A/N: Hello everybody, sorry I was gone for a while there. Just a heads-up: I'm going to be very busy for the next few months but I'll try my best to update!

Also a reminder: if there's any version of Robin from the previous chapters that'd you like to see more of, feel free to say so!


"The problem is," Robin says, spinning her quill absently, "that there just aren't a lot of women who fit both the council's criteria and yours."

To hell with the council's criteria, Chrom thinks bitterly. Even after Gangrel's death and the war's end, he still can't seem to find happiness. Why did a bunch of stuffy noblemen in wigs have a say in who he married, for Naga's sake?

"The council was very…firm on the fact that your wife be someway connected to the nobility," Robin continues. "It's not like there's a shortage of options there. But if we add in your request—"

"I don't want to get married to someone I don't even know," Chrom says adamantly. Which isn't a lie. Chrom wants to marry someone he knows and understands, someone who sees him for who he really is and not just for the brand on his shoulder. Someone like—

He swallows hard, chasing away his wishful thoughts. If there had ever been any chance of that happening, it is far too late now.

"I'll start with the obvious option," Robin says. "Sumia. What do you think?"

Chrom shifts in his seat. He's uncomfortable and Robin knows it. "She's nice," he says eventually.

Robin stares. "Really, Chrom? You can give me better than that."

"Alright, sorry," Chrom says, holding up his hands in surrender. He was always helpless when he was on the receiving end of Robin's stare. "Sumia, Sumia…hang on, no."

"Oh? Why?" Robin says, cocking her head. "She likes you, judging by all the pies she's baked you." If there's a strange edge to her voice, Chrom doesn't notice it.

"Don't mention it," he groans. Sumia's strawberry rhubarb pie had tasted delicious for the first couple slices. After the sixteenth? Not so much.

"And I think she's the daughter of some duchess or the other, so there won't be any complaints coming from the council," Robin presses.

"There might be complaints from Frederick," Chrom retorts, and regrets it almost instantly.

Robin turns her head slowly towards him. "Sorry, why?"

Chrom guiltily picks at a stray splinter on the surface of the table, watching the shadow his hand makes against the moonlight from the open window.

"He's planning on proposing to her," he says.

"Oh." Robin blinks and leans back in her chair. "I didn't know they were so…close."

"Neither did I."

"He told you?"

"No, I—I walked in on him practicing what he was going to say behind the weapons tent."

"Chrom walked in on someone?" Robin says pointedly. "Why didn't I see that coming?"

"Robin!"

"Alright, alright," Robin concedes. "Far be it from me to intervene in Frederick's love life." Chrom snorts. "How about…Maribelle, then?"

Chrom blinks. "Maribelle?" he murmurs, brow furrowing as if he'd never considered the option before. Which he hadn't. "No…no, she and Libra…" he trails off.

"You noticed?" Robin says in disbelief.

Chrom flushes. "Ah…no, Lissa was talking about it."

"That I can believe," Robin says wryly, and Chrom laughs a short, breathy laugh.

"Well…" Robin presses her hand to her forehead, biting her lip. Chrom stares at her mouth for a few seconds before he forces himself to look away. "Well…there's Sully."

Chrom jerks. "Sully!?"

"I know you two grew up together and that might be strange," Robin says quickly, "but she's still a member of the nobility—"

"Sully!?"

"—if you want to marry someone you know, I suppose you know Sully well enough—"

"Sully!?"

"…I'll take that as a no, I guess."

"We've known each other since we were five!" Chrom sputters. "She's like my cousin!"

Robin frowns, although she admitted he did have a point. It would be hard to marry someone when you still had dim childhood recollections of wrestling them into a mud puddle. Not that you would know, a part of her whispers bitterly. What childhood recollections do you have to speak of?

"Alright then. I've saved the best for last," she says, squashing down her negative thoughts. "Olivia."

Chrom stares.

"Olivia," Robin says again. "Pink-haired. Dancer. From Regna Ferox. Remember her?"

"Of course!" Chrom says hastily. "I just—I never really thought about marrying her."

"I think it's clear that you haven't really thought about marrying anyone," Robin quips.

That's not true, Chrom thinks.

"Anyway," Robin continues, "Olivia isn't technically a member of the nobility, but she's charismatic and is in good standing with Basilio—if you two marry that'll be seen as another tie between Regna Ferox and Ylisse so there should be no complaints from the council on that part. And she's nice enough, I guess."

"No," Chrom says.

Robin groans and buries her head in her hands. "Really, Chrom? What is it this time? Is she too quiet for you? Do you prefer singers over dancers? Maybe you would prefer that her hair be a lighter shade of pink?"

"No—it's none of those in particular! I just don't want to marry her!" Chrom protests.

"Why not?" Robin says. She's run out of patience and her cheeks are beginning to flush with agitation. "She's beautiful, kind, and a member of the Shepherds. Why not, Chrom? Why not?"

"I don't want to!" Chrom says loudly, almost childishly, in his refusal. "I don't want to marry Sumia or Maribelle or Sully or Olivia!"

Robin suddenly slams her hand on the table with a bang. "Well, help me out here then, because I certainly don't see any other option!"

Chrom's breath catches in his throat. "No other option?" he asks softly.

Robin's eyes flick up to meet his. She opens her mouth as if about to speak, but no words come out. They stare at each other, each silently begging the other to speak first, to say what neither of them has the courage to say, what they both know to be impossible.

Robin lowers her eyes, letting the mask of indifference fall away. She can't have him and it hurts, to be denied the one thing she ever longed for, the one thing she ever dreamed of having. But Robin doesn't have noble blood in her veins, she has a six-eyed mark on her hand and a blank slate where her memories used to be. She is not pure and kind like Sumia, cultured and prim like Maribelle, or graceful and beautiful like Olivia. Robin's hair is Plegian silver and the Mark of Grima is embroidered into her coat, and though she might be close friends with Chrom it will never—can't ever amount to anything more than that.

"None," she says quietly.

The two of them fall into silence.

Chrom slips a hand in his pocket. His fingers find and circle around a ring, a ring with the Ylissean crest seared into its gemstone, a ring his mother had passed down and Emmeryn had entrusted to him, telling him to give it to the right person. And Chrom, still gangly and awkward in his teenage years, had asked, how will I know who the right person is? And Emmeryn had smiled and said, you'll know.

This ring is Robin's. It's been Robin's since the two of them reunited after Gangrel was defeated and Chrom had realized that even after the long, grueling war and faced with the prospects of all he had to do as the new Exalt, all he could think about in that moment was how happy he was that she was alive.

"Robin—" he says, a moment of daring overtaking him. But she knows him too well and cuts him off.

"It's about what's best for Ylisse, Chrom," she says harshly, hoping he won't hear the tremor in her voice.

Chrom stops and closes his eyes, bowing his head. Robin feels a pang of guilt at seeing him so defeated and speaks more gently. "Your wife has to be more than your wife. You're the Exalt, Chrom. She has to be a queen."

"I'm my own man before I'm the Exalt," Chrom whispers, his eyes still shut tight as if he could block out the world. "I—I want to be just Chrom. Just me." he lifts his head to gaze at Robin beseechingly. "After all we've been through, is that too much to ask?"

"I wish it weren't," Robin says, throwing all pretense of apathy to the wind. "Trust me. I wish it weren't."

Chrom clenches his jaw. He wants to give her so much. He wants to give his love and his promise that he will stay by her side. He wants to give her security, peace, a family. He wants to hold her in his arms as the night falls and fall asleep to the sound of her breathing.

But he can't give her any of that. He can't even give her a ring.

"Olivia it is, then," he hears himself say. He feels a vague sense of distance between himself and his body, as if it isn't really him sitting in that chair, as if everything is happening to someone else.

"Okay," Robin says quietly. "You decide how to go about it, then. You'll be expected to court her, but not for very long—the council wants to see a new queen as soon as possible." She rises and pushes back her chair, turning towards the door.

A suddenly feeling of panic seizes him. "Wait! Don't go," he says quickly. "Robin!" she stops and turns towards him. "Robin! Don't go."

"I'm just going back to my room," she replies, puzzled. "It's late."

"No—that's not—" he flounders. How can he let her walk out, when after tonight nothing will be the same ever again? "Not yet. It's not too late yet. Can you—will you stay, for a little while longer?"

Robin studies him for a few moments. Her silver hair, in the moonlight, seems to glow faintly.

"For a little while longer," she says softly, and steps back to rejoin him.


Chrom marries Olivia on a sunny spring day. The crowds rejoice in the streets. Banners are hung and confetti is flung to celebrate the bride and groom, and the next link in the line of the Exalt. Chrom smiles and lifts his hand to greet the adoring masses of people. But Frederick and Lissa, and Sully and Vaike, and those closest to him can tell by the way his eyes remain dim and the set of his shoulders, that the smile is not a true one.

Robin watches the marriage from the shadows. She silently vows to be faster and smarter and better than she was before—a tactician whose name will be written down in history, a tactician who is remembered for leading Ylisse and her Exalt to peace and prosperity.

After all, all she ever wanted was for him to be safe.


Maybe someplace else there would have been a happy ending.


A/N: My writing went a bit wonky when I was writing this. I don't know if it's evident. I think I need more sleep.

Reviews are greatly appreciated! Hearing feedback really does make my day, even if it's just a line or two.