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Robin walks slowly toward the lakeside pavilion, brightly-wrapped present in hand. The Ylissean castle stands tall and proud above the festivities. The nearby trees are wound with bright blue and yellow ribbons - blue for Ylissean royalty and yellow because it’s the birthday boy’s favorite color.
He pauses in the sunlight before stepping beneath the erected pavilion, looking around. Ylisstol in autumn is a beautiful sight, even though the air is cold. This will probably be one of the last good days of the year.
Two children run past him, nearly bowling him over - by the pigtails and screams of protest, he guesses it is Inigo and Cynthia, but he can’t be certain until the two come back around for another pass.
The family units have never been more apparent to him than here at this birthday party for three-year-old Owain. He'd known of the pairing-off of his longtime friends, but it is another thing entirely to see the warriors who'd once balanced lances or bows or swords, now juggling children.
Lon’qu balances his son on his shoulders, striding toward Lissa, who has a pair of party hats for the two. Beyond them, he sees Libra tying Severa’s blonde hair into pigtails. The young girl scolds him and demands that he redo them again, and Libra just smiles and does as she commands.
Robin shouldn’t feel out of place, not with his Shepherd friends around him… but he does . He has no family and no children, and only a strange Plegian heritage passed on from his dying mother. Some Ylisseans might even say he doesn’t belong here, the Plegian wolf in their midst... and he feels that weight upon him.
“Uncle Robin!”
He peers around and spots Lucina running across the grass. Robin crouches to catch her in his arms, careful not to drop the present or squash the bow.
“Is that for Owain? He’s my cousin,” she says cheerfully, spotting the present immediately with the strange sense most children have.
He smiles, glad that Lucina is here to pull him out of his depressing thoughts. He secretly loves that Lucina calls him her uncle. It instantly makes him feel more included. “It is for Owain,” he says. “Do you know what I got him?”
Lucina leans in, excited. “What is it?”
He shakes the box gently near her ear, and then laughs. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”
“Humph,” she says, and rolls her eyes. She squirms to get down, which suits Robin just fine. She’s five and, while she isn’t overweight for her age, she is quite heavy.
As soon as her little feet touch the ground, she takes his hand. He deposits the present with the others, on a table beneath the pavilion, and then Lucina pulls him along. “Papa was looking for you.”
Robin perks up further at that. He had half-expected that Chrom wouldn’t attend, so he’s pleased to hear that his best friend is here. A Plegian dispute has taken up most of Chrom’s attention and time over the past three months. Robin has been organizing their armies, and he hasn’t seen Chrom in a few weeks.
The figurative crown sits on Chrom’s head heavily, but he bears its weight without complaint. Ever since Emmeryn’s death at the hands of the assassins, more than five years ago, Chrom has fought to keep Ylisse together. He's done the best he can, but he'll never be the peacekeeper his elder sister was.
Lucina brings Robin to her father’s side. Chrom’s back is toward Robin as he speaks with Frederick. The stern knight holds his seventeen-month-old son Gerome in his arms. The baby is fiddling with a little mask of some sort. As he tries to put it in his mouth, Frederick swiftly removes it and inserts a brightly-colored teething toy instead.
Lucina grabs Chrom’s glove and tugs on it, interrupting Chrom mid-sentence. “Papa, look! I found Uncle Robin.”
“Lucina, it’s not polite to interrupt,” Chrom says, but he turns and smiles at Robin. He looks good, although a little thinner than Robin would prefer. “Glad you could make it.”
Robin returns that winning smile, and then ducks his head. “I’m glad you could make it, what with all the meetings you’ve been having.”
Chrom’s eyes darken, and Robin winces. He had to bring up work , when Chrom has a reprieve from it…
“You’re lucky you’re not privy to those tedious meetings, Robin,” Chrom says, and turns. “Come, we haven’t talked alone in ages.” He walks toward the lake, and Robin follows, curious. Lucina stays with Frederick, leaning in to talk to Gerome.
“We should talk about Plegia, later,” Chrom says, as they walk up the incline. “I'd like to get your opinion on it.”
“I'd be glad to offer my assistance,” Robin agrees.
“Hmm,” Chrom says, sounding pleased. They come to the top of the little hill and stand still for a few moments. Chrom looks out over the view of the lake and the party, and Robin looks at Chrom. He looks… tired, as if the weight of everything is too much.
Chrom looks at Robin and says, in a different tone, “Sometimes... I wonder why you are still here.”
Robin sinks back on his heels and frowns.
Chrom immediately puts his hands up, eyebrows rising. “Not that I want you to leave! It’s just… I don’t know why.”
“Ah.” It’s a variation on the things he hears behind his back, sometimes: Why do we trust this Plegian with our armies? Why is he here? He must be a spy, here to report back to Plegia. Robin squares his shoulders and says, “You all are my family.” He wonders where this has come from. “My mother took me away from Plegia when I was very young. I don't remember my father, and I have few memories of my homeland. You took me in, when nobody else would.” Chrom is his closest friend, and leaving him is nearly unthinkable.
Chrom grins and relaxes, eyes moving to the side in memory. “You seemed so… lonely, lying there under that tree.”
One side of Robin's mouth quirks up. “I was. Chrom, I don't think I've ever thanked you for doing that. It meant - means - a great deal to me. I won’t ever leave, unless you ask me to.”
Chrom looks at Robin, grin fading. “I… that's good. I had no idea.”
“I'd like to see more of you. I miss you,” Robin says, and then bites his lip. It is wrong to request more time with Chrom, but he really does miss him. They used to train and fight and relax, side by side, inseparable… but that was before Emmeryn. Robin still cares for Chrom, but their duty always comes between them.
“Me too,” Chrom says definitively. It almost sounds like a promise. He grips Robin’s shoulder, his hand oddly warm through the layers.
A commotion beneath them draws their attention to the small landing near the pond’s edge.
“That water is cold, dear,” Sumia gently berates her daughter, dragging Cynthia away from the lake. “We don’t push people into it.” Beside her, Inigo cries into his mother's shoulder as Olivia bounces him in her arms.
Robin shivers in contemplation of the water. “I bet it's chilly,” he says to Chrom.
“Would you like to find out?” Chrom asks, a glint of the mischievous boy he used to be shining through. Lissa hadn't learned her tricks from Emmeryn, and Robin feels a spike of nerves.
Robin backs away, hands up, but not quick enough. He freezes as Chrom’s hands grip firmly around his waist, beneath his cloak, and then he's being hoisted up in the air.
The Exalt hefts Robin up onto his shoulder, as he would do with Lucina. It takes more of an effort than with his daughter, and Robin can feel the muscles in Chrom’s arm bunching beneath his hand.
“Chrom, put me down!” Robin shouts, grabbing at Chrom’s shoulder and the sword belt. Robin can swim - he’d learned the basics one warm summer with Chrom by his side - but Robin doesn’t consider himself proficient in it. And the thought of taking a plunge into that chill water doesn’t appeal to him.
“Milord, please be careful-” Frederick calls up to them.
“Please, Chrom,” Robin says, his voice trembling.
“Okay, okay,” Chrom says. His hands are firm around Robin’s waist. The rock is wet and a little slippery underfoot, and Chrom is a little off-balance. Robin can only stare down along the prince’s body as Chrom shifts… and then Chrom’s boot slips.
“Chrom!” Robin shouts, grabbing for him, trying to restore the prince’s balance, but only manages to take hold of his cape. They both go tumbling into the frigid water, Robin’s elbow striking hard against a rock beneath the sandy lake bottom.
The water shocks Robin, but somehow he manages to keep from sucking water into his lungs.
He swims upward and then toward the shore. He comes onto his hands and knees in the soft sand, water lapping at his legs. Icy hair hangs down his neck and in his eyes, and he shivers.
Children scream and laugh nearby, noises that barely make sense to Robin in his shock.
As he peers around for Chrom, he realizes he had underestimated his swimming skills. He not only survived that plunge, but made it to shore before Chrom. He rises, rubbing at his elbow, which is throbbing.
Chrom sits up in the water beside Robin. He pouts, shivering and wrapping his arms around his torso. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you squirmed on purpose.”
Water streams from Chrom's darkened blue hair, dripping off his nose. He flicks water from his arms and then strips off his gloves in disgust.
Robin brings a cold hand to his mouth and hides a smile. Chrom looks miserable and sodden, like a cat that has been forced outside in a rainstorm.
“Don’t laugh,” Chrom says in warning, but there’s mirth dancing in the back of his eyes now.
A giggle escapes from behind Robin’s hand, and then Chrom breaks into another smile.
“Ah, that was stupid,” Chrom says.
Robin reaches down to offer Chrom a hand up. Chrom’s hand is callused and rough against his own, and cold from the water, but his grip is still somehow warm. Robin pulls the Exalt to his feet, and his own boots skid in the uneven sand. Chrom grips his other elbow, holding him steady, and that smile makes Robin stare at him for a moment.
His heart starts thudding in his chest, even as they stand close to one another, and lake water drips from their clothing. Chrom’s smile lessens, and he tilts his head, looking at Robin with a more serious expression.
“Are you okay?” Robin asks him softly, aware that something is changing between them. The air feels electric, like the charge an instant before a flash of Thunder magic. They should let go, but Chrom holds on firmly, just studying Robin’s face as if he’s seeing him for the first time.
“Yeah,” Chrom says, but he seems distracted. He reaches up and tugs on Robin’s hair, pulling a bit of green out and flicking it away. “Fine.”
“Papa! Uncle Robin! That was so cool!” Lucina runs toward them, only to be stopped by Uncle Frederick. “Can you throw me next?”
Chrom releases Robin a little suddenly, and Robin feels his cheeks warm up as he turns. Most of the party-goers are gathering around the lake, wearing various stages of amusement and concern on their faces.
“Don’t you get wet too.” Frederick reaches out and picks up Lucina. “You two, get out of that water immediately, and back up to the castle for a change of clothing.” He manages to look stern and disapproving while holding two squirming children.
Robin sloshes to the shore, his boots squishing with water once he steps onto the grass.
He and Chrom make the trek back to the castle mostly in silence, and Robin tries not to think back upon what had happened at the edge of the lake, the way Chrom looked at him…
“I’m sorry,” Chrom says once they are squelching down the hall that leads to Robin’s room.
Robin rubs at his elbow and doesn’t look at the prince. “I should be the one apologizing. I pulled you in after me.”
Chrom takes hold of his arm and stops him, turning him back. His blue eyes are piercing and warm. Robin shivers.
His mouth is dry and he can’t speak, but he still tries to. “Chrom, I…”
“No, I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry,” Chrom says.
“I… it's okay,” Robin says, feeling lost for words. Chrom is doing this to him, and his heart is beating faster in his chest. Suddenly his elbow doesn’t hurt as much.
Chrom follows him to his door, and then inside his rooms, which makes Robin feel even more frantic. They’ve been in here together many times over the years, but for some reason it feels different now. It could just be the look that Chrom’s giving him, or the way his own hand shakes as he closes the door behind Chrom.
Chrom steps up and reaches for Robin’s cloak, fingers ghosting against his throat and collarbones as he undoes the gold ties. All of the prince’s concentration seems to be on the tie, and then he slips his hands up and over Robin’s shoulders, removing the cloak and the small bolero with one smooth sweep. The fabric falls to the tiles with a heavy wet thump.
Robin catches one of Chrom’s hands as it trails back over his shoulder. He grips the fine bones in Chrom's bare wrist, stopping him.
“You... should go get changed,” Robin says. His voice is hesitant, wavering. Can Chrom hear the reluctance in his tone?
“I don’t want to,” Chrom says, and he sounds confident. His hand slides up to Robin’s neck, thumb trailing along his larynx. Robin swallows, feeling the touch against the ridges of his throat. Breath comes fast, and his heart thuds.
Chrom is leaning close, closer, blue eyes filling Robin’s vision.
At the last moment, Robin shuts his eyes and tilts his head slightly, and accepts the inevitable kiss.
He’s wanted this for a long time, but he’s never admitted it to himself. Robin feels dizzy, and clings to Chrom, and kisses him back. It’s a little sloppy and cold, but it’s also sizzling hot.
“Chrom,” he gasps, and is rewarded by a “Robin!” in return.
Robin backs Chrom away from the door then, guiding him back to the unmade bed. He barely has time to realize that housekeeping hadn’t come to clean up his room this morning, when he’s got Chrom laying back on the sheets.
Chrom's hair is slightly curly from the water, and it clings to him. Robin reaches out and runs a finger along Chrom's forehead, and Chrom captures his wrist and kisses it. The strangely tender brush of lips unlocks something inside that has been growing for a long time.
“Robin,” Chrom whispers against his skin, blue eyes slitted open. “Are you… blushing?”
Robin blushes even more, and brings a hand up to his face to hide it. “No,” he whispers, unconvincingly.
“Let me see,” Chrom says, and peels Robin's hand away. “You don't know how long I've wanted to see that expression on your face, directed at me.” He smiles, looking pleased.
Robin closes his eyes, a somewhat desperate smile on his face. Chrom’s fingertips slip up his wrist to his palm, and draw his hand forward. Suddenly one of his fingers is encased in warmth. Robin’s eyes fly open and he stares down at the image of Chrom, the Exalt… sucking on one of his fingers.
“Stop that!” Robin hisses, and pulls his hand free. But then Chrom chuckles, and Robin has to laugh along with him. It's such an indefinably Chrom thing to do.
As is the way his fingers cradle Robin's face and pull him down onto the bed over him. They kiss, again, and Robin moans into it. He straddles Chrom's hips, feeling a strange sense of wild abandon and danger as he does so. Chrom is beneath him.
Robin tries to capture this moment in a memory, but it's fleeting. Chrom overwhelms him with touches and kisses, until he becomes a responsive creature, tugged along on Chrom's every movement.
Robin's wet shirt comes off beneath Chrom's impatient fingers, and Robin fumbles with some of the buttons on Chrom's sleeveless top. Chrom is panting against Robin's cheek, holding him close as Robin's other hand snakes down to-
There’s a knock at the door, and a muffled, familiar voice comes through. “Robin? Have you seen the Exalt?”
Robin freezes, Chrom’s hand clamping onto his mouth. Chrom stares at him, blue eyes wide, and Robin stares back.
Frederick continues, oblivious to what he is interrupting. “He isn’t in his quarters, and Lissa is waiting for him to cut the cake.”
He’s grateful that Frederick has more propriety than to simply barge into his quarters, because if he did, he would see Robin on top of Chrom, and both of them half-naked… Robin’s cheeks heat up, and he pulls Chrom’s hand from his mouth. “Say something, Chrom,” he whispers.
Chrom’s larynx bobs, and he calls, “Yes, I’m here, Frederick. Just finishing something up.”
Robin ducks his face into Chrom’s neck, stifling a laugh.
There’s a notable pause, and then Frederick sighs. “Don’t be too long, milord.”
The knight’s steps are deliberately loud, as if signalling to them that he is leaving.
Robin looks up sheepishly. “He knows, doesn’t he?”
Chrom laughs, exposing white teeth. “Not much gets past Frederick. At least he’s discreet.”
“We… should go back,” Robin says reluctantly. “Maybe… we can continue this later?” He sits upright and tries to pull Chrom’s wet shirt back together, but it clings to his arms and torso.
“There's no ‘maybe’ to it. We will be continuing this, very soon.” Chrom pulls Robin down for another kiss, as if to prove it.
Hopefully, very soon, Robin thinks, as Chrom sets him on his feet and gives him a gentle shove toward his wardrobe.