"I don't doubt you, Robin. You know that," Chrom murmurs, running a hand over her side. There's a gentle breeze coming in through the tent flap- Robin's candle flickers, but doesn't go out. He sighs. "It's just- hard to comprehend."

Robin nods, sitting stock still on a stool nicked from the mess tent. What they're talking about makes her distinctly uncomfortable. More than uncomfortable, even: she's sick to her stomach at the thought of it. Explains why her stomach's roiling, at least. "Yes. I didn't want to believe it either, love. I- I still..."

She looks down at her hands. Phantom electricity crackles at her fingertips, and she blanches and looks away.

Robin would never do that to him. Would she? She has no idea what she's capable of, not with having no idea of who she was before she woke up in that field. What if-

Chrom's hand covers both of hers, and he tilts her head up to look at him. His eyes are as warm as ever, even slanted in concern, and she swallows to try and rid herself of the lump in her throat. "Robin... I know you. That's why it's hard. You wouldn't do it."

The tactician closes her eyes. "I wouldn't," she agrees in a whisper. "Not you. Never you. I'd sooner die, Chrom. But what happens if- that man tries to control me again and succeeds? That's what happened in the vision. That's why you-" Her voice hitches.

They're soldiers. They understand mortality. War, after all, is Death's feeding ground.

But this- the possibility that Chrom might die by Robin's own hand- this is unacceptable to Robin.

Chrom ducks his head down and presses a soft kiss to her lips, full of his faith and love for her. She opens her eyes just in time to be fixed by his gaze. "We'll plan," he promises. "You and I, just like before. Both of us are going to survive this war."

"Lucina shouldn't grow up without a parent," Robin agrees. There are still shadows in her tired eyes, worries and unseen scars and uncertainties, but there's a familiar glint back in them that whispers of determination and iron will. Slowly, assured that she's no longer panicking, Chrom withdraws. The comfort of his touch lingers on her palms and on her lips.

Their silence is comfortable, until Robin makes to turn back to her book.

"Robin... it's late."

"I only have one more chapter to go," she says.

Chrom knows how his wife operates, and if he submits here, she'll finish the book and then start a whole new one. "We have the entire morning before we set out on the march again. Besides, you're using all the candles."

"But- eek!" Robin squeaks when the blue-haired swordsman picks her up and strides over to the cot in the center of the tent, lying down and taking her with him. She squirms, trying to escape from his grasp. "Chrom, let me go!"

He frowns at her. "Not until you promise to sleep for an entire night. Your sleep-"

"-is very important." She sighs, conceding the point. "You're right. I can't afford to pull nights like this during a war if my mind is going to be at its sharpest."

"Glad to hear it. Let's get some sleep." He reaches over and pulls the discarded blanket (left lonely on the floor, earlier in the morning) back over their forms.

A pause.

"Chrom... you're holding me a little too tight."

"Ah. Sorry, Robin."