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When Robin first came to the Shepherds, he took to the castle’s library in order to learn all that he possibly could about the country he found himself in. His instincts could carry him through many things, but Robin couldn’t deny that he needed full context for his tactics for work as he wanted.
For example, he needed to know the history of the Shepherds that he was going to be working with. Why were they set up the way they were? Why was the command structure so loose, why was the Shepherds so small if they were such an important peace-keeping force in the kingdom.
Robin found the military history tomes and records easily enough, giving the papers he had been given as a new member of the Shepherds to get access. The librarian gave him a searching look but acquiesced easily enough, showing him the shelves in question and offering to help if he needed.
The first thing Robin noticed as he worked through the books was that the Shepherds in their current iteration had not been established for long at all. Compared to the other Ylissean military forces he was familiar with, such as the Pegasus Knights, the Shepherds were very young. In fact, the version of the Shepherds that Robin had joined seemed to only be as old as Exalt Emmeryn’s reign.
This made Robin wonder what the Ylissean military was like before this.
The records from prior to Exalt Emmeryn’s reign were… very in depth. Robin found journals from war tacticians detailing long, drawn out campaigns. He found ledgers for a national army that far outstripped the scope of Ylisse’s current situation. He found multiple reports, books, and other information that recounted a war. And not just a war, but a conquest. The majority of the aggressions appeared to be targeting Ylisse’s southern neighbor, Plegia.
The country that Frederick had insinuated Robin originated from, Well, wasn’t that just lovely, Robin thought, massaging his temple. Robin cursed his amnesia and that he couldn’t even give a hint of an answer in that regard. He wasn’t stupid, Robin had looked up some information on Plegia already and had noticed similarities in Plegian art and the sigils that adorned his coat. However, none of the names or descriptions of Plegia rang any bells. Robin supposed he could have been an expatriate, but he didn’t have any proof toward that either.
The most concerning thing with that line of thought was found in a journal that discussed, among other things, the Plegian state religion. The general who wrote the journal was fond of sketches interesting items and artistic motifs he found, and was obviously fascinated with the scale of Plegian religious structures and iconography even if he described the culture in question as “unfailingly brutal and obsessed with destruction”. This general made note of a curious sigil he found, showing up repeatedly in tapestries and murals, in stained glass windows and carvings. The sigil showed six eyes, three each on two curved lines that intertwined with each other at the bottom.
Despite his amnesia, that shape was burned into Robin’s soul. He knew he saw it on the back of his hand when Chrom first found him in that field, even if it appeared gone almost every other time he dared look. His heart shuddered when he saw it in the journal, blatant and accusing. Robin could only thank whatever deity looked over him that no one had seen the mark that afternoon but him, as he could only see it as the most damning evidence that he was of the enemy. Likely, if someone had seen this mark of Plegia’s destruction cult (as he had seen described) tattooed on his person, Robin would have been immediately imprisoned.
Pulling himself away from Plegia, Robin then turned his research to the person responsible for the actions, the prior Exalt, Perceval. Although Robin could appreciate the thought process behind some of the tactics elucidated in the records, journals often revealed that the more conservative approaches meant to reduce loss of life weren’t followed, particularly near the end of the Plegian Conquest. One journal spoke in highly coded terms of frustration with the military higher-ups, of a growing feeling of unease and strife not only among the troops but apparently back home. Too often, campaigns were cruel and didn’t seem to achieve much purpose besides terrorizing the Plegian countryside. By the end of the records describing his reign, the tone was acidic and angry. The Ylissean people were tired and frustrated, the military sick of violence, and the damage done to the enemy unconscionable. Generals and tacticians spoke of the enemy and their own forces as if they were monsters or tools to be used for a greater purpose. It was a picture of an era with an almost religious fervor for subjugation, at the expense of humanity. Robin felt sick at some points reading through it.
He supposed it made sense then why he didn’t see any iconography of the late Exalt around the capital, aside from a portrait hanging amongst similar depictions of past rulers.
The man’s stern gaze seemed to glare directly into Robin as he wandered through the halls, as if he could tell that one of the people he hated was daring to exist within his castle walls. But somehow, as Robin became more and more entrenched in the Shepherds, this glare was less terrifying. Not that Robin was completely unaffected, but it was easier to push his fear down with the support he found himself surrounded by.
Robin would often find himself in the portrait halls. The night before they were set to march to the Plegian border to rescue Maribelle, Robin found himself staring up at all the past Exalts. He had drawn up contingency plan after contingency, working tirelessly to protect Exalt Emmeryn and extract Maribelle with minimal fighting. Despite the late hour, he saw someone approach him in his peripheral vision. Robin flicked his eyes over to see Chrom looking at him thoughtfully.
“Hello, Chrom. Shouldn’t you be resting before tomorrow?” Robin said.
Chrom scoffed. “I could ask you the same thing.”
“I’ll go to bed soon. I was just thinking,” Robin demurred.
Chrom followed Robin’s gaze to the portrait on the wall. Robin noted that Chrom seemed tense as a wire looking up to his father’s image. Given Exalt Perceval’s legacy from the records and books he had read, Robin was morbidly curious how Chrom felt about the man. However, Robin hadn’t known Chrom long enough to really feel comfortable asking. That wasn’t even thinking about how he was the crown prince of the nation Robin found himself unexpectedly saved by. However, Robin still felt a spark of… something between them that had Robin constantly making contact with Chrom that probably should have had Robin punished. Surely it wasn’t normal for a commander and his tactician to be as familiar as they were (especially this early in their careers), but perhaps that was to be expected when one finds another with amnesia in a field.
Chrom’s eyes hardened as he looked upon the portrait and despite his apprehension, Robin felt the urge to break the tension. Chrom deserved to be smiling or at the very least comfortably resting before heading out tomorrow, secure in the knowledge that Robin would keep his beloved sister safe.
“I’ve been reading about past military endeavors in this country to learn more for what I can do,” Robin began. Chrom’s brow furrowed.
“I don’t quite follow,” he said, looking over to Robin. Good, at least he wasn’t staring with that weird look.
“Well, there’s a rich history to look through. I don’t have any memories of formal training in tactics, so it seemed like a good idea. You can learn a lot from past successes,” Robin explained, “and mistakes.”
Chrom stared at Robin intensely.
“I don’t want to overstep, of course,” Robin further explained, “but I’ve been reading all these past records and it seems that not so long ago, so many easy to change mistakes were made. And perhaps mistake isn’t the word I’m looking for… perhaps the word is ‘willful disregard for human life’. It’s humbling and I’ve been keeping it as a reminder of what this job could be. Of what I could be. There’s a danger in thinking of people as pawns to be manipulated on a battlefield. I cannot let myself think that way.”
“You wouldn’t. I can tell,” Chrom says with a quiet fervor. “Besides, you don’t have a leader forcing you into taking actions like that.”
Chrom spits out those last words like poison.
“No, I don’t. That is true, but simply following orders is no excuse for some of the atrocities I’ve read about. I don’t think we can excuse those who more closely orchestrated that war just because their leader was irrational. Erm, I mean no offense,” Robin said quickly.
“I take absolutely none, believe me,” Chrom said. “That man ruined everything. Emmeryn has done so much to try and fix what he broke and now…” The anger and fear bled into his voice and Robin rushed to comfort him
“I won’t let Exalt Emmeryn’s work be in vain, I promise,” Robin said. He could only hope his sincerity came through.
“Thank you, Robin,” Chrom said, turning fully to face Robin now. “I trust you implicitly. I don’t know what you’ve been reading, but I know in my soul that you won’t end up like that. I can just feel it.”
A strange sort of tension hung in the air between them, like a string attached to their chests pulling them ever closer and closer. Chrom made a move to reach out, hovering his hand awkwardly around Robin’s face, which Robin felt the inexplicable urge to lean toward. Chrom’s blue eyes glittered with the flickering firelight in the hall, clear despite his bangs falling into them. Robin swore he could feel heat rising high on his cheeks. Then, with the distant sound of a guard shift change at the entrance to the hall, the moment broke. Chrom changed course and clapped Robin’s shoulder.
“Ah, well, I suppose we should each get some sleep,” he said, clearing his throat. Robin could only nod, his head still slightly whirring from the energy they just shared. Chrom smiled and turned on his heel, looking back before he walked too far.
“Also, you can call her Emmeryn. I know she would be alright with it, she really does like you. Besides, you already feel like my best friend and, well, you could say that my sisters and me hold our family close. That includes those close friends we’ve brought in. Good night, Robin.”
And with that, Chrom left the hall, leaving Robin framed by the portrait of Exalt Perceval and struggling to fit all the new information into his understanding of his place in the world.
----
Robin found his way back to that hall only briefly during the short war with Plegia after that rescue mission, too busy with his work now so desperately needed. As word of his success spread, Robin even found himself pulled aside to assist with the small non-Shepherds military forces, aside from the Pegasus Knights who were mostly independent. Robin still frequented the library, but his eye toward the old records changed. He pored over them for information on Plegian landscapes, on their military structure (to the best they could know, since Robin was sure that they had changed in the same way Ylisse had).
And through it all, that spark between Robin and Chrom grew into a strong and vibrant flame.
Sometimes the flame felt like an inferno in Robin’s chest, burning from the inside out with his desire to be with Chrom. His desire to touch him, become one with him. Other times, the flame simply warmed him pleasantly, as they gently tended to it with late night talks and whispers shared over meals. Robin knew in his heart what this feeling was now, even if it was terrifying.
It was terrifying when they cautiously allowed their touches to linger. It was terrifying when Chrom’s voice held on in the air as he murmured soft words. It was terrifying when they finally kissed, once but delicate and sweet.
And perhaps they kissed a little less delicately after. It was war, after all, and they were following their hearts.
----
Despite Robin’s hard work, he wasn’t able to save everyone. Robin pushed off the grief from the loss of the Pegasus Knights and Emmeryn’s fall when it happened, knowing that the rest of the Shepherds and more specifically, Chrom, needed him more. His grief and pain came out slowly, leaking from his body as he worked for that last desperate battle. Robin thought he could keep pushing it away, storing his turmoil until after the conflict and that then he could then allow himself to cry. However, he learned that apparently that was not how he processed his emotions.
Chrom was there, though, despite his own pain. The two helped each other and the flame between them grew to its largest but most comforting state.
Together they arose from the ashes of defeat at Ylisstol to end the Mad King Gangrel’s terrible reign. Chrom smiled wanly as the Plegian forces surrendered. Robin wished he could know what he was thinking, but his eyes were clouded. The only moment of clarity he had was when Chrom pulled Robin aside and asked fervently if Robin would marry him.
Of course, Robin had to say yes.
However, aside from those brief moments when they allowed themselves to fully be in love, Chrom seemed almost masked in something darker as they made their way back to the capital. He went through the motions when they arrived, announcing their victory. The preparations began almost immediately for his formal coronation. There had been a sort of emergency passing on of the crown right before they went to confront Gangrel and his army, a sordid meeting in the Duchy of Themis, but the people needed to see Chrom take his place as the next Exalt.
The work flew around quickly and Robin was involved heavily, not only as the Shepherd’s tactician and now a key advisor to the royal family, but as someone who was known to be incredibly close to the family as well. Chrom and Robin had decided to announce their engagement formally after the coronation, although family and friends already knew. That didn’t mean that their reputation of being inseparable didn’t precede them and Robin found himself tied up in the planning and councils.
As the day approached, that mask on Chrom’s face grew more and more until his true self was completely hidden behind it. Robin worried but he could never find the time to try and confront Chrom about it. There was always something to do and someone to talk to.
So, the day before the coronation, when Robin found himself in that hall of portraits, he was both happy and apprehensive to see Chrom in front of Emmeryn’s portrait. Robin made his way over Chrom and reached out toward him. Chrom looked over and took Robin’s hand, giving Robin a small smile.
“Are you ready for tomorrow?” Robin asked.
“As ready as I could ever be,” Chrom replied and turned his face back to the portrait. Exalt Perceval was placed right next, and Robin could see Chrom’s eyes moving over to his father’s image in turn.
“I know I didn’t know her very long, but I do think she would be proud of you,” Robin said softly.
“I know, I know,” Chrom said. “I just hope I can live up to her expectations.”
Robin stayed silent but squeezed his hand. Chrom swallowed, his eyes clearing for the first time in days.
“I… I never thought I would be Exalt. Even when we were little, it seemed so far away. After all, Emmeryn was my older sister, so I assumed it would be her. And after that, I guess I never wanted to think about what we would do if something happened,” Chrom began explaining.
“I don’t remember my father that much, but from what I can recall, I don’t think he and Emmeryn got along. He was always trying to talk to me about his plans. Like he was trying to turn me in to him. And he wasn’t wrong, I guess. No one wants to say it to my face, but I know they think that I’m just like him anyway. I mean, look at us.”
Robin did note the similarities between the two men, but he didn’t think it was that great. Chrom shared his father’s hair color and jawline, as well as the overall placement of features on his face. However, even taking into account the way portraits tended to sharpen gazes, Chrom’s eyes were so far from his father’s. Exalt Perceval was severe and harsh as his painted form looked upon the hall, whereas Chrom was always kind and full of emotion. Even when he was obviously troubled, as he had been lately, he was still never cold in the way that the records described the late Exalt.
“Who and what you look like means nothing for your character,” Robin said.
“I know that, but it’s not just my looks. All my tutors told me I inherited his temper, among other things. I just…” Chrom tried to gather his thoughts, “I want to continue what Emmeryn started but what if my blood is too strong? I was safer when I was just the commander of the Shepherds. There, I was fighting but I wasn’t able to ruin Emmeryn’s peace. What if I can’t keep what she built safe here? I can’t do politics.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” Robin replied. “And I think your heart will guide you more than you think. You’re a good man, Chrom. You wouldn’t be worrying about this if you weren’t.”
Chrom sniffed and rubbed at his face with his free hand. “I suppose.”
“I know. Remember when you told me that you trusted me implicitly in this very hall?” Robin said. Chrom nodded.
“You decided to trust me based on your gut instinct. That meant so much to me, so now I am doing it for you. I trust you implicitly, Chrom. You brought me, someone obviously of your enemy, into your army and into your home and gave me a family. You gave me a purpose. If you were the kind of man the Exalt was, you would have just thrown me away or used me without sense. I’ve read all the records, I know how it would have gone if we had met fifteen years ago.”
“You have the one thing that he never did: humility and support. Even if that support needs to be critical sometimes, we are here. I have talked about his advisors and generals failed to check what was going on. I will never let that happen again,” Robin said fervently. “We will lead with honor and dignity. I will make sure of it.”
Chrom laughed, watery from the tears that were now falling. “Thank you, Robin. For everything.”
“Of course,” Robin said and pulled Chrom away from the portraits in order to embrace him.
“I love you,” Chrom said, his face muffled in Robin’s hair. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
“Yes, I know,” Robin said then pulled back to peck Chrom on the cheek.
“I guess the battles aren’t ever going to be over,” Chrom said.
“No, but it won’t always be bad. We can take it a day at a time.” Robin responded. “For now, we just need to get through this coronation.”
“Yes, yes,” Chrom said. He then looked down, rubbing his thumb over Robin’s hand and he gathered the courage to speak again. “Will you stay in my room with me tonight?”
Robin smiled. “That sounds doable. Shall we head out?”
Chrom nodded and led them both from the hallway. The echoes of past battles and wars were left behind them as they exited. Robin knew they would carry their weight for the rest of their lives, as it was vital to learn from the past. But he also knew that they could create something new and purposeful from these lessons. Tomorrow would be just the beginning.