with her time spent with an army, mending wounds via staff and by hand, the princess has come across many scars. some were more visible than others, some larger, and some appearing more cruel. each mark tainting once pure skin only ever sent shivers and sympathy down her spine, and his are no exception. her brows are quick to furrow, no matter how difficult they are to see. his skin is marred, and it’s no wonder he wears his hood. suddenly, she feels terrible for even attempting to try to view his features, her pangs of guilt pushing back the unease that comes with his frighteningly faint red gaze. fingers fiddle with the cuffs of her dress, eyes being cast elsewhere as if to showcase regret for her rudeness. older and wiser she may be, but the insensitivity from youth seemed to follow her nonetheless.
lips part to speak, but she can’t help the way her body seems to freeze as this hooded figure ruffles her hair. familiarity courses through her veins as this stranger lays affection upon her, a soft gasp leaving still gaping lips. when he rests his hand atop her head, a ghost of warmth from someone important seemed to gently call to memories she isn’t sure are there. perhaps she was attributing this warmth to the long gone touch of her dear sister ( however, the love she feels isn’t from the soft hands of emmeryn, but from rough hands that were too familiar with war and it wasn’t her brother’s so then… who’s…? ).
she finds no offense in his action. no, in fact, all she feels is curiosity. she peers up at the man with a puzzled expression, heart attempting to unite with her brain. the heart remembers, but the brain doesn’t, and it’s so frustrating, yet she cannot voice it to someone she doesn’t know. ❝ i… see…❞ she says slowly, as though recovering from her stupor. blinking, she clears her throat, the smallest fond smile spreading across her features. “i understand… the army i was with became my family too… we’ve all gone our separate ways, but i hope they’re doing well… someday, maybe you’ll meet that girl again. i’m sure she’d be glad to see you.”
and truly, she would be, had lissa remembered him. had fate been kind and allowed robin a future in ylisse, after such a long absence, the princess would shed tears upon their reunion. he was a dear friend, a sibling, a member of her ever large family, and one of her dearest companions. she’d call him a fool for being gone for so long, and though his appearance would be different, she’d love him all the same.
because he was robin, no matter what happened.
“you don’t have to apologize for patting my head… but, still, kinda weird for a stranger to do that to a princess, isn’t it?” her voice carries light amusement, something even the darkest of days couldn’t diminish. however it is fleeting, her expression becoming solemn soon enough. “i’m sorry though… for not being able to help you. i don’t even have a drink that could soothe your throat…” her arms cross in thought, lips pursed and soon enough she’s nodding, a hand upon her hip as an index finger raises.
“listen, i know i talked to you first, but if you’re not feeling well, it’s okay to say that so you can go rest. maybe i’m being too pushy, and i know we live in a pretty peaceful time now, but travelling alone is dangerous when you’re sick! back when i was fighting in the war, i’d always get scolded for not taking care of my health! i was always told ‘pranks are fun, but don’t go out in the rain to go do it!’” though mimicking robin’s voice, quickly she pauses, raised hand resting upon her chin as she looks down in thought. she appears troubled once again, brows furrowing as if desperately searching through memories unknowingly stolen from her.
“… i can’t remember who said that though… i think it was… hm… maybe it was one of the supporting soldiers…”
‘I’m sure she’d be glad to see you.’ And he wonders if she would be when he’s covered in ghastly scales, unsettling marks, and barely clinging to what little humanity is left within his broken, decaying body. Wonders if she would forgive him for the blood on his hands and the bones in mouth, or for the pain he knows he’s brought upon them in one way or another. Wonders if she would have even missed him at all when he had failed her so many times; when he had let her beloved sister die, when he had sent soldiers into battle only to watch them fall, or when he had betrayed Chrom (feeding him sweet lies of a future where he would have stood beside him instead of one where he wouldn’t be there at all) to put Grima down for good (but that had backfired; just look at what it’s done to him now).
No, she wouldn’t, is the answer his racing, frantic mind comes to a screeching halt upon because he’s done too much to be worthy of such mercy. But looking at her is so hard; it makes his hollow chest throb and his faltering, dying hurt sputter helplessly because gods she’s grown up, but somehow she seems the same as she’s always been (like war had never broken them, but he’s no fool, he was there to watch it destroy all of them). And he wants nothing more than to reach out; embrace her and beg for forgiveness she can’t possible offer him because she doesn’t know. But not knowing is better, surely, than remembering; remembering and surviving to see the monster he’s become. So isn’t it an act of mercy rather than cruelty that leaves her ignorant to the fact that he had been a part of her life?
So it’s with mercy, perhaps for her or for himself, that he forces a smile upon his splintered lips at her words. And it’s the saddest grin he’s ever let paint his shattered features, but it feels better than wallowing in his regrets and wishing he had a way of fixing this (of fixing himself) only to know he never will. “Thank you,” he croaks, and she’ll never know just how sincere those words are or how much her seemingly senseless rambling had meant to him because, in a way, it was the closest he would ever come to being granted peace by someone he had once dreamed of spending mundane, thoughtless years beside after the end of an ugly war. And it was good enough for him.
A rusted, soft laugh rattles his dry throat. It’s so quiet and so strained that it almost sounded like a cough if one wasn’t listening closely, but it’s the first one to leave his worthless lungs in years, and it startles him; makes him clamp his mouth shut to drown out the noise because it sounds foreign to his sensitive, pointed ears. “I’ve always been a bit odd, I’m afraid, but my name is Robin, princess. Now we aren’t quiet strangers anymore.” They’re words he never believed he would have to speak again, but they flow so easily that it’s almost painful, yet, somehow, they bring with them a strange sense of peace (like he was the man they had picked up from that field what felt like centuries ago all over again). “It’s all right, milady, I am fine, you need not worry about me.”
His features crinkle in confusion when she begins to scold him, and then he freezes; crimson eyes wide with something akin to horror as she quotes him. His heart is in his throat, trying to claw its way up into his mouth so it can spew bile all over the street because he might be nothing more than a few foggy words here and there, but a part of her, no matter how small, remembers him. And that’s more than enough; more than his wicked, shallow soul could have ever desired. It sinks like a sword into the pit of his stomach that he’ll never dislodge; she remembers you, and he’s trembling. “Lissa.” His hands move to cover his mouth, and he swallows the hot, vile rush of blood and gods knows what else that creeps up his throat; just the faintest sting of a tepid liquid eating away at the corners of his eyes as his knees give out and slam gracelessly against the street. But it doesn’t hurt; nothing hurts anymore because even if she can’t place his name, his face, or his bond with her; she remembers him, vague as that memory happens to be.
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