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"I think it’s time," Robin declares softly at first, but then when she meets Chrom’s curious eyes across the coffee table, she raises her voice, "I think it’s time! Did you hear me Chrom! I said I think it’s time!"
"I heard you just fine," he answers evenly, but one eyebrow is lifted at her that betrays his detached countenance, "and don’t shout. You’ll wake up the entire castle if you keep shouting out like that."
She ignores his unnecessarily remark. "Did you hear me Chrom? I think it’s time!"
"Time for what?" Chrom lets out a small sigh, deciding to entertain her but regrets the second after when he sees the wide grin that blossoms on her lips.
She looks too happy and giggly for his own good.
"To change the Shepherds’ name, of course!" Robin giggles, covering her face behind her hands as if she’s told him the name of the boy she loved and Chrom doesn’t know whether to feel pleased or horrified to discover this new side of his wife—the giggly, annoying school girl.
Then, when he registers her words, his eyebrows knit together in confusion.
"I personally think ‘the Shepherds’ is a good name. I chose it myself when Emm let me found my own militia. I don't see why you want to change it."
She makes a face. "Really, Chrom? ‘The Shepherds’ a good name? Where did you find that name, anyway? While you were tending sheep, Chrom?" Robin says mockingly, giggling.
He looks slightly vexed, ears red. "Now you’re just being rude. I was accompanying Emm on her tour of Ylisse when I thought of that name."
Her smile widens and the corners of her lips twitch as she tries to refrain another laugh. "So you were really a shepherd, Chrom!"
"I was experiencing my people’s life," he says defensively, "and I had really fun tending the sheep. At that time, it seemed cool to name the militia I found after them but now," he glares at her, "I know that’s lame, thank you very much."
Robin doesn’t look remorseful at all—in fact, she is roaring with laughter.
"Oh Gods, Chrom! It’s hilarious! You, the prince, tending the sheep!" She howls with laughter. "Were you wearing the kind of clothes Donny wears?" She squeals. "With a pot on your head!?" Her chest quakes even harder than before. "My Gods, Chrom, this is probably the best night I’ve ever had in my life!"
In the loneliest moment of his life, Chrom hopes that if he looks daggers at Robin hard enough, he’d one way of another manage to kill her.
And without any regret.
He glares at the empty bottles on the coffee table. "Alcohol doesn’t make you puerile," he starts, narrowing his eyes at her, "it makes you meanie."
She calms down, her laughter dying down on her throat but her wide, mocking smile is still plastered on her lips and her pupils are gleaming with cheekiness.
"Don’t be such a weenie, Chrom! You know I love you, right?"
"I'm beginning to seriously doubt that."
She ignores his comment. "So, what do you think of ‘Chrom’s Vigilantes’ my pot-headed husband? Oh no, I have a better one! What do you think of ‘the harem of the dorky Chrom’ or—wait, actually that sucks." Then, he sees her snicker and Chrom just rolls his eyes because really, nothing can surprise him anymore. "What do you think of ‘The Merry Band of Rainbow Buttheads’!?"
Robin bursts out laughing again.
Chrom lets out a deep sigh.
"No more alcohol for you."