A huge bookshelf flew a banner of colors across a dark and quiet armory. Manuscripts of every hue poked their elaborate spines out at different heights and depths, each in its own language and bearing signs of heavy use. Some were charred at the edges, some had covers ripped clean off, and a particular black one sported what could only be a large bloodstain. A cloaked figure ran their hand along each row of books, searching more by feel than sight, and finally stopped at a massive olive-colored book, embossed with a forked spear with silver plates at the corners.

With a sigh, Robin hefted the Thoron tome from a strained bookcase and ducked through the heavy drapery of the armory. Outside the weather remained ignorant of her plight – the ground refracted hopeful rainbows, shimmering in the aftermath of storms. Camp was only decibels beyond silence. Footsteps padded carefully, unwilling to disrupt the vigil. Even the pegasi blinked balefully, somber, from their paddock.

Everybody mourned. Less than two days ago Emmeryn fell from the stone dais at castle Plegia. It was almost beautiful, a careful step from this world into the next.

The descent took an eternity. Chrom's legs pumped furiously to meet her, and Lissa clawed desperately at the sides of her face, letting forth a sound that ran Robin's blood cold. Echoes of it occasionally floated over camp, answered by a stormy-faced brother or a somber night.

Without Lissa's usual pep, rank morale perished. Those close to Emmeryn leaned heavily upon those who weren't, and Robin did her best to provide a shoulder for every member of the army. Some coped by throwing themselves headlong into work – Cordelia seemed everywhere at once, cleaning, mending, cooking and consoling simultaneously, wearing a brave face when watched and positively crumbling when alone. Others directed towards self-betterment, training from sunup to sundown for physical release, insurance against future casualties, or simple distraction.

Robin suspected that Lon'qu sought a combination of all three as she passed him en route to the far end of the training ground. He returned her wave with a curt nod, his form unbroken as he worked through parries. She lingered momentarily, only long enough to marvel at his immaculate technique but moving on before the gynophobia brought his work to a screeching halt.

At the far end of the training grounds she cracked open the massive tome, breathing deeply of its comforting, dusty scent as she leafed through the pages. The archaic characters adorning the pages in immaculate script had come naturally to her as a second language, just as easily as the Ylissean standard tongue.

The spell she was looking for dog-eared near the back of the book. If the earliest incantations came like a mother tongue, the later ones read like foreign language sharing only the occasional cognate. This spell in particular conjured a kind of ball lightning, a precursor to a full-blown Thoron. Potent but imprecise, this spell was difficult to control. In order to hold it together Robin needed to commit her full attention, hopefully granting her a few moments of respite from her emotionally taxing day.

With a deep breath she began. As she muttered the incantation, her casting hand began to hum with electricity. Barely visible, a flash of light collected past her outstretched fingers before cracking, dissipating to the ground and shocking her fingertips. Swearing, she clutched her aching fingers, hopping in place while Lon'qu peered quizzically over his shoulder.

"Everything alright?"

"Fine, thanks."

After a curt nod Lon'qu resumed his training. Sighing, Robin examined her fingers wearily – the spell had been giving her grief on a good day, let alone when she was stressed and exhausted. Still, the swelling was minimal and she probably had a couple failed attempts left before real damage was done.

She needed control over the spell, immediately. Every precaution needed to be made to ensure nobody else would perish under her watch. With more authority she recited, and her sore casting hand was alive with static. Too quickly the electricity gathered in front of her, an orb of lightning crackling and sending frantic bolts into the air and the ground at her feet. Panic broke Robin's concentration.

I can't take this onto the battlefield, what if it hits –

With a crack the orb fractured. Spindly bolts shot at her feet, through her torso, and for one horrible moment her vision broke and she was no longer in the training ground. Instead she saw her own outcast arm, crackling with lightning over a prone Chrom. His body slumped unnaturally on a tiled floor, coursing with electricity while a vicious laugh roared in her ears.

No… NO!

The blow of her own knees crashing to the dirt jolted Robin back to her senses as she fell to all fours. Pain coursed through her body and magnified at her forehead, making her stomach roll while her inner ear struggled to right itself. Running steps barely registered above her own heaving cough as she struggled to control her lungs.

"Robin!"

Pebbles danced past her hands as Lon'qu came to a hard stop. He kneeled next to her, closer than Robin expected.

"Healer, now. Let's go."

Although he kept his voice even, Robin could see the strain in his expression as he stooped to help her up. Coughing and beginning to tremble, she shook her head, unable to find the words to thank him but insist that she'd make it back to camp just fine. He grunted and set his jaw, looping her arm over his shoulder and hoisting her up.

There was no room for negotiation in Lon'qu's voice. "Don't be difficult. We're going."

Robin risked a sidelong glance at her rescuer as she was dragged along. On the battlefield, Lon'qu was efficient and helpful in medical transport if he needed to be. Without the helpful adrenaline to drown his phobias, however, his complexion paled and his brow slicked with sweat.

"Lon'qu, don't worry..." she huffed, winded. "Don't bother. We're at camp, I can manage."

Distress colored his voice "I think not. I just need to remember where –"

"Lon'qu? Robin! What happened?"

Looking up, Robin saw a familiar flutter of white cape rounding a corner of tents nearby. The dread that pooled in her stomach was matched only by the wave of relief that overcame Lon'qu as Chrom pounded over to them.

"A training mishap, I think. She's headed to a healer, if you wouldn't mind…"

"Say no more. I've got it from here, thank you for looking out for her, Lon'qu," Chrom replied, gratitude evident in his voice. Lon'qu maintained his composure long enough to pass Robin off to Chrom before turning heel and hastening back to training ground. She tried to call a thanks after him, but her voice refused to carry and he was long gone. Instead, she addressed Chrom with as much authority as she could while her body quaked and her breath came short.

"I'm going to my bunk for a concoction, no need for a healer."

He could only sigh, tightening his hold around her waist as though to cease her shaking. "I don't think so. How did this happen?"

"Thoron training. Nothing major, please don't bother the healers," she said flatly, trying to end the discussion. A clear shade of upset clouded his features, and regret tore at her aching chest. "Please, Chrom – Lissa is still out of commission, and Maribelle comforting her. Libra has his hands full running the infirmary by himself, the last thing he needs is another person to look after. I just need a vulnerary and some rest."

Concern for his sister warred with worry over Robin. After a minute of indecision Chrom exhaled deeply, submitting with a tired "okay", setting off for the bunks with Robin tucked at his side. Their progress was slow towards the far end of the bunks, their steps thunderous through the unusually quiet camp. Most of the Shepherds were in the mess hall for dinner, in the infirmary with Libra, or keeping to themselves.

The two remained silent as they arrived at Robin's tent, ducking under the flap as he sat her down in the cot. She watched him carefully as he rummaged at the bottles on her desk, turning each one to read its label until he found a blue flask at the back. Uncorking it with a pop, he handed the jug over and turned her desk chair so that it faced Robin and sat, leaning on his knees. Robin muttered a thanks and swigged the concoction, her nose wrinkling as it burned down her throat and seared her sinuses. The burning faded to warmth, radiating from her chest and relaxing her body, leaving only relief and a garish aftertaste. Bending for the waterskin she kept at her bedside, she found it missing; Chrom had beaten her to it, handing it over with the barest hint of a grin.

She accepted the canteen with a wry smile. "You know me too well."

"Too right. Although," Chrom mused, watching her thoughtfully, "this is the first time in weeks I've gotten to pay you a visit. I feel like I never see you outside of meetings or battles these days. Has everything been alright?"

Robin averted her eyes guiltily, busying herself by nearly drowning in the flask. It was by no coincidence that she'd made herself scarce lately. At first she had been trying to exercise some independence. Having been plucked from the field like an amnesiac daisy, it was only natural to imprint on the first faces she saw, like an infant to parental figures. Eventually, she reasoned, one had to leave the comfort of the nest and strike out on their own into a wide world of companions and discomfort and variety! Besides, with their constant companionship, rumors were beginning to circulate.

What was worse – the rumors were accurate. After the bathing tent incidents, after countless hours of company and fighting, marching and shoulder-punching, joking and occasional tears, Robin could no longer deny that she'd grown dangerously fond of the young prince. How clichéd, and how inappropriate of a tactician in his service.

And so, instead of weaning herself from his constant company little by little, she'd cut herself off cold turkey. No more poring over battle histories settled in the corner of his bunk, no more attachment at the hip in battle, no more seat reservations together in the mess hall. Free time was thereon devoted to the army as a whole, getting to know each member as well as she knew Chrom and Lissa.

But the battle of castle Plegia rewrote all of her plans. Now more than ever Chrom needed support and Robin gave it willingly and with the bravest face she could muster. The front she put up was cracking; the shallow imitation of selflessness, the good intentions, and the brazen independence – each of these chipped from her face and she felt emotion, stinging like bile, rise in her throat and contort her mouth. She chewed at control for a minute, swallowing the lump in her throat for a moment before risking a reassuring nod to Chrom. "Everything's f-fine, I'll be okay. Thanks for checking up on me."

But that look, his face too close, concern too deeply drawn into the planes of his mouth, eyes soft and boring beneath her mock stability. Her resolve stretched thin.

"Are you sure? I've seen you running around camp since the battle. Checking up on everyone individually, and now this training accident – you're working yourself dead, Robin. Has anyone come to check up on you since Emm –" His voice tightened and he had to swallow before continuing. "Since it happened?"

She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. She couldn't keep this up for much longer, she needed him out, now. "I'm fine. Really, go get some rest, I'll meet up with you later."

"No." He shook his head, urgent. "You're not fine, and I'm not leaving until you are. Please, Robin, talk to me. I need to know that you're going to pull through this."

"That I am going to pull through? I am the one who… the one responsible for the death of the Exalt. The leader of a free nation. My best friends' sister." Robin stammered, hysteria seeping into the final words.

"Robin, don't say that –"

"No," she choked. "I was cocky. Bold. Not one of the Shepherds had fallen, and I planned so thoroughly that there was no way for us to fail. Virion and I stayed up for days, examining every possible loophole and outcome. Frederick trained the army to the farthest extent of their abilities. All of our strongest units were armed to the tooth with the finest weapons Gaius's lockpicking could afford. Maribelle and Lissa were on standby. Everything was ready."

"And still," Robin continued, dripping with scorn. "I failed. And who's to say that I won't fail again? What if it's Miriel next time, or Vaike, Stahl, Cherche…"

She buried her face in her hands, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. Behind her closed eyes burned the image of Chrom slumped on an ornately tiled floor, electricity coursing through his body.

"Or you."

Her composure was wholly lost. Sobs that she'd previously buried into her bedsheets or aired beyond earshot of camp came in a torrent, making the blood rush in her head and her face hot with misery. The cot creaked as Chrom sat beside her, arms encircling her quaking shoulders and she guilty submitted to his embrace, crying harder for shame and for indulgence. Messy tears stained his shirt as she failed to compose herself while Chrom rubbed soothing circles at her back.

An inestimable amount of time passed. They sat unmoving and soundless save for Robin's quieting whimpers, much as they had the night before when she held a grieving Chrom. Robin had found him much as she found herself – mourning a broken future, one he felt incapable of ruling without Emmeryn. He, too, claimed full responsibility for her death, for her unclaimed body, for the countrymen whose peace and safety were at risk due to war. He wept for the impossible decision between his family and his country, and for his own weakness, and for the little sister that had finally sobbed herself to sleep not long before. At the time, Robin swallowed her own grief and played the role seamlessly: she supported, soothed, and sympathized well into the night. It wasn't until early morning, when she finally slunk to her own bunk, that she let the heartache and guilt catch up.

Eventually Robin's breathing steadied, the tears dried and she mopped at her face with the back of a sleeve. Good sense implored her to dislodge from Chrom's hold, but her will failed under his gentle touch. Regretfully, she wound her arms around his waist and buried her face at his collar bone.

Robin felt the breath catch in his chest. Dimly wondering if she'd crossed a line of propriety, she was spared from panic when Chrom released the breath he was holding and rested his head against hers, absentmindedly smoothing a hand through her tangle of hair.

"For what it's worth, I don't think that will happen." He soothed into her tresses, quiet and confident.

"Rnd mht mfhks mno mhay nhap?" Robin muffled through his collar. Consonance gone, the helplessness came through loud and clear. Chrom snorted and drew back to see her properly.

"… Excuse me?"

"I said," she mumbled thickly, "What makes you say that? After all that's happened… I can't be sure I won't make more mistakes. Why should you trust me?"

Chrom sat back on his hands, thoughtful. "Because… it's you. You're one of my strongest fighters, and you've been seen us through this whole blasted mess of a war. One you didn't sign up for, I might add. Time and time again you've risked your life, protecting the Shepherds, my friends, my family, and myself – all whom you've met just months ago. And in that short time you've become one of my closest allies, my best friend."

He swallowed and continued, almost fervently. "Robin, I trust you like the sword at my side. I wouldn't be able to finish this war without you."

The air felt clearer to Robin then. She could breathe easily, and a weight like a black hole evaporated from her shoulders. Despite that, she found her eyes welling with fast hot tears beyond her control.

"You know… my intent was to make you feel better, not more miserable," Chrom crooned, the barest hint of a smirk playing his lips. Robin hiccupped a giggle, shaking her head.

"I do, really. Or, at least, I will, so please don't worry yourself anymore."

"Only if you promise that I won't find you in a pile of diagrams and spent candle marks in the morning. You already sacrificed a decent night's sleep yesterday, and a lady needs her rest after all."

She gave him a wet smile. "Promise."

"Good."

A flicker of indecision crossed Chrom's features. With a careful hand he thumbed away a tear at her cheek, looking so far into Robin that she'd swear her heart stopped. Locked as though petrified, she could only gaze, wide-eyed, as he leaned in to faintly brush a kiss at her forehead.

By the time she'd regained control of her pulse the flap of her tent had swung closed with a gust and a flutter of an ivory cape. Though her cheeks flamed, Robin vowed that the gesture was meant as brotherly comfort, nothing more. She repeated that mantra to herself between drills of the attack formation until her stretched mind finally slackened and submitted to sleep.

A/N: I know it's been four years, I know it's been played to death, but lord help me I love these two. Feedback is welcome, thanks for reading. More to come!