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On Parentage and Inheritance

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“Dad-” Chrom turned to the door at the unexpected voice, just in time to see Morgan’s mismatched eyes light up. “Oh, are you discussing strategy? Can I join?!”

There was sympathy edged around the amusement in Robin’s smile. “I’m afraid you’re too late, Chrom and I were just talking. Did you need something?”

“Oh, it’s nothing urgent! An idea just came to me and I was wondering if it’d work, but I can wait,” the boy explained, perpetual cheer unaffected by the missed opportunity, “I’ll ask you over dinner!”

“Alright,” Robin agreed easily, but there was a familiar lilt of mischievousness, “Should I expect a pitfall waiting for me after that?”

“No pitfalls, I promise!” Morgan’s laughter was bright, and Chrom couldn’t help but return the smile when the boy looked at him. “I’ll see you later, Dad, Chrom.”

“He really is the spitting image of you,” Chrom said as he watched the boy dart out of the room.

“Yet the few differences are the most glaring,” Robin pointed out dryly, “Between his hair and the Brand, he only has to show a tendency to break things to prove that he’s your child.”

Chrom laughed, taking the ribbing in stride. “I’d be honoured to be his father, but unless you’ve been hiding something from me,” he trailed off pointedly, prompting Robin to smile in a way that could almost be called coy.

“Your attempt to get me undressed is flattering, but I’m going to have to decline,” his tactician said, “Maybe you could check the next time you enter the bath tent without knocking.”

He winced. “That was an accident.”

“I know.” Robin pat his arm comfortingly. The hand was an absent weight as the man’s attention moved elsewhere. “Close resemblance aside, Morgan remembers one of his parents to be a tactician with white hair. It’s enough.”

“That’s quite the change from the lectures I got from you before.” He gave Robin a smile, pulling the hand off his arm to hold between his own.

“I did say I was going to help you forge new bonds. Since your hidden talent seems to be finding amnesiacs,” Robin paused pointedly, obviously amused, brown eyes shining with mischief, “I have to adjust accordingly.”

“Fair enough,” Chrom agreed, “Still no clue about who might be his mother?”

“Alas, Lissa is happily married, and I have no plans to start an affair, so no, I do not.”

“That’s a comfort to hear,” he said, matching the man’s sardonic tone with mock relief, “I’d hate to have to share the spotlight in the rumor mill.” It drew a laugh from Robin, stretched the man’s smile a little more.

“Regardless, I don’t believe Morgan is from our timeline, or any of the children’s.”

“Oh?” Chrom leaned forward, curious.

“It’s purely conjecture, of course,” Robin mused, thoughtful, “judging from his appearance, his skills, and his temperament, he is likely our son. A world where you or I had been born a woman is hardly any stranger than the concept of time traveling.”

“You would marry me?” Chrom asked, and Robin started a bit, the flutter of the man’s pulse under his fingertips quickening. He thought he could see a dusting of red high on Robin’s cheeks, stark against the pale skin and white hair - the colour was such an unusual sight he felt an urge to reach out to feel for himself the heat.

“I-” Robin’s eyes darted about like they were searching Chrom’s face, although for what he couldn’t even begin to imagine. “I suppose I would? Sometimes you lack tact but your presence is comforting, and you’re honourable, and fair, and everyone agrees you’re handsome-” The man cut off the rambling abruptly with a shake of his head. “This is a moot point; you’ve practically adopted Morgan already. Even Lucina treats him like a brother.” A bit of confusion crept onto Robin’s face, uncertainty clouding the brown eyes. Chrom tucked a lock of white hair behind the man’s ear, letting his hand rest against the soft curve of the man’s jaw.

“Of course she does,” he said softly, and gods, he didn’t know how his tactician could treat everyone so dear and not realize that they loved him in return, “you raised her as your own.” The words had the effect he wanted - Robin’s discomfort vanished, gaze softening.

“I can’t run the Halidom, attend to you, and look after Lucina,” Robin huffed, but there was no mistaking the  contentment in the tone.

“You are doing a fine job so far.” Chrom lifted the hand in his, finger and thumb pointedly resting on Robin’s ring finger. “And according to your theory, in another world, you’re doing the same as my spouse.”

Robin gave him an exasperated look that was far too affectionate to feel disapproving. “I didn’t know you were so eager to have me dictate your private life as well. I wouldn’t have taken you for a masochist, Chrom.”

He laughed. “I don’t yield that easily.”

“Of course,” his tactician agreed indulgently, captured hand curling to give Chrom’s fingers a squeeze, “the same way you aren’t here so that I wouldn’t miss dinner.”

“I can never get anything past you,” he conceded fondly.

“We’d be in trouble if I can’t see through a plan like this, my prince.” Robin stood, and Chrom let the man guide him to his feet as well. “We had better go, before Stahl finishes all the food for us.”

“I thought you liked spit-roasted bear,” he said dryly with a raised eyebrow, and Robin laughed, brown eyes bright with mirth.