A/N: Can I say that I've been blown away by the response to this story? Seriously. I love hearing from you guys, it makes me so happy.
Also FYI: updates will be a bit more sporadic for the next month or so.
Modern AU this time.
Reminder: If there's any of the Robins from the previous chapters that you'd like to see more of, let me know and I'll be happy to write more!
As always, reviews are appreciated.
The painting was the pride of the Ylissean National History Museum. The canvas was gigantic, requiring an entire wall to itself. It was a cultural relic, unearthed by a band of lucky antique-hunters from the heirlooms of the long-gone family of Themis. Inside the frame, a war raged on. Vague figures of different statures wielding bows, swords, lances and axes stood assembled against a dark backdrop. But it was no ordinary darkness—six burning purple eyes stared out of the darkness menacingly. At the center, a blue-haired man lifted his sword, the blade shining white like the sun. Beside him, a hooded figure in a dark coat stood protectively, lightning sparking from their fingertips. The two stood back-to-back, tall and proud, defiant against the black swirls of paint that licked at the edges and background of the canvas.
In front of the painting stood another blue-haired man, not cloaked and clad in armor like the man on the canvas, but in a light jacket and jeans. His gaze was fixed on the painting with a quiet intensity. So intense, in fact, that he didn't notice the woman approach until she was right next to him.
The man started and turned quickly, surprised, but relaxed just as quickly.
"Ah, are you here to see this painting too?" he said.
The woman nodded. Her silver hair was still wet with the rain from outside and small droplets of water cascaded to the ground. "It's only here for a while, right? I'm new in town and a friend said I should come see it."
The man hmmed in acknowledgement. "Do you know what this painting is of?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Not really. Some ancient king, right?"
"The proper title at the time was Exalt, I think," he replied. "But yes, that's pretty accurate, I think." He lifted his arm and pointed at the armored man in the center. "His name was Chrom. He became the Exalt after his sister, Emmeryn, died in a war against another nation. The other figures in the painting—" he gestured to the shadowy figures that waited in the wings of the painting. "—are members of a small militia he formed. They were called the Shepherds."
"Because they guided and protected people?" the woman guessed.
"That's right." the man glanced at her quickly and moved his gaze back to the painting. "Under Chrom's leadership, the Shepherds helped end the war. There are also stories of him facing and defeating this…evil spirit of sorts. The Fell Dragon Grima. He's sort of become a cultural hero at this point, I guess. There are movies and books about his life, documentaries…some people even name their sons after him."
The woman blinked. "Seriously?"
"Seriously. My parents were two of those people," the man admitted, running a hand through his hair.
"Your name is Chrom?"
"Yeah. My dad was a history nut. When he saw I had blue hair, well…" Chrom shrugged sheepishly. "There was no stopping him."
The woman grinned. "I see. Well, nice to meet you, Chrom. I'm Robin."
"Hello, Robin," Chrom said with a small laugh. They shook hands.
"Seriously, I didn't know that this…Exalt guy was so famous," Robin said as they turned back to the painting. "I wonder what he would think, knowing that people are still going crazy over him over a thousand years later. He'd probably be pretty pleased."
Chrom frowned pensively. "I don't know," he said slowly. "I don't think he'd like all the hype."
"Hmm?"
"If you look at the contemporary writings we have about him, even if there's not a lot…" he shifted, tugging at his shirt collar absently. "I don't know. I think he'd rather not be glamorized like this. He'd rather his companions be remembered too…" he trailed off, then seemed to shake off the strange thoughts clouding his eyes. "Anyway, the person beside him is called the High Deliverer."
"No name?" Robin said.
Chrom shook his head. "Lost to history. We don't know much about them. Gender, family, date of death…nothing. That's probably why the artist painted them with the hood on. Keep it ambiguous, right?" he shrugged.
"That's kinda sad," Robin murmured.
"It is," Chrom said quietly, with a sudden seriousness that made Robin turn and look at him to make sure he was okay. "We know that the High Deliverer was Chrom's constant companion, the tactician of the Shepherds, and a military genius who helped lead Ylisse to victory. But nothing else. They've been forgotten." A distant, misty look came into his eyes.
"I bet the historians have a fun time with the speculation," Robin said, eager to steer him away from the strange turn the conversation had taken.
Chrom snorted. "Oh, definitely. Every time there's an academic get-together about the Shepherds, there's always a huge argument over who the High Deliverer really was."
Robin looked up at the painting. The light played across the skillful strokes of color, bringing the painting to life. The approaching void of darkness seemed real. Blades seemed to glint with real light. The figures of the Shepherds were perfectly captured as they prepared to charge forward into battle against the dragon. And in the center were the Exalt and the High Deliverer, two halves of a greater whole, challenging the shadows.
"It's a brilliant painting," Robin said honestly.
Chrom nodded. "When I look at it, though…I somehow feel sad. I don't know why."
"Sad?" she stared at the painting. The scene was grand and fraught with tension. The brush strokes were magnificent, the colors beautiful and vibrant. It was a masterpiece, a proud and striking testimony to Ylisse's history, and yet…
"Me too," Robin said.
Chrom looked surprised. "My sisters think that too," he said. "But most people just think I'm weird."
Robin laughed. "Well, you did just give a history lecture to a total stranger," she teased.
"We know each other's names now," he said defensively, flushing slightly. "Not total strangers."
Despite herself, Robin smiled. She could leave now, she knew. She could thank him for the story and wander off by herself to some other section, enjoy a quiet afternoon at the museum and return home to her apartment. Life as usual. And yet…
"Well, then, stranger," she found herself saying, "what can you tell me about this next exhibit?" she pointed to a set of short swords in a glass case.
Chrom stared at her for a split second, then grinned widely. Robin felt something slide into place with a click, felt a strange feeling of rightness.
"Well," Chrom said, "these are a set of blades from Akaneia, the country before Ylisse. I think these are from around the time of the Hero-King Marth…"
The two of them walked away from the painting, talking quietly.
On the canvas, the Exalt Chrom draws his sword against the darkness. Beside him, the High Deliverer stands ready, hands wreathed in arcs of lightning. The two stand together, their moment of unity captured forever in paint. Viewers who looked very carefully often saw, under the tactician's hood, a small trace of a smile.
And Chrom and Robin walked through the museum halls side by side, talking of wars and history and anything they could think of.
After all, two halves of a greater whole could never stay apart for long.
(And so they met again, in a better life.)
A/N: And then they suddenly became best friends except this time neither of them had to die to save the other. #fixeditforyou
