Day 1: Coming of Age

Song: Ane Mone by LAMA

Chrom can't believe what he's hearing. He stares open-mouthed at his father, trying to process the information he's been given, and finds that no matter how hard he tries, he can't wrap his head around it.

"Chrom, are you listening?" his father asks sternly. He's still a rather young man, despite having fathered three children. His blue eyes glint with life and energy, and though he looks ready to scold his only son for not paying attention, his expression is more concerned than angry.

"I'm... sorry?" Chrom says, bewildered. He stopped listening the moment his father began to talk about a marriage with Plegia. His marriage, to be exact.

"Did you hear anything I said?" his father sighs. Chrom slowly shakes his head, feeling like he must be in a bad dream. The king rubs his temples tiredly. "I know it's difficult to take in-"

Difficult?! DIFFICULT?! This is impossible!

"You've been raised your whole life to think of Plegia as the enemy, I understand it must be a shock. Your mother and I had our reservations as well, but the death of the old king of Plegia has changed everything. The new king and queen are not at all like their predecessors; they want peace between us. Plegia has fallen on hard times, and they can't afford to have bad relations with their neighbors, so they're using the oldest diplomatic tactic in the book; they're sending out their child to marry into our family."

"But Father, Plegian problems are none of our concern! Why are we-"

"You're wrong. Plegian problems are just as important to us as they are in Plegia proper. A kingdom in a state of unease can easily turn to war for resources. We're their closest neighbor; who do you think they will pillage if they decide their survival requires bloodshed?"

"So let's fight them! Isn't that what we've always done?!" Chrom cries, feeling desperate. His father takes his shoulder firmly.

"War is not a game, Chrom. We've fought in the past because Plegia was always against peace, no matter what we tried to alleviate the situation. Both sides suffered when we clashed, no matter who ultimately won the battle. But now things are different; Plegia is asking for peace, and if they mean to keep it, your mother and I mean to honor it."

"But why does it have to be me?" he asks bitterly, aware that he sounds like the child he always denies he is.

"Plegia's king has only one child, a daughter, and I'm afraid the only one of my children eligible to wed a princess is you, my son."

"I'm only fifteen, I'm not old enough to be married!" Chrom argues, but he knows it's a feeble argument. His father ruffles his hair, a sad smile on his face.

"I'm sorry, Chrom. But part of growing up a prince is that there are sacrifices you must make for your country, no matter how much you don't want to. When you turn sixteen in five months time, you'll have to play your part for your people, just like countless princes and princesses have done before you."

Since he was a boy, Chrom has dreamed of adventure and glory. He's read countless adventure books, knows of every Ylissean hero, has spent years learning the sword. He dreams of fighting hordes of Plegian bandits singlehandedly and coming out victorious with nary a scratch. He's dreamt of one day becoming a great king, known throughout the land for his courage and prowess on the battlefield. He'll have squires and duels and his life will never be dull, or so he'd thought. In one stroke of bad luck, it seems he's lost the chance to do any of that.

Instead, he'll be marrying a stranger and forced to become domestic, like his older sister Emmeryn had been when she was wed to the ruler of some small kingdom across the sea. For some reason, he's always thought that arranged marriages were only for princesses; it had never struck him that princesses were generally married to princes, and that those princes probably had as much say in who they ended up married to as a rock had when someone decided to pick it up and throw it in a lake.

I'd rather be thrown in a lake, actually, he thinks, picking at his plate during dinner. It's two days before the Plegian princess arrives in Ylisstol, and Chrom feels that the past few months have passed by entirely too fast. If he didn't think so before, he's convinced now that the world has something against him.

"Chrom, please, don't play with your food," his mother scolds. She's been breathing down his neck for weeks now, trying to get him to behave in as princely a manner as possible so as to impress the Plegians. Chrom has been sabotaging her attempts to make him behave at every opportunity, though doing so does nothing to delay the princess' arrival.

"Hmm," he responds moodily, but he continues to twirl his fork around aimlessly. Lissa giggles from her seat next to him.

"Lissa, don't encourage him," their father says, every bit the regal king as he gives them a stern frown.

"But it's funny," Lissa says, giving her older brother a sly glance. "The Plegians are going to think we brought in some common boy to replace Chrom," she smirks.

"Lissa!" the queen says, stricken. "Don't let me hear you saying anything of the sort near the Plegians; tensions are high enough without making them doubt that we're keeping our end of the bargain."

"It's not my fault he's being difficult," she complains, muttering. She goes back to her meal quietly.

"You'd be difficult too, if you were being married off against your will!" Chrom growls, pointing his fork accusingly at her.

"You're an idiot, of course I'm going to be married off; that's what it means to be a princess. You're just so wrapped up in your delusions of grandeur that you never thought it would happen to you too," she sniffs, sticking her tongue out at him.

"That's enough, you two," the king says, his voice commanding. "Take a leaf out of your sister's book; Emmeryn accepted her duties with grace and dignity. You need to prove to your people that you're worthy of your title," he said, his sharp eyes gazing at Chrom. The boy looks away, unnerved.

The queen gives an exasperated sigh. Emmeryn was her favorite, Lissa and Chrom both know it. Now that she's gone, it's been much harder to keep the younger two in check, a fact that the prince and princess use to their advantage. Still, the queen tries her best to keep the peace in the castle, even if no one else cooperates much.

"Chrom, no one goes into marriage fully prepared," his mother says kindly, reaching out to touch his hand. "Just keep in mind, your bride is being married off too, and unlike you, she's being sent to live in a foreign land with a bunch of strangers. She'll be lonely and scared; are you really so selfish that you're going to make it worse for her?"

Chrom suddenly feels ashamed. He hasn't thought of it like this; he's been so worried about himself that he's been thinking of the princess as his enemy, not as someone going through the same thing as him.

"No," he admits. "I'll... I'll try my best to be good to her," he says nervously. His mother smiles at him.

"Start by being her friend, Chrom. Everything else will follow."

He can't help fidgeting as he waits for the carriage to arrive in front of the castle gates. His butler, Frederick, keeps hissing at him to stand still, but Chrom feels like he's going to mess everything up as soon as she steps out.

My palms are all sweaty, and I can't feel my legs! I'm going to throw up... Oh gods, let it be over already!

But the more he wishes for it to be over, the slower it seems to take. He nervously adjusts his sword belt and surreptitiously wipes his hands on his tunic.

At last, after what seems like an eternity, they see the carriage coming up the road. Chrom's heart pounds in his mouth, and Frederick nudges him viciously in the back, prompting him to fix his posture before the horses come to a stop in front of them.

A man with narrow eyes hops down from the driver's seat. There's an eerie smile on his face, though his large-brimmed hat covers most of it. He bows to Chrom and his escort, then neatly opens the door of the carriage and stands aside.

A young woman with black hair, perhaps only a year or two his elder, disembarks first. She looks bored and unimpressed, and Chrom assumes it must be her; he's about to step forward when Frederick pinches his arm. He takes another look and sees he's almost made a mistake. She's dressed too modestly for a princess coming to her wedding, and there's an almost sinister, unsavory feeling about her. She joins the coachman, and Chrom has to admit that so far, the Plegians seem to adhere to their dark image.

Then, a second girl steps out. Chrom can't see her face, she's wearing a hood over her head and she's looking down at her feet as she climbs down the steps. Unlike the other two Plegians, she's dressed in brighter colors; Her cloak is a dark, rich blue, and her simple dress is light purple, like lavender. There's gold embroidery on both. She's not as tall as him, though she's definitely taller than Lissa, at least. She looks around for a moment, then notices Chrom and his men waiting just ahead. Her hands reach up to pull the hood away from her face.

The Ylisseans all gasp, horrified. She's quite pretty; she has dark red hair the color of an anemone, a small braid tied into the rest of her short plait, and inquisitive brown eyes. Her nose is rather broad but it fits her rounded face well, and her mouth is small but full, so that she looks a bit like a doll. But all that childish prettiness means nothing, because tattooed across her cheeks on each side are two pairs of cruel, sharp eyes, each set joined by a line all the way back up to her own eyelids. Chrom immediately recognizes the image as Grima's sign, the brand of the fell dragon god that Plegia has worshiped for generations and which stands for everything that Ylisse's god, Naga, opposes.

Several of Chrom's men immediately hiss and make a warding sign over their hearts; even Chrom, who isn't particularly religious, feels his stomach drop. The tattoos give his bride a foreboding look, as if those extra pairs of eyes have a life of their own and might begin moving at any moment.

That's not a girl, that's a demon!

He almost steps back, but Frederick nudges him forward.

"Milord, go, greet her!" he hisses in his ear, and Chrom has no choice but to move toward her.

"W-welcome to Ylisstol, Princess," he says, holding out his hand. He knows his voice sounds shaken, but he tries to smile anyway. It comes out as a grimace.

For a moment, she doesn't move. Her eyes take him in from head to foot, and when she finally looks him in the eye (that stare is incredibly unnerving), he can tell she's not at all pleased by what she sees. Her lips press into a thin line and she accepts his hand.

"It's a pleasure," she says dully. Her voice is surprisingly normal; Chrom half expected a witch's cackle. She hardly looks at him again after that, as if she can't stand the sight of him.

Tch, is that the kind of attitude you're gonna have? Fine, I can be petty too.

All his thoughts of befriending her are thrown right out the window.

His mother and father are not surprised at the princess' appearance. They were warned ahead of time, by letter.

"We weren't told where the poor girl had been branded, but we knew she'd have Grima's mark," his mother says when he storms into her room and demands an explanation. "It's a rite of passage for all Plegian royalty to be marked when they turn 14. Just like you were branded with Naga's mark when you were at that age," she says pointedly, referring to the tattoo on his shoulder.

"Yes, but this is different! She looks like a demon!"

"Chrom!" the queen scolds. "We didn't raise you to be so shallow! She didn't ask to be branded, just like she didn't ask to be sent here for you."

"Well I don't want her," he huffs. "Her face aside, she's so stuck up! The whole time I was showing her around, she kept making this dissatisfied gesture with her nose, and she clearly doesn't want to have anything to do with me. She and her creepy servants were mocking us, I caught them at it when I went back to her room to drop off a book. She's not interested in being here, she's definitely not interested in being friendly."

His mother sighs. "You always wanted an adventure, didn't you? Now you have one; no one said you were going to get along right away, so you'll just have to keep trying your best, Chrom. An easy adventure isn't one worth having, after all."

Robin hates this place. She was against coming here in the first place, but she has no choice. When her parents informed her that she would be sent off to marry an Ylissean prince, all she could do was accept, even if she couldn't believe they would do this to her. After all, Ylisse was their country's sworn enemy; hadn't her father always called them an ungodly, barbarian people?

But everything had changed when her grandfather died. Suddenly, her parents were the king and queen, and the country they inherited was much less stable than they'd believed. The people didn't care for the royal family, and there was famine and poverty everywhere. Rebellion was imminent, and the King and Queen had no one to turn to but their neighbors for assistance. As a gesture of goodwill, Robin had been packed up and shipped away; she had been expecting this her whole life, but she would never have believed that they would give her away to an Ylissean, much less this half-grown princeling.

In truth, Robin had liked the look of him when she first stepped out of her carriage. He looked nervous, but there was kindness and sincerity in his eyes. She thought that perhaps they could get along, once they got used to the strange idea of being married to one another.

But then she removed her hood, and those hopes were dashed. He, like all the other Ylisseans, was horrified to see her face, and she knew in that moment that this boy cares nothing for her and her culture. He's just a shallow, spoiled child, and he was probably expecting a pretty little girl to keep like a toy in his nursery. Robin's pride is cut to shreds.

She isn't interested in playing house with Prince Chrom, but no matter her feelings, she can't fail her mission. Whatever she thinks of him and his silly country, she would never disappoint her parents when they're counting on her to protect Plegia.

With a heavy heart, she accepts the fate that's been given her, and less than a week after she arrives, she has to dutifully prepare herself for the worst day of her life.

"My poor princess," Tharja croons as she combs Robin's hair for the ceremony. "Imagine, our beloved robin, caught in that boy's cage! What I wouldn't give to rip his heart out through his mouth," she says, gently arranging Robin's red hair with a wrought golden pin.

"Now now, Tharja," Henry scolds, all smiles as always. "We're all friends here, idiots though these Ylisseans are. No murdering friends, weren't you taught that as a child?"

"Hmph, I have no friends," Tharja mutters, lining Robin's eyes carefully with a stick of charcoal. "And whatever I might do to the prince, he deserves it. Didn't you see the way he treated our little robin?"

"It's the brand," Robin says, her heart sinking. "He's not the only one; the entire entourage was uneasy because of it."

"The fools; don't they understand what an honor it is to carry Grima's divine mark?!"

"Of course not, they don't worship Grima here," Robin says, sighing. She wishes she was back home, where no one would dare ridicule something as sacred as Grima's brand... and where no one would judge her for carrying it on her face.

"Heretics, all of them," Henry says brightly, leaning back on the princess' duvet. "But oh well, what else did we expect from a country of barbarians?"

"Hush," Robin says. "Whatever we think about this place, it's still my new home, and we can't afford to antagonize the Ylisseans."

"Oh, if only we could take you back with us," Tharja sighs, holding out the bridal cape for her. "Leaving you here to fend by yourself is unbearably cruel," she says as she clasps the pin closed and steps back to admire the effect. Robin catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She's clad all in white, the traditional color of an Ylissean bride. She thinks it's a rather ghastly color.

But, the dress isn't too bad, she decides, other than the color. It isn't stuffy or unbearably tight, like she feared. It's loose and simple, the way she prefers her clothes, and there's no train to trip on, which is a plus. Tharja has plaited her hair lovingly to one side, so that her red locks are draped over her shoulder, adding a nice bit of color to the whole thing. Her tattoos are as eye-catching as ever, but there's nothing she could do to change that. She wouldn't if she could anyway.

She's quite pleased with the arrangement.

"Thank you, Tharja," she says, reaching to hug the older girl. Tharja is two years her elder, but she's been looking after her for as long as Robin can remember. She's the closest thing Robin has ever had to a sibling, and she's incredibly grateful that she's come with her to this godforsaken country to prepare her for this.

"Of course, little robin," Tharja says, embracing Robin tightly. "If only I could marry you and spirit you away instead!"

"You're so silly Tharja. You'd be executed in less than a minute. And, what, no hug for me, princess?" Henry asks, holding out his arms.

Robin giggles at the petulant look on his face. "Of course," she says, and obliges him. He plants a kiss on her forehead; like Tharja, he's been in Robin's service for many years, and though she was initially rather afraid of his unnerving smiles, he makes an excellent bodyguard. There are rumors in the palace that he's exceptionally skilled at dark magic. Robin doesn't doubt it, though she's never actually seen him use any. She's going to miss them both terribly.

"There," he says. "Now if that prince lays a finger on you when you don't want him to, you just remember your friend Henry and poof! The prince will be a frog! How's that for a wedding gift?" he grins.

"If it really works, it'll be the best gift ever." She can't help but smile in return.

"There we go, nice, big smile! Like you're going to tear him to pieces! He'll be terrified!"

"Henry, I'm not supposed to terrify anyone today."

"Oh. Well in that case, forget I said anything."

There's a loud knock on the door.

"Princess, it's time." She recognizes her fiance's voice and all the fun in the room dissipates. She looks to Tharja and Henry one last time, and it dawns on her how final this moment is. After the ceremony, they will go back to Plegia, leaving her all alone. She may never see either of them again, and both of them look rather teary eyed now, even Henry.

"Goodbye," she chokes, and they both hurry to embrace her again. "I won't forget you," she whispers, willing the moment to last forever. She buries her face into their arms, fighting the urge to cry.

"May Grima watch over you, my little robin," Tharja says, and Henry touches her cheek gently.

"Go, be happy, princess."

But happiness is the last thing she feels as she trudges to the door to face her future.

Somehow, seeing her in her wedding attire only makes her look more alarming. The white color contrasts heavily with the reddish ink on her face, and he's fairly sure she's rimmed her eyes with charcoal for some reason. He wishes someone had had the sense to cover her tattoos with powder, at least for the ceremony, but it's too late now.

He stiffly takes her arm and escorts her downstairs in silence. He wants to say something, but he's at a loss for how to even begin chipping away at her armor. The minutes tick by, becoming more awkward by the second.

He clears his throat; he supposes has to start somewhere.

"You look, uhm, beautiful."

He sees her eyes flick toward him, but her face remains passive. She doesn't even bother to reply.

"A-are you nervous? I suppose you must be, it's a large ceremony, after all," he continues, trying to keep his nerve. Does she have to look so damned displeased about everything?

"No," she says briskly, but he doesn't believe it. Her arm is trembling slightly.

"You don't have to put on a brave face," he says, trying to be kind. "I know it's frightening, I feel the same way."

She stops dead on the stairs without warning, and Chrom nearly falls over.

"H-hey! Be careful!"

"Stop trying to pretend that you want to get along with me," she says, her eyes glinting dangerously.

"What?"

"I'm not an idiot," she says. "I saw the way you looked when you saw my tattoos; you think I'm a freak, and I can tell you were hoping for some demure little princess that you can bully around. So sorry to be a disappointment, Prince Chrom, but I'm neither of those things. You can pretend all you want, but I'm not interested in playing your game. We're being married against our will and I'm not going to pretend otherwise."

He stares at her incredulously.

"A pri- that I can bully around?!" he shouts, furious. "What the hell are you talking about?! I've never bullied anyone in my life! All I wanted was to be friends!"

"Hah?! I doubt that!" she shouts back. "If you wanted to be friends, you wouldn't be so ready to judge! You don't know a thing about me!"

"Why do you think I'm trying now?! We're going to be married today whether we like it or not, so shouldn't we at least attempt to get along?!"

"Why? You already know you don't like me, and I certainly don't like you, so why bother?!"

"Argh, you're impossible!"

"And you're insufferable!"

They glare at each other until finally Chrom huffs and holds out his arm again.

"Fine, whatever, I don't care. We still have to get this bloody thing over with, so hurry it up, will you?"

They make their way down the aisle, arm in arm, neither of them smiling. They go through the rites halfheartedly; they hold hands when asked, repeat everything back to the priest in monotone, and when they share from the cup of wine, they take the smallest, most hurried sips each.

"Prince Chrom, your vows," the priest says, and Chrom can feel his parents' eyes boring through him, begging him not to mess this up. He bites the inside of his cheek and takes Robin's hand, holding up one of the rings.

"With this, I ask that you become the blood of my blood. I give you myself, and the depths of my heart, so that two might become one. I give you the spirit bestowed to me by Naga's grace, so that we may be together until our lives are done," he recites, slipping the gold band around her finger. He hopes that's good enough for his father.

"Princess Robin, your vows." She reaches for the ring offered to her by the priest and takes Chrom's hand in turn.

"With this, I ask that you become the bone of my bone. I give you myself, and the depths of my heart, so that you may always have a place to call home. I give you the soul bestowed upon me by Grima's breath," (a chorus of murmurs breaks out and many of the guests make warding signs, but Robin ignores them), "so that we may be together and never alone." She half shoves the ring onto his finger, and Chrom winces.

"Very well," the priest nods. "Lord Chrom, do you promise to love and cherish the Lady Robin, to protect and defend her, to weather any storm in order to stay by her side, in sickness and in health, for as long as Naga's fire courses through your veins?"

Not if I had any choice in the matter, I wouldn't.

"I promise."

"Lady Robin, do you promise to love and cherish the Lord Chrom, to protect and defend him, to weather any storm in order to stay by his side, in sickness and in health, for as long as Naga's fire courses through your veins?"

Chrom privately thinks that she might scoff at the use of Naga's name, but she doesn't.

"I promise."

"With this, the ceremony is completed. By the gods and all the witnesses in this hall, you are now pronounced husband and wife. You may kiss your bride, my lord."

Chrom has been dreading this the most. He's never kissed anyone, much less a girl, and he has no idea what he's doing. Her tattoo is even eerier up close. He shuts his eyes so as not to see it and tries to make his best guess as to where her lips might be. He misses, though only slightly. He's brushed the side of her mouth, but it's over so quickly that no one seems to have noticed.

Except for Robin, of course. She gives him a rather triumphant look before turning away toward the crowd.

Why do I get the feeling that I'm never going to hear the end of this? he thinks, his heart sinking.

The rest of the day is a slog to get through. There are countless speeches and toasts, all of which become bawdier and more ridiculous as the adults get tipsier and tipsier. Chrom is the subject of every dirty joke in the hall, and Robin has never felt more embarrassed in her life. They sit next to each other at the head table, a measured distance between them, but as the afternoon wears on into evening, their rowdy neighbors have pushed them toward each other so that they're shoulder to shoulder.

If she could, Robin would love to push him away as forcefully as possible, but she's got other things to worry about. Though it's been forbidden by the king that anyone should heckle her for her religion, she's still receiving several slurs and unsavory comments, and they're only becoming worse as the atmosphere relaxes with drunkenness.

Someone shouts that the prince is wasted on her. "After all, them Grimleal cultists don't like their lovers breathing!" A howl of laughter echoes through the hall, and Robin clenches her fists tightly.

She's never realized how badly the Grimleal are viewed outside of Plegia; it's true that Plegians are rather well-versed in dark magic, but belief in Grima has nothing to do with these cruel, demented stereotypes. Grima is merely the god of endings; he is neither benevolent nor malevolent. Everything that begins and exists must come to an end, and the dragon stands for the concept of impermanence. Like each day ends, so too does each life, and Robin has been taught to cherish her time while she still has it. The idea that they worship death itself is appalling, but clearly the Ylisseans have no idea what the difference is.

"Best lock up the cemetery, milord! You don't want to find your lovely bride has found a better place to rest her weary bones," someone shouts at Chrom, and Robin feels a single tear streak down her nose.

She wipes it away immediately, the last thing she wants is for Chrom to see her crying.

"Princess?"

"What do you want?" she says coldly.

"Are you alright? You look pale."

"Leave me alone," she says, trying to pull away from him. There's not much space to do so, but he seems to take the hint.

"Fine. I know when I'm not wanted," he huffs, and returns to his cup of wine.

Something pushes her from behind, and she looks up to see a maid who's tripped over her chair.

"Oh, I'm so sorry princess," she says, but as soon as she turns around, Robin very clearly hears her add, "How far our kingdom has fallen. Our poor prince, saddled with a Plegian witch of all things..."

Robin feels her eyes sting. It's not like I asked for these tattoos!

"What a rude maid," Chrom says, and Robin whips around to see him glaring after the woman. "No matter what she thinks, she shouldn't be saying things like that out loud. I'll have a talk with father about her." He offers her a small smile, like a peace offering, and the gesture is enough to make the tears roll down her cheeks.

"Oh no, don't-" he fishes around in his pockets and hands her a handkerchief. "Don't listen to them," he adds, and to her surprise his voice is concerned. "They're just drunk and stupid, ignore them."

She's about to tell him to mind his own business when he suddenly stands up and places a hand on her shoulder.

"Come on, let's get out of here for a bit. We'll get some fresh air," he says. She hesitates, but the thought of being left alone in this hellish hall is too unbearable. She takes his hand and they make their way out to the balcony and down the stairs to the gardens.

As soon as they're out of view she pulls away from him and sits down on a bench, miserable. He remains standing, and neither of them seem to know what to say.

"You know... I'm sorry. For everything they were saying," he mumbles, finally. "I'm guessing from your reaction that none of it is true."

"Of course not!" she cries, too upset to remember that she hates him. "How could you all believe such awful things! Being Grimleal doesn't make you a- a-"

"A witch? A necr-?" he offers, but she slams her hands on the cold stone bench, furious.

"Don't! How could anyone think that?!" she shouts.

"Look..." he sits down next to her. "Everyone is told that Grima and Naga are opposites."

"They are," Robin insists. "But that doesn't-"

"Right, but in Ylisse, Naga is the good half." He sighs and leans back on his arms, staring up at the evening stars. "Naga is the goddess of life and creation. If she created us all, then the opposite of that is Grima, who must be the god of death and destruction, right? To us, it looks like Plegians are obsessed with violence and death."

"We're not!"

"I don't really know," he says. "But that's the way everyone thinks about you here. It's just the way it is." He falls silent for a moment. "But you know, I think you're right; I don't know anything about you or your country. I've just realized I only know what I've been told by Ylisseans." He turns to look at her. "But if that's true, isn't it fair to assume you don't know anything about us either?"

She opens her mouth to argue but realizes he has a point. I never bothered to learn anything about Naga, not really. And I've always been told that Ylisse is a place of heretics and barbarians; I don't know a thing about their culture either.

"So, now that we've gotten that out of the way," he says, blowing a stray lock of hair from his face, "why don't you tell me what being Grimleal really means, princess?"

"I have a name," she sighs, annoyed.

"No, you're right. Sorry, that was rude. Okay, let's start over." He holds out his hand. "Peace?"

She frowns; for some reason he looks genuinely interested. She really doesn't understand him at all.

"Fine, but only for a while." She shakes his hand.

He isn't as self-centered as she'd thought. He listens to everything she says and asks questions without patronizing her. He seems surprised to learn that everyone in Plegia knows how to take care of themselves because they've been at war for so long and it's a harsh place to live; he says he's been told it's in their nature to be violent and he's glad it's not true. He asks about whether it hurt to get her tattoos on her face, and if she wishes she'd been branded somewhere else.

"Sometimes," she admits. "Looking at yourself in the mirror can be kind of startling if you forget, and you tend to forget a lot," she says, wincing. "And I guess it unnerves people. Father always said I should be proud, that a princess should inspire respect, but it's not like he was branded to look like he has six eyes."

"I hope you'll forgive me for being so narrow minded about it," Chrom apologizes. "To be honest, it freaked me out when I first saw you. I just wasn't expecting it."

"I understand. I'm sorry for saying you were ignorant."

"I was. I still am, more likely than not," he says, grinning slightly. "It will probably take me some time to get used to it, but I hope that's alright."

"Mm. It's fine now."

"Now?"

Robin blushes. "No, it's... it's nothing."

"Come on, I thought we were being honest?"

"Only until the party is over," she mutters.

"Sure, but it's not over," he says, and in the short silence, the sound of music streams across the grass toward them. "Tell me? Please?"

"It... it... kind of hurt my feelings," she says, so quietly he can barely hear. "You looked like you'd seen a monster... I... It hurt, seeing the person I'm supposed to marry look at me like that."

"Oh." He looks pained, and Robin is immediately sorry she said anything.

"It doesn't matter now-"

"It does matter. But... I don't think you look like a monster, not anymore. Actually, I think you're very pretty... Robin."

It's the first time he's used her name, and for some reason the sound of it makes her skin tingle.

"W-what? Don't say something so stu-" She stops dead in the middle of her sentence; he's reached out to touch her cheek. His thumb rubs against one of the eyes on the tattoo gently.

"It's not stupid, I mean it. And the mark isn't really that frightening, now that I know what it represents. In fact, the more I get to know you, the more I think it suits you. It's fierce, and interesting, like the girl under the ink."

In the dim moonlight, she can see that he's turned rather red, though he hasn't looked away from her once.

"S-stop it," she says, but her voice seems to have lost its volume. He's way too close now, her heart is thundering in her ears.

"I messed up the kiss this morning," he says softly. "Would it be okay if I did it again?"

She wants to shake her head and tell him that no, of course he can't, but instead she finds herself nodding slowly, and before she knows it his hands are cupping her face and she's closing her eyes of her own will.

Unlike the kiss during the ceremony, this one is warm and gentle, and Robin thinks it will be a shame when he finally decides to pull away.

They sneak back into the party just before it ends; it turns out that no one has noticed they've been missing at all, but of course now that they're visible again, the catcalls and jeers return in full force.

"Enough," the king finally commands. The whole hall falls silent. He's red in the face, but his balance is still perfect. If Chrom didn't know any better, he'd assume that his father hadn't had more than a couple of drinks. In truth, he's probably emptied half the wine cellar on his own. He gives Lissa a knowing look across the table and his sister stifles a giggle.

"Before we retire for the night, I thank you all for attending this most joyous occasion. I ask that we have one final toast." His father picks up his wine glass and holds it up. "To Plegia and Ylisse, bound together at last!"

"To Plegia and Ylisse!"

"To my son, Chrom, and his wife, Lady Robin! May they have many prosperous years ahead of them!"

"To Prince Chrom and Princess Robin!"

Everyone drinks deeply, and Chrom and Robin avoid each others' eyes, their faces red.

"Now," the king says, and Chrom notices a rather mischievous glint in his eye.

Oh no.

"To bed with you!"

The whole hall stands up, and Chrom feels his blood go cold. I... I forgot! He steals a panicked glance at Robin and finds that she's white as a sheet, her tattoos resplendent against her pale skin.

Frederick pulls Chrom from his seat, and one of the maids does the same for Robin. He looks at his parents, but his father is laughing heartily and his mother merely gives him an apologetic shrug. Lissa looks like her birthday has come early.

Thankfully, the crowd won't be allowed into their bedroom, though it's still torture to have them follow all the way upstairs. The men pat Chrom on the back and tell him that this is the moment he'll become a man, while the women clasp Robin's hands and assure her everything will be alright, and it will likely be over before she knows it. This sets everyone laughing again, and Chrom can only wish with all his heart that he could melt right into the wooden floor.

Finally, they're pushed into the room and the door locked behind them. They stand there, utterly mortified, trying to look anywhere but at the large canopied bed or at each other.

"Th-the tr-truce is off," Robin stutters.

"De-definitely," he agrees.

"I-I'm going to sl-sleep," she says, walking stiffly over to the bed and finding her nightgown folded neatly on the covers. She looks at him, obviously panicking. "Turn around!" she commands, her voice rather shrill, and it doesn't cross his mind to disobey. He holds his hands over his eyes for good measure.

He can hear her undressing, but tries very very hard not to think about it.

"Ca-can I look y-yet?"

"No!"

"Now?"

"...O-okay."

He turns to find that she's already hidden herself in the covers, and he breathes a sigh of relief. He pulls off his own clothes and slips into his tunic, then blows the candles out.

"Don't worry, I won't do anything to you if you don't want me to," he says quietly as he sits on the edge of the bed. He doesn't know if he wants her to say yes; he's afraid that he won't know what to do if she does, and just a bit panicked to think he'll have to sleep next to her all night, being extra careful not to alarm her if she doesn't.

"P-promise?" she asks, her voice barely higher than a whisper. She peeks over the covers, her brown eyes glinting in the faint light from the window.

"Yeah. I promised to protect and cherish you, didn't I?" he says. She's kind of cute, like a little cat.

"Good, because you'll turn into a frog if you do," she says suddenly.

"W-what?!"

She's smiling, he can see it in her eyes, but he's not sure if she's being serious or not.

"Well, even if that's true, I won't turn into one, because I won't lay a finger on you. Prince's honor," he says, crossing his heart.

There's a soft, warm sound, and he realizes she's laughing. He's never heard such a nice laugh before.

"That's a shame, I really like frogs." She turns her back to him, leaving him completely bewildered.

Wait, was that a yes, or a no?!

He groans and gets into bed, feeling like this is just the beginning of a very long, very complicated relationship. But while before that thought filled him with dread, now he's thinking that it might not be so bad, having a partner to share this adventure with.

He feels something warm press against his back and a tug at his shirt; she's holding on to his clothes, and he can't help his heart pounding a bit faster at the innocent gesture.

"G-goodnight, Robin."

"Goodnight, Chrom... S-see you in the morning."

"We met on a day of anemones

I still remember, with excitement

We deliberately missed each other

The time wasn't right, let's wait a bit more."