Code: FEA-TTOTM-MC

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the featured media, the rights go to their respected owners.

Media: Fire Emblem Awakening

Title: The Truth Of The Matter

Notable Sub-genres: [Chrom/ My Unit | (M)Robin] Set at chapter 11: "Mad King Gangrel" in-game.

Rating: "T" for some Crude Language and Mature Themes including; Homosexuality, Class Differences, Prejudice.

Chapter: Multichapter

Status. In progress.

'-This happen?'

'The fool jumped out in front of me.'

'Ugh. Boy, do the two of you deserve each other.'

The voices above him echoed through his mind on the waves of the buzzing in his ears, consciousness was slow like he was getting squeezed back into the cracks of his body through his wounds. Flat on his back, air was soggy in his chest, just a bit too wet with every breath clogging his throat. He felt terrible.

Pain - his pain was becoming tangible now though, with his thoughts getting louder as he grasped onto the understanding that his discomfort meant he was still alive. His stomach tightened, his mind acknowledging the miracle as his jaw cracked in a hiss of suffering when he shifted and further agitation his wounds.

'Careful! Careful, Robin.' The demand is gentle and familiar as he pries his eyes open and sees not the anarchy of battlefield he was expecting, but the stillness of a mass grave they corrode into. Deep blue eyes demand his attention more though as a large hand manoeuvres Robin's sight away from the devastation just on the outskirts of his vision. The touch is a whisper but unyielding against his face and Robin follows it wordlessly to be greeted with a concerned smile. 'Thank Naga. You're awake now,' is sighed in relief.

The heat of Chrom's palm sears into Robin's cheek before it is shifted, trails down to rest in curve of his throat were it can smoulder its way though skin and muscle alike. Robin blinks up, his mind slow and disorganised, focusing on one thing to the next while his body continues to alert him of the hurt it has been afflicted with.

'Robby,' the voice of Chrom's sister calls, tune like a bell if not with the weight of a raincloud about to burst. Lissa is crouched with her skirt hiked up, draped over her knees to Chrom's side, her battle crinoline missing but seemingly unneeded. 'Hey.' Another smile, softer, as healer's hands twist anxiously at a beaten Mend Staff.

Robin's vision isn't its clearest but he categorises the two for injury. Chrom had a lot of scrapes on him, small and unimportant with purpling bruises to accompany them. The cut on his left arm, deep but appearing treated was just about the worst thing he could see. Lissa seemed - fine, one of her sleeves were torn (arrow?) but there didn't seem to be any blood so there wasn't anything to worry about, other than the bags under her eyes and the sloping line of her back.

'Robin?' Chrom prompts, his smile fading.

It took a second to cotton onto the fact they they probably wanted some sort of response. 'Ouch,' Robin answers if just to give his thoughts a second longer to try and - settle? Chrom snorts but appears to be waiting for something else. Foreign energy was simmering though and Robin couldn't quite place it as a memory stares at him, forceful but not entirely unwelcome. Deja vu, Virion had said to him once during one of their games in a tongue foreign to the ones Robin spoke.

'Seems familiar,' he finally says without meaning to, the words slipping out before he could censor them and shape them into something else entirely.

Surprise flickers across Chrom's tired face but it eases the frown that had been a engraved onto the prince's forehead. Two sets of blue eyes blink down at Robin before Chrom is inclining his head. 'It is, at that,' he agrees with a twist of his lips. 'I think I've had enough of seeing you laid out in fields, however.'

Plegia was not Ylisse; this region did not have lush grass or soft, flourishing planation. Plegia had minerals, metals, rock and ore in its stead. 'Sand this time,' Robin retorts drowsily and that had been - difficult. Selecting members who'd be adapt enough to fight in this environment had been a struggle enough of its own.

'And how're you be feeling?' Lissa interrupts, all but fidgeting as she stares at him expectantly.

'Feeling?' Robin repeats, examining that word a bit too closely as his usual "I'm fine" disappears from his lips. It'd been a good while since he'd qualified for a solid "okay", with long nights spent trying to work how to kill people. With piled up injuries from battles of alternating between fighting partners to get a good handle on each member of the army, so he could pair them off again to someone else; to better his strategies. With headaches that stopped his progress dead, left him a useless pile of flesh.

Lissa shares a look of concern with Chrom, her face - seeming to have aged far too quickly since he'd first seen it - morphs into something warier. 'What's the last thing you remember, Robin?' she asks gently.

Robin frowned, knows that he isn't himself, is too slow, is too - something. He wrestles with himself until he is remembering the night before, bent over maps double checking the positioning of the troops. Contingency plans were few but memorised. His candle had still been burning when Chrom had waded in and forced him to bed, all but tucked him in before leaving him without his writing utensils. Then -

Standing on the front lines is stark, bellowing orders so that everyone could hear that Robin, himself, is almost deaf. The start of the battle happens all too quick. It is the end, everyone knows it. The noise is the storm without shelter as blades began to tear into skin and through armour. The sound of the elementals being called forth. The rumble of Nowi's dragon as she roars. It was always the worst; it's always what Robin remembered above the smell and the scars he carries. The sounds.

'We…were fighting and - Gangrel? You killed him.' The words were too sharp in Robin's throat, like glass pieces he had been forced to swallow, and the sense that something is wrong with him is strong however clouded.

Chrom's hand squeezed and his eyes seem to be endeavouring to be encouraging as he keeps them wide and direct. 'Yes, you distracted him with Thoron, gave me enough of a chance to slip through his defences.'

Robin recalls the Levin Sword, can still taste his panic at realising what it was just before Gangrel struck with lightning at his fingertips. Robin had pushed them ahead anyway. Chrom had been unable to turn away at that point and - 'you needed to face him,' Robin murmurs. Chrom needed the resolution, needed the justice few things in life would give him.

Chrom has moments since Lady Emmeryn was lost where he appeared very brittle but there is gratitude that Robin doesn't deserve there, too. 'I couldn't have done it without you.' The certainty is enough to make Robin's teeth ache from the sweetness, and it leaves a bitter sense in Robin's mouth.

'No,' Robin denies immediately, without meaning to.

Chrom's frown deepened. 'You protected me,' the prince states as he holds onto Robin tighter. 'Like you've protected me a hundred times before.'

Robin felt himself tense as the image of a Plegian soldier seeps into his mind. 'Dark Mage,' Robin mutters to which Chrom nods, the prince's jaw clenching at the mention. Gangrel had fallen, his sword dropping just before he did into the dust with his face twisted and still screaming. Chrom had turned towards Robin but they hadn't fully cleared the area - least, soldiers had only just started to surrender when a dark mage pounces out from a sandhill.

Intent clear in his raised, outstretched hand sparking with magic unrecognised, Robin barely had a chance to think before he was shoving Chrom's unprotected back clear of the oncoming attack. The swirling energy had struck Robin in the chest with enough force to stagger him. For one painless second, Robin had thought it had been a wasted effort when the next his hands were seizing around his tome and his broken sword. The world tilted then and -

'Olivia got him,' Lissa states with a hint of vindication that was the byproduct of watching her older sister jump to her death. She couldn't tolerate violence and had little stomach for the war she actively aided, but that edge of her was there, and it was sharper than what was expected. 'Jeez, though Robin, when you go down you go down.'

'Grima's own luck,' Robin agrees with a strangled huff.

Lissa shakes her head. 'Grima notwithstanding, I want to know how you feel. I didn't get a chance to look you over before you woke up and you're past due a check-up.'

'It feels like I see you everyday, Princess,' Robin says partially in jest and partially because he didn't know how to say that his condition felt like the worst it had gotten after battle.

The skin under Lissa's eyes clench. 'Where're you injured, Robin?' she demands, direct and no-nonsense like she had learnt how to be. It was an attitude she had adopted over the course of the campaign and being the support of too many, much too young.

Robin barely gets a second to hear the words before his mouth his opening of its own accord. 'My head, from a Flux Tome I think. My right side was burnt from another mage. My left ankle - I, can't feel it. I think it might be broken from a fall I took dodging a bandit.'

The words only just stop and his left hand instantly flies to his mouth as his face twists in apprehension. Chrom seems almost panicked. 'Well…' Lissa begins into the sudden silence. 'Now I know there's something wrong with you.'

'Of course,' Robin response through the skin of his roughened palm, his stomach sinking as his eyes stare wide between brother and sister. 'People have been telling me that since I joined the Shepherds.'

'What?' Chrom demands instantly, eyes sparking with fire as he learns forward. He forgets his own strength for a second, squeezing Robin a bit too tight before he notices Robin's discomfort and instantly loosens up even if it isn't enough to distract him. 'What did you just say?'

Robin tries to tell himself to shut up, to remain silent but he is compelled to answer. 'People have been telling me that since I joined the Shepherds,' he repeats. Fear is starting to stir in his chest with the horrified knowledge that he cannot control the censor between his brain and his mouth.

That was probably one of the worst things for Chrom to be made aware of. The prince was honourable and took any insult about a friend, an ally or family to heart. He didn't have the biggest social circles despite his status - or maybe because of it - but he was loyal, and didn't take criticism of those he was close to well.

'No!' Lissa rushes to reassure, hands rising in defence and luckily cutting through her brother's temper. Robin didn't know how safe it'd be for him to respond to Chrom about the subject at hand. 'That's not what I meant! You - you just never tell anyone when you're hurt unless you've got an arrow sticking out of your back, or you have a hole in your gut!'

Robin sucks in a breath as he tries to ignore the present discomfort. 'I know, Lissa. You and Chrom have been nothing but good to me.' They had done more than anyone would have. 'Our budget was thin though, and Mend Staffs - they're expensive. The campaign lasted for longer than our funds could afford it to and the cost of equipment kept rising. I couldn't come to you for something trivial.'

Chrom's face might as well have been made of stone but Lissa - even with her face crumbling, she was learning forward and setting herself off of her hunches, so that she was on her knees with her hands propping herself up until she was leaning into Robin's space. 'Wha - Lissa?' Robin begins to ask as his vision is filled with sky blue eyes, small hands gently tilting his head as she seems to assess him.

Lissa's expression shifts as she moves back into a kneel. 'I don't think he has a concussion,' she says, obviously addressing her brother than him.

'I didn't hit my head,' Robin confirms though it hurts, most likely it was from the pressure of the Flux Tome or the amount of mana he had used.

'Then what's wrong with him?' Chrom bites out, he's trying to rein in his temper because he's speaking to his little sister but it's still something he struggles with. 'The last time he was so…talkative - Vaike had spiked his drink,'

'There's nothing wrong with Robin.' One of their newest recruits glides into Robin's eyesight, striding through Plegian sand like a true native. Tharja, deadly and not to be trifled with, looked down at them as she approached, gaze heavy and eyes dark. 'He's been cursed.'

'The Dark Mage…' Chrom says with sudden clarity as his expression morphs into something stricken, his grip on Robin almost bruising like he was terrified Robin would slip through his fingers.

'I didn't recognise what he cast,' Robin adds. He'd warned every one of their command from the Shepherds to the recruits that Dark Mages were tricky, more so than ordinary Mages or Sages. Their field of study was often more board and dangerous because battle magic was their focus, instead of simply harmonising with an element or healing.

Tharja glances at him as she pulls what seemed like a tome from underneath her cloak, where about's from exactly was anyones guess. 'That doesn't surprise me. You have powerful magic but you're no Dark Mage.' It wasn't said like an insult but something was almost odd about her tone. 'I was close enough to hear the enchantment; it was not an offensive chant -'

'Why are you telling us this now?' Chrom cuts in.

Tharja's lips curl but she answers with minimal change to her demeanour though Robin can't help but think that has done little to endear them, and that she will remember that. 'I took the liberty of looking at his spell book. It's a grimoire.' She twists her wrist to turn the dark cover and expose the Theban indented into the leather. To death, the letters read.

Robin's mouth was so dry it felt like he'd attempted to eat his way through Plegia's desert plains, but he can't find it in him to inquire about it. 'What's a grimoire?' Chrom questions for him.

'It's a personal spell book that any self-respecting Dark Mage possesses. Some are passed down through generations, others are taken to records for everyone to use, few are burnt.' Tharja's explanation is brief but Robin had noticed she tended not to talk much, and when she did she offered the minimal she could. The sneer wasn't new either.

'T-the chant, was it…?' Lissa's stutter is a failing of her confidence as she grows increasingly stressed but Tharja doesn't seem to blink at it as she redirects.

'It sounded like a variation to a more common chant which is why I looked through his grimoire. Luckily, this reads as amateur at best.' She gestured to the spell book carelessly but her grip on the cover was tight, almost agitated. 'The dastard confused "Sceþþan" with "Sóþsegen".'

'Meaning what?' Chrom demands as he loses his grip on his patience. 'What's happened to Robin?'

'"Sceþþan" is a common hex,' Tharja responses as she puts the grimoire away. 'It roughly translates to "to injure". Fool was probably trying to be smart and completely forgot that the hex originally works on the Mage's intent to specify the sort of injury it would give the victim, anyway. It's more than powerful enough to kill when used efficiently.'

'Then - what was Robin actually hit with?' Lissa asks with a meekness that was born from being helplessness, and the fear of having to go through losing a loved one again.

'You should be able to tell.' Tharja's reply is sharp as she stares at Robin. 'You've noticed, haven't you? How loose your tongue is?'

'I -' Numbly, Robin nods though he attempts to keep his jaw locked. 'I feel like I'm forced to respond.'

Tharja inclines her head, as if Robin is confirming something she knew. '"Sóþsegen" means "statement of truth". It would render those that are hit with it unable to lie. It makes the victim urged to talk.'

'Robin?' Chrom's address is almost shaky, looking at Robin for direction that the tactician is quick to shake away. 'Is there anyway to undo it?'

Tharja doesn't answer right away. '…I can't say. I'll look into it.'

Lissa straightens, her staff clutched between her hands in a way that is starting to stress the metal shaft. 'But you said it was - amateur!' she cries out.

'It is,' Tharja answers steadily, unfazed by Lissa's distress. 'But undoing something which is already done is irritatingly harder. I'll look into it.' Lissa's lip trembles before she bites down on it and settles down.

'…okay,' Lissa mutters despondently. Her pigtails seem to droop as she glances down towards the floor.

'Robin,' Tharja addresses with a distinct flatness to her voice. 'For now, all you can do is live with it. Most hexes of this nature can be gained resistance to over time but that's all the reassurance I can give you.'

'That's not all that reassuring,' Robin retorts before he can fully think about it. When he realises what he's said he squeezes his eyes closed. 'I'm sorry.'

'Not as much as you're going to be, I think.' Tharja snorts as she shrugs her cloak further forward. 'I hope you don't have any secrets you feel like keeping, Robin. By the end of this, I doubt you'll have any.'

Robin's stomach drops and he suddenly felt very, very sick.

Con/textual Vomit: So, yeah. Fell in love with this game back in '14. Racked up over 500 hours game time and have only now written for it. I guess this makes me a true procrastinator.

(Original upload: 30/ 05/ 2016) (Updated: 18/02/2018)

OZ