5There were only two pairings I could possibly write for Cookie: EphraimxMyrrh or TharjaxChrom. Since I did the former for him once before, I decided on the second.
Hope you enjoy, Cookie!
"No, that's not right…"
Robin sighed. Chrom always seemed to be talking to himself when Robin entered his tent. Though this time, he held a sheet of paper in his hand.
"Graceful…what rhymes with graceful…"
"Chrom?" Robin called out.
The prince of Ylisse yipped like a dog, tucked the sheet of paper behind his back and turned bright red.
Robin meandered into Chrom's tent, not paying the prince any mind as he took one of the less gaudy seats. Brushing a wrinkle or two out of his coat, he looked at Chrom.
The blue haired man quivered. "How much did you hear?"
An eye roll. "Chrom, a lot of things rhyme with graceful. But if you're writing poetry for Sumia, then I don't think that's a word you should choose."
"It's not for Sumia."
"Olivia, then? That would make sense."
"It's not for her either."
"Cordelia? Sully? Who?"
"Tharja."
Robin, who had been helping himself to the pitcher of water on Chrom's desk, set down the jug carefully. After blinking several times, he took a deep breath and looked at Chrom.
"I'm sorry, what was that?"
"I'm writing a poem for Tharja."
Many thoughts went through Robin's mind, but his brain settled on: "You picked graceful to describe her?"
Chrom turned his head down, vulnerable. Robin ran a hand through his hair. "Chrom, I had a report about our cavalry for you, but clearly there is more important information for us to discuss. Since when did you have a thing for Tharja?"
"Uh, always?"
"You're impossible. I want details."
"Well, she came to me one day asking me for a bunch of information about you. Then she came back for more. And then she did again. And again. And again. And—"
"Naga, okay. Is that it?"
"Uh, yes?"
Robin blinked. "You're into a woman who is only using you to get information about the other man she's totally obsessed with?"
"Well, when you put it that way…"
Robin stood up. "My brain can't handle this. I'm gonna go sleep with my wife and come back in the morning and hope this was a dream."
"Wait!"
Robin stopped and turned back to Chrom.
"So what's something that rhymes with graceful?"
Robin kissed Anna's forehead before putting on his coat and leaving the tent. He'd slept in late, enjoying one of the last days before their next skirmish.
At least, Robin had planned to until he saw Chrom running across the encampment. It was at that moment Robin remembered the previous night.
Muttering some choice curses, he began to pursue Chrom. The blue haired lord led him to the mess tent where most of the Shepherds were enjoying the remnants of breakfast.
As Chrom entered all eyes turned to him. As Robin entered, the last set of eyes turned up. Tharja.
Robin saw Chrom pulling a familiar sheet of paper out of his pocket. The poem.
"Hair like a raven's feathers,
a symphony of cascading down.
She—"
Robin tackled Chrom.
A resounding gasp rang through the mess tent. It didn't distract Robin from a bit of quick thinking that he would later be proud of.
"Chrom's been cursed! Tharja, he needs your help!"
Murmurs erupted and amidst them, Robin heard: "Fine, but only since you asked."
Tharja sauntered up and grabbed Chrom by his collar and started dragging him away. Chrom, his face a mixture of anger and awe, gave a thumbs up to Robin.
Robin lay there a while, contemplating when his life had gone from tactician to whatever this was.
Robin hadn't seen Chrom in several hours. So it was with great trepidation that he moseyed into Chrom's tent.
But inside, he found no prince.
The gears turned in Robin's head and his head turned towards Tharja's tent.
Oh no.
He could hear noises from here. Her tent was nearly a hundred paces away.
Robin considered not going near. He considered what being a friend meant. He considered what the worst Tharja could be doing to Chrom could be.
It was the last thought that spurred him into action.
Robin walked to Tharja's tent, the only soul around who seemed brave enough as every bystander had cut a wide berth.
When he arrived, he raised a hand to open the flap. Taking a deep breath, he entered.
Robin got one look at Chrom shirtless, hands tied to one of the long wooden stakes of the tent with a near nude Tharja atop him before closing the flap.
Robin walked away. He had no destination in mind, except for talking to Miriel about a way to erase part of his memory.
In his stupor, he missed Chrom's yell of, "Thanks, Rob—mmph!"
Author Notes: I'm a pretty decent poet, so writing Chrom writing poetry was hard. That being said, I couldn't resist the pun with feathers/down. That one is a little out of Chrom's league, but to hell with it.
I'm writing this fic because COOKIECHEESEMAN is hanging up his writing hat for good! I owe a lot to Cookie, he's the guy who originally got me to write and supported me through all my early fanfics before I had an audience. He built my confidence to what it is and is the reason I'm still writing today. Every writer needs someone to cheer them on, especially at first when we begin to tell stories. Cookie was that for me, he changed my life because I would have given up long ago were it not for him. Hell, I might not have even tried my hand at writing again and gone to suffer through business school.
(shudders)
So I owe a lot to Cookie. Cookie, this fic is for you! I hope you enjoyed it! I'm proud to have you as a fan of my work and I'm proud to have gotten the pleasure of reading your stories. The FE fandom is losing a big name when you hang up your hat. While most of the people we were reading seven years ago have moved on from here, I've always been really glad you were one who stuck around for so long :) I speak for a lot of us that we're richer for having known you and your work!
Also all y'all should go check out his fics. I particularly recommend his Chrom/Tharja stories, as I think they're my favorites of all his! But let's be real, any COOKIECHEESEMAN story is gonna either make you laugh or crack a smile.