I'm so sorry for the delay! Now that I have one week off (RIP me) I'm taking the time to do fic, some house chores, Rosh Hashana/Elul stuff, the thesis homework I was assigned on my week off…but at least I'm finally getting this out there! And I really have to say that this was quite difficult to write until I settled on a more Chrom/Robin oriented dynamic, and from there I had so much more fun. This is a very dialogue heavy chapter, just in case anyone feels that's too offputting.

Some replies:

dulcetly: Robin and Daraen have no idea what's in store for them in the future and I promise that they'll absolutely lose it once the climax rolls around (in around 1000 years haha…). As for Lissa having kids before Chrom, he's actually pretty jealous about that! He loves Owain but wanted to experience the joys of parenthood before his younger sister did and it's something he can't use against her when they're being obnoxious with each other.

(And let's just say magicking hair in this universe tends to end up with funny results…)

FallenRaindrops: I actually plan to reveal Daraen's saviour in the next chapter ;) And I'm still crying over the lack of equal opportunity male Fire Emblem fanservice…I'm reminiscing over the early days of the Grima reveal…that damaged sprite…ICONIQUE!

Aylatha: :D

AmeYuuki: as always, thanks! The cliffhanger was really hard for me too!

Jinx333: there's no amnesia here; that'd be too much of a mess to write around, and believe me, everyone here will have their hands full with messes!

TheFreelancerSeal: don't worry, Daraen will be getting some much needed TLC in the next chapter. Not everything will be shocking cliffhangers and pain all the time, though I have to admit that cliffhangers are a fun way to get reviewers screaming at you, hahaha

And for today's presentation—conniving noblemen, a little bit of our main characters' backstories, and some sweet, sweet Chrobin banter :p

The return to the boardroom was an unwelcome change. Gone was the wine, the food, the music and merrymaking of the feast; it was back to an atmosphere of tension and sideways glances towards men of dubious character sitting together at the same table. Robin preferred to stake her chances against lions and tigers and bears, which, though bloodthirsty creatures to be sure, were at least quite upfront about it.

And speaking of dubious characters…

Robin snuck a look towards Valentine. The Minister wore quite the petulant expression on his painted face, only offering grunts and noncommittal mumblings anytime others questioned him. A childish, churlish attitude to be sure, but it was far more manageable than his previous defiance of Chrom and jabs against her and Miriel. It was obvious, however, that his newfound restraint was far from voluntary or self-imposed.

She then turned her eyes to Tobias Falstaff.

The little Robin had accomplished in the short time she had spent in Ylisstol was still significant; not only had she managed to enlist Miriel to her side, but having the mage's help now meant a reliable way to arrange the transport of the goods expected of Plegia. It was difficult to weigh the little options she did have, what with wanting—needing—to alleviate the suffering of starving people, and having to keep her counterparts from imposing crippling demands on her to do so. They had initially wanted 6,000 bushels of wheat; Plegia's richest farmlands could procure more than that amount for a year, so all that would be left to do would be to redistribute the bulk of domestic production to other areas to keep the country from needing to ration too heavily. Robin still managed to talk them down to 5,000.

But that was entirely the point, wasn't it? Robin thought to herself. Falstaff had predicted that line of reasoning. And he used it to push his suggestion so casually, with such an easy nonchalance, that one would have thought it had just occurred to him.

Eastern Ylisse is still struggling to keep up under the strain, he said, concerned. We've lost several villages to starvation over the winter. Spring has offered a brief respite, but who knows how many are still running on borrowed time?

And from there the floodgates opened. Now they felt free to ask for more and more until their demands had reached astronomically impossible heights.

Falstaff is right. Ylisse needs more than that to make it through the year, especially our westernmost territories.

Six thousand won't be enough when we consider the sorry state Themis is in.

You saw all those gifts they brought with them…all that fruit and meat…Plegia clearly has more than enough to spare. Why should we have to bear with hungry bellies to fill when Plegia dares to taunt us with its wealth?

The worst part was that Robin was in no position to argue. Falstaff's observations and his fellow Ministers' statements were based in truth—she had seen, firsthand, the results of hunger when travelling to Ylisstol. The hollow, empty eyed expressions on potbellied children who scavenged for scraps of grain in the midst of ruined fields. The starkness of ribs pulling against paper-thin skin as villagers and townsfolk tried to return to their everyday routines.

Granted, Robin witnessed few examples of such extremity when riding with Gregor. And the people of Ylisstol, packed as the city was with refugees, seemed relatively well-fed.

But that was still one example too many.

"What are you suggesting, then?" Robin said as calmly as she could manage.

The outline of several very square, very white teeth was barely discernible behind Falstaff's lips as they formed a mild smile. "Merely a slight increase in the order of wheat. I assure that won't be too difficult for your Highness."

"And fruit!" Minister Oswynn was practically salivating. "Those oranges were wonderful! Think of their tast—I mean, the way they can supplement the wheat!"

Yes, the fruit had made quite the impression during the feast. Chrom attempted to offer Robin a grin, certainly remembering biting into an unpeeled orange, but Robin's expression was wan in return. Fruit was more difficult to cultivate than wheat in Plegia. It required more water and temperatures that did not exceed or fall below a certain threshold. Aside from other concerns such as being far easier to steal than cereals, the preservation of fruit was the most daunting. Wheat could be bound easily enough without worrying about bushels succumbing to rusting diseases and rodents, provided they were protected with the proper handling. Fruit, on the other hand, could rot and spoil even on short journeys. Insects were prone to swarming in the presence of the scent of juice even with spells to ward them off. Despite the assurance of Miriel's assistance with warp magic, there was no stopping the effects of nature.

(She ignored the Rosannois and Valmese grumbling that their continent was the birthplace of oranges—but tellingly did not offer to transport some of their own to Ylisse)

"Fruit and wheat won't be enough. Ylissean farms might be ruined if we just depend on prepared foodstuffs for the year. What we need more of are seeds, fertiliser, and cattle. Especially cattle." That was Fabian Trengrouse, the Minister of Lands and Waters. Robin scrutinised him carefully over her page as she wrote. She was still unsure of whether his position was of active hostility towards Plegia, indifference, or perhaps something that could be turned toward supportive, as in Eschmann's case. It would be too bold to test the waters while in the boardroom…but perhaps she could poke and prod Chrom to reveal some useful details.

Falstaff immediately pivoted to Trengrouse with an ingratiatingly calm smile. "That is an excellent point to make. How much would you estimate Ylisse needs of each for before winter?"

Tapping the table with the inkstained point of his quill, Trengrouse rubbed his chin thoughtfully and hummed in a low, gravelly voice. "I would say…some 6,000 steers…30,000 twenty-pound sacks of manure…and around 11,000 bags of wheat seed."

Robin sucked a barely discernible breath between her clenched teeth. The initial 5,000 fee was certainly no easy feat, but now they were also asking that Plegia surrender more than a year's production of staple foodstuffs. She ran through some calculations in her head as quickly as she could: the 446 bushels destined for Themis next month would yield approximately 40,140 one-pound loaves of bread, while 5,000 bushels in total meant 450,000. The bulk of Ylisse's population was spread out between Ylisstol, Themis, and the southern regions of Tullaghan and Faircliff, with approximately 23 million (if Robin remembered the hastily conducted post-war census correctly) people counted as citizens.

That meant Plegia would have to squeeze in at least some four (five?) year's worth of farming to be able to feed Ylisse alone.

As hard as she tried to hide it, the weight of the matter was heavy on her shoulders, and everyone else at the table could tell. Valentine in particular sported an ill-disguised smirk. Gods, such blatant smugness was irritating enough, but to display it so openly at her expense when she had to tread as carefully as possible…

All eyes were on her now. Falstaff said nothing, but the calm, easy cut of his posture proved to be as big a nuisance as Valentine's face.

"Thankfully, we've Miriel to help with this," Robin said carefully. Valentine's thunderous expression alleviated her stomach ache somewhat. "Though, considering the size of the order—"

Oswynn coughed loudly and unsubtly.

"—it would be far more efficient to discuss installments. I would also like to propose the addition, or perhaps even a substitution of sorts, with goats—"

"Well." Surprisingly, it was Eschmann who interrupted this time. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he tried to find the right words to articulate his point. "Goats are fine, but…"

"It might take the people some time to adjust to them." Falstaff nodded.

What does he mean by that exactly? They just ate goat at the feast and they seemed to like it just fine. Robin frowned as she scribbled down annoyed, unintelligible notes in the margins of her parchment, half her attention on the table's assorted mumblings and murmurings and silences.

Trengrouse stroked his chin again. "Goats are hardy though. And they can be fed on a budget…on roughage that sheep and cattle won't touch."

"That they are," a Feroxi councilman agreed, and began to wax poetic on the different varieties of goats domesticated in his frigid, mountainous homeland, and of their skill in navigating the rocky environment far better than humans and horses. But, as expected, it soon devolved into an argument with the Valmese—the table rang out with calls for Valm to supply Ferox with their own goats, the Valmese retorted on the difficulties on maintaining live animals on a sea voyage, then on how Valmese goats would not survive the harsh climate of the Feroxi tundra and mountains, and so on and so forth until Chrom shouted them down with sharp bangs of his gavel.

Eschmann seemed to change his views once Trengrouse brought up costs. She would ask him later at supper about it. Perhaps goat was rather gamey for upper-class Ylisseans…but it was more likely that it was too associated with Plegian cuisine to hold much appeal for all but the poorest tenant farmers and villagers. Trengrouse was obviously very knowledgeable about agriculture and animal husbandry; Robin deduced that he himself came from decidedly more lower-class stock due to his deeply tanned leathery skin, rough hands, and from a curious sunken scar on his neck she recognised as a healed animal bite.

If he could be swayed to her side like Eschmann was, then Robin would have a much more solid base to work from. The Ministry of Lands and Waters oversaw the landowning system that outlined Ylisse's structure. Though its power had been severely downgraded and its ranks fractured under the previous Exalt, who seized control of its management to finance his crusades in Plegia, it still held some importance. The question was how to assess Trengrouse's influence within Chrom's cabinet in a way that could guarantee a reliable answer. Eschmann's position as the Minister of Finance was very useful indeed, especially given the undoubtedly high reparations Robin would be expected to pay, but liking her personally was not a good enough assurance of keeping Plegia's coffers safe from Ylissean zealousness. And even if Eschmann was willing to play the part of an ally, one out of Chrom's entire cabinet was hardly good enough.

And so Robin pivoted to Trengrouse during their dinner break. Today the cooks had prepared them a delicious pheasant roast with apples and a big wheel of sharp yellow cheese. She placed a heap of meat and cheese between two slices of bread and washed it down with a hearty swig of beer.

"I don't mean to be rude," Robin called out to Trengrouse from her seat closer up to the head of the table. "But was that from a dog or a wolf?" She jerked her chin to the scar on his neck.

He raised a thick, hairy eyebrow at her boldness. It seemed, however, that the disapproving mutters from the others irked him more. "Wolf."

"You're lucky it didn't bite down any deeper. I've been told Ylissean wolves are much larger than Plegian ones."

"You people have lions and panthers to worry about. And the desert."

Robin shook her head and stood up from her stool, pulling up the edge of her loose tunic (she thanked Tharja silently for her magicks) ever so slightly to show her own scar sitting at the edge of her hip. Oswynn spat out his drink, aghast, at such casual impropriety.

Trengrouse's brow traveled higher up into his hairline. "Dog or wolf?"

"Dog." Robin's mouth quirked into a smile when she registered his lighter tone. "A hungry stray was trying to pick off some stragglers from our flock, and I, very stupidly, thought I was big enough to try and swing a stick at it."

"Your family are herders?"

"We manage goats and cattle. We head up into the mountains in the spring, and we go down to the valleys and lowlands in the autumn."

"I thought you said you were raised in a village?" Chrom's interruption was not unwelcome; Robin rather liked talking to him, and his overt presence usually meant the others would be more discreet, or at least disguise their dislike of her with platitudes. In any case, he was a friend now.

A friend! Robin felt all fizzy and warm inside. It was a very long time since she had a friend—a friend friend, she still was unsure of whether Tharja and Henry counted—and having a friend meant someone to confide in, to have fun with…

When was the last time she had fun?

"I was, for the part of the year when we weren't in the mountains," Robin clarified.

Chrom smiled as he chewed on his meat and speared another mouthful of pheasant with his fork. "So you're a semi-nomad? I wouldn't have thought…what's it like?"

"Oh, it's hard work, but it's good living. I can't say I don't miss the fresh mountain air, the smell of dried hay, the songs we sing when we're bringing in the flock from pasture for the night…our village wasn't so big, but we're part of a bigger confederation of tribes."

Trengrouse moved his stool closer to them, uncaring of Oswynn as he made to fully integrate himself into the conversation. Robin suppressed a snicker as the other Minister squawked indignantly. "You're Kandaari then, I take it."

Now that was a surprise. "How could you tell?"

Trengrouse shrugged. "You mentioned the mountains—I'm guessing they're part of the chain that borders Regna Ferox. And the Kandaari and the Monaari are the two largest tribes of that area, but the Kandaari are far more common." He paused. "And you eating your food like that…it's common for you herdsmen to have meals that way."

"It's not every day I hear an Ylissean being so knowledgeable about Plegian tribes."

"I've some contacts up north and in Ferox. We discuss things on occasion: rearing techniques, the state of the year's harvest…they told me your people know their way around their animals. And I had a Kandaari guide when I was travelling around southern Ferox when I saw younger."

"I never knew you were so well-travelled, Lord Trengrouse," Valentine interjected obnoxiously. "And to think the Prince of Plegia came from such humble beginnings! It must be quite the change, going from goat herder to ruler, is it not?"

Robin wanted her gaze to burn holes into Valentine's abrasively pink, poofy hair and the brightly patterned doublet under his minister's gown. What on earth is his damn problem? She knew that it was unrealistic to expect everyone to tolerate her, but the way that man took constant opportunities for jabs and snide remarks was beginning to wear her patience thin. She was dying to retort with an equally passive aggressive remark and comment on his seeming inability to restrain himself.

"Now now, Lord Valentine." Falstaff beat her to it. That perpetually mild yet stern look on his face unsettled Robin. She knew, from the first moment she saw him, that he was not to be trusted, that something was deeply off about him…and she still could not say what. By all accounts, his actions were very proper and befitting a man of his station. In fact, he seemed to be the peacemaker of Chrom's cabinet, acting with due precaution, yet capable of reining even Valentine in with a few words. "We should always be open to hearing of others' experiences."

That's it. Robin fought to keep her eyes from narrowing too obviously. Valentine is taking cues from Falstaff and behaving when Falstaff calls him out. But why? She watched her pink-haired bully fuss before settling back into his seat obediently. What is it about him that makes the others listen? Does he have something on them? Or are they just loyal to him? With either option…what or why?

Falstaff's cold red eyes did not match his smile as he turned the conversation to Basilio, evidently under the pretense of keeping a civil conversation going. "Khan Basilio, I understand Regna Ferox houses a great many tribes as well. Are you familiar with Prince Daraen's people?"

"Ehhhhh—kinda." Basilio slurped down a goblet of rich red wine before continuing. "Kandaari are somewhat reclusive folk. They mostly keep to themselves on the Plegian side of the mountains. Usually I've seen some when they're hired out as extra farm hands and mountain guides, sometimes we get news of bandits getting a Kandaari or two to help them rustle cattle—"

Robin wanted to shrink in her stool when that particular tidbit came up.

"—but it's always a treat to see them during market festivals. They bring some excellent cheeses, milk, sausages, jerky, these funny little bread things, and woven stuff Flavia goes crazy for. They don't get angry if you haggle with them, which is great because I never seem to bring enough money," Basilio laughed. "And the shows they put on are very entertaining, but I personally don't think they're as impressive as the fire-breathers from Solen Gard."

"I resent that. We practice very hard for the horse dances," Robin grumbled and pouted.

"Oh, tell me more about those!" Chrom's eyes practically sparkled at the mention of horses, and he pressed closer to Robin in delighted anticipation. She gulped at the sensation of his strong forearm underneath his clothes, and obliged his request with a weird feeling in her gut. It was rather difficult to get through her grand tale of red tassels, belled bridles, and noble steeds stepping and prancing to the sound of music with that sensation, but Chrom's amazed expression made it worth it. It helped to have Trengrouse's polite attention; she was hoping to reel him in at least a little that day.

But she certainly felt more pleased over Chrom.

After an animated discussion over the differences between Ylissean and Feroxi market festivals, Basilio cleared his throat loudly. "Hey Daraen, I know this is probably just a rumour and all, but I heard Kandaari women pop out a lot of twins. Why is that?"

It took several seconds of breathless choking for Robin's breathing to settle after she spewed out her drink.

The torchlights in the hallway flickered for the briefest moment as a gust blew through, but thankfully, they cast no suspicious shadow over Robin's figure as she tread across the stone floor. The only ones present were the guards standing by Chrom's door, and their only reaction to her appearance was a quick glance between them that Robin had a hunch about but ultimately decided to ignore.

As if on cue, Frederick opened the door for her. He looked as cross as ever and the bags beneath his eyes seemed darker in the firelight.

"Good night Sir Frederick. I hope this means you'll go back to Sumia and Cynthia soon," she said politely.

Frederick scoffed. "And have you in there to risk milord's sleep, and ruin his wakefulness for tomorrow's audiences? I think not, Your Highness. You both have exactly fifteen minutes for your fun and games before I march you straight back to your quarters."

"You're joking, right?"

"I will have you know that I never joke."

"You're not my mother. And I definitely outrank you by miles. You can't just order me around and impose a bedtime on me like that!"

"Your Highness," he spluttered indignantly,"if I do not set a curfew, then Chrom will let himself be carried away by your presence and stay up all night. He needs all the rest he can get, and I will not allow you to disrupt that, ranking or not."

"Why not just tell me that in the first place instead of treating me like a child? Do you talk to Cynthia the same way? Because now I can see where she gets that rebellious spirit from," Robin sneered.

Frederick went very pink in the face and drew in a deep breath to deliver what was sure to be a blistering retort, but the door opened right when he was about to open his mouth.

"Daraen! I'm glad to see you made it!" Chrom was smiling brightly and there was a distinctly rosy flush to his cheeks that definitely had nothing to do with the weather or the torches. Robin's suspicion was confirmed when a bubbly hiccup escaped his lips and he laughed at the sudden noise. "Come right on in! It's a bit drafty out in the hall and I'd hate for you to get cold." He made a clumsy sweeping motion with his arm and pushed Robin past his threshold and into his room.

"You'll lecture me about keeping Chrom up and ruining his sleep, but you won't scold him for drinking so late at night?" Robin hissed sharply between her teeth to Frederick, craning her head back to fix the man with a reproachful stare.

"Your Highness—" Frederick started, but the door closed right in his face and shut Robin out from the outside world.

Chrom's room looked very cozy and warm with the enormous fire roaring in the hearth, bathing everything in a soft golden light and keeping things at a nice, toasty temperature. Robin shucked her coat off, grateful that she no longer had to wear badly fitting clothes to disguise her body. Why, she could even take her shirt off right there and then, and Chrom would be none the wiser—

Ahhh, don't have those kinds of thoughts when you're in his room! Don't make things weirder than they have to be! Robin screamed to herself. She jumped when Chrom took her hand and pulled her to the game table holding a game set of chess, draughts, and backgammon. One of his dogs came up to rest his head on her lap the moment she sat down and immediately soaked her clothes with drool.

"I wasn't sure what kind of games you like so I just thought I'd get them all out." Chrom scratched the back of his head with a sheepish, earnest boyishness that Robin now instantly associated with him; her previous irritation towards Frederick was forgotten with the sweet, endearing gesture.

"Thank you," she said as her hand briefly ghosted over the game set. The box was of a handsome chestnut inlaid with bronze, and opening it revealed smaller boxes with the requisite kits for the other games. Chess was ebony and ivory, backgammon was yew, and draughts a lovely imported cherry. Robin idly traced the designs on the sets as she waited for Chrom to pick which one to start with. The prince squirmed as he picked up on her silence.

"Are…aren't you going to choose one?"

"Well…since you're my host and all, I thought you'd like to do that."

"O-oh…okay." The tip of Chrom's tongue stuck out from the corner of his mouth as his hand floated hesitantly over the boxes, pausing, before settling uncertainly on the chess set. "D-do you play chess?"

Robin's only reply was a raised brow.

"Right, right, you're a strategist and everything…" Chrom scowled and smacked her arm when she snickered at him, his cheeks blooming pink from the teasing. "Don't be mean. I'm not dumb. I just sometimes have these moments where I can't think straight."

The alcohol doesn't help, Robin thought. "I never said you were dumb," she said gently. "You're clearly not. I'll stop the ribbing if you don't like it."

His eyes widened. In the fire's backlight, their bright blueness darkened to a rich cobalt, like his hair, and flecks of warm gold drew out their colour further. "Um…no…it's fine. You're my friend now, and friends do that, a-and it's alright since it's you."

It still felt so odd for him to say that, much less think it herself, but gods be damned if that didn't send a delighted little spark down her skin. A friend was someone you could trust, someone you could let loose around and be yourself with and tell your troubles to and lean on and give a shoulder to lean on.

But it's not like I can really do all that. I can't just tell him that I'm not really Daraen and expect him to be casual about it, came the sobering realisation. She sat in reticent silence as she helped Chrom set up the game board and divvied up the pieces between them—he chose white, she got black. After a beat of silence, Robin spoke up. "Even if you say it's alright, tell me where your limits are. I don't want to risk offending you or anything like that."

"You're talking like one of my Ministers," Chrom laughed uneasily, the knuckles on his hand clenching for the slightest moment as he picked up a pawn and moved it forward. "You can ease up around me, it's fine! Then again, being around them is pretty exhausting, so I can understand where's it's rubbing off from."

An idea occurred to Robin…certainly not the most altruistic, especially in light of their recent declarations of friendship, but an idea nonetheless. Chrom was not stupid, but there was a certain element of guilelessness and candour to him that could be useful. And he had been drinking. If she could find a way to exploit that, then—

Don't, she rebuked herself sharply. Look at you. Playing with a new friend and already cooking up schemes to use him to your benefit. You're no better than Validar. Her own inner voice mixed in with the nasty one she thought had gone dormant since her arrival, and a sudden cloud of gloom engulfed her as she contemplated her side of the board with a renewed sense of self-loathing and shame.

"Everything all right?"

Robin looked up. Chrom was obviously concerned and had picked up on her distress, a gesture that surprised Robin. It was strange to think this was the same person Maribelle and Sumia had described as romantically dense when it was clear he had at least some level of emotional intelligence.

"Yeah. Just…" she bit her lip.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"Actually…is there someone I should be worried about from them?"

Chrom mirrored Robin's pawn placement as he blinked at her. "Who?"

"Your Ministers. I mean…Eschmann obviously doesn't seem to have a personal issue with me, but Valentine can't seem to control himself from taking a jab or two. And there's something off about Falstaff, but I don't know what exactly. Are they just being catty, or am I in serious danger of being stabbed in my sleep while I'm here?"

Chrom, still blinking, put down his rook (which Robin thought was unintentionally smart, as moving it would have developed it too early), steepled his fingers, and exhaled loudly. His dogs whined at the noise. "First off, as my guest, under my protection, I solemnly swear that anyone who tries anything of the sort gets immediate passage to the chopping block. I don't take the rules of hospitality lightly."

Robin gulped.

"Secondly…" he sighed and rubbed his temples tiredly. "Valentine has always been a lout. I've known him since I was a boy and I can honestly say he hasn't changed a bit. It's in his nature to be an insufferable, bratty toad of a man and one of his favourite things to do is bully others just because he can."

"Wow, so that's no love lost between you two, I take it."

"None at all. He has a perfectly nice wife and a daughter, but I don't see how someone as sweet and kind as them choose to associate with something like that. I still remember the time Emmeryn made me a scarf for Yule, and he tossed it into the river behind the castle and I was forced to wade in to get it back. Then there was that other time he stole my new shoes, the time he threw ink in my face, the time he tricked me into touching poison oak…" Chrom groaned and dragged his hands across his face.

Robin, aghast, moved her knight to take one of Chrom's pawns. "If he's such a nuisance, then why's he on your council?"

"It's not like I had much of a choice in the matter. His father was on my father's council, and when Emmeryn became Exalt, he was put there because of her own advisors, and then I just inherited him like one of the worst heirlooms ever."

Robin burst into laughter at the description, forgetting their chess game momentarily. Chrom started laughing too, and then the dogs joined in, and that made them laugh louder until their stomachs hurt.

A sharp rapping at the door reminded them that Frederick was keeping watch on the time.

"But you're the Exalt now. Why not just sack him? You're within your rights." Robin let her breathing even out and took another pawn with her knight.

"'Exalt-to-be,'" Chrom corrected. Humming thoughtfully, he moved his bishop to capture her knight, which looked like a good way to block her from controlling the centrefield, but crucially left a huge gap for her own bishop to check his queen from. He noticed, and soon a merry chase across the board commenced as he frantically tried to protect his queen. But it was too late; he had been ignoring a pawn of hers and it reached his end of the board, and Robin was able to promote it to a king and checkmate him. "And it's not exactly as if I have absolute power over them. It's tempting, but…" he sighed. "Absolute power is a dangerous blade to wield."

Robin's mind flashed back to Validar, and she swallowed. Silence befell the pair as they readied the board for another match, and it continued through their first few plays.

"Even so…I can't help but notice that they give you a lot of trouble," she responded after some time. "I—I mean, I don't want to be nosy, but you don't exactly seem to see eye-to-eye."

When he squinted suspiciously at her, Robin was afraid that she had committed some faux pas, or misspoke, or otherwise committed a huge mistake that would end the match and sour Chrom's attitude towards her. She cursed her big mouth, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But he scrubbed his face and sighed again instead. "You're not wrong. I know it's natural for people to have differences of opinions, but I can't get as much done as I'd like because they're so disagreeable. They want to veto practically every idea I have before it even leaves my brain, and I can't just force them to start behaving because they have money and influence that the crown needs."

"Yeah, I understand how that feels. But, uh, I guess you already know how it ended in my case."

"And in my case, sometimes I'm just itching to follow your example and see who'll want to try my patience next."

Robin laughed uneasily, torn between genuinely wanting to enjoy Chrom's company and not wanting to revisit that particular scene from her past, but Chrom continued, apparently quite nonchalant over sharing such things.

"As for Falstaff…" he bit his lower lip, and his brows knit together in a twist of dark hairs and hard thinking. The only sound besides the crackle of the fire and the dogs' panting was of the heavy silence that stretched out from him as he contemplated what to say over his Minister. Robin would go as far as to call it deafening, inasmuch as her suddenly rapid heartbeat was concerned.

She wanted to pour herself a drink from the sideboard to lubricate her dry mouth but remembered his greeting at the door and refrained.

"He's been a close friend of my father's for his entire life. They grew up together here in the castle, they went to college together, wrote to each other every day whenever Falstaff was away in Themis; they went to each other's weddings and my father was very generous with his appointments for Falstaff. Why, Falstaff was present at mine and Emmeryn's births, and my father visited him when Maribelle came along." Chrom sighed deeply before he captured a rook in a surprisingly well-calculated move. "You want to know if he's going to actively try to sabotage you during the summit like Valentine is."

Robin froze up. Well…it's not like my question wasn't super obvious. "Is he?"

"I don't think so. At least, I want to think he won't…but I can never tell with him. He was nice enough before…before my father died, but after, he changed. And now something just feels off about him—"

"So I'm not the only one who felt that," Robin interrupted.

"Apparently," Chrom said, eyebrows raised. "He's polite enough, and he's very good at his job, but whenever certain subjects come up, I get the feeling that he tries to steer me in directions that he prefers. I don't know. He's very subtle about it and I almost go crazy trying to analyse him and then I end up second-guessing myself. But I haven't heard him say anything prejudiced about Plegians, if that's what you're wondering."

"Well, that's good to know at least…" Robin checked him (again) and then promoted another pawn he had been ignoring (again) in favour of her dangerously placed king, and beat him (again).

"I give up!" He laughed at got up to pour himself a stiff drink as Robin frowned, disapproving, from her seat. "You're too good at this game, but I don't know what I was expecting. Do you mind if we change to backgammon?"

"Not at all. And I think we'd do better with a change in subject, too. Talk's getting a bit too heavy for a night of gaming," Robin agreed.

"I second that," Chrom said with a crooked smile on his face. There was something very nice about the way his lower teeth showed from the corner of his mouth that had Robin smiling, too. The pair were certainly very smiley together as they cleared the chess board, put it away, and prepared the backgammon set.

"Why don't you tell me about your progress with Olivia instead?" The prince took another sip from his goblet as he organised the red and white pieces on the board.

Robin, uncharacteristically for her, began groaning and moaning and pushing her chair away to lean back in her seat and groan and moan some more. She was most certainly not in the mood to talk about Olivia or Chrom's amorous troubles, and just when they had changed the subject too.

Chrom, characteristically for him, turned very red and spluttered. "Oh–oh come off it, you don't have to be such a dog in the manger. You agreed to help me over this!"

"You said we'd change the subject to something lighter, and then you spring this on me," Robin scoffed. "And if you must insist, she's still not interested in you."

Now it was Chrom's turn to groan. He reached for his goblet again but Robin grabbed his wrist to stop him.

"Why her? Of all the eligible ladies in your kingdom, or the continent, why the one who doesn't want you?"

"Don't phrase it like that—you make it sound like if if I've got the plague or something."

"You might as well with the way she's so desperate to avoid you."

"HA HA, very funny! D'you want to replace Gaius as the court jester so you can have another jab at me?"

"No, I'm good enough saying it as it is while beating you several times over at board games." Robin stuck her tongue out impishly at him as she rolled the dice and moved her first checker, feeling very smug indeed as he turned even redder but could not, for the life of him, manage a retort.

Ah. Where's this coming from? I know he's a friend now, but it's not like I'm talking to Tharja or Henry. I know he said it's fine but maybe it's still too soon for this.

Still…it's pretty damn funny seeing him act like that.

Chrom growled in frustration as he doubled the stakes on the marker, and rather deftly moved his checker twice to an open point. "If you must know, then you have to promise me that you won't laugh and call me a sap."

"I won't—unless it's too funny to not laugh at."

"Daraen, I'm warning you—"

"Fine, fine, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I won't be cheeky. I promise."

Chrom sighed. They lapsed into a companionable quiet as they focused more on their game. The prince, interestingly, was far better at backgammon than he was chess, and put up a fair fight as the stakes were redoubled twice more and he dominated the board for a fair amount of turns. Last time Robin checked, she lost turns three times and he lost turns four times. It was actually much more entertaining to be up against him at a more advanced level.

She wondered what it would be like to spar together, given his renowned martial prowess and dragon-given strength. Could she perhaps find a way to arrange a quick match one day? Would they have the time, and would Frederick put up some resistance the same way he did when Chrom proposed this night?

"She and Basilio rescued us from the Midmire after…after Emm," Chrom finally said, very softly. "And they sheltered us while we made our escape from Plegia." He hit one of her blots and sent it out to the bar, and prepared to assemble his checkers into his home court. His fingers came up to scratch his chin contemplatively as the other rubbed Toby's ears. "I wasn't at my best during that time. It was a really low point in my life."

Robin swallowed guiltily as a burning log cracked and popped loudly in the hearth.

"I wasn't eating or sleeping or doing much of anything except let my sadness overpower me, and it was completely dragging the rest of the Shepherds down, not to mention the other troops. I was selfish and didn't consider that everyone else was hurting, too."

"I don't really think you were," Robin interrupted impulsively. "I—I mean—when you're feeling like that…when you have that kind of pain, you…you can't just magick it away. Gods know I've tried. But you can't, and it's nigh impossible to function when all you can focus on is how much everything hurts."

The pair shared a weighty, long-suffering sigh, and left the game alone for a moment to drown their sorrows in a drink. At least she had the sense to dilute his to the point of water—no need to see him any more tipsy than he already was.

Sadness and alcohol were a terrible combination to begin with.

"But Olivia and Basilio were working tirelessly to keep all of us comfortable, fed, making sure our injuries were being treated properly…that really helped to get me out of my rut, so to speak, seeing them work so hard in spite of their own tiredness. Olivia was a godsend with her dancing. Like a real angel. And after Sumia, well…I thought that she'd be the type of person who could heal the rest of my pain, too," Chrom finished with a mopey gulp from his goblet. He peeked at Robin from under his fringe and waited, anxiously, for a reply.

And reply Robin did, after dragging her hands down her face in complete exasperation. "That's a very heartwarming story, Chrom, but you're not being very smart about it."

"W–what? W-what do you mean?"

"It's nice that you feel happier around her, but you can't expect her to fix you. She's not here to play nurse for you, and I'm pretty sure you're not going to endear her to you anytime soon if you tell it to her like that."

"B-but I'm not saying she should play nurse for me—"

"Then focus on the happiness part. Or, and you really should consider this, find a woman who's actually willing to marry you. Marriage is a big commitment, you know."

"Which is why Olivia is perfect! She's patient, she's kind, it helps that she's so beautiful, and I know she's not interested in my wealth or my position. She'd be a wonderful queen!"

Robin carefully scrutinised the game board as she went over Chrom's earnest assertion, so obviously besotted with the idea of Olivia instead of the reality of her disinterest. It was not fair to push her towards an engagement as difficult and complicated as a relationship with a prince (and future monarch to boot). Her intent to stay far away from Chrom's amorous advances had been communicated as loud and as clearly as possible. Under any other circumstance, Robin would have laughed in Chrom's face and called him a lovestruck idiot, blinded by his own infatuation instead of taking advantage of his incredibly privileged position to go wife-hunting elsewhere.

And yet…

"Look: I did promise I'd help you with this. So that's what I'm going to do. But you're going about it all wrong, and you're being incredibly dense about it too. You have to stop thinking that just waiting for her to magically fall in love with you will happen, because maybe that's good stuff for a fairy tale, but not for real life. What you need to do is to consider what she likes, what she finds attractive, and use that to woo her properly."

Chrom gulped and coughed on his drink, panicking. "B-but I can't just change myself like that—it's too difficult—"

"I never said that we're going to change you for her, though that could certainly help in a pinch. What I'm saying is that you need to tailor your approach to her specifically. But don't you worry, Chrom: as your humble matchmaker, I promise you that I'll do everything in my power to make you the most attractive man in the entire kingdom. And if Olivia still doesn't want you, then I guarantee you'll still have a wife before the end of the year," Robin declared confidently before assembling all her pieces on her home court and winning the match.

(LAUGHS FOREVER) Torturing these characters is honestly a lot of fun, especially because they're still at the point where everything is still relatively calm…for now…

And I did promise a Daraen centred chapter next! Don't worry, after putting him through the ringer, I promise that the upcoming chapter will be lighter and easier in tone. As an aside, I'm looking for a beta for this fic, if anyone is interested/has the time for it.

I also apologise if my math was totally garbage in this chapter.

Happy Elul everyone! Happy New Year!