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Falling in love with Chrom was not a matter Robin had any say in.
She ruminates on this while stealing furtive glances at him from where she kneels amidst plots of upturned soil in the fields of the Aether Resort. Wan, late winter sunlight glints off his armor, making a mirror of the silver, and for a second she sees a smeared version of her own face looking back at her. Robin assiduously turns her attention back to the crops she’s supposed to be tending, tugging harder at the weeds than is strictly necessary.
It’s been roughly two months since this version of Chrom arrived in Askr, and they haven’t spoken once since then. Frankly, it’s bizarre. Prior to his arrival, every Chrom summoned to Askr was quick to pair off with a Robin—sometimes two, if the spring festival Chrom and the red-eyed, wolf-costume-wearing versions of Robin he’s always with are anything to go by. But while it stung to be the only iteration of herself without a Chrom to call her own, Robin was content to wait if she had to. In Ylisse, she’d never been able to entertain the idea of confessing her feelings to him at all. The pressure they were under from the war, the difference in their stations…it all left a chasm too wide to be bridged by her feelings alone.
But Askr is different. Here, Chrom is free of the duties that come with being the Prince of Ylisse; here, they are all on equal footing as members of the Order of Heroes. And Robin is surrounded by endless evidence that her love could be returned. So when this new Chrom was summoned, she dared to believe she had a chance of being with him. Or, at the very least, that she would be able to confess her feelings.
Robin still vividly remembers how he’d materialized in a flash of prismatic light, his silhouette flickering amidst plumes of white smoke. And how butterflies battered her chest when she realized it was him.
She was instantly taken with him, which was no surprise. It was Chrom, after all. No matter which world or timeline he came from, his heart was the same, and she got the distinct sense she was doomed to fall for him no matter how many iterations of the universe existed. But something about this Chrom had affected her differently than any before—or at least any besides the one she’d known in her own world.
She couldn’t pin down what it was. He was handsome, to be sure, donning the armor of an Ylissean great lord, and having filled out more compared to the wiry frame of some of his younger selves. But every version of Chrom was handsome. Disruptively, inconsiderately handsome. As far as Robin was concerned, that was as much his trademark as the brand on his arm, so she couldn’t understand why just looking at him tied her heart strings in knots. Knots she’d hoped to leave unraveled after being whisked out of Ylisse.
Against her better judgment, Robin peeks over towards him again. Chrom’s attention is focused on the Summoner, who has engaged him in conversation while helping to load produce onto a large cart destined for the dining hall. His bangs are tousled from exertion and the brilliant blue of his eyes is visible even from a distance.
She must linger in looking at him for too long, because Chrom turns suddenly, and in the instant their eyes meet, she sees something raw and wounded flash across his face. Robin skitters her gaze away, but it’s too late—Chrom mounts his horse in record time and is already jetting off down the road—sending several heads of lettuce bouncing off the cobblestone in the process.
A sigh slips past her lips as she watches the Summoner chase after him, arms laden with run-away vegetables. None of the Chroms in Askr affected her the way this one does…so naturally, he’s also the only one who wants nothing to do with her. Or any Robin for that matter. She yanks on a weed so hard she up-ends dirt onto the skirts of her dress.
“You could just say something to him, you know.”
Robin jumps. Her male counterpart kneels beside her in the soil, tending the fields with her, as per the Summoner’s request. Admittedly, the oddity of weeding alongside an alternate reality version of herself has not fully worn off, but they work well together, so she can’t really complain.
The other Robin takes one of the tomatoes he plucked and shines it against the short lavender cape he’s wearing before placing it in the basket at their side. “It’s just Chrom,” he adds. “He doesn’t bite.”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Robin replies tersely. “Can you pass me that spade?”
Male Robin rolls his eyes as he hands her the gardening equipment. “Really, feigning ignorance? Did you forget that we’re the same person? I know what our version of pining looks like.”
Robin heaves another sigh, driving the spade into the loamy soil. “Look, I appreciate that you’re trying to help, but it’s not as simple as that.”
“Oh? Enlighten me, then,” he says, quirking an eyebrow. “What makes your situation so uniquely complicated that I wouldn’t be able to understand it?”
He stares at her expectantly while Robin nibbles her lip, deliberating. She hasn’t actually spoken about her feelings for Chrom to anyone before. But if she’s going to, she supposes an alternate version of herself is about as safe an option as she’s going to get.
“Well…” she says, “I mean, you’ve seen the way he reacts to us, haven’t you?”
Male Robin nods. “Yeah, he always turns tail and runs. But my Chrom was like that for a while too. I had to corner him in the tactics tent to finally wrangle a confession out of him.”
Briefly, Robin smiles. The Robin she’s partnered with arrived in Askr as half of a duo unit—the Chrom from his timeline right along side him. At first, the fact they were summoned together and dressed to attend the same festival as her was a bit of a sore spot for Robin. But ultimately, she couldn’t begrudge her other self his happiness. And it’s cute seeing how unbelievably smitten his Chrom is with him.
Her smile falters again when she thinks of the drastic difference in demeanor between that Chrom and the one she just sent fleeing.
“I don’t know…” she hedges. “I don’t think it’s that sort of avoidance. Every time he looks at me, or any of us for that matter, he just seems so…miserable.”
Male Robin taps his chin as he mulls her words over, smudging some dirt on his face in the process. “You might be right,” he admits, finally. “But if he’s hurt by something one of us did, then that’s all the more reason to talk to him.”
“It might not be something I can fix,” Robin insists. She knows there are worlds in which Robin’s betrayal nearly costs Chrom his life—she’s had more than her share of nightmares about it. Maybe this Chrom came from a world where he lived but never forgave them. Or a world where they were never anything more than enemies in the first place.
She wonders if the other Robin’s thoughts have followed the same path as hers, because for a moment, his face clouds over. He shakes the shadows away just as quickly. “Well, you won’t know unless you try, right?”
Robin groans. “I’m starting to see why people complain about us being stubborn.”
“I could say the same to you,” he counters. “Just think it over. It’s not like you can make things much worse.”
“Thank you, very reassuring,” Robin replies, flicking soil at him in retaliation. “And anyway, I don’t see why I’m the one you’re nagging about this when Chrom’s the one who keeps running away.”
“Well, that’s because he’s not my weeding partner,” male Robin responds sagely. “And all the running away makes him significantly harder to nag.”
Robin snorts before standing, brushing stray plant debris from her skirt, and swiping a hand across her sweat beaded forehead. She knows winters in Askr are notoriously mild, but it’s still been a shock to see the pastures cajoled back into a lush verdure by the second month of the year. “Okay, are we done here?”
“No, I still think you should stop sulking and invite Chrom to the Day of Devotion.”
Robin shoots him a sharp look. “I meant with gardening.”
“Oh. Sure, then,” he agrees. “But my point stands.”
She scoffs. “Please. I wasn’t even attending the festival with Chrom in my own world—I’m not about to invite a Chrom who can’t bear to look at me. Honestly, I’d rather not go at all.”
Robin was just about to attend her first Day of Devotion in Ylisse when the summoner magicked her into Askr. The dire straits of her love life compared to every other Robin here has not exactly made the upcoming festival a priority for her.
“Why not?” male Robin presses. “Don’t you think it’s possible that the Chrom you keep gawping at is just as miserable without you as you are without him?”
“Well, if he is, then he’s got an awfully strange way of showing it,” she mutters. “And I’m not gawping!”
Male Robin shrugs. “It wouldn’t be the first time Chrom has reacted to something less than rationally,” he notes, ignoring her protest all together. “Just promise me you’ll think about it.”
“Fine. I’ll think about it,” she huffs, but she’s saying it just to appease him. Robin knows full well she’ll be spending the holiday alone.
The morning of the Day of Devotion, Robin can’t bring herself to crawl out of bed. Even with the covers pulled over her head, she can hear the din of the festival: lilting harp music and strings of laughter pressing through her windowpane. It’s not like Robin to be so self-pitying, but just this once she’s going to let herself have it. The silken red banners and strewn petals bedecking Askr’s palace and courtyard will be all too vivid a reminder of the Ylisse she left behind—and that, somehow, despite being surrounded by countless versions of her friends, here in Askr, she feels lonelier than ever.
Robin is absently counting the pills of wool on her blanket when a frantic pounding on her door jolts her to attention. Startled, she stumbles out of bed and swings the door open to find her male counterpart dressed in full festival attire and looking distinctly harried.
His expression morphs from agitated to perplexed as he scans her over. “Why aren’t you dressed yet?”
“We’re not morning people,” she replies drily, making a half-hearted attempt to smooth her hair. “You know this.”
“I mean yeah, but there’s a difference between morning and half-way through the—”
“Can I help you with something?” Robin interjects. She really isn’t in the mood to be shamed for her moping.
Male Robin’s eyes refocus on her, seemingly recalling the urgency of his visit. “You can, actually. I’m here because I have a favor to ask.”
Intrigued, Robin straightens up and rubs some of the sleep from her eyes. “A favor? What’s up?”
He sighs, massaging his temple the same way she always does when she’s trying to stave off a headache. “Owain got carried away and accidentally broke Lucina’s present for Chrom,” he explains. “She needs me to keep Chrom away from the festival until she’s found a suitable replacement gift, but that means I won’t be able to pick up the flowers I ordered for him.” He pauses to offer an apologetic smile. “I hate to put this on you, but would you be able to go by Anna’s stand to get them for me? They’re reserved under my name, so I can’t send anyone else.”
Robin swallows down the bile-flavored envy that briefly tickles her throat—just because she can’t enjoy the holiday doesn’t mean her other self shouldn’t get to. Sucking up her despondency, she nods. “Of course. I just need to tell Anna our name, right? How do you want me to get them to you after?”
The other Robin is visibly relieved. “Thanks, you’re a lifesaver. And I know a spot we can meet at. If you follow the stepping stone path along the canals in the southern courtyard, you’ll eventually come to a gazebo tucked away in the gardens—you can’t miss it. It’s really secluded, so it should be a safe place to hand the flowers off.”
Robin raises an eyebrow. “It’s really secluded…and I can’t miss it?”
Male Robin waves a hand at her dismissively. “Don’t be pedantic, you know what I mean. In any case, I’ll find an opportunity to slip off from Chrom and meet you there, and once I have the flowers, you’re free to go. Unless you’d rather hang around for some quality Shepherd bonding time, that is.”
“Thanks, but I’ll pass on the third wheeling,” she assures him. “Just give me a minute to get dressed and I’ll head down.”
“Suit yourself,” he says with a shrug. “I’d better go find Chrom, but thanks again for doing this. I’ll try not to keep you waiting too long.”
“It’s fine,” Robin says, grabbing her shawl from where it’s draped over her desk chair. “Not like I was doing anything else today.”
When she turns back to the door, however, she finds the other Robin has already vanished down the hall.
The festival celebrating the Day of Devotion is even more grandiose than Robin was prepared for. Thick bands of crimson silk drape the courtyard, and stand in sharp contrast to the cutting, crystalline blue of the sky. The air is perfused with the scents of a hundred different flowers, making each breath sweet and heavy as syrup.
And then there’s the festival goers. Throngs of people push and pull apart like taffy as they flit between stalls, sifting through shiny trinkets and elaborately decorated pastries in search of the perfect presents for their loved ones. In the courtyard square, couples in pastel dresses and bright robes twirl together to the swell of a fife and lute’s romantic melodies—the rainbow colors of the fabric spinning and flitting like petals caught in the wind. Robin passes more than one pavilion where the immaculately manicured rose bushes are not enough to hedge in the saccharine murmuring of whatever couple has stolen away behind them.
She’s not surprised, then, when she finds the flower stand swarmed. Anna, who is infamous for never turning away a customer, is practically beating people back as they clamber up to the table, demanding last minute arrangements. It’s no wonder the reservations had to be placed under individual hero’s names or Robin has no doubt someone else would have pilfered them.
She elbows her way past a broad, red-haired man who is pleading with Askr’s Anna to spare him extra flowers. Luckily, the Anna from Ylisse recognizes Robin right away, and retrieves the reserved flowers from behind the stall with no questions asked.
“Hey, looks like you coordinated the flowers with your outfit and everything,” Anna notes, as she hands them off to Robin. “Leave it to a tactician to plan ahead like that. Wish some of these other heroes had that foresight.”
Robin blinks down at the flowers owlishly. Anna is right; the bouquet and circlet are made from Achimenes and Fairy Primrose—the same flowers Robin wound into her hair and braided together to make the wreath she uses as a tome.
Bouquet obtained, Robin shuffles to the side of the stall before she and the blossoms are both trampled. She turns them around in her hands with curiosity. It’s not completely outlandish that the other Robin would have selected the same flowers she wears. They’re the same person, after all, and perhaps he felt their meaning made for as suitable a present for Chrom as she had when she chose them in Ylisse. Still, it’s an odd coincidence...
Robin shakes her head, dismissing the strangeness as happenstance, and sets off to find the designated meeting spot. She can always ask the other Robin about it when she passes the flowers off to him.
As Robin winds back through the gardens, the festival atmosphere softens into something much more palatable. Here, the sky is not so abrasive: sunlight filters through a canopy of budding trees, casting patchwork shadows on the glimmering, turquoise canals. Trilling laughter and ecstatic shouts are replaced with the soft gurgle of fountains. Robin lifts the skirts of her dress as she hops the stepping stones, careful to keep the hem from getting wet.
She finds the gazebo sequestered between spires of hollyhock and beds of carnations. It’s a beautiful spot—tucked away just like the other Robin assured her. She half wonders if he chose the location in the hopes that, after handing off the flowers, Robin will clear out and he can share a private moment here in the shaded gardens with his Chrom.
Robin sighs. In all likelihood, she’ll be waiting a while yet, so she might as well make herself comfortable. Gingerly, she lays the bouquet on the railing beside her and leans against one of the gazebo’s pearly pillars. She casts her gaze out at the petals polka-dotting the water and wills away the thorny sting building in her chest. In the hush that has fallen, it’s harder to ignore.
Gods, when did she get to be so bitter? This holiday is really bringing out the worst in her. Their lives in Askr are not without strife: she should be happy to see her allies and fellow heroes forgetting their worries and basking in the rosy glow of a day that revolves around love.
But it just doesn’t feel fair. Robin’s new life began when she awoke memory-less in a field—with no knowledge of whatever family she may have once had, or if she’d ever been loved or cared for by anyone. And just when she had finally carved out a space for herself amongst the Shepherds…just when she finally thought she’d found somewhere she could belong, she was spirited away to Askr and forced to start all over again. But this time without Chrom.
Maybe this is what she gets for longing for more than his friendship. Maybe fate is punishing her for her secret, selfish wishes by denying her even the comfort of Chrom’s companionship in this world. And by gouging her open a little more every time he refuses to meet her eyes.
Robin waits for some time, plucking petals from the Bougainvillea that strangle the gazebo pillars, and watching them spiral down to the stream below until the water is a blanket of opaque pink. Idly, she thinks of Sumia’s flower fortunes and wonders what they would have to say about her seemingly immutable loneliness.
The clatter of footsteps on the stone path reels Robin out of her brooding. With effort, she constructs a teasing smile for her face before turning, determined not to sour the mood.
“Finally. Took you long enough,” Robin chides, at the same time another voice says:
“Sorry to keep you waiting—”
There is a split second during which she registers that the voice she just heard is too deep to belong to the other Robin. And that’s all the warning she gets before she finds herself face to face with Chrom.
Her heart convulses in her chest.
Chrom is here. And not just any Chrom, but the Chrom in the great lord armor. The Chrom who always flees at the sight of her. He’s not fleeing now, though if the frantic light in his eyes is anything to go by, he’s certainly thinking about it. Robin suspects she’s looking at him much the same way.
“C-Chrom?” she chokes out. “What are you doing here?”
A fraction of the panic on his face shifts into confusion. Chrom rubs the back of his neck—his tell that he’s uncomfortable—and even though it’s not a reaction Robin is used to him having to her, the gesture is so familiar that she aches. “Er, you asked me to come here, didn’t you?” he stammers.
Robin is gobsmacked. “What? I did?”
Chrom withdraws a note from a pant leg pocket and holds it out towards her, hand trembling slightly. “It was unsigned, but I recognized—I mean, this is your handwriting, isn’t it?”
Still at a loss, Robin takes a halting step forward to better inspect the note and Chrom’s spine goes rigid as the space between them shrinks. Yet when her eyes land on the parchment, she can hardly spare a thought to be hurt by his visceral reaction to her. The note’s sloppy scrawl, instructing Chrom to rendezvous with the sender at this very gazebo, is definitively written in Robin’s hand.
Just like that, everything clicks into place. The flowers, a match to those in her hair; the out of the way meeting place; a note that’s a perfect forgery of her handwriting, because it’s not really a forgery at all…
She’s been played. Played with as much prowess as Cordelia plucks a harp’s strings, and all the ruthlessness with which Virion captures an opponent’s chess piece. It was a set-up from the beginning and Robin waltzed into it without a second thought.
Robin could try and explain it to Chrom. She could tell him it wasn’t she who sent the note at all—that they’re both just unwitting pawns in a different tactician’s nefarious scheme. But bumbling through a recount of this whole inane sequence of events would only draw things out more. As much as she hates to admit it, playing along is the fastest way to make the encounter end.
And besides, some tiny voice in the back of her head insists, Chrom recognized my handwriting and he still came to meet me. Surely that must mean he doesn’t hate her completely.
Robin’s resolve snaps into place. She’s just going to have to muddle through the humiliation of Chrom’s rejection, and then she can set to work plotting a very thorough revenge for the Robin that masterminded this. She takes a steadying breath, bracing herself against the gazebo railing.
“R-right…the note. Of course,” she says, her voice coming out much smaller and less certain than she intended. “I sent it because…um, because I wanted to give you these.”
Tentatively, she offers Chrom the bouquet with one hand, and the circlet with the other. He stares openly, eyes shifting between her and the blossoms before taking a halting step forward.
“You got these flowers…for me?” he asks.
Robin swallows around the feeling of thistle in her throat. “Yes, it’s, um…well, it’s the Day of Devotion,” she explains. “You’re supposed to give flowers to people who are important to you. I know you’re not the same Chrom I knew, b-but…”
She makes the mistake of looking into his eyes: a tidal wave of sundered blue. All her resolve erodes and washes away.
“I’m sorry!” she blurts. “This was stupid—of course you wouldn’t want to accept them, you don’t even know me. Forget I said anything, I just…I’ll go.”
“W-wait, Robin, stop!” he exclaims, his hands shoot out and grasp her wrists before she can pull them away. She goes ice stiff under his touch and for a breath, Chrom freezes too, his eyes transfixed on the two points of contact between them. He blinks down at them like he can’t believe himself before his eyes return to hers again, steadier now.
“Don’t go,” he pleads softly. “I accept.”
Robin’s mouth falls open. “Y-you do?” she breathes.
“Yes, I do." A measure of the tension between them ebbs away. Chrom loosens his hold on her wrists and slides his fingers over hers to uncurl their grip on the flowers. Dazed, Robin lets him take them. He offers a feeble smile before placing the circlet atop his head, where it sits askew on his messy, cow-licked hair. A burble of hope bursts in her, bright as starlight.
“Thank you,” he murmurs. “You’ll have to forgive me for not having anything for you, I—”
“It’s okay,” she manages, voice still wavering. “You don’t need to give me anything. I’m just happy you’d accept them.”
Thick silence settles between them, a presence all its own. Chrom is staring at her with a daunting level of intensity, and the image of him boring holes through her while clutching a bouquet and wearing an off-kilter, pink flower-crown might be funny if not for the way it makes her heart feel brittle.
It's unbearable to think of continuing like this. She may have been tricked into meeting Chrom here, but it would be a waste not to use the opportunity to try and get answers.
“…Actually, I’m surprised that you came,” Robin adds, trying for an air of casualness she doesn’t feel in the least. “What with all the running away at the mere sight of me.”
Chrom grimaces. “Ah. So you noticed, then…”
Robin snorts before she can think better of it. “It was kind of hard to miss.”
“Err, right,” he coughs into his fist. “I suppose I could have been more subtle.” His eyes are everywhere but on her again—it’s like he’s constantly bouncing between being unable to look at her and unable to look away.
“Why have you been keeping such a distance?” Robin asks carefully. “Were…were we not close in your world?”
Chrom’s eyes widen in alarm. “What?! Of course we were, Robin. No matter how many different timelines exist, I can’t imagine a single one where you wouldn’t mean the world to me.”
Her pulse thumps in her ears—a dizzying blend of relief and distress. “But why then? Why have you been running away from me? For weeks, I…I’ve wanted to—” she breaks off, hating how needy she sounds. “I thought that…maybe in your timeline, I did something to make you hate me.”
“No,” he says fiercely. “No, I could never, ever hate you, Robin. I—” Chrom grasps her hands in his, cradling them close to his heart. “I’m so sorry. I never stopped to think how my strange behavior might have been hurting you. It’s just…” he winces suddenly, that same world-weary and wounded expression shimmering in his eyes before they fall away from hers again.
“It’s just…what?” she asks, voice shaky. He works his jaw silently, clearly battling against demons unknown to her. “Chrom, what is it? Just talk to me,” she pleads. “That’s what we do, isn’t it? We’re stronger when we face things together. If we truly were as close in your world as we were in mine, then you’d know whatever this is, you don’t have to face it alone. I can—”
Chrom crushes her to him, smooshing her cheek against his chest plate. The embrace steals her breath and Robin takes a shuddering inhalation before shakily raising her arms to hug him back. Chrom squeezes her tighter, clinging to her like she’s the only thing that can hold him together. Only once did the Chrom she knew ever hold her like this, and it was right after Emmeryn—
“I lost you,” he whispers into her hair. “I lost you, Robin.”
“Oh….” The word comes out so feeble and insufficient, just a warm puff of air fogging the metal of his armor.
“You swore to me you wouldn’t sacrifice yourself,” he continues quietly. “But you did. You broke your promise to me and I—I couldn’t stop you. If I had just been a moment faster, then maybe—” his voice chokes off as he pulls her even closer, nuzzling against the crown of her head. “A-and then I was summoned here, and…Gods, you were everywhere Robin. It was like you’d never left. I wanted to be happy to see you again. I was happy, but…I was still so angry too. Angry, and hurt, and…and afraid. Afraid that if I let myself love you here, I’d eventually have to lose you again.”
Robin’s fingers tremble against his back, her mind snagged on the word ‘love’, hoping beyond hope even as her heart aches for him.
“I understand,” she whispers. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I can’t give you the answers you need. I wish that I could.”
Chrom withdraws just enough to meet her eyes, keeping his arms wound around her no less tightly than before. “No, don’t be. I’m the one who should be apologizing. It wasn’t my intention, but I realize now I’ve spent the last two months punishing you for a decision you haven’t made. I know I have no right to ask it, but I hope you can forgive me for pushing you away.”
Robin shakes her head, a tentative smile curving her lips. “There’s nothing to forgive,” she tells him. “You were hurting. And being around me or…or any other version of me, was just a reminder of what you lost. Of course you’d keep your distance.”
Chrom brings a hand to her face, the soft leather of his gloved fingers stroking her cheek. His touch is so gentle it threatens to undo her completely. “It’s true that I was afraid of how much it would hurt to be with you again. But I was a fool,” he confesses, shaking his head. “No matter how betrayed I felt, nothing could hurt as much as being parted from you, Robin.”
Without warning, Chrom crashes his lips against hers in a searing, desperate kiss. Robin gasps against his mouth, sputtering like a depleted tome, and Chrom slides his tongue past her parted lips to deepen the kiss. He grasps her hips, and there is no shyness in the way he moves his hands and mouth against her—none of the soft hesitance she envisioned when she dreamed of kissing the Chrom she knew. Robin’s fingers flutter uselessly against his chest—unsure where to rest, or grab hold of, or how to cope with the fact that something she’s wanted for so long is finally happening. Chrom must sense her confusion because he draws back abruptly.
“Robin?” he murmurs, eyes searching hers. “Are you alright?”
“Y-you kissed me,” she squeaks. It’s not an answer to his question, but at the moment, it’s the only response she’s capable of forming.
“I did,” Chrom agrees, worry lines creasing his offensively handsome face. “Sh-should I not have?”
“It’s just—I’ve never—” Gods, why has she suddenly forgotten every word she knows? “T-that was the first time I’ve—”
Somehow, understanding dawns on Chrom’s face despite her broken speech. His skin flushes a deep, brilliant burgundy. “Wait. You mean…in your world, we weren’t—”
“No. We weren’t,” she confirms, voice still tiny and breathless.
Chrom’s arms fall away from her, lightning flashes of horror and embarrassment flickering across his face. “Gods, Robin, I’m so sorry! I-I just assumed—and with the flowers, I thought—”
He takes a stumbling step back and finally she recovers enough to shudder into action. “But I wanted us to be! T-together, I mean,” she clarifies quickly. She forces herself to plunge ahead with the confession before he can pull any further away. “I…I loved you. I’ve always loved you, Chrom, I just—”
“—Didn’t think we could be together?” he supplies. His face is still burning with a blush, but some of the panic in his eyes has melted into something softer. Warmer. Robin feels her own fear fall away.
“...How did you know?”
“Because my Robin said the same thing to me,” he answers, closing the space between them to gently take her hand in his again. “...It was actually at a festival just like this that I finally found the courage to admit how I felt to her.”
Robin’s heart quivers. “And how did she respond?”
Chrom huffs out a short laugh. “She was very adamant at first that our being together was impossible. I made a convincing argument to the contrary.” He tucks a lock of hair behind Robin’s ear and offers a tender smile. “I’d be happy to rehash it, if you need convincing too.”
Suspicion niggles at her; a twinge of guilt in her gut. The summoner told her that heroes could be called from different points in time, as well as from different worlds. She wonders, suddenly, if they couldn’t be called from different points in time in the same world, as well. Wonders if the Robin who loved and lied to the Chrom standing before her might not be so separate from her after all. It would explain why, of all the Chroms in Askr, this one arrested her so completely.
Just as quickly, she boxes the thought away. It’s only a theory. Even if it were true, she wouldn’t have any means of proving it definitively. And right now, she can’t see any way that such a revelation would benefit either of them. What matters at the moment is that they are here together: both eager to be the balm to the other’s hurting.
“...No,” Robin assures him. Her heartbeat is the steady pounding of a drum. “No, I don’t need any convincing. Honestly, now that I know you feel the same way…I’m not sure I could stay away if I tried.”
Chrom presses his forehead to hers. “Please don’t try,” he murmurs, and Robin stifles a laugh.
“I’m done running away if you are.”
“I am. I swear it,” he says, his hand tightening around hers. “I never should have pushed you away, Robin. I spent months wishing for nothing more than to have you by my side again, but when I finally could, I was so…” Chrom trails off, but he doesn’t need to say any more. She can read all the evidence of his scarred trust in the faint wrinkles that pinch his brow and frame his frown—age-lines that should have been etched around his smile instead.
Robin gathers her courage; traces her hand against the curve of his jaw. “I’m not going to pretend that I can erase all the hurt you’ve been through,” she murmurs. “But I can promise that for as long as you’re in Askr, you won’t have to be without me. I…I love you, Chrom. For as long as you’ll have me, I’m yours.”
He beams at her, endless tenderness suffusing his smile. “Forever, then,” he says.
Robin knows it can’t truly be forever. One day, the summoner will send them both back to their own worlds where they’ll be torn from each other again—likely without even their memories of this place to take with them. Chrom must know that too, yet if she broached such fears, she has no doubt he’d meet them with his usual brand of universe-defying optimism. Right now, she wants to let herself believe in miracles too—and with him smiling at her the way he is, it’s not so hard.
“…Forever,” Robin agrees, and this time when Chrom kisses her, she meets him readily—every press of their lips expelling the last dregs of her loneliness. He kisses her breathless and then kisses her more still; does something with his tongue that she really, really likes that causes a strange sound to slip free from her.
Chrom withdraws just enough to kiss along her jaw to a place by her ear she had no idea was so sensitive. Her legs wobble beneath her and she might collapse if not for his arms holding her steady.
“H-how are you doing that?” Robin gasps.
Chrom grins roguishly and steals another quick kiss. “We were married in my world, so I’ve had years to learn exactly what you like,” he reminds her. “I’d like to believe all that practice paid off.”
Robin reddens, trying to pull apart everything that declaration entails. Strangely, as Chrom registers her amplifying embarrassment, a sudden flush creeps into his face as well.
“Err, that doesn’t mean that we have to do any of that, of course,” he amends quickly. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like—th-that is, I wasn’t trying to—” and there’s the easily flustered Chrom she knows.
Robin cuts him off with a kiss to his nose. “I love you,” she assures him. “And I want to be with you in every way that I can.”
His flush fades into another smile. “I love you too, Robin,” he says, and when a faint note of surprise reverberates from her throat, he seems to come to the same realization as her.
“Gods, did I really not say that yet?” Chrom murmurs in disbelief. “I love you, Robin,” he tells her again, punctuating it with a kiss. “I love you.” Another kiss. “I’m endlessly devoted to you.”
“Okay, okay!” she protests through laughter and fiery cheeks. “Enough already. Any more and I’m going to melt onto the floor.”
“Why?” he asks, with an almost believable expression of hurt on his face. “Do you find my love for you embarrassing?”
“Hush, you,” Robin grouses. “Just be quiet and kiss me.”
Chrom doesn’t need to be told twice. They wind together, Robin’s body boxed between the gazebo pillar on one side and Chrom on the other—the metal of his chest plate stealing the heat from her skin. They kiss until her hair is hopelessly tangled and her lips are sore—kiss until a tinkle of laughter drifts to them over the white noise of the fountains and reminds her very suddenly where they are.
“Chrom…” she breathes.
“Yes?”
“M-maybe we should think about relocating somewhere a bit more private. Um. If that’s something you’re open to.”
“Always practical,” he teases, pressing a kiss to her hand. “Of course I am, Robin. But perhaps you’d like to see the festival first?”
She remembers the glaring colors and perfumed air—so overwhelming before. Somehow, with Chrom at her side, she doubts she’ll mind.
“I think I’d like that,” she agrees, and combs a hand through his hair, straightening the circlet of flowers atop his head. Chrom’s eyes go wide at the brush of her fingers.
“Ah, that’s right—the flowers!” he recalls. “Gods, I can’t believe I didn’t think to get you anything.”
Robin laughs. “How could you have possibly known I was going to give you flowers? Besides, we went over this already, Chrom. You don’t have to get me anything.”
“But I want to,” he insists, eyebrows pulled low in consternation. “Maybe I could…”
Abruptly, Chrom whirls around and steps out of the gazebo to stoop beside the surrounding carnations. In disbelief, Robin watches as he takes a cluster of the flowers in both hands, and pulls on them so hard that the roots come up along with the stems.
He turns back to her, sheepishly brushing away clumps of soil still clinging to the tangled roots. “F-for you,” he says, offering them to her with a face as pink as the flowers. “They’re not as nice as the ones you got me, but…”
Robin takes them from him, trying bravely to suppress her laughter. The nerve of him, to look so completely sincere. “Thank you, Chrom,” she says, tucking them into the belt at her waist. She inspects one of the roots between her fingers and teasingly adds, “Maybe I’ll get a pot and replant them in my room.”
Chrom huffs out a self-conscious laugh before taking her hand in his—the warmth of it somehow already a familiar comfort. They spend an hour wandering the festival, dancing to music, and tipsy with the giddiness of their new promise to each other. When errant touches and lingering glances reach a fever pitch they’re no longer able to ignore, Robin finds herself racing back through the castle corridors, happily entangled in Chrom’s arms and spilling over with hope for the night and future ahead of them.
The next morning, Robin storms into the dining hall and slams a hand down on the table. Her male counterpart jolts, the bite of oatmeal he’d been spooning into his mouth landing back in the bowl with a plop!
“You! ” she seethes. “You set me up! ”
Recovering from his surprise, male Robin blinks at her before his face splits into a lazy grin. “That’s a strange way of saying thank you,” he replies, insufferably nonchalant.
“And what exactly am I supposed to be thanking you for?” Robin asks, eyes narrowed. “Lying to me? Interfering in my personal affairs?”
The other Robin rolls his eyes, already resuming his breakfast. “Oh please, it was all for your benefit. And you have to admit it was a well laid plan.”
Robin makes a strangled sound of protest. He’s right, of course, but she’s not going to give him that. “It doesn’t matter if it was well laid or not,” she grumbles. “I’m not a piece on the board for you to manipulate.”
“Well, I tried to get you to take matters into your own hands,” he reminds her. “But you wouldn’t budge; my hands were tied. Besides, it all worked out in the end, didn’t it?”
Rather than answer, Robin continues to glare until he turns in his seat towards her.
He scans her over, his gaze fastening on the tactician’s coat she’s conspicuously wearing over her festival dress. A mischievous glint sparks in his eyes as he reaches a hand out and tugs the coat’s high collar to the side. Robin yelps and bats him away, but not before the other Robin catches a glimpse of the incriminating trail of love bites blooming against her skin—rose-petal red and winding up her neck like ivy.
Male Robin smirks. “Yeah, it definitely worked out.”
“Shut up,” she huffs, sinking reluctantly into the seat beside him. “I will get you back for this.”
He laughs, and despite herself, Robin has to battle back a small smile. She’s annoyed; she is…but maybe there’s a sense of admiration underlying it too. And thanks to him, her life here in Askr is looking much brighter.