A/N: Two chapter month. This one is set before chapter 17. Enjoy.

Plans

The skies grew gloomy, and with each passing day, the winds blew colder and colder. November was upon Ylisse before Chrom even realized it. How had time slipped by so quickly? He wondered that as he stared out the window. The reconstruction he expected to take only weeks stretched into months, and many times, he thought it would never end. The rustle of a page paused such thoughts. A smile appeared as he glanced over his shoulder at Sumia reclining on her couch, nose buried in some book.

Gods bless her, if not for her at his side, he was certain he'd have gone well and truly mad by now. Through the hours that felt like days and the doubts from his lords or himself, she offered her shoulder, a gentle touch, and sometimes a hard but needed word.

"I was just thinking," he said, never letting one eye leave her.

"About what?" answered Sumia, eyes still fixed to the page.

"It's your birthday soon, isn't it?" His smile grew larger as he considered the perfect way to repay her devotion. Was there any better time than now?

"Three days from now," Sumia peaked up from her book, "you didn't actually forget, did you?"

Chrom chuckled, "Of course not." How could he? For days, Lissa never let him forget the date or to ensure that his gift was as magnificent as possible. He would have told her he knew just the thing, if not for the fact she would have gone straight to her sister-in-law. "I was thinking about the royal villa; how it's been empty and that we might...get away."

Sumia's hand paused mid-turn, and when she looked up, Chrom did not fail to notice the hopeful, but cautious, gleam in her eyes.

"What about the rebuilding?"

"It's as good as done," said Chrom with a wide grin. "I could get a carriage ready tomorrow, and we can settle in. Then, we could spend your birthday together. Aside from a small handful of staff, it would just be us." By now, Sumia's eyes were as wide as dinner plates, and the sparkle within them grew in brilliance, just as he hoped. "Do you like the sound of that?"

In less time than it took him to breathe, Sumia sprang to her feet and threw herself into Chrom's arms. His legs wobbled from such force, and if not for his own strength, he was sure he would have tumbled to the floor.

"Oh Chrom, yes," she exclaimed. She kissed him once, twice and then a third time. "Thank you," she breathed between kisses. Chrom smiled, surprised but just in part. "How long could we stay?"

"A week," he said, brushing a few strands of hair from her face, "maybe even two." By now, her eyes could have outshined her crown. He kissed her brow, "happy birthday, my love."

Sumia pulled away all but bouncing around the room. Chrom only watched as she gathered simple dresses and other assorted items, muttering to herself about what she needed. His thoughts had already journeyed to the villa. Like flowers from dormant seeds, images sprouted within his mind of the time they'd lost and the time to reclaim: talks they never had and moments that never were. One particular silk gown in the growing pile of clothes conjured visions of Sumia wearing it. A few images of her wearing nothing except her ring turned his smile a touch lopsided. Perhaps, in addition to more common delights, they could also find time for the delights of marriage.

A heavy knock at the door scattered all notions as autumn leaves to the wind, and a voice Chrom wished not to hear sounded from behind the wood.

"Your Majesties," came the voice of Frederick. Chrom swallowed a curse but a groan escaped. Whatever tidings the knight brought, they were undoubtedly poor. Even Sumia's face held a twinge of worry.

"Come in," Chrom bade. Perhaps, this time was different. Perhaps he came to deliver some unimportant piece of information. It was less than a fool's hope but hope nevertheless. Frederick entered and bowed.

"Forgive the intrusion, but I thought it best to remind you the Plegian envoy will be arriving the day after tomorrow."

Chrom held his breath, hoping he did not just hear what he thought he did, "please tell me you're joking."

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty, but 'tis not. We received the missive some three weeks past." Somewhere deep in the crevices of his mind, Chrom vaguely recalled that message; some business about selecting a new king, withdrawing the garrison and resuming their worship of Grima. He glanced over at Sumia, and already, a dull ache settled within his heart.

"Tell them I don't care to see them." He could list any number of unpleasant things he would sooner endure than spend time with an ambassador from that accursed nation.

"With all due respect milord, I cannot. I, too, have little love for Plegia, but we've shed enough Ylissean blood to end one war to incite another. Refusing a diplomat is not done."

"Very well," Chrom half-sighed and half-growled, "see to the preparations." With another bow and a nod, Frederick was gone. For a moment, silence fell over the Exalt's chambers, as Chrom was an entire loss for words. It was all for naught, the plans and hopes, and he cursed his own foolishness.

"I'm sorry, Sumia," he said at last, poor words as they were. She only smiled and pressed her brow to his.

"The kingdom always has to come first," she answered, her voice soft and soothing, "just tell me you love me, and it will be enough. There will be another time."

Chrom nodded, though it hardly seemed enough, "I love you."