Stop, says the hierophant, mildly. Do not look for him in me. Youāll only hurt yourself if you try.Ā
Why would it hurt me, asks Chrom, challenging, to know that the man I trust most still lives?
A curl of amusement, sharp. Because handling broken glass tends to cut, prince. A pause, considering. Ah, but. Would you prefer it regardless? To know that I am still Robin, that I am- a hand pressed over the heart, dramatic, demonstrative, eyes wide and guileless- the same, somewhere deep down? That the man you know still exists? Eyes gold, innocent, naive to what he truly is? The hierophant paces, one-two, stepping to the exaltās side as he begins to circle the clearing, thoughtful, head cocked like the bird of his namesake as he presses his eyes closed for a long moment. Would you be reassured by knowing that the man who so steadfastly stands by your side, who's spent many a sleepless night with you in the strategy tents is the same monster that haunts your daughterās nightmares and tore the world to pieces?
Youāre- False start, stop. Thereās a blockage in his throat that he wonāt let on exists as Chrom swallows past it, keeping his tone steady with the practiced ease of a general at war. Youāre doing this on purpose, he says. Youāre trying to scare me, to force me to back down and take it back, and before the man in front of him can take that as his answer and cut him off Chrom barrels on, but that means Iām rightā
And if you are? What does that earn you? Robin grins, gentle and sweet as he spins on his heel, the corners of his mouth pulling back and baring teeth. His arms splay out, inviting embrace or to be run through as his eyes glitter. His tone is light, none of the knowing, mocking amusement borne from certainty that Plegia's hierophant so often possessed to be found in his voice. Were it not for the words he speaksā The knowledge that kind, self-sacrificing Robin is the one who will end the world, and do so of his own volition? Ah, but of course, we are one and the sameā does this make you feel better, Chrom?
No? And now he laughs, cruelty lacing the sound. Good. Make sure you keep that division between us. It will be better for you in the end. He leans in, raises a finger to Chromās lips, an intimate echo of a loverās hush.Ā
Let it not be said, Robin says, molten gold meeting Ylissean blue, that the Fell Dragon knows nothing of mercy.