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Chrom loved his wife. Truly. Robin and his love for her had been a light in some of the darkest times of his life, and months into married life together she, more than ever, was a source of joy and a pillar of strength. He couldn’t imagine his life without her.
This war she waged was going to be the end of him.
Winter had fallen upon Ylisse and for the third time that week, Chrom was shivering in their shared bed. Robin was fast asleep and barely visible. Only the top of her head poked out from where she had cozily wrapped the blankets around herself in her sleep.
She’d stolen the blankets. She always stole the blankets.
It didn’t matter what Chrom tried to prevent this theft. When he requested a second blanket he would wake up cold to find she’d somehow taken it as well, absorbing it into her cocoon with ease. On one occasion he tried three and found that it too made its way into the vaguely Robin-shaped lump of blankets on her side of the bed.
How she didn’t boil to death underneath it all was a mystery to him. Boiling to death sounded enviable to Chrom as he lay awake in the chilly winter air and cast covetous, longing glances at his wife wrapped snugly in their massive down-stuffed quilt.
Tucking the corner under the mattress or wrapping it around his foot was also a failure. Sleeping Robin was capable of drawing all blankets in the area to herself like a magnet.
The worst part was that Robin did not consciously intend to leave him out in the cold. In waking hours she had noticed that he was fatigued and fussed over his lack of sleep. He didn’t have the heart to tell her she was the cause.
It seemed eminently silly that he was battling his wife nightly over the blankets.
He was going to vanquish this most formidable foe without her ever knowing. He was going to stop making Robin worry and he was going to get a good night’s sleep. All he had to do was find the right tactical approach.
Any minute now he was going to think of a brilliant plan and it was going to work. Torturous minutes slid by as his frozen brain moved sluggishly, unable to concoct any useful ideas.
Finally, exhausted and filled with frustration, Chrom gave up on finding a permanent solution that night. He was bone-tired and miserably cold and he just wanted to sleep. He’d grab a portion of blanket back and work something smarter out later.
He scooted closer to grasp the edge of the blanket that stuck out from where it was tucked underneath Robin. Tugging didn’t budge it at all. Robin shifted in her sleep and murmured softly before settling down again.
Scowling, he tugged on it again much more sharply. Too sharply.
The firm yank set Robin flying away and her body rolled right off the bed as Chrom registered his miscalculation with horror. His arm hovered outstretched in a useless gesture as he watched her tumble off the edge, too far away to catch her.
Robin’s rude awakening started with a shriek as she was forcibly ejected from her bed before a distinct whump as she connected with the floor. Her crash landing managed to topple an armchair and send it skidding dangerously close to their fireplace in a cacophony of heavy carved wood meeting stone flooring.
Chrom found himself alone in bed with an incriminating handful of blanket and a lot of regret.
The few beats of silence seemed to stretch out for a painful eternity. Right as Robin’s disoriented face started to rise over the side of the bed and back into his field of vision, their door burst open.
“MILORD! MILADY!” Frederick boomed as he stormed in, sword drawn to defend his lieges.
The scene devolved into confused noise for a moment as Frederick tried to discern the nature of what he assumed was an attack and Robin tried to sort out what had happened to her.
The fact that the room was dimly lit with only the dying fire did not help matters. The darkness made it harder to take in the scene and ascertain what was going on.
Chrom grimaced. Of course it had to be Frederick’s shift for guard duty.
“Stop! Stop. There’s no assassin, Frederick, it’s fine, stop, it’s just us,” he said quickly, trying to get everything calmed down. “I accidentally launched Robin off the bed.”
Chrom slid his way over to the side of the bed to hold out his hand and help Robin up. Robin, whose confusion was starting to fade and who was beginning to look particularly annoyed instead. She did not take his hand.
“Launched…launched her, Milord?”
Frederick looked appalled as his lord’s lack of care with his own wife. He also seemed to be eyeing Chrom suspiciously, as if he thought perhaps ‘launching’ was using some kind of dirty euphemism unbefitting his noble charge. Chrom knew that look. Nothing good ever came of that look. He rushed to clarify further.
“She hogs the blankets at night and I pulled too hard trying to get them back and that’s all. Good night, Frederick,” he said as firmly as he could, still offering his hand to Robin. He was growing increasingly nervous about her reaction.
She sat on the floor with a curiously blank expression as she took in his explanation. Frederick set about checking her condition and fretting over her until she assured him she was fine and pushed Chrom’s hand aside to climb back into their bed herself. Frederick righted the armchair, rekindled the fire, and excused himself.
The silence was deafening.
Unable to bear it a second longer, Chrom exploded in apologies.
“Robin! I didn’t mean to! I just wanted to sleep I swear I’m so so so sorry love, I’m - you are unhurt? Right? You’re okay? I’m sorry,” he stammered, reaching for her nervously before retracting his hand, unsure.
She visibly defrosted at his obvious panic, rubbing two fingers against her temple as she finally addressed him.
“Chrom,” she sighed, “why not just tell me I was stealing the blankets?”
“Ah. I uh,” he rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. “I didn’t want to bother you.”
“You didn’t want to bother me.”
Robin was clearly not impressed with this line of reasoning. The pure exasperation evident in her tired, incredulous squinting at his face said it all.
“It seemed like such a small thing to bring up and I was determined to work it out on my own. I tried all kinds of tactics. Complaining to you about it felt silly,” he admitted, abashed.
“Chrom? I love you. I love your stubbornness too. However, if you need help with tactics…” Robin leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Ask your tactician.”
She raised her hand and flicked his forehead. Chrom chuckled and took his punishment with grace.
“Alright, alright, I deserved that,” he laughed. “So what’s the plan, tactician of mine? There’s a wily blanket thief who remains at large.”
Robin snorted before leveling a sunny smile at him.
“Oh, I have a few ideas.”
Foiling the blanket thief turned out to be as simple as mollifying her with a more cuddly sleeping arrangement.
Sleeping next to Chrom was, in her own words, akin to sleeping with a furnace. This was not a bad thing. Robin seemed to spend the colder months in a state of constant, piteous cold. Having an excuse for plastering herself to her husband as she fell asleep was a most welcome side benefit once she got used to seeking him out for warmth instead of curling into a ball.
Chrom was also enormously fond of Robin’s new sleeping habits of draping herself over him or tugging his arm snug around her waist. No longer stuck shivering alone, he got to sleep every night with his lovely wife tucked securely against him. The blanket was always firmly wedged underneath them on each side, and that combined with their entangled limbs prevented Robin from drifting away and taking the blankets with her.
The winter nights grew bitterly cold, but it suited Chrom and Robin just fine. They slept best staying warm together.