully pulled her chest away) and smoothed her hair down desperately.
"Chrom, I swear, I'm fine—"
"Gods! I'm so sorry Daraen, I could have gotten you killed over my stupidity! I—I swear that it was an accident, no, what am I saying, that wouldn't fix anything—"
"Chrom. Please. I'm fine. Yes, you should learn to control yourself...but really. There's no harm done."
She had wanted to joke around and poke fun at him; like any mean-spirited joke, the novelty soon wore off to be replaced by deep guilt, and instead of feeling amusement, his frightened face took on a deeper meaning when she remembered that Emmeryn had died from a great fall.
Robin did not want to be the reason for anyone's pain, and so tried to soothe his fears and held his elbows lightly. "I am unhurt."
"You're certain?"
"Yes."
Their moment was interrupted by the ambassadors rushing over. "How on earth did you do that?" Alpine gasped breathlessly.
"Is everyone alright?"
"That boy just flew."
"Your Highnesses, are you unharmed?"
Given had Frederick had plenty of reasons to dislike her, Robin was sure that the only thing that kept him from berating her openly was the fact that she vastly outranked him. Still, she was grateful for his intervention when he firmly yet politely kept the others apart with an outstretched arm.
"At ease, gentlemen. Your concern is gratifying, yet I kindly ask you to give milord some space."
"How did you do that?" Alpine pressed on insistently. He ignored his brother trying to rein him in.
Robin shrugged. "Wind magic. It's quite safe, really; I've been trained in it for a long time."
"With all due respect, that did not seem safe in the slightest," Frederick butted in.
"Frederick." Chrom's pinched face promised a discussion later. "I'm sure he knows what he is talking about. In fact," he turned to Robin with a smile. "I'm sure he would be kind enough to demonstrate just how safe it is."
Mentally berating him for putting her on the spot like that (and just after she felt bad for him!), Robin cocked a questioning brow. "Do you want me to try levitating you or…?"
"What do you say to getting us down to the gardens? I'm sure the others would want to see your skills at work, what with your previous demonstration."
So annoying of him, yet entirely sincere and earnest. "...You better not be too heavy. And no funny business, or I will drop you." Frederick be damned.
"Don't worry, I promise to behave this time."
Their audience crowded around them on the walkway along with the dozens of other people in the gardens now pointing up and gaping in astonishment at the white-haired Plegian standing on the battlement crenellations and helping Chrom up. He stood nearly a full head taller. Robin hugged him tightly round the waist and, summoning the wind to do her bidding, cautiously felt the open air behind her with a foot before deeming it safe for their journey down.
"Here we go," she grunted and heaved him up slightly as they began their slow descent.
The liar was much heavier than her, but it was nothing compared to what Robin had handled before on similar flights. She adjusted her grip on him. Even with all his layered clothing on, his body felt hard and muscular, pressed right up against her front like that, and her cheeks heated up at such close, intimate contact. What she was doing was scandalous enough already; no need for her to get her knickers in a twist over added thoughts of impropriety.
"Do you do this often?" Chrom shouted over the winds whipping his hair. His expression was of pure, boyish delight.
Robin averted her eyes to hide her blush. "I might able to if—urgh—my passengers could be so kind as to lay off those pies."
"The pot is calling the kettle black and you know it."
She allowed them to accelerate just as they touched down on the garden flagstones, and she immediately let him go and stumbled back at the sudden change of weight. They were mobbed by an amazed gaggle of courtiers who had seen their descent from beginning to end, and a round of applause burst forth for them.
"Daraen, that was incredible!" Lissa pushed her way out of the ring of people to grab Robin's hands and jump excitedly in place. A blonde with familiar red eyes and meticulously styled ringlets stood a short distance away from Lissa and surveyed Robin with a shrewd expression. Frederick, naturally, had reached the gardens at almost the same time as they did, and was currently trying to push back the crowd that had formed. Basilio and the others stood slightly apart and watched with a mixture of amusement, shock, delight, and disappointment. Robin allowed herself to feel smug at the sour faces of Valentine and his co-conspirators.
"I think that's enough excitement for one day people, give 'em some space!" Basilio's impressively broad body (and authority as west Khan) helped shield them from the onlookers, and Robin shot him a grateful look as Lissa and her unnerving companion shepherded them away from the hubbub.
Alpine du Berry and the others caught up to them breathlessly. "Will you carry me next?" he tugged on Robin's sleeve childishly.
"Son, you are not a boy anymore, and monsieur Daraen is not a pleasure-pony," du Berry chided.
"Sorry…"
"It has gotten quite late enough in the day without us running around after levitating men. Is anyone going to dinner?" Falstaff offered graciously. Most of the Feroxi, including Basilio, accepted, as did the Valmese and a few Rosannois. He turned to Lissa's friend. "Maribelle, my dear, would you care to join us?"
Maribelle curtsied smoothly. "I thank you, uncle, but I shall have to decline. Donnel and Brady are returning from the countryside, you see, so I shall receive them."
"Owain's coming home too! Daraen, you want to come with? Chrom already promised he'd go with me," Lissa nudged Chrom pointedly. "I'm sure you'd love to meet my special little guy."
Robin was sorely tempted to refuse as she had work to do, matrices to fix and diagrams to write out. But she was a guest, and Lissa had spoken so fondly of her son, and Robin did in fact like children. Yes, she had work, but Lissa had offered so kindly...and her intimidating companion fixed her with a stare that made Robin unsure of what would make her angrier: accepting or refusing.
Well, she could not be a shut-in for too long...
"Alright."
They—being Chrom, Robin, Lissa, and Maribelle— were joined by Ricken at the castle gates before leaving the safety of the drawbridge for the larger stone bridge. Sure enough, a sturdy wooden cart pulled by two duns came rolling up, clearly a farm wagon judging by the thick bales of hay stacked in the back. Two very happy children whose hair was mussed by straw waved and shrieked upon arrival, and once the cart rolled to a stop, Lissa immediately scooped up a little boy whose auburn hair matched Ricken's exactly.
"Mummy, no kisses! I'm too big for those!" he whined and wriggled in her grasp.
"And I love you too, Owain," she laughed and passed him onto his father.
A very tall, muscular young man with wild purple curls and a hoary chin beard in the same shade stepped out of the carriage and slung the quieter of the children over his shoulder; that boy shared his hair colour as well and had the sort of tough face that big children who cried easily possessed. Maribelle practically glided over to them in spite of her heavy skirts and planted delicate kisses all over their cheeks.
"Was the trip safe, my darlings?"
"Smooth sailing all around, 'cept for a few potholes here an' there." the man rubbed her back in reassurance.
"Nuh-uh. We saw dead people. They were all piled up an' stuff and they were burning them on pears—"
"Pyres, Brady," the man (who Robin assumed then was Donnel) began to correct his son before he caught Maribelle's expression: simultaneously angered at being lied to, and equally concerned because it was evident she knew why he had fibbed.
"Gives us a moment if you will," Maribelle said curtly before depositing Brady with Lissa and pulling Donnel to a side. Their arguing was mercifully brief, as they returned not too long after and went back inside the safety of the castle walls with the children in tow.
Owain stared, brazenly and curiously, at Robin from behind Ricken's shoulder. "Are you an old lady?"
"Owain!" Lissa scolded yet howled with laughter at his candour.
"You dummy, old ladies don't have short hair, and they wear lady clothes!" Brady rolled his eyes reproachfully at his friend.
Maribelle and Donnel, who had been conversing quietly with Chrom a little ways in front, turned at the sound of their child's outburst. "Brady, must your diction be so crude?" Maribelle sighed.
"Owain's being a dummy."
"Am not."
Brady pulled his hand out of Lissa's and strolled determinedly to Robin, tugging on her trousers pointedly. "See? He wears pants."
In response, Owain wiggled in Ricken's arms until his father deposited him on the ground, and he made his way to Robin as well, demanding to be picked up with the universally childish gesture of holding his hands aloft. Bemused, Robin picked him up nonetheless, reassuring Ricken and Lissa with a quick nod. The toddler pressed his little hands to her face and peered into her brown eyes in his very thorough examination of her. Robin had no clue what it entailed, but he seemed deep in concentration, and so allowed him to proceed.
"He has lady eyes like mummy's," he finally pronounced. "They're big and they got these long laces!"
"Lashes, dummy!" Brady soon forgot his scolding and became aware of the injustice of being alone on the floor while Owain was held securely above him. "No fair! I wanna be picked up too!" He began the task of climbing up Robin's trouser leg himself. Robin scrambled to avoid him falling and heaved him up on an arm she freed, and found herself trying to balance the weight of two plump children in each arm.
Maribelle turned again from her important conversation with Chrom, gasped at the sight of Brady in a stranger's arms, and marched right over disapprovingly. "Young man! Where are your manners? Climbing on a diplomat like that, as if you were a common baboon! You are to come down this instant and apologise!"
"It's not fair that Owain gets to be carried!"
"Owain should also learn to mind himself around his elders!"
"Aw, lighten up Mari, there's no harm done!" Lissa shrugged off her friend's concerns, but the formidable blonde was not so easily deterred. She turned to Robin apologetically.
"I am terribly sorry for his state of indecency, Your Highness, he is usually not so willful—"
"At ease, milady. I don't mind children. In fact, I find them to be rather delightful. Their honesty is very refreshing," Robin assured.
As if by magic, they were suddenly surrounded by a ring of court ladies, whose eyes were trained intently on Robin and the little boys in her grasp. They were not so close as to be obvious, but close enough to be noticeable (no matter how well some of them tried to hide behind some shrubbery).
"Is something the matter…?"
"No, Your Highness." There was something calculating in the way that Maribelle looked from Robin to the women tittering and fanning themselves. Chrom himself had disengaged from Donnel and stared openly at the spectacle, his jaw even dropping slightly at the sight of Robin's sudden and inexplicable magnetism. Maribelle spun around in a whirl of curls with an unsettlingly bright smile on her painted lips.
"I hope it is not too forward of me to ask, but it would do me a great honour to host you for a small luncheon. It would be my pleasure to show Your Highness a taste of Ylissean hospitality."
Robin was in fact very hungry. And Maribelle certainly looked the type of noblewoman to pride herself on her reception of guests and high standards in cookery. But she was also a courtier, and while not overtly unfriendly, her intentions seemed to have ulterior motives—and her relation to Falstaff very suspect.
"Oooh, we'd love to Mari!" Lissa bounced excitedly in place. "She always has the best ham and tarts when she hosts."
"If a leg of ham awaits, then I'm sure nothing else need be said," Chrom agreed.
Well, if both were planning on attending…surely it could not be anything too uncomfortable.
"Mummy, I want some ham too! I'm hungry."
"Brady, dearest, you are to march yourself first and foremost into the nearest bath before you are to even think about eating with those dirty hands of yours."
There were few moments in her life Robin could think of as being firmly in the territory of discomfort, and so far, most of them had taken place in the few days or her stay in Ylisstol.
What Maribelle had phrased as a "small luncheon" was actually a gathering of some 20-odd court ladies (not including herself, Maribelle, Lissa, their husbands, and Chrom) perched on several settees and chairs. Maribelle's parlour was a curious space: it was decorated in various shades of pink; vases filled with roses and gentians dotted the room, and portraits depicting women at court or domestic scenes hung over the peachy pale panelling. It gave a lot of insight as to her personal taste, but it was not tacky or ugly.
Despite the supposed rationing set in place, they were surrounded by a veritable treasure trove of delicacies, including loaves of thick white bread and the legendary leg of ham. There were even foods Robin had never even tried before: her plate was piled high with unknowns such as hardboiled eggs, blue cheese, and a delicious honey-soaked marbled bread.
The women seemed to not mind Robin's still terrible table manners as she demolished her plate and went back for thirds. In fact, most were positively coquettish, fanning themselves, brazenly adjusting their cleavage, and some being so bold as to bat their lashes at her. Even the young lady who had sneered at Robin's dirtiness on the day of her arrival was now making eyes at her. Was a declaration of liking children suddenly enough to endear herself to these women who were ready to mock her for her foreign heritage? And what was Maribelle's purpose in inviting them, anyways?
Robin had learned that the lady herself was the Duchess of Themis, the palatinate in southern Ylisse that accumulated its impressive wealth through farming and textiles, particularly in the business of sheep, barley, linen, and wheat. Her father had been the previous duke, and his seat as head of House Themis poised to be inherited by his brother Tobias upon his death—curiously enough, the man had instead chosen to pass it on to his niece instead. By all accounts, she was doing an admirable job of administering it.
She was, however, completely unamused over the way Robin was soiling her previously clean table linens and pushing food into her mouth like a starving animal.
"How fare you in Ylisse, Your Highness?" Maribelle asked. "Is your stay to your liking?"
"Though I've only been here but a few days, the castle has been agreeable so far."
"Should you have any concerns, I place myself at your service. I shan't disappoint."
Maribelle's flattery was merely a test: for what, Robin could not yet tell, but if she was anything like her uncle, then she was to be treated with extreme caution. At the very least her outward persona was of ingratiation instead of her uncle's chilly politeness.
A pretty redhead who could not have been older than 16 leaned over coyly. "It is our pleasure to have your presence gracing Ylisstol."
"Ah...thank you."
Throughout the entire lunch, Chrom (having changed into more informal attire) had gaped at Robin in complete and utter amazement. She herself could not understand this sudden appeal she had, but it had placed her in an embarrassing spotlight, and she rather wished that she could simply stride across the room and close Chrom's mouth before he caught any flies.
"And such a dear Your Highness was to those little darlings," an elderly countess gushed. "It is always such a good quality in a man, to be mindful of children."
"I quite agree," Maribelle's smiled tightened by a fraction. "A king who loves his children is one guaranteed to love his people in equal measure."
"Have you any? Children, I mean," the countess inquired.
Robin was acutely aware of the subtle drop in noise. "Er—no. I have no h-wife." There was an almost audible sound of increased heartbeats as the ladies looked at each other from the corners of their eyes and smiled ever so slightly.
"I am confident that whoever you choose for a bride shall make a lovely mother. I do wonder what it must be like to raise children in Plegia," Maribelle sipped her mulled wine delicately.
There it was. Robin's eyes narrowed slightly. "Contrary to what many think, the climate is rather agreeable for a child's constitution. And while we do have nurses in our employ, we prefer to defer to the tribal custom of entrusting them to communal care. We believe it works best to build bonds as a community."
"How...quaint. Was Your Highness raised in such a manner?"
"I was."
"It seems like such a simple life for one of noble background."
"It was even simpler considering that I was brought up in a village. With goats."
Donnel, who had mostly kept to himself and his plate of biscuits, perked up at the snippet of conversation. "Wow, really? That's really somethin' else, Your Lordshipness—so did I! I mean, I don't live in the Farfort anymore, but I never really met a prince who didn't grow up in a castle."
A most miraculous transformation overcame Maribelle as her face softened into an expression of genuine warmth and affection. She sat her fine porcelain cup down, folded her hands primly on her lap, and simply listened to them talk.
"You ever get stuck with mucking duty whenever ya behaved badly?"
"I was practically the stable boy," Robin laughed. "I got into so much trouble. It's a wonder my mother never used a rod on me."
"I'll say! My ma would scream to high heaven whenever she saw me slackin' off on my chores."
The luncheon continued amiably enough, with Robin being able to mostly ignore the other women or give simple, non-committal answers as she focused her attention mostly on Donnel, Maribelle, and occasionally Ricken. Chrom was a cause of concern, however. He spoke and ate very little. He was curiously subdued and paid close attention to the way others were interacting with Robin.
"We appreciate your generosity, ladies," the prince finally said and rose to his feet. "But I believe it is time for us to take our leave...I have audiences to attend to. Good to see you again, Donnel," Chrom nodded to him. "Lissa, Ricken. Daraen…are you coming?"
There was something a bit insecure in the way he called to her, in the way that his hand unconsciously wrung out his sleeve. Why on earth he looked so lost was beyond her, and Robin worried that it was something she did or said.
"I'm sorry...I'd like to, but there's been so much going on that I'm afraid I've neglected my notes. I really should get some work done if I'm to come prepared with anything at all for tomorrow."
Chrom's crestfallen face made her feel a twinge of regret—and she forced herself to tamp it down. He was a grown man, she reminded herself, and he too had his duties to attend. And besides, they were going to see each other again anyways—
"Oh. Of course. I'll...see you at supper then." he gave her a half-hearted smile, bade goodbye to the ladies, and made for the door where Frederick and the Pegasus Knights were waiting for him. Ricken and Lissa left with Donnel to attend to their children and take them for a walk after the boys' bath.
Before Robin could shrug into her coat, stored carefully behind a painted screen in the entrance to the parlour, she was accosted by Maribelle.
"A word with you, if you please. Alone."
She took Robin to a small antechamber coloured in the same tones as her parlour. It seemed her instincts as a hostess were utterly irrepressible, for as soon as Robin sat down, the duchess had a plate of cold cuts and a steaming pot laid out for them.
"I wasn't aware that Ylisse knew of tea," Robin said fondly as she ate.
"It is quite a civilised drink," Maribelle held her cup delicately with her pinkie outstretched. "Fit for any respectable court. I daresay that I am surprised at your knowledge of it...why, with your tales of growing up amongst the goats—"
"Western Plegia has been growing that stuff well before Ylisse requested to be able to trade for it in the first place," Robin reminded her testily. "And I've also sampled some from its original source in Chon'sin. I'm sure that your husband must have had the privilege of drinking it too, seeing how he's married to a Duchess."
It was clear from the narrowed red eyes that Maribelle was not one for being challenged on her own turf and terms. After a tense beat of silence, she eased her posture with a sigh of defeat.
"I apologise. I have been rude and careless with you despite your being a guest of House Ylisse. It is not my place to take such liberties with you and I am sorry for being so callous."
Robin was surprised that a duchess of all people (and an Ylissean to boot) would admit such things to her in the first place; the apology did not pacify her completely, but it was a start, and it was certainly a higher degree of honesty that she had seen from the women who had gone from sneering at her to batting their lashes in the space of a couple of days. "Any friend of Chrom's and Lissa's is sure to be kind enough given the chance for it, so apology accepted."
Maribelle's red lips twisted into a wry, wistful smile. "He is a good man. I worry for him, so I'm rather glad he's found a friend in you, even if you are not a member of our court."
"What do you mean? He's the Exalt-to-be...surely he's got some friends? Don't you count? Lissa? Ricken? Donnel? And what do you mean by me? We've only known each other for a few days…"
"Your Highness, as a Prince yourself, surely you know that any true friendship royalty has is few and far between; why, it would be like asking a man to try and sort between a box of vipers and a box of spiders, and then asking him which one he likes best. We do care for him...but our positions and responsibilities are not the same as they were when we were Shepherds. Our contact with him is but a mere shadow of how things used to be."
"Is that why you wanted me alone? To ask me to watch him for you?"
"Yes and no," Maribelle set her cup down and leaned forward attentively. "He has enough of Frederick's nagging to keep him out of trouble most of the time...your antics in the gardens have shown that your can be just as bone-headed as he is."
"Thanks. Are you going to ask a favour of me, or do you want to get in some nagging yourself?"
"Patience, milord. You are still much more guarded than he is. And as the former tactician to Plegia, you are far from what I would call rash or unobservant...traits that, I'm sorry to say, are still very much a part of Chrom even as an adult. My request is of a more...amorous nature."
Any logical argument that Robin had prepared in the back of her mind died and she sat, completely dumbfounded and disarmed, at Maribelle's mercy. "Oh."
The duchess excused herself briefly to ensure no one was listening at the door. Satisfied, she returned to the chair opposite Robin's. "You saw the way those women were looking at you."
"I honestly doubt that most of them are smitten with me. Plegian or not, I'm sure that one or two at least has a parent waiting to marry them off to whatever rich Prince comes their way."
"True. And I can also safely say that others are also dim and fickle enough to immediately fall for this exotic, dashing young foreigner who has admitted that he wants children in the future. Don't sell yourself short: you are quite the catch."
Robin burned a fierce red. "How does that make me an expert on women, since that's what you seem to be saying?"
Maribelle arranged her curls to the side and rolled her eyes. "The fact that we are having this conversation shows that you are clearly capable of discerning a lady's intentions and have far more insight into the mind of my sex than milord Chrom does."
A light went off in Robin's head. "He's having lady issues and you want me to help him."
"Of all the crude phrasings to use—" Maribelle sighed exasperatedly. "Yes."
"But...why me? I have enough on my hands with the summit as it is…"
"I know it is much too forward of me to even consider asking you such a thing, and I apologise. I will not hold it against you should you choose not to pursue this," Maribelle tried to placate her. "But I ask because you spend much more time with him than I or his other friends are able to, and because it is quite obvious that he places a great deal of trust in you. Combined with your intellect, I should hope that this could be an open and shut case before summer."
Robin's sigh ruffled her white bangs as she leaned back into the upholstery and considered Maribelle's pleas thoughtfully. She and Daraen had been known as matchmakers back in their days on campaign, simply because guiding people through their relationships was a good way for them to build bonds with their subordinates: a harmonious army is a strong army, they would often quote to one another. As much as she hated to admit it, they had always been desperate for friendships ever since being taken under Validar's harsh wing. The downtrodden way that Chrom had looked at her, after all he'd done for her, the way that Maribelle's words confirmed those sentiments, activated that shameful, craving part of Robin.
How could she say no?
"Who's the lucky lady?" Robin conceded.
Maribelle clapped her hands together in victorious satisfaction. "Her name is Olivia."
"Feroxi then. So she's here?"
"As a matter of fact, she is Basilio's niece, and here as part of his personal entourage."
"Wonderful. Does Basilio know?"
"Rumour has it that, while he is a very good friend of Chrom's and House Ylisse, he personally prefers the Duke Virion for his niece."
Rumour was usually not a very sound hunch to go off from, but Maribelle seemed like the kind of person who knew how to procure court gossip and sift through leads she found to be the most probable.
"And why is that?"
The duchess smoothed down her voluminous dress and picked imaginary pieces of lint off the immaculate maroon fabric. "She is a dancer and a singer, he a very cultured and thoughtful man who is much more attuned to her sensitivities than Chrom is, unfortunately. And he is well-versed in the art of courting, and from what I've heard his approach is subtle and well-paced. Chrom is...well, the closest I can seem to describe it would be overbearing."
Robin quirked an eyebrow. "Chrom doesn't seem the type to be overbearing."
"To you? Of course not. But, as I said, she is a sensitive woman," Maribelle exhaled, "and his constant sending her gifts, love-notes, and trying to catch her alone in the gardens are too much for a lady of her constitution. What they both need is for a patient, tactical hand at work."
"And if I fail?" Robin pressed.
"Then you shall surely know how to soften the blow and help Chrom once more. But please, I doubt that you, with all the reputation to precede you, accept anything less than victory."
Robin stood and thanked her for the generous meal. "I shall see what I can do, milady."
"But of course," Maribelle's teeth were a sharp, pearly white next to her rouged lips. "Allow me to walk you to the way out."
Karel and Rood were waiting for Robin where the Pegasus Knights were standing but a few moments ago, ready to escort her away. "Thank you for your hospitality, Your Grace. I'll try my hardest."
"And I have the utmost faith in Your Highness," Maribelle replied. "Farewell!"
Robin never quite knew what is it that pushed the duchess to seek out her help specifically, or why she was so dead-set on procuring her support for Chrom. Whatever it was, she had a sinking feeling in her gut telling her that she might have bitten off more than she could chew.
Robin is going to be facing a LOT of awkwardness in the future! Here's to hoping this doesn't play out like a soap opera, haha. Next chapter might mean she meets a certain someone...