Archive of Our Own ^beta

Instead, he was a like a whirlwind of destruction. Several soldiers stopped in their tracks, jaws agape, to goggle at the dark mage who cut a bloody swathe through the enemy as though the Risen were made of so much rice paper, immediately turned to confetti with a flick of his wrist. He cackled through most of the skirmish. By battle's end he was covered in blackish blood, gossiping with the crows that were already descending on the rotting corpses. The Shepherds gave him a wide berth as they began to regroup before moving on. 

All except for two. Chrom kept his steady gaze fixed on Robin as she made her way over to their newest member to introduce herself. "Hello," she called pleasantly, forcing down a cringe when he turned to smile at her with his gore-splattered face. 

"Hiya!" he chirped, standing up and fruitlessly wiping his hands on his sash; he'd been poking inside the crushed skull of a Risen archer.

"I'm sorry for not introducing myself earlier," she apologized, "but things got hairy fast. I'm Robin, the Shepherds' chief tactician." She held out her hand to shake. "Pleased to meet you, er..." 

"Henry." He peered at her outstretched hand for a moment, then grasped it lightly with long, cold fingers. 

"Right, Henry. Sorry." 

"Oh, don't worry about it. So, am I still good to go?" 

Robin blinked. "'Go'? I'm not sure wh—oh, do you mean, is Chrom's invitation for you to join us still good?"

"Yup!" 

"Of course." Robin looked back in Chrom's direction and was surprised to see him observing them. He nodded slowly in assent. "Chrom's a man of his word," she replied, turning back to face the Plegian. "Welcome to the Shepherds."

 .~.~. 

"Henry." 

The dark mage looked up from the sigil he'd been doodling in the dirt. Looming over him in the light of the fire was...that big fella. The leader's stalker. What was his name? "Hey-o, big guy." That would have to do. 

Big Guy frowned; it was just Henry's first day, but he could already tell that it was the knight's favorite expression. "Milord Chrom wishes to speak with you. If you'll follow me, his tent is this way." 

"Okey-doke!" And Henry trundled after him.

Big Guy ended up leading him to a tent that was the same size as all the rest, which Henry found a little surprising. Leaving the curt knight to stand guard outside, Henry lifted a tent flap to peer in. Situated around a table were three people: the leader ("Chrome"? Gosh, he'd never been too good with names), the woman who had spoken to him on Carrion Island earlier that night, and a dark robed mage with red hair and a keen gaze behind glinting spectacles. 

"Henry, welcome," the tactician said with a smile. "Come on in, we were just about to discuss your place within the Shepherds. Have a seat." He took the proffered chair, one of his legs swinging absently once he was settled. 

"But before we get to that," the leader interjected, glancing over to the woman who'd spoken, "we want to make absolutely certain that you're sure about this. Do you still want to join us? The path we've chosen is a long and dangerous one." 

Henry's carefree laugh echoed in the small space. "I already told you, I love fighting! Killing's kinda my thing—I thought I gave you a nice little sample of that with those mushy meat puppets earlier." 

"Hmm...." The leader's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Aside from Gangrel, I've yet to come across someone as enthusiastic about carnage as you are." 

"It is irregular, to be sure, but perhaps to be expected of a mage who is so heavily imbued with dark magical prowess," remarked the bespectacled woman. "I couldn't help making the observation that Tharja is also relatively nonchalant about bloodshed; I believe the correlation between this mentality and the use of dark magic may be a fascinating line of inquiry to pursue." 

"Uh...right you are, Miriel," said the leader, looking a bit lost. 

"The point is," the tactician said, coming to his rescue, "Tharja's proven that she's a valuable ally—" 

"And utterly fixated upon you, Robin," added Miriel. 

"—so it's very possible that Henry could be the same." 

"Do you mean Henry could prove useful, or that he'd also develop an unhealthy obsession?" The blue haired man was clearly having trouble following the thread of the conversation. 

Robin rolled her eyes. "Chrom, give me a break." 

(Henry now knew all of their names, and felt proud of himself for noticing.) 

Miriel cleared her throat pointedly. "The former, captain. Neither Robin nor I have any objection to this young man's posthaste enlistment." 

Chrom nodded, but it looked somewhat hesitant. "All right, Miriel, you know I trust your and Robin's judgment." His steely blue gaze fixed on Henry once more, sizing him up. 

Henry chuckled, unfazed and unintimidated. "Don't worry—if you don't think you can trust me, you can always just kill me!" 

"...All right." Chrom blinked several times as Robin stared with wide eyes and Miriel's narrowed behind her glasses. "Uh, if that's all, then Miriel here will help you get settled in camp and show you our collection of tomes." 

"Ooh, tomes? I can't wait to take a look! G'night!" Henry hopped up from his seat and followed his fellow mage out of the tent. 

A few seconds after they left, Chrom slumped in his seat, head tilting back as his eyes closed in exhaustion. "He's...an odd one." 

Robin hummed noncommittally as she scribbled on the parchment in front of her. "That he is. Sort of funny, though."

One of Chrom's eyes cracked open to give his tactician a disbelieving look. "'Funny'? I'm almost positive I saw him steal an eyeball from a Risen corpse earlier." 

Robin shrugged. "I guess we'll see how he fits in. We're a pretty ragtag group, after all." 

Chrom chuckled. "You can say that again."

Just as they concluded their business for the evening and Robin was gathering her things to leave, Frederick cleared his throat outside the tent. "Yes, Frederick, what is it?" called Chrom. 

The knight poked his head through the flaps. "Pardon, milord, but Panne insists that she speak with you." 

"Oh. All right, send her in." 

Panne entered the tent slowly, standing barely inside. "I have information about the new curse-slinger," she began without preamble. "We have met before." 

"You have?" Robin leaned forward, intrigued. 

"Yes. He informed me of the Plegian plot against Exalt Emmeryn's life two years ago." 

The pause in conversation following her claim was almost painful. "R-really?" Chrom finally choked out. 

Panne's nose twitched. "Unlike those of your kind, I do not lie." 

"We believe you're telling the truth," Robin assured her. "It just seems too incredible to be true. Do you know why he told you?" 

"I do not." 

"We'll have to ask him," Chrom muttered, eyes dark. Robin looked over at him in concern. 

"So we can trust him?" she asked, turning back to Panne.

The taguel's face was impassive. "I do not yet know him, and do not intend to do so. Still, I will vouch for him. For now." She left the tent as quickly as she came, leaving stunned silence in her wake. 

"One good turn deserves another," said Robin finally. She turned to Chrom for confirmation; he nodded tersely, jaw clenched and gaze averted. He never reacted well whenever his elder sister was mentioned. "Chrom, are you all right?" 

"I know I shouldn't feel this way." The prince's voice was lower than normal. "I've had plenty of time to accept what happened. But...a Plegian? We know absolutely nothing about him." 

"We know that he helped us when we needed it, just like every other Shepherd. We recruited Tharja, and she's Plegian. Hell, we recruited Gaius when he was planning on stealing from the royal treasury." She shook her head. "Henry is as worthy of being here as anyone else." 

Chrom sighed. "I know, I know. Believe me, I feel terrible for even thinking this way. I just need to be alone for a bit." 

Robin pursed her lips. "I understand. Get some rest, and I'll see you in the morning. Tell Sumia and Lucina that I said goodnight." 

"I will." 

She walked outside and turned to make her way back to her own tent. After taking only a few steps, however, she accidentally bumped into someone in the darkness. "Ack! I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, stepping back to see who she'd run into. A pair of dark eyes in a pale face bored into hers, making Robin feel apprehensive. "Oh, uh, hello there, Tharja. What are you doing here?" 

Tharja's frown deepened. "Making sure that new one didn't harm you." She stepped a bit closer. "You're hex-free right now, but until he proves that he's not a complete idiot, I'll be paying close attention to you. Extra close." 

Robin had no idea how much more attention Tharja could possibly pay her, nor did she want to. "A-all right, thanks, but don't work yourself too hard." 

The dark mage looked almost delighted at Robin's admonishment. "You're worried for me? How sweet," she cooed. 

"Oh, it's nothing. Haha...hah. Well, goodnight, Tharja." Robin barely managed to keep herself from breaking into a sprint as she walked back to her tent.

.~.~.

As Henry got settled in, he could hear the whisperings. Plegian. Untrustworthy. Dangerous. He was just too used to whispers to care. 

He got a teeny tiny bit annoyed when, only a few days after he'd joined the Shepherds, he went back to his tent following a training session—to which Frederick had forcefully dragged him—and found that it was in shambles. Shredded bedroll, little table overturned, parchment strewn about, tomes missing. The only object left untouched was the decomposing Risen eyeball he'd put in a jar at the foot of his now-destroyed bed, so at least there was that. He stood at the entrance and blinked slowly, then shrugged and made his way to one of the supply tents. 

He ended up, by happenstance, at the same tent in which Robin was taking some inventory or other. She looked up at the rustle at the entrance, and smiled slightly when she recognized the dark mage. 

"Afternoon, Henry," she greeted. She seemed then to notice Henry's exhausted appearance and muffled a snicker. "Frederick got you, didn't he?" 

"Uh-huh. So hey, where can I get another bedroll?" 

Robin frowned. "What happened to yours?" 

"It got all ripped up."

The tactician lifted a skeptical brow and took a couple of steps closer to him, quill and parchment lowering. "How did it get all ripped up?" 

Henry scratched his cheek and shrugged. "I think it got trashed." 

"By you?" 

He shook his head. Robin, quick as she was, understood immediately, mouth opening in a small "o" of dismay. 

But Henry just waved it off. "It's totally fine! It's not like I had any personal stuff in there anyway." 

"That's not the point," Robin snapped. Her jaw clenched for a moment. "I'm sorry, Henry. You didn't deserve that." 

Expectations were a luxury, in his book. "Don't worry about it," he replied with a laugh. 

She shook her head. "Of course I'm worried. I'll help you find some new things right now. Come on, the convoy isn't far from here." She went towards the tent flaps, but paused, putting a comforting hand on Henry's upper arm. "Sorry," she muttered again.  

Henry stood stiff as a board, unsure how to act in this situation. Most people never touched him. He didn't have to think about it for long, though, because Robin slipped quickly out of the tent. Henry followed her unthinkingly, reflexively. 

When Chrom made an announcement that evening that hazing or harassment of any Shepherd was unacceptable and would be met with swift retribution, Henry knew it was no coincidence, and looked over to see Robin flash him a small smile. He thought that was a little funny.

“Naga above, that’s disgusting.” Chrom looked down at his tactician, at a total loss. “What should we do?” 

“I told him to get rid of it, obviously. It’d better not happen again.” She sighed. “We need to do something. Maybe we can figure out ways to keep him constantly busy so that he can’t indulge in his more...unique hobbies. Or more grotesque, or whatever.” She looked up at Chrom and raised an eyebrow. “Do you think you could convince Frederick to take on some help with his more menial tasks?” 

~.~.~ 

Henry had had a bit of a rough start, that was for sure. Whether it was because his presence naturally attracted birds—who tried to make nests of the Shepherds’ hair—or because the others didn’t get nearly as much of a kick out of killing enemies as he did, Robin wasn’t sure. He was...quirky. Idiosyncratic. And had a pronounced affinity for the macabre.

So they put him to work, doing anything that was relatively simple but still plenty time consuming. Whenever he wasn’t helping to take inventories and restock supplies, he was mending tents, or helping with cooking, or being dragged to training sessions by a certain overzealous knight. It seemed to be going well so far. 

Since their arrival in Valm, Chrom’s army had been busier than ever; thanks to this, Henry was rarely left standing still. That was something that he and Robin had in common—the tactician was exhausting herself, darting around and doing odd jobs whenever she wasn’t frequently in Chrom’s tent planning strategy. Landing on a completely different continent seemed to have added additional gravitas to Robin’s work, and it was beginning to show in her heavy steps and creased forehead. A few weeks into their arrival in Valm Harbor and after the subsequent rescue of Say’ri, Chrom finally noticed that his lead strategist was running herself ragged. He sternly ordered her to ease up a bit. 

“What does that even mean?” she asked, brow crumpled in confusion. “I can’t just stop working.” 

“I didn’t say that,” Chrom replied, leaning forward in his chair and pinning Robin with his worried gaze. “Just...don’t work yourself so hard. Take breaks. You’re only human.”

“But the Shepherds need me. I can’t let them down.” 

“Exactly. What will happen to us if you become so exhausted that you can’t strategize to your fullest capacity? We need you at your best.” He stood up from his seat, prompting Robin to do the same, and he patted her on the shoulder as they made their way to the tent’s entrance. “Not only that, but we care about you as a person,” he said. “Please take care of yourself.”

Robin harrumphed quietly. “I suppose you have a point. I’ll try to relax more.”

Lightening her workload certainly wasn’t easy at first; she was restless and fidgety during her off-time, sometimes resorting to pacing between the rows of tents as she felt Tharja’s eyes watching her from various concealed locations. After several days of this, it occurred to her that doing chores and such with Henry could provide a plausible distraction from her anxious thoughts. She’d worked with him without incident a handful of times since he’d joined the Shepherds’ party. The dark mage was a bit loud, but studious and methodical all the same. She figured that it made sense, considering the fact that practicing magic required strict adherence to specific sequences in spells and incantations—anything otherwise could lead to very messy results, after all. Even Frederick was impressed by his work ethic. 

And Robin was quickly surprised by how easy it was to hold a conversation with him. He did about seventy-five percent of the talking, but listening to his stories about places he’d traveled and the creatures and people he’d met kept her mind from racing. She didn’t really mind—he had some interesting things to say. He recounted the spell-swapping sessions he’d had with Ricken and Miriel, the games he’d played with Nowi, the ridiculous number of times he’d smacked into Kellam in broad daylight, and more. 

“I’m glad to hear that you’re having a good time,” Robin said one evening as she and Henry sat near the fire after dinner. “Has anyone been giving you trouble lately?”

“Nah,” he replied. “Life’s been pretty good to this dark mage.”

The way Henry said this—in what may very well have been the most chipper tone possible—made her feel...guilty, for some odd reason. “Dark mage,” she echoed. “You don’t seem very ‘dark’ to me, Henry.”

“Heh, well, it’s not like I made up the thing people call me.”

She turned to face him. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “You know, back home, we always just called dark mages ‘mages’ because they used magic—the type didn't matter. It was other countries that added the ‘dark’ part to the Plegian mages who draw their power from different sources, and it just sorta stuck. Chrom’s father was super good at making everybody except Ylisse look like the bad guy. And now it's basically our official name.” 

"'Different sources'? What does that mean?"

Henry scratched his head and leaned back a bit on the log on which they were sitting. "Well, I never really bothered to get into all of that technical stuff—if it works, I use it. But I do know that a lot of Plegian mages harness power directly from emotions. And, yeah, you can make curses that are positive. But then there are the emotions like anger, fear, despair, hatred, stuff like that—those are always strong. And heck, there's plenty of those emotions to go around! Why wouldn't we use 'em?"

“Does it take a toll on you, constantly tapping into negative emotions?”

“Hmm. Not that I’ve noticed.”

"Still, I guess that makes some sense," said Robin, "taking advantage of such an abundant resource. Do Plegian mages resent the negativity that the name implies?" 

“Not really. At least, I know I don't—I think it sounds way cooler. Some people might think it’s rude, I guess, but to be honest, our magic compared to some of the wimpy elemental stuff practiced outside Plegia can seem pretty nasty." Henry laughed. "I mean, Ricken likes fanning the enemy with a cool breeze using that wind magic of his, and there are mages like him in Plegia, too, but one of my favorite spells dissolves a person's spinal column!" 

"And do you...worship Grima?" asked Robin hesitantly. She was looking at the Grimleal eye markings on the collar of his cape. "I know that a lot of dark mages do."

"Nya ha, I'm not much for religion. My parents were—are? I dunno if they're still alive—but not me. Do you worship Grima?" He poked at the same markings on her coat sleeves.

Robin made a weird face. "No, I don’t, but before I lost my memories...who knows? I wish I could remember my past. I wish I could know who I am." 

"Hey, now," Henry chided, "don’t let that get ya down." A raven suddenly swooped down from a nearby tree and landed on his head, making Robin jump. Henry didn't even flinch. "Besides, sometimes forgetting stuff isn't a totally bad thing."

"I realize that, but—" The tactician bit her lip and frowned up at the stars. "I'm afraid. I want to remember my past, but at the same time, I'm terrified of finding out who I was.” She wondered why she was so easily baring her soul to a man she hadn’t even known for very long. Robin had barely brought up such topics to Chrom, let alone anyone else. “What if I was a terrible person? What if I end up doing...terrible things?"

Henry glanced over at her with a confused looking smile. "Why're you so worked up about who you were? It's who you are now that you should care about. And plenty of people think you're neat."

Robin gave him a little grin. "Has anyone ever told you that you can be pretty wise sometimes?"

"Eh, I just call things as I see them."

She laughed. “Well, thanks. You’re neat, too.”

Henry idly kicked his feet. “Sure, if you say so,” he said nonchalantly.

“I mean it. I’ve never really understood why some people think that you’re a bad guy.”

“Pfft, people are just silly, thinking that coming from a military that worships a fell dragon automatically makes you evil! What if you're just part of the gang because you like the colors of their outfits? I look great in purple and black.”

Robin snorted out a little laugh. “That’s a good point.” Then she sighed. “Thanks for listening to me, Henry. I feel stressed out almost constantly, but it’s good to know that I can vent to you every now and then.”

“No problem. You’re not too bad at hiding your weaknesses. It’s cool. Never let 'em see you sweat, that's what I always say!”

Robin quirked a brow. “I've literally never heard you say that, but okay.”

“Don't let people know you're hurt—that’ll kill you quick.” Henry shifted a little, and the raven that had perched on him flew away. 

Robin stared at him. “And what makes you say that?”

Henry stared into the heart of the fire, the crackling flames reflecting in his dark eyes. His next words were spoken a bit more slowly than usual. “I went to a school. Sort of like a...wizard school? Where people dumped their kids when they didn't want them anymore. In a way, it was a little bit like an orphanage, since we were all pretty much dead to our families and we never saw them again. And I learned that people who showed they were hurting got smushed like bugs.”

“So you smiled.” Robin felt like her stomach was being filled with rocks. “No matter what happened to you, you kept on smiling. Is that it?”

“Yep! And it worked! Well, that and I got really good at hexes and did some smushing myself, so people stayed away unless they wanted their brains to start oozing out their ears.”

“But you're smiling right now, Henry. You almost always are. Are they all fake?” She almost reached down to cover his hand with one of hers but stopped at the last second, unnerved by the sudden impulse.

Henry looked down at her hand, as if he’d seen what she’d almost done. “Umm, I think they used to be, mostly. But after I was put in the army, I got to do what I do best, and I got happy.”

“Are you happy now?”

“Sure am!” His smile stretched even bigger, eyes closing to accommodate it. “I get to kill stuff, and I have friends. And I get to kill stuff with my friends!”

“Haha, yes, you do. But, you know, this war won't last forever.” Robin tilted her head. “What are you going to do once it's over?”

“Dunno. I usually don’t think that far ahead. And I mean, does war ever really end? Or does it just get smaller every now and then until someone finds a reason to bring it back in a big way? The way I see it, being a soldier means pretty solid job security.”

It was quiet for a moment. Finally, Robin muttered, “I wish you were wrong.” They stared at the fire that crackled and snapped in the silence, neither of them saying a word.

“I think it’s great that we’re in this war,” said Henry abruptly. Before Robin could ask for clarification on that thought, he continued. “I wouldn’t’ve met all you guys without it.”

“I guess that’s one way of putting it,” she agreed. They both sat quietly for a few minutes before Robin stood and dusted off her coat. “All right, I’m bushed. Goodnight, Henry. See you tomorrow.”

“Yep, seeya.” He smiled up at her a final time before going back to looking at the fire. Robin quickly made her way to her tent, the thought of leaving him alone making her feel colder than what could be owed to the evening air.

Henry snickered. “You sure you wanna underestimate me? It’s been the very last thing a lot of people have done.”

“Is that a threat, little man?”

“Pshaw, I’m just messing with you. But hey, that was a good try. I like that curse a lot! I think I first cast it when I was...six? No—seven. Definitely seven. Whoa, you’re really clenching your fists tight, heheh. That looks like it might hurt.”

“Don’t think that I haven’t noticed what you’ve been up to,” she continued lowly.

“Ohhh, you saw that?” Henry tapped his chin. “I could’ve sworn nobody noticed when I sneaked those kidneys into camp.”

“Don’t be an imbecile. I’m referring to the unusual amount of time you’ve been spending with Robin.”

“Huh? Now, believe me, I know ‘unusual’ like the back of my hand. But I don’t see what’s so weird about that.”

“You spend time with her nearly every day,” Tharja accused. “Time she could be spending with me.”

“Well, you are technically spending plenty of time with her, since you’re always following her around and whatnot.”

“I always do that,” she muttered. “But you haven’t always been near her the way that I have. I’ve known Robin for more than two years longer than you, yet she’s continued to spend more and more time in your presence.” Her eyes flashed. “Just what spell did you cast on her? It must be one that I’ve never encountered.”

“Huh? I haven’t cast any spells on Robin. Wellll...” The sorcerer scratched his head. “I did once offer to turn her into a toad, but Miriel didn’t go for it. Why, have you cursed her or anything before?”

“That’s none of your business,” Tharja snapped.

“Nya ha, sounds like a ‘yes’ to me!”

“Don’t change the subject. What exactly is your goal? What do you stand to gain by being near her so often?”

“Gain?” Henry gave Tharja a blank look. Something weird started to happen in his head. Another curse? What did he stand to gain? He’d never considered it. “Gotta be honest, I’ve got no clue what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do,” Tharja replied, her eyes burning into him. Henry’s head started to feel even weirder.

He laughed, trying to ignore its confusing undercurrent of insincerity. “You’re so serious! Robin and I just work together.”

“Deny it all you want, but I’m on to you,” Tharja murmured. “You’ll never deserve Robin. And if you ever so much as lay a finger on her, if you hurt her in any capacity, I will end you.”

Henry hummed. “Gotcha. Not sure why I’d put my finger on her, though.” He watched his fellow mage slink away, towards the direction of the closest grouping of tents in the evening’s camp.

Gain. Huh.

Henry just stood there for a few moments, puffed out his cheeks, and then went to look for Robin, not sparing a second thought to how it’d become a habit.

~.~.~

Months of preparation had led to this day.

The Shepherds stormed Valm Castle head-on, armed to the teeth and moving in close ranks as they approached. The fight to close in on Walhart himself went surprisingly quickly, thanks to Robin anticipating numerous mounted enemies and arming Chrom’s soldiers with beast killers and rapiers. Frederick and Say’ri both eventually struck Walhart with enough force to make him retreat into his castle. That, Robin knew, was when the real battle was about to begin. 

The Shepherds regrouped, rallied, and surged into the castle’s great hall. They were quickly beset by a horde of Valmese soldiers and commanders, the enemies coming out of the woodwork in a last-ditch attempt to drive the Ylisseans back. Absolute bedlam ensued. 

Robin had stationed herself nearer to the back of Chrom’s troops, giving orders to those who surrounded her and casting spells at the occasional enemy who came within her firing range. She wasn’t paired up with anyone, but it seemed to be a non-issue. Things were going well. They could do this—she felt it in her bones, in the thrill going up her spine. When a flank of Valmese warriors came up on the army’s left, prompting a platoon in front of the tactician to veer and intercept their approach, Robin was left wide open. For the first time, she felt nervous. Why hadn’t she paired up? That thought flitted through her mind right before she saw sudden, frantic movement from her right peripheral.  

There was no avoiding it, really. An enemy valkyrie cast Arcwind at an Ylissean wyvern lord off to Robin’s right; the strong gale sent Robin staggering, barely staying on her feet. And that was when a general several yards ahead of her made his move. With a grunt, he launched a spear at Robin. She didn’t even see it coming. 

Sudden, searing pain on the left side of her torso paralyzed her, knocked the breath from her chest, blurred her vision. She heard herself scream and then fall to the floor of the throne room, her head slamming onto the cold stone floor like a sandbag. 

Not like this. 

Ugh, no. It couldn’t happen like this, not here. She was needed. There were so many lives she could still save. She just...couldn’t seem to get up. Robin felt the shock begin to set in just moments later as she lay prone, her pain vanishing along with the desire to stand. Then she was out like a light. 

~.~.~

Henry heard a pained cry, one that stood out above all the others bouncing off the walls during the skirmish. He froze where he stood for a moment, then immediately shot off in the direction of the shout. He knew that voice. Knew it better than anyone else’s. Henry’s blood went cold when he caught sight of her. 

Gods. Gods, but that was a lot of blood. It felt like his brain was rattling inside his skull as he stared at Robin, wide-eyed. She was hurt. Hurt real bad. Shot full of arrows. He could see them sticking out of her from all angles. Wait. No, nonono, there were no arrows. But the blood was still everywhere, soaking into her tome, into her hair, into her pretty purple coat. Not right. This wasn’t right. 

Hands had held him back all those years ago. But he couldn’t feel them anywhere on him now. He could do something about this. Had to do something. Anything.

Henry couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this upset, or if he ever even had. It reflected in his magic as he sucked the life from anyone who tried to come near him and Robin, as he used his magic to make his enemies bleed from their pores or stab themselves with their own weapons or scream as they were thrown against the castle walls so hard that Henry could hear their bones shatter. It was messy. He usually loved this part. A distant corner of his mind noted that he wasn’t having fun. Not having fun at all. He couldn’t understand why he felt like he was teetering between being angry and numb and make it stop make it stop get away from her—

He almost cast a curse at Libra, who was running with staff in hand towards the sorcerer and their fallen tactician. Instead of looking at him in fear or revulsion like Henry had come to expect, the monk calmly met his eye as he passed. “Well done, Henry,” he said as he knelt down beside Robin. Henry just stared at them, flicking a Bolganone spell over his shoulder which engulfed a Valmese soldier who’d been coming up from behind. Didn’t even have to look. He continued to stare as two clerics joined Libra and they transferred Robin onto a stretcher, hurrying to remove her from the main hall area. He watched one of her arms fall from the stretcher and dangle limply, blood trickling to the floor in its wake. The sight made something happen in Henry’s gut, a kind of hurt that his impressive pain tolerance wasn’t lessening. Ow. Felt like he was going to throw up. He had to keep doing things. Had to take his mind off of that weird type of hurt. Head whipping around wildly, he spotted a fairly straight shot to the end of the great hall. There was Walhart, looking like a giant, angry lobster on the back of his horse. A big target. Henry’s face split into a grin.

The last thing he really remembered was running full-tilt towards Walhart, Chrom not far behind. Before the Conqueror could even do so much as glance in his direction, Henry viciously blasted him twice with magic from his battered Waste tome and then Chrom rushed in for the kill. 

Henry didn’t stay to witness the death blow, turning on his heel and darting off to follow the direction of where Robin had been carried off on her stretcher, the trail dotted with red.

Robin opened her eyes, warmth suffusing her when she saw Henry at her bedside. "Hey, there."

"Heya," he replied, voice low out of respect for her poor head.

Robin struggled to remember why she was even there. "What...what happened?"

"A Valmese gotcha good, then you smacked your head hard when you went down. You were bleeding so much that I thought you were a goner." Robin became aware that the throbbing in her body seemed to be radiating from her left side as well as her head. "But don't worry," added Henry quickly, "I made that guy pay. Too bad you didn't see it—it was pretty sweet. Those Waste tomes make people crumple in on themselves like a hammer axe on a breastplate!"

"Ugh...." She closed her eyes as her head throbbed, a light wave of nausea making her stomach roll.

Henry's right hand tentatively reached out to rest atop her own at her side while his left continued to pet her hair. Robin didn't think Henry's touch was unpleasant, by any means—it was welcome, just foreign. Henry didn't really touch people.

"You—" Henry's voice cracked, a teeny, tiny bit. "You looked dead. Out there. White as a ghost. And—and so much blood, you know? And I was busy somewhere else, so when I got to you and you weren't moving, I thought..." He laughed quietly. It rang hollow in the stillness of the tent.

Robin echoed back a chuckle, just as false as her companion's. "I'd have thought that the blood wouldn't have bothered you."

His hand grasped hers tightly, almost too tightly, and Robin repressed a small wince. He was stronger than he looked. "I didn't like seeing your blood, not even a little bit. It's weird...." Henry cocked his head, just like the birds he so loved. "I only ever felt like that when my wolf died."

Robin blinked slowly. Her head felt even heavier now. "Well, I promise not to die. I’m not your wolf.”

His eyes bored into hers, their irises such a deep purple in the dim light that they were indistinguishable from the pupils. "Nope. You're not."

He looked like he was going to say something more, but the tent flaps fluttered and suddenly Lissa was standing beside them. "Hi," she said, her embarrassment at having interrupted a private moment obvious in her expression. 

Henry's hands jerked to his sides as he quickly stood up. "Seeya later, Robin," he said, leaving the tent in a rush. Robin stared at his retreating back before looking over to Lissa, taking in the princess's worried gaze as she clutched her staff.

"Is everything...okay?" Lissa asked.

Robin shrugged her shoulders, forgetting her injury, and hissed in pain. "Just tired." And feeling more than a little stupid.

Lissa shook her head fondly, leaning over the tactician as she pulled down the blanket covering Robin's body and began undoing the dressings that swathed her torso. "Well, duh, you're in the medical tent, so that's not what I meant. I—well, is everything okay between you and Henry?"

"...I think so. Honestly, I'm glad his was the first face I saw when I woke up. I was worried about him."

Lissa hummed in acknowledgement. "Makes sense. I sort of guessed he'd be here with you."

Robin frowned. "What makes you say that?"

Lissa rolled her eyes dramatically. "Jeez, Robin, I know. A lot of people know. He looks at you the same way Gaius looks at honey cakes, or Miriel looks at well organized bookshelves."

Robin snorted. "It—it’s not like that. We've gotten closer to each other recently, that's all."

"Really?" Lissa didn't sound at all convinced as her staff glowed faintly over Robin's side. "Well, you didn't see what happened to him after you got hurt."

'Happened to him'? Robin didn't understand. "Was he wounded, too?" She hadn't noticed anything physically wrong with him, but maybe the healing magic had dulled her senses more than she'd thought.

"He, um..." Lissa's teeth were worrying at her lower lip. "He kind of went...berserk. He was at your side the second after you fell, and he was yelling, and it was scary. He stood guard over you until Libra was able to reach you two, and his magic...I mean, it's usually creepy, but this stuff was...huge. Darker than normal. He was taking out Valmese in groups, and he almost threw a curse at Libra before he realized that he was on our side." She visibly suppressed a shudder. Robin remained quiet. "I don't think I'll ever forget that look he had on his face—even his weird smile would've been better."

Robin swallowed, looking off to the side. "He would've done the same thing for any of his friends."

"Nuh-uh," Lissa rebutted gently. "Ricken was injured before you were, and Henry didn't react that way. He's never flipped out like that."

"It was just—look, don't read too much into that. The battle was really tough, and everyone was under a lot of stress. It's a wonder that no one else acted unusually."

Lissa sighed. "Robin, I know I'm not speaking from personal experience, but trust me: you're totally special to him. He really likes you."

Robin closed her eyes. "I don’t want to have to think about this," she whispered.

Lissa frowned, leaning in a bit closer to better hear. "Huh?"

"Nothing." Robin shook her head, thoughts already becoming muzzy from the healing. She just wanted to sleep. Thinking felt like such a chore at the moment. "I'm tired."

"Okay, okay, I'll let you get some more rest. We need you to get back to bossing us around soon," Lissa teased. She turned and quietly made her way out of the tent.

Robin felt like she was sinking down into a cloud instead of lying on a stiff cot. Man, she’d almost forgotten how the adrenaline of battle helped mitigate healing magic’s sedative effects. Lead weights settled on her eyelids, drawing them inexorably down. Before sleep overtook her completely, she saw a brief flash of sunlight through her eyelids, and moments later felt a cool hand grab her own. 

.~.~.

Henry wasn’t stupid.

A little slow on the uptake about some things, sure. But he knew that the way Robin had been making him feel over the past several weeks wasn’t something he’d experienced before. His violent reaction to her being gravely injured in the last battle had been a bit of a wake-up call, to say the least.

As Robin slept, Henry pulled her blanket up a little higher—he didn’t want her to get cold. He went back to holding her hand right after. She was warm, and he always felt warm around her, too. Henry blinked slowly as he watched her. When had Robin become his favorite person? Hoo boy, this was gonna make Tharja flip her lid. The corner of his mouth lifted in a grin. Maybe there was a wizard fight over the tactician on his horizon. That’d be pretty cool.

Heh, he sure hadn’t seen this coming. But it didn’t freak him out, either. No crazy epiphanies, no sudden urges to boldly declare his feelings, no burning desire to make grand gestures. No drama. That’d never been his style. Or Robin’s, really.

This just felt natural. Like...breathing. And nobody ever asks why someone breathes. It just happens. Maybe Henry’s outlook on it was simplistic, but it worked for him. He should probably talk to Robin about this—if he could figure out how to bring it up, that is. Didn’t want to spring it on her all of a sudden.

Once Robin had been soundly asleep for several minutes, Henry decided that he should leave her be. After gently patting her on the head, he let go of her hand and left the tent.

Upon making his way outside, he almost smacked into Maribelle; she must’ve just relieved Lissa of her post. “What were you doing in there?” Maribelle asked pointedly.

Henry shrugged. “Just checking on Robin.”

For some reason, the cleric almost looked offended. “I’ll have you know that we are rather good at our job, Henry. You have my word that she’ll be perfectly fine.”

He knew that. He knew that the healers did good work. But he’d still wanted to be there for Robin. “Gotcha. Sorry,” he said anyway. “Well, I’ll get out of your hair, then.” He walked past Maribelle, but stopped when she let out a large gasp.

“What happened to your back?” Maribelle cried shrilly.

Huh? Henry craned his neck in an attempt to look behind him. Ah. There was a long, diagonal gash running from his right shoulder blade down to the middle of his back. Imagine that. It was probably from that Valmese paladin who’d clipped him while he’d been running to get to Robin. He peered at it for a few seconds, wondering why he hadn’t really noticed it before. Well, he was beginning to feel it now.

“Dear gods, Henry! This is bad! Why didn’t you say anything about this?”

“Oh, heh, it didn’t seem like such a big deal. I actually forgot about it for awhile. Seriously, I handle pain great.”

“Is that so?” Maribelle looked like she was having a difficult time believing him. “And you didn’t notice that your cape was likely soaked with blood when you removed it earlier?”

“I just thought it was someone else’s. That’s how it usually goes!”

“Never mind. We need to treat this right now,” said Maribelle firmly, leaving no room for argument.

Henry shrugged. “Pfft, okay. I just think you’re making this molehill into a mountain, Maribelle.” Though he couldn’t ignore that he was really feeling it now.

Maribelle barely refrained from rolling her eyes. “Back into the tent—cleric’s orders.” She took hold of his upper arm to support him as they walked through the tent flaps, then carefully helped him remove his shirts and sit on a stool in the nearest corner. The noblewoman made disapproving noises to herself as she cleaned the wound, applied her staff’s magic, and bandaged over the slowly healing injury.

“‘Kay, thanks, Maribelle!” said Henry quietly, still conscious of Robin sleeping several feet away. He grabbed his shirts and made to get up and leave, but Maribelle was having none of it. She tsked and grabbed his arm again, marching him over to the beds and helping him sit on the cot where he’d been sitting earlier, the one right next to Robin’s. Henry looked up at Maribelle in mild surprise; she winked conspiratorially at him. He wasn’t sure how to respond. So he didn’t.

“I’ll check on you two before dinner,” Maribelle whispered. “Sleep, if you can.” Henry nodded, slowly maneuvering to lie down on his side without jostling his bandages and then pulling his blanket up to his chin.

Not long after he heard the flutter of tent flaps, he looked over to see Robin’s sleeping profile. Now that she was officially out of the woods, Henry couldn’t help but notice the calm he’d felt within himself ever since he’d ascertained that she was okay. He smiled at that, and at how sleepy Maribelle’s healing magic was making him feel. He could already feel himself dropping off. Mmm. He didn’t even have to count crows to make himself tired.

Henry looked at Robin one more time, closed his eyes, and breathed.

She felt him tap her on the shoulder. “What is it, Henry?” she said evenly as she began to distractedly sort through a crate full of tomes.

“Shouldn’t you be in the med tent?” she heard him ask.

“I’m fine. There’s a lot of work that needs doing, so I’m going to help do it.” 

Henry made a questioning noise. “You look pretty funky right now,” he said bluntly.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Robin frowned at herself, at her stubborn streak. She just wanted to stop feeling so weak, dammit.

“Pfft, yeah, you do.”

Robin set down a tome with more force than was strictly necessary, turning to give the sorcerer an irritated look. “I’m busy right now, all right? Now, if you don’t mind—h-hey, what are you doing?” Henry had suddenly seized her wrist in an unyielding grip. Robin tugged her arm half-heartedly as he began to tow her from the tent. Stronger than he looked. “Henry. Let go.”

“Nope! You look grouchy. And tired. You should take a nap.”

“Gee, thanks for the compliments. You really know how to charm a woman,” said Robin sarcastically. There was a hitch in Henry’s step at that, but he didn’t look back at her and immediately went back to his slow stride. Robin surrendered, matching his pace with a huff. She couldn’t help noticing that he was walking considerably more slowly than usual. It dawned on her that the only reason why he’d do that was to not jostle her still tender injury. He really was worried.

When they were standing outside her tent, Robin made one last pass at escaping. “I have work to do—I can’t afford to snooze the afternoon away.”

Henry snickered. “I bet the Shepherds can make it to dinnertime without blowing ourselves up. Besides, I’ll come get you if we’re invaded, okay?” With that, he ushered her into the tent. Robin was a bit surprised when he followed her inside.

It was a fairly roomy tent, since Robin always had to have a table set up in one of the corners that inevitably became burdened with stacks of books and scrolls and documents. The pair were able to stand at their full heights comfortably inside. Robin’s expression soured further when she realized that Henry was intentionally standing right in front of the entrance. “Do you intend to trap me in here?” she said resentfully.

“Nya ha, we both know you could beat me to a pulp in a fair fight! But you’re still hurt, so that’s probably not a good idea right now.”

“Don’t try to tell me what to do,” Robin snapped. She drew herself up to her full height in indignation at his words, and immediately regretted the movement as it made her side twinge. 

Henry didn’t miss her wince and frowned at her. Actually frowned. “You can’t have it both ways, Robin.”

She frowned right back. “What are you talking about?”

Henry looked at her left side pointedly, where she was still healing. “Remember that night awhile back? When we were talking about my school again and what came after that and stuff? You said to me that showing I’m hurt around here just means I need help. And you said something about how people wouldn’t judge me or try to take advantage of it.” 

Robin looked away from him; she knew where he was going with this. “All right, I get it.”

Henry laughed, and the mood in the tent lightened up a bit. “Nice! I knew you’d get there fast, what with your big brain. Guess that’s why we all trust you so much.”

Robin smiled slightly in spite of herself as she met Henry’s amused gaze. “I can’t believe you remembered what I said. It feels like that conversation happened forever ago.”

Henry shrugged. “I remember pretty much everything you say to me. You’re always spouting important stuff.”

Robin felt oddly touched. “Really? ...That’s sweet of you to say.” Before she was fully conscious of it, she reached down and squeezed Henry’s hand. Henry looked down at their linked hands and paused, head tilted to the side, and Robin began to panic. But she was instantly calmed when the sorcerer squeezed her hand in return.

“You’re always so warm,” said Henry, voice muted. “But not, like, fever-warm. It’s something else.” He looked up at her and their eyes locked again. Robin’s breath hitched.

True to form, though, Henry broke the moment. “Nap!” he cried suddenly, and Robin jumped at the volume. “You need a nap. Don’t think I forgot.”

Robin drew her hand back to herself and slid it down her face. “Fine, fine—you’ve broken me. I’ll try to get some rest.” Robin cleared her throat loudly when Henry made no move to leave her tent. "Hey, could you, um...”

“Yeah?”

“Give me some privacy? I need to change clothes.”

“Oh. Ohhh. Whoops, heheh. Sure thing!” Henry turned to leave the tent, but lurched to a halt a moment later. “Wait a sec,” he said, turning back around, “are you just getting me to leave so you can pretend to sleep? You’re pretty sneaky.”

“Henry, get out!” Robin put a hand between his shoulder blades and pushed him through the tent flaps.

Henry stumbled out of the tent, catching himself at the last second before he fell. He straightened up and giggled as he began to meander back towards that supply tent. Feisty.

Well, he had some time on his hands. It may as well be used on helping to finish Robin’s chores.

~.~.~

When Robin woke to the sound of the dinner bell, she yawned hugely and rolled off of her cot to change clothes. She poked her head out of her tent and followed the smell of cooking to the large fire in the center of the camp, around which Shepherds were chatting and getting food. There were several large logs laying about, acting as seats for the soldiers. 

Robin looked across the campfire to see a mop of pale hair that she could probably spot from two leagues away. Henry was generally difficult to miss—but his hand was sticking straight up, and it looked like if he were to wave any more enthusiastically then his arm might fly off. Robin huffed out a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a laugh, then made her way over to sit next to him after grabbing some dinner.

“How goes it?” he asked as soon as she’d taken a seat next to him.

“I’m feeling a bit better.” Physically and emotionally. After allowing herself some more rest, Robin’s head was clearer and she was feeling a bit bad about how short she’d been with Henry that day. “Sorry for being rude to you earlier. You were really only trying to help me.”

“No biggie,” he said nonchalantly as they began to eat. “In all my wise years, I’ve learned that naps aren’t just for kids!”

“But you get it, right? I care about the Shepherds so much—and it can cloud my judgment, unfortunately.”

Henry shrugged. “I don’t totally get it, but that’s okay. Sometimes I think you care too much—but hey, I’m not exactly Mister Perfect myself, am I?” He laughed through a mouthful of potatoes.

“Nobody’s perfect—that includes me. I...” Robin tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear. “I know that I can be stubborn. And a bit proud, too. Thank you for helping me realize that I was being unreasonable today.” She looked over at Henry, who remained silent. She watched his eyes rapidly flit from looking at the large campfire to glancing at her left hand, which was resting on the log. It was just inches away from his right hand. He must’ve sensed that she was looking at him, because his eyes darted up to meet hers. Robin smiled at him warmly, and wasn’t at all surprised when she felt Henry’s hand move to tentatively rest atop her own. When she flipped her hand over and squeezed his, Henry’s easy grin stretched over his face once more.

Hands still clasped, the pair sat in comfortable silence for awhile as more and more of the Shepherds left to go to their respective tents. Nobody gave them a second look. Had Lissa been right? Robin wondered. Was it really that obvious?

Once they were almost completely alone, Henry looked over at Robin. “I know most soldiers fight to keep the people they care about alive,” he said, seemingly out of the blue. “That was never me, though—fighting to keep other people alive. Not really. And...” He scratched his cheek. “I guess I was included in that. I just killed to kill, ya know?”

Robin considered him thoughtfully, and her next words were slow, measured. “Is there a specific reason why you’re using the past tense?”

Henry wiggled his eyebrows. “Yup! You.” She smiled at him. “I mean, you really scared me in that last battle! I should’ve been next to you.”

“Why do you say that?”

Henry hummed.  “Dunno if I can explain it—I just should’ve been there. I want to be there from now on to help you curse those bad guys to gooey bits—you know, if that’s cool with you.”

Robin laughed. It was somehow freeing, how much she found herself laughing in the sorcerer’s company. “Yeah, it’s cool with me,” she replied.

“Awesome!” Henry chuckled, then stood from his seat. Robin did, too, and their hands remained linked. “Welp, I’m gonna hit the hay. Pretty long march tomorrow.”

“All right, that’s a good idea.” Despite their words, neither of them moved. Robin looked up at Henry, at the way the cooling breeze tugged at his untamable hair and the fire’s flames danced in his eyes. “For the record,” she said quietly, “I’d be beside myself if you were to get killed.”

Henry didn’t know what to say to that. He’d never expected to hear words like that. “Really? Sounds like a good deal.”

Robin smiled again. “Good. So...any idea who you’ll pair up with in the next battle?”

Henry gave Robin what was probably the sloppiest salute she’d ever seen. “Reporting for duty, captain!” he exclaimed.

Robin cuffed him on the shoulder teasingly. “You know that I’m not a captain, right?”

“Eh, I’ll stick to you like glue anyway.”

And that was very, very nice for Robin to hear.

~.~.~

When the time finally came, when he finally decided to ask, it started out as a fairly ordinary evening. He’d just finished a pretty boring chore, and it was dusk by the time he returned to Robin’s tent. Before he could go to open the flaps and step inside, though, he took a huge gulp of air and tried to psych himself up. Now or never. Better get this over with. At that last thought, he reached out and pulled one of the tent’s flaps open. Its lone occupant looked up from a thin notebook and flashed him a welcoming grin.

Oh. All it took was looking at Robin for less than a second more to make Henry realize that he shouldn’t have doubted. Worrying was a waste of time when, technically speaking, they could die any day. He snickered to himself. Finally, he spoke. “Hey, Robin. I’m done mending those tents! What should I do next?”

“Well, let’s see....” Robin folded her arms and considered him. “You’ve sorted my books, swept the floor, checked the weapons...I do believe that’s absolutely everything. Thank you so much for the help.”

Henry rocked back on his heels. “Yeah, okay.... But what should I do now?”

Robin smiled, then her eyes trailed down to look at the notebook again. “Well, I guess you’re free to go and do whatever you want.”

“Oh, really? In that case, I’ll stay right here and hang out with you.”

She looked back over her shoulder at the sorcerer. “Um, you will?” It was late. Very late. She probably thought that he had to be tired.

Heh, as if he weren’t feeling absolutely wired. Sleep was the furthest thing from his mind. Henry nodded emphatically at her. “It’s fun being around you, Robin. And I especially love doing your chores.”

Robin laughed, looking back up at him with those eyes, those brown eyes that reminded the sorcerer of the deepest reaches of the universe, of the richness of earth, of the first evening they’d met. “I enjoy your company, too, Henry,” she replied easily.

Henry slowly meandered towards her table, his hands behind his back. “...But when I say it’s ‘fun’ being with you, I mean it’s...kind of special.” Now he couldn’t seem to look Robin in the eye. Why was that?

“Huh? I’m confused, Henry. It’s not like you to be so oblique.” Robin stood from her chair slowly, fixing Henry with a questioning stare.

“Nya ha! I know, right? What’s got into me? Here, this is what I’m talking about....” The sorcerer rummaged around in his trousers pocket for a few seconds, finally pulling out a little drawstring pouch that fit in the palm of his hand. He lightly tossed it to Robin, who caught it easily.

Robin opened the pouch and upended its contents into her waiting hand to see that it was a band made from dark, almost black steel. “You’re giving me a ring?” Robin peered closer, noting the intricate patterns that wound through the ring’s design, strange etchings that were worth an eyebrow raise. “...A very sinister-looking ring?”

Henry’s laugh was a little higher pitched than usual. Nerves? “Oh, don’t mind the skulls and snakes carved in it. It’s not cursed or anything. I could never curse anyone I liked as much as I like you....” Did that count as his confession? It didn’t seem so—Robin still looked confused. He needed to elaborate. His next words came out in a rush. “It’s an engagement ring that I picked out special. I want us to get married!”

Married. Henry. Married. Robin’s mental processing lurched to a halt. Her mouth opened, then closed. But she couldn’t keep her lips from eventually quirking up into a little smile when she looked at Henry’s hesitant grin. “This is...unexpected.”

“Nya ha! You didn’t think I’d do something like this without someone ordering me, huh? But it’s abso-tively posi-lutely my own idea.” Here it was: the worry, despite his failed attempts to subdue it. It hurt. But Henry was going to do his damndest to beat it into submission. He gulped audibly, mouth suddenly dry. “So what do you say?”

Robin slowly rounded the table to come closer, closer, until she was looking up at him with the prettiest expression Henry had ever seen on her face—which was really saying something, considering how cute she was. “I accept, Henry,” she murmured. “I accept wholeheartedly. You may not have cursed me,” she joked as she slowly turned the ring in her fingers, “but I seem to have fallen under your spell....”

Heedless of the little space between them, Henry punched the air in his elation. “Yes!” 

“But you must promise me we’ll be together forever.” Robin placed her left hand over his right and held up her new ring, prompting the sorcerer to take it in his other hand and slide it into place on her waiting left ring finger. 

Henry grinned almost manically as he clasped her hand between both of his, and it felt like his whole body was vibrating with this new kind of good-weird. “Oh, you can count on me. I always do as I’m told!” he chirped.

Robin raised a sarcastic eyebrow. “Not always.”

“Okay, you got me—but only when you get that crazy, stubborn look in your eye! I don’t want you to end up dead is all.”

Robin huffed, though there was no ill intent behind it. “You’re right, I can be pretty stubborn. You aren’t, though—always going with the flow, enjoying things as they come. I want to be with someone like that. I love you, Henry. I’ll wear this ring proudly.”

“You’re so cute! I’m blushing.” He was. “You’re my best friend, Robin. My favorite person. And I want to be anywhere you are. Sooo...can I?”

Robin’s face was as pink as his own. “Nothing would make me happier.” Robin’s other hand gently came up to rest against his chest—almost like she wanted to feel Henry’s heartbeat.

His gaze shifted from Robin’s eyes to her ring, then back to her eyes. He wanted to kiss her. Huh, that was interesting. This sort of urge had never come over him before—but he wanted to kiss her really, really badly. Hmm. Better just go for it, then. Henry blinked, steeled himself, and leaned down quickly.

And their foreheads immediately smacked together. Whoops.

“Ow!” Robin exclaimed, pulling back and rubbing her forehead. Henry tried not to laugh, he really did—and failed, of course. Sounding a little pained, Robin joined in.

“Aw, shucks. Sorry, Robin!”

She sighed and looked at him fondly. “It’s all right. Here...” She slid her hands behind his neck, slowly bringing his face down so that it was level with hers. “Let’s try this again.” With the remnants of their smiles still lingering on their faces, Robin gently pressed her lips to his.

Oh, wow. It was happening. Henry’s eyes slipped shut of their own accord, and he without thinking moved even closer to Robin. He could sense everything around them: the cool evening air, the hum of cicadas, the press of Robin’s ring against the back of his neck, the heat of her skin, the feeling of her lips.

They were all very nice. Yep. He’d say that he “could get used to” this, but that probably wouldn’t be true. This kind of thing would feel like new every single time.

Robin eventually pulled away, breath fluttering, eyes blinking rapidly, almost like she’d been stunned. Henry refused to entertain the thought of parting with her for even a second, and he brought his other hand up to cup her cheek. His touch was the warmest it had ever been. “I’ll love you with every ounce of my blood, until I die,” he said sincerely. Then his face took on a dreamy expression as he immediately followed his declaration up with, “Ooh...when do you think that’ll be?”

Robin burst out laughing and, of course, Henry joined in.

“Tharja?” she said quietly when she reached the other woman. Tharja’s gaze remained firmly fixed on the ground. “Are you okay?”

“Just perfect,” Tharja replied flatly.

“...Oh.” Robin had absolutely no idea how to respond to that. After an impeccably awkward pause, she took a breath and said, “Look, I’m sorry if you’re upset about all—”

Tharja cut her off before she could finish. “It’s fine. As much as I’d love for it to be otherwise, you have the right to make your own decisions. Even if you chose him.” Her nose crinkled in obvious distaste. “But no one’s perfect, I suppose—not even you.”

“Uh. Thanks?”

Tharja’s eyes refused to look up from the dirt beneath their feet. “Well, he’s never harmed you, so it’s impossible to fault him for that. And...if you’re happy, then I’m happy,” she mumbled grudgingly, as she looked anything but. 

Robin was still in such a good mood that she hugged Tharja on impulse, unable to miss the other woman’s brightly flushed face as they pulled apart. “Thank you, Thar—oof!” Her breath left her in a whoosh as Tharja pulled her back into the hug, the Plegian’s arms locking around her even more tightly.

“That doesn’t mean I won’t keep my eye on him,” she whispered, tone somewhere between possessive and promising. “On both of you.”

Robin muffled a snicker against Tharja’s curtain of dark hair. “I believe you,” she replied. Just as quickly as Tharja had pulled them together, she let go, quickly slipping back through the crowd. Robin just stared after her, running a hand through her hair and smiling to herself. 

~.~.~

A few days later, the Shepherds were continuing on their journey, making their way back to Valm Harbor in order to sail to their home continent once more. Robin found herself near the head of the march, Chrom at her side; Henry had been next to her a moment before, but the sorcerer had seen a cat by the side of the path and had run after it while making kissy noises.

“Congratulations again, Robin,” said Chrom, and she looked over to see him giving her a warm smile.

“Thanks again,” she replied, mirroring his expression. 

He chuckled lightly. “How have things been? With Henry, I mean.”

“Well, they’ve been pretty...magical. Pun intended.”

Chrom huffed out a laugh. “That was awful. Henry would be proud.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll be sure to tell him about it.”

They walked in comfortable silence for a couple of minutes, but then Chrom suddenly burst out, “On a more serious note...” Robin looked over at him worriedly as she felt the mood shift. “This may seem inappropriate, but I have to ask, since I’m a little concerned.” Chrom’s face was beet red. “He doesn’t ever try to...you know—” His voice dropped to a whisper— “hurt you, does he? I mean, he loves blood and violence so I’m worried about that but I’m also worried that I’m reading way too much into it and—”

Robin’s eyebrows nearly jumped off her face. “Are you serious?” She peered at Chrom’s grave expression as they continued their march. “...You’re serious. Well, not that it’s any of your business, but no.”

“Thank the gods,” Chrom huffed in relief. “Well, it does make sense, now that I think about it. Seeing you in pain seems to cause him a great deal of distress.”

Robin smirked mischievously, feeling a little vindictive. “Oh, definitely. In fact, he’s very eager to please—”

“Okay, I get it,” said Chrom embarrassedly, cutting her off. “I’m glad you two are happy.”

“Hey, you asked for details!”

“I...I don’t think I did.”

“Hmm. All right, then. Any other intrusive questions about my sex life?”

“H-hey, don’t be like that!” Chrom’s face was still scarlet. “I care about you. We all do. I just—”

“Heya!” Henry chirped from behind Chrom, making the prince jump almost a full foot in the air. “Whatcha talkin’ about?” Chrom just stared at the sorcerer in mortification. Henry’s grin widened. “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”

“Huh? Oh.” Chrom shook his head quickly, unable to summon the courage to look into the other man’s eyes. “We were just...uh, just talking strategy.”

“Oh! Okie-dokie.” Henry fell into step on Robin’s other side. “So, are we stopping soon?” he asked his wife. “I’m starving. And bored.”

Robin’s eyes flickered up to the darkening sky. “Yes, we should be arriving at the next town within an hour or so. If we’re lucky, there might even be an inn where we can sleep on actual beds for a change.”

“Cool. D’you think there’ll be any fun stuff to do there? I hope there’s at least one shop that sells cursed doodads and whatnot.”

“Mm. I don’t know about that, but there is a pretty big forest just outside town. Maybe you can find some more friends in there after dinner.”

“Aww, you get me.” Henry leaned down and softly bumped their heads together as their hands entwined. 

~.~.~

The Shepherds took several detours on their way to Plegia, fighting Risen here, collecting more and more kids there. The whole situation was kind of odd—it seemed like time traveling teens were practically popping up from the ground, raring to fight (though Yarne was the exception) and swearing to protect the loved ones they’d lost to a doomed future. The most important find for Henry and Robin was, of course, their own son.

Henry was a dad. Several years before the gutsy little dude was even supposed to be born! Wild. But he was a parent, nevertheless. With his pale, flyaway hair, brilliant grin, and personality that was equal parts optimistic and cunning, there wasn’t a doubt in Henry’s mind that Morgan was his and Robin’s kid.

Henry hoped Morgan had had a better childhood than he’d had himself; most people did, so it wasn’t too outlandish a bet. And even if Morgan hadn’t, then he couldn’t remember it—an unexpected luxury that Henry was never afforded. Clean slates could be good.

He was certain he and Robin would be able to give Morgan all of the love he had coming to him. Henry knew it because, ever since they’d gotten hitched, they’d been making a lot more positive memories than negative. It was almost crazy how happy he was. A whirlwind. That roaring-through-your-blood-reeling-happy-feeling that could probably be described more eloquently by someone else, but not by him. Big emotions don’t have to come from big words, after all.

And for the first time in a very, very long time, Henry found himself wishing he wouldn’t have to be a soldier for much longer. That the war would end soon. He wanted to buy a house with Robin, cram it full of books, get a dog, get two more dogs, teach his son about anything and everything he cared to ask.... He wanted that. And he felt it a little bit more every time Robin smiled at him, kissed him, laughed with him, slept beside him. Loved him. Whenever Henry had these thoughts, he couldn’t help the goofy little grin that always made its way onto his face. Life was swell.

Not even the gods themselves could tear him and his little family apart. 

Not forever, anyway.