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Chrom felt empty.
He was used to not waking up beside Robin. Oftentimes, he wouldn’t see him until later in the day, whether it be because he’d gotten up early or because he’d fallen asleep in the council tent yet again (the latter happened far more often than Chrom would like). But he wasn’t used to the knowledge that he wouldn’t be greeted by tufts of white hair and a brown and purple coat as soon as he walked outside, or that he wouldn’t hear his lover’s voice explaining their next move to a curious Miriel or an inquisitive Morgan.
Gods, Morgan. He hadn’t seen her since… since then. He’d have to check up on her; he couldn’t just wallow, as much as he wanted to. He was still a leader; he was still a father.
He sat up on his cot, trying to shake the static from his bones and mind both. He stared at his hands–if he had been a bit quicker, if he’d been able to grab Robin, would he still be here?–and swallowed down the lump in his throat, pushing away his blankets and standing.
He put his uniform on, not bothering to try and fix his hair. It likely wouldn’t stay regardless, and he didn’t have the energy to worry about it. It’s not like anybody in camp would judge him; they all felt the lack of Robin’s presence keenly.
He’s what made the Shepherds the Shepherds. And now… and now he was gone. Gone in a sacrifice to save them all for generations to come. Gone in a plume of purple smoke, disappearing with a sad smile on his face as he found Chrom’s eyes for the last time.
He didn’t think he’d ever forget the tears welling in his beautiful hazel eyes. Even if he wanted to–why would he want to forget that last piece of his other half?–he doubted he could. The helplessness he felt in that moment, struggling against Stahl and Frederick as he heard Lucina and Morgan screaming behind him, watching as Robin did the noble thing, the selfless thing, the so-called right thing. But how could it be the right thing if it caused so much pain?
He swallowed thickly again, putting his head in his hands.
“Gods, Robin,” he murmured, worrying that any louder, his voice might break. “I can’t do this without you.”
“You have to,” Robin would reply, endlessly gentle, probably with a hand cupping Chrom’s cheek. “You’re strong, love. You’ll get through it without me.”
He took a shaky breath before holding his head high once again, hoping his eyes weren’t as puffy as they felt. He strapped Falchion to his side, steeling himself before he stepped out of his tent and into camp at large.
It was subdued in a way he wasn’t familiar with. Even after the hard battles, the ones with heavy losses on their end, camp was still bustling. The Shepherds were still full of energy, moving around and arranging things to make sure whatever he or Robin had commanded was ready to go as soon as possible.
But there were no orders other than to rest. There was no battle to prepare for, no march to arrange. Even still, it didn’t feel like a real rest day, or like the war had been won. There was no laughter ringing out, no sound of steel clashing steel, no cheering nor jeering. There were low murmurs around him, there were people walking around aimlessly, but there was none of the high-energy familiarity to camp.
Chrom wasn’t sure if he preferred this to everyone pretending that everything was normal. It was deeply unsettling, and the atmosphere felt as though it were made of glass. But he wasn’t confident that he’d fare any better in the fast-paced environment he usually found himself in, so he kept walking.
The more he saw, the more bleak it became. Sumia was staring blankly at a book as she leaned against Frederick, who’s gaze was somewhere beyond the camp. Despite his knight's initial misgivings, Robin had grown on Frederick over the past few years, enough to call their relationship brotherly. And now…
Chrom forced himself to look away, continuing to walk through camp. Vaike and Nowi were curled together with Nah, and it seemed that Nowi still hadn’t stopped crying. Gerome was standing with Severa, the two of them next to Minerva as they watched their Cordelia, Cherce, and Gregor do something in the distance. Gerome was openly petting Minerva, and Severa was quiet. Chrom turned away; the sight was so wrong .
Tharja was staring blankly at nothing while Lon’qu pushed her to do something Chrom couldn’t quite piece together, Noire on his other side in her timid attempt to help. He wasn’t surprised that Tharja was just as out of it as he was; she adored Robin, for all he was worth. By them, Laurent was flipping through a book Chrom recognized, and he realized with a dull pang that Robin must have given it to him at some point in their travels.
Gods, he had to find Morgan.
Miriel and Virion were sitting together quietly, and Virion seemed to be humming a soft tune. Stahl, Sully, and Kjelle were in a training ring, Stahl watching as Sully and Kjelle sparred without any of their usual vigor. Watching them was Owain; Chrom didn’t have to wonder where Lissa and Henry were. Lissa had been inconsolable, and no doubt she still was, with Henry doing his best to curb the worst while grieving in his own way. (That was the weirdest part, to Chrom. His brother-in-law wasn’t one to mourn the dead or missing, or, if he was, not in any way that Chrom recognized. And yet he’d seen him weeping, wiping his tears away as he held a sobbing Lissa during the march back, tucked away in a cart after she finished healing the worst of the wounds.)
Cynthia and Brady were discussing something in low voices by the middle of camp, Cynthia fiddling with something that Chrom couldn’t quite discern from this distance. Brady’s posture was even worse than it was usually, one hand on Cynthia’s shoulder as the other hung by his side.
How similar was this to what they had experienced in the past, Chrom wondered? Lucina hadn’t told him much, just that Robin had killed Chrom while under Validar’s–Grima’s?–influence, and that Grima had begun to take over their continent and the next one over as soon as he had gotten to full power. But he had no idea if this reminded them of that time, and no reason nor base to judge if the situation did serve as a reminder.
Olivia and Kellam were by the fire, mostly-full plates on their laps as they sat, Olivia’s head on Kellam’s shoulder. It was funny, a piece of Chrom’s mind thought idly, the way Olivia made Kellam visible in a way he had never been before. Her eyes were puffy, as were Kellam’s, and he forced himself to turn away.
He hadn’t seen Maribelle or Gaius, but he could see that a lamp had been lit in her tent, and thought he could hear sniffling. She wouldn’t let others see her like this, save for Gaius, but Chrom knew how hard the loss of Robin had hit. Even if they hadn’t been the closest, Robin touched the hearts of everyone.
Chrom swallowed what felt like a rising sob.
The rest of camp was empty. Usually, he could see Ricken and Donnel fooling around between tents, or Panne teaching Yarne something she had missed in their past life. He hadn’t seen them, nor Libra, since then; it pained him to think of how they were faring. Panne had trusted Robin more than she’d ever trusted him, even after all these years, and he knew Libra and Robin were prone to deep discussions on magic when the time called for it.
Chrom took a deep breath before turning, looking for Lucina’s tent. Inigo had been the only thing that had been able to keep her from completely breaking down in front of everyone, but he doubted that lasted once they got to camp. If nothing else, he needed to see her, now that he could coax himself to walk around again.
He hesitated outside of it, not wanting to interrupt anything that he had no right to see. But his daughter had just lost her other father again, and it was his responsibility to make sure she could move on.
So he knocked on one of the support poles, the same pattern they’d discussed months ago as a way for her to know that it was only him, that she could greet him as his daughter and not as the princess.
“Come in.” It was Inigo’s voice that rang out, not Lucina’s, and Chrom felt a pang of guilt for leaving her this long as he opened the tent flap, walking in.
Lucina had her face buried in Inigo’s shoulder, his arms wrapped tightly around her. He’d managed to get her out of her armor and into more casual clothes, which was a miracle in and of itself. Inigo smiled at him, but his eyes were also rimmed with red; Chrom hated the way it was otherwise convincing.
Chrom didn’t say anything as he sat beside them, putting a gentle hand on Lucina’s shoulder. It was then he felt her trembling, noticed the way her shoulders shook with each breath.
“I’m here, Lucina,” Chrom whispered.
“I know,” came her reply, barely more than a breath. Chrom tightened his hand on her shoulder slightly, and resisted the urge to sigh.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” Chrom murmured. Lucina let out a wet laugh, shaking her head.
“He was never supposed to die first,” Lucina said, turning her head enough to look at him. She was a wreck, voice rough, eyes red and puffy, hair sticking to her skin. “I’m surprised you were able to come this soon.”
“I have you and your sister to look after,” he murmured, gently sweeping some of her hair out of her face. “I came as soon as I could.”
A small, sad smile graced Lucina’s lips, and she sat up to get a better look at Chrom. Inigo followed her lead, but otherwise stayed out of the conversation, just looking at Lucina with concern and adoration in his eyes.
“He made the right choice,” Lucina said, but Chrom wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince. “I don’t… I don’t think he would have been able to live with himself if he didn’t make this choice.”
“I know,” Chrom said. He tried to smile, but he wasn’t sure how well it worked. “And… and he might come back. Naga said…”
“Father…” Lucina trailed off, sadness in her eyes as she looked at him. “I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t get your hopes too high. The odds aren’t in his favor.”
“I know,” Chrom said, and now he was really smiling. “But when have harsh odds ever prevented him from success?” Chrom thought of all the impossible battles they had won thanks to his guidance, the improbable successes he’d accomplished during his two years in court. Something being difficult had never stopped Robin, and he doubted this barrier would stop him, either.
“It will take a while,” Lucina warned him, but he could see the little spark of hope returning to her.
“I’ll wait as long as it takes,” Chrom vowed. Lucina smiled before hugging him, tucking her head underneath his chin. “Besides, I don’t think Morgan would appreciate it if she never exists in this world.”
Both Inigo and Lucina let out a startled laugh at that, and Chrom took it as a sign of his success. His little family was far from perfect, and was still incomplete, but he loved his daughter and who he had no doubt would eventually become his son-in-law. So as he opened his other arm for Inigo, when the two of them grasped hands in the midst of their hug, as they sat together to mourn what they had lost, Chrom still found himself smiling.
Robin would come back, and Morgan would join them. And they’d really be a family, then, no matter how strange it may seem to the outer eye.
He stayed until Lucina fell asleep–Inigo’s relief suggested that she hadn’t been sleeping enough–and he could leave without feeling as though he was abandoning her.
The sun was still high in the sky, suggesting he had only been there for a few hours at most. He heard Cynthia loudly proclaiming something in the distance, and though it had the same volume as it always did, it lacked energy. He smelled something cooking, and wondered vaguely if it were Severa or Donnel in charge today.
But he didn’t have time to dawdle. He’d spent enough time feeling sorry for himself; Morgan needed him, now.
Chrom walked across the paths, through the deadened grass of the Plegian soil, ignoring the plumes of dust that were sometimes kicked up as his feet hit the ground. Morgan had been fascinated by the terrain in her first excursion here, spending hours at camp drawing landscapes and even specific things like flowers or tufts of grass with excruciating detail. He’d promised her another sketchbook when this was all over; he’d have to make sure he kept that promise.
He stopped outside of her tent before knocking, waiting for her to either turn him away or let him in. A beat passed, two. Nothing. He knocked again, and he heard a quiet sound from inside and took it as permission to come in.
He almost teared up at the sight.
Robin had thrown his coat to the side before starting his fight with Grima, and now Morgan was buried in it, holding her own coat close to her chest. She was tucked away in a corner, fresh tears leaving tracks on her cheeks. She looked at Chrom, hazel eyes shining–they looked so much like his. She buried her face in her coat when she realized who it was, and he heard a choked sob leave her.
He walked over to her and gathered her in his arms, holding her close. He knew it wasn’t the same as Robin being there for her–he was the only one she remembered from her time, after all–but he was still her father. He could still be here for her.
She clung to him after a moment, holding his shirt in her clenched fists as she let out a wail. Chrom gently pressed her head into his shoulder, tightening his other arm around her waist. He tried to blink away his own tears at his daughter’s anguish, compounded with his own grief, but he felt a few trickle down his cheeks anyway.
“I’m right here,” Chrom whispered, and he felt Morgan’s grip tighten. “I’m right here. I’m sorry I took this long. Oh, Morgan, I’m so, so sorry…”
Her sobs only picked up then, and Chrom rubbed soothing circles into her back. He whispered reassurances into her hair, telling her that he wouldn’t leave, that he would always be here for her. It wasn’t the same; it couldn’t be the same, and he knew that, but like hell would he leave her to fend for herself, alone, just because he couldn’t measure up to Robin.
“Oh, Father…” she whispered, tightening her grip yet again. She was still crying, but the sobs had turned into hiccups, and the tears had slowed down significantly. Still, Chrom held her, tightening his grip in response.
“I’m here,” Chrom replied. He began to gently card his fingers through her hair, kissing the top of her head. “I know it’s not the same as him being here, but I won’t leave. I promise.”
Morgan let out something that was a cross between a sob and a laugh, burying her face into his shoulder. “You better not,” Morgan replied, and Chrom tightened his grip on her. “I loved you, too. I might not have concrete memories, but I know that much.”
Chrom smiled. “I know.”
He kept holding her, kept whispering reassurances to her. He knew she was awake, but she just nestled closer to him, soaking in his presence.
“Have you eaten?” Chrom eventually asked. Morgan hesitated before shaking her head.
“I haven’t been hungry,” she murmured. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, but he smiled sympathetically. He’d only nibbled on the fruits Flavia had brought him, taking nearly an hour to finish a pouch of dried apple.
“Let’s go find something small,” Chrom said, coaxing Morgan to stand. She was slightly wobbly, so Chrom kept an eye on her as they walked to the heart of camp, making sure she wouldn’t fall.
Some of the kids waved to her, Cynthia calling out her name joyfully. Morgan smiled and waved back, though it was more timid than it usually was. Chrom smiled at them too, glad that they were including Morgan even when she wasn’t seeking it.
They got to the center of camp eventually, and Chrom led Morgan into the supply tent, grabbing some of their rations. He handed Morgan a stick of jerky, taking one for himself, and they sat on the floor of the supply tent. It was quiet, the sound of camp muffled by the canvas, but it was good for them both to be out of their tents.
There was still a world beyond them, one to celebrate and fix. But for now, Chrom wasn’t the Exalt, nor was he the general of their armies. For now, he was a grieving, widowed father, and his only responsibility was to comfort his daughters.
So comfort his daughters he would.
§
Ylisse was thriving.
Chrom and Lissa had made it home safe from a war fought and won, and Lucina–baby Lucina–was as healthy as she could possibly be. Plegia was no longer a threat, after many long years of tensions and war, and the halidom’s coffers were filled quickly by Plegia and Valm alike in reparation.
By all means, Chrom should be happy. His realm was thriving, his people were comfortable, and he was home safe. But Robin’s loss was a constant shadow over him, one that he couldn’t shake no matter how hard he tried (not that he tried very hard).
He was able to function, both at council meetings and when mingling with the citizens of Ylisstol. He found himself seeing things at stalls and thinking of Robin before reminding himself that he wasn’t there, wouldn’t be able to appreciate the beautiful binding of a book or gleaming of a simplistic but stunning silver necklace at the stand of a jeweler he didn’t recognize.
He found a sketchbook for Morgan one day, and a pack of charcoal pencils that would help exacerbate depth in her drawings, according to the vendor. Morgan had been delighted when he’d given them to her, thanking him profusely. She’d begun to heal, it seemed; he’d seen her attempting something with Cynthia that involved an old arcwind tome, and decided that as long as neither of them got too badly hurt, he wouldn’t interfere.
(Robin would have laughed at him and accused him of just being afraid of getting hit by the magic. He’d deny it, but they’d both know he was right.)
Lucina seemed lost now that the war was over, and she’d saved her friends, family, and future. He’d seen her wandering the halls aimlessly, or helping maids with their work with a bright smile and laugh when they told her not to worry about it. In her world, she would have jumped straight into being Exalt at the end of the war. But Chrom was still kicking, and would be for many years yet, and little Lucina–Lucy, as they had begun to call her–was technically next in line for the throne. He wished he could help her find a purpose, but with the work he’d been swamped with to complete reparations, he barely had time to leave his office or the council chambers when the sun was in the sky.
When he did, he either wandered the halls idly, checking on his friends and employees and chatting with them in the hopes of returning to what could maybe, hopefully look like a semblance of his normal life, or locked himself in his room, sitting on his too-big bed and staring blankly at his hands. Sometimes, he could swear he could feel Robin next to him, or hear him humming a gentle tune, but he knew it wasn’t real. He knew it was just his grief playing tricks on him, trying to conjure what he had lost to help him cope with the unrelenting stress of his station and emotions.
Before he knew it, four months had passed. Lucy was walking now, and Sumia would sometimes bring her in to stumble towards him at his desk. He looked forward to those moments with her, grinning and babbling up at him as he held her in his arms. She was growing up quickly; Chrom wished Robin was here with him to see it.
He made more time to play with her as the weeks dragged on, reading to her and singing her to sleep. He never thought that his singing voice was particularly soothing, but between Robin’s insistence and Lucina’s admission that his lullabies were often the only thing that could get her to sleep in their original timeline he’d grown more confident. And so he’d hold her tiny form as he sang her lullabies in the dark, bouncing her gently as her giggles turned into quiet, even breaths.
Two months later, Lissa and Henry announced their pregnancy, both of them looking happier than he’d seen in a long time. Lissa was glowing, and Henry wasn’t far off, eyes narrowed even more than usual in his bright grin. Owain had been delighted, teasing Lucina about the shortened age gap, until he’d realized the implications of what his parents had done and stormed off, face bright red. Lissa had cackled at his retreating form, and even Chrom found himself chuckling.
Sumia and Frederick’s announcement wasn’t long after, nor was Olivia and Kellam’s. Chrom was happy for them, truly, and showed his excitement in the same ways he always had. But deep down, envy curled around his heart, choking him in his solitude at night. Would Robin be pregnant with Morgan, if it weren’t for all that had transpired? Would they be announcing it to their friends, waiting with excited anticipation until it was safe to tell their citizens?
He threw himself into his work, despite the amount now winding down. The war had ended 6 months ago, and most of the logistics had been ironed out. The peace treaties had been signed, money distributed, official long-term alliances forged. Flavia had been more than happy to agree to a full alliance between Regna Ferox and Ylisse, proudly declaring that she’d side with them again and again. But all of those sorts of things had been finished; Ylisse was left with full coffers and happy citizens, and peace was now upon them.
Chrom found himself staring at Emmeryn’s portrait more often, wondering what she would make her priority. He knew she struggled to achieve peace, but her maintenance of it was unmatched. Chrom wasn’t her, though; he was built for war more than anything else, and now that war had passed, he needed to learn how to be a good ruler in the aftermath.
“You’re better equipped for this,” he found himself murmuring to Robin’s side of the bed, cold and empty as it was. “You’d be perfect here. You’d know what to do, and what’s good for the halidom, and the direction to steer us to set future generations up for success. Gods, Robin, I can’t…”
He stopped himself when he felt tears brimming in his eyes. He couldn’t keep crying; he couldn’t do this again. They were encroaching on nine months now, and the search parties–headed by Sully and Kjelle, for the most part, but the other Shepherds had done the same when their schedules permitted–had yet to see any sign of his return. The longer it went, the worse it got.
He could still hear his voice, smooth and rich and silky. Still see his eyes, like falling leaves in late October. Still feel his hand in his, the callouses from his sword and scars from his tomes (the lichtenberg figures that danced down to his wrist from Thoron, the burns on his fingertips from Bolganone, the silver lines on his palm from Excalibur, all so beautiful, all so him ). It hurt to think about, but it hurt more to push the memories away.
He shifted himself to lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling and willing the already-falling tears away. He let out a forced, wet laugh as he thought of the way Robin would wipe them away, pressing a gentle kiss to each cheek as he did.
“Come back to me,” Chrom whispered to the silent night. The only response he got was a low roll of thunder far in the distance, and the memory of static shocks in the aftermath of every battle.
§
Robin hated this.
He hated how unpredictable it was. He hated how he was incorporeal, save for the few times he was sent to that otherworld, the one where he was met with nothing but warm winds and ever-present guilt. Part of him knew its only purpose was to purge him completely of the lingering remnants of Grima, but the guilt and regret he felt was so real even for the things he knew he had to do (how could he leave them behind? How could he leave Chrom to rebuild the world alone? How could he leave Lucina to fend for herself in a kind of life she couldn’t possibly remember? How could he leave Morgan to grasp at nothing, trying to rebuild her memories without the tether of her father there to support her?).
He hated the way he mostly floated in an abyss, alone and empty, with no way of knowing which way was up and which was down. Surrounded by nothing but memories, a consciousness without a body, without eyes. Nothing but his thoughts, his memories, his questions.
He couldn’t decide if the ghost form he sometimes took was better or worse. Watching Chrom with baby Lucina, giggling and fooling around without him. Watching him sing her to sleep before heading back to his office, working late into the night on paperwork (how many times had he been scolded for doing that exact thing?).
He tried to track the time from the dates on Chrom’s work, but the gaps between his times in the world were inconsistent. The shortest was three days; the longest was three months.
Could they tell that he was there? Could Lucina feel his presence trailing her, watching with affection as she danced to no music with Inigo, laughing as she missed steps or tripped over her feet? Did Morgan know he was admiring her drawings whenever she left her sketchbook open, or showed it to her friends? Did Sully know that he was just as frustrated as she was at the lack of corporeal evidence of his existence? Could Chrom feel the hugs he tried to give him, the reassurances he tried to whisper, the love he tried to share even still? He hoped so. He doubted it.
Robin wandered the castle whenever he was given the chance, watching his friends and family interact. Sometimes, he could pretend that everything was normal, that he was just taking a break from his work as he watched the well-oiled machine that was Palace Ylisstol. He watched Inigo and Owain bicker back and forth with a smile around their swords, watched Gerome and Yarne bumble their way through making a thank-you cake for Gaius after he rescued them from a particularly harsh scolding from Cherche. Tried to cast Wind to cushion Severa’s fall from her pegasus on one of the nights Cynthia tried to teach her, the two of them hoping to surprise Cordelia by having Severa officially join the Pegasus Knights the same day Cynthia would. He watched Sumia and Frederick dance to the tune Brady was playing on a balcony, all smiles and giggles and joy. He found himself wanting to tease Lissa for the way she looked at Henry when his back was turned, or the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t looking.
He hated that he had to miss their joy. He knew he had made the right choice, knew that it would pay off in the end, but watching his friends and family suffer in the interim hurt.
I’ll come back , he wanted to scream at them. I promise I’ll come back. But he had to live with the fact that he couldn’t. That all he could do was watch, spectate a life that he should be leading. He hated it. But he’d take it over the nothingness, over the backwards world he was sent to so he could face his grief, his guilt, over and over and over again. It wasn’t a punishment meant for him–none of it was, he knew that much for certain–but it was a punishment he had to bear regardless.
Sometimes, in the darkness, he’d hear voices. He wasn’t sure what they said; they were simply echoing whispers, incomprehensible yet beautiful in nature. He eventually pieced together that they were whispering an old, forgotten language, one that shared roots to Plegian and Ylissean both. He found it soothing, the more often he heard it, learning to pick up on some of the words even if he didn’t know their meaning. He’d have to research it, once he got back; Gods knew Ylisse’s library was filled to the brim with knowledge, modern and ancient alike.
Oh, how he yearned to read. Sometimes, he’d look over Miriel’s shoulders, hoping to glean information from whatever she was reading. It was often inconsequential things Virion had gotten her idly interested in–ancient Valmese art, reverse psychology, Feroxi magic tricks–but it was stimulating enough for Robin in his isolated state. How he longed to hold a book in his hand, smell the parchment and ink, choose the content for himself. Turn the pages, get lost in something in the free time he knew would be limited based on the time he’d spent by Chrom’s side.
As much as he longed to stay in the library, at times, he stayed by Chrom’s side the most. Even if he couldn’t do anything more than watch, and even if it couldn’t hope to be reciprocated, he brought him comfort, a kind that couldn’t be matched by anything or anyone else.
I love you, he wanted to say. You’re doing so well. You’re so strong. You’ve got this, Chrom, you’ve got this. But the words were trapped in whatever magic allowed Robin to exist like this, and so he whispered it to the void and prayed to Naga that somehow the words would arrive in Chrom’s ears, whether through a gust of wind or a passing conversation or anything in between.
It hurt to watch Chrom hold the pillow he used to sleep on, the one that surely no longer held his scent (they spent months on the campaign, and it’s been nearly a year since it ended, there was no way) as he cried himself to sleep with a whisper of Robin’s name on his lips. He wanted so desperately to brush the tears away, press a kiss to his forehead as he held him, whisper reassurances that he was there. Because he was, sometimes. Hovering above him, unable to do anything more than watch.
It hurt to watch Lucina stare at the notebooks and papers he had left behind, tracing the ink on the parchment as if to memorize the words he had left behind. It hurt to see the tear stains on those long-abandoned documents, hurt to hear her ask him why he left her again. I didn’t want to, Lucina, he wanted to assure her. I promise, I didn’t want to. But words were not his, not now, and so he simply watched and tried to come up with a way to brush her bangs out of her eyes.
It hurt to watch Morgan bury herself in his coat and her work, the same way he had in the aftermath of Emmeryn’s death. It hurt to know that she had taken his responsibilities on for him; she was the one managing inventories and trade routes and drafting up contracts. He’d seen the pain it brought Chrom, but they both knew he had to accept the help, at least until Robin returned. Because he would return; he swore it, yelling it out into the empty void of his experiences.
For this was the cruel punishment designed for the gods. But Robin was not a god; Robin was merely a man, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could withstand this.
He started to grow numb when surrounded by the void. Stopped thinking, let himself bask in the chill of nothing. Hunted quickly for the key when he was sent to the otherworld, where the grass was red and the sky was orange and everything felt so wrong even as he knew the warm winds blowing through his heart were right.
He only let himself feel in those fleeting moments he was sent to his life, pulled along as if by a string. He couldn’t return yet, he knew, even after the most painful year and a half of his life; he still had no body, and Grima’s presence was still not purged.
When would it be purged?
He was floating in his bedroom when he next rose to consciousness, staring through the moonlit room to where Chrom was curled on his side. He could still feel the tendrils of the void snaking along his heart, through his marrow, across his chest, and he still did not touch the ground. But he was closer; he felt the pull of his comrades more than he had in the past, almost equal to the black vines of the void.
But he was still not corporeal, and this would do him no good if he couldn’t comfort his love. For these days, it was all he was sent for; when a loved one needed comfort. Most often, it was Chrom or the girls, though it had been interspersed with others in the past (Sully’s frustration at another search gone cold, Inigo’s helplessness as he watched Lucina throw herself into her training, Sumia’s longing as she puts down a book she’d love to share with him). So he steeled himself as he directed his form over to Chrom, hoping he was prepared for whatever Naga had sent him to witness.
“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,” Chrom whispered, following a gentle melody. It sent a jolt through Robin’s unbeating heart; a lullaby, he thought, though Chrom rarely sang when it weren’t for Lucina. “You make me happy, when skies are grey. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you…”
Oh.
“Please don’t take my sunshine… away.”
Chrom’s voice broke on the last word, and it was then Robin saw his tears, glittering in the gentle moonlight that filtered through the windows. It was a lullaby for him, Robin realized, a way for Chrom to both call out to him and mourn him. Robin had no doubt that if he were real (for he’d long given up on the premise that any of this was real), he’d be crying along with Chrom. But for now, all he could do was stare, guilt flooding his nonbeing as his love cried into the pillows.
“Robin… come back to me, please,” Chrom whispered, and Robin almost wanted to turn away. He had done nothing to warrant this kind of punishment; had done nothing to deserve this torture. He should be able to hold Chrom, wipe his tears, tell him that it was all just a nightmare. But it wasn’t, and he couldn’t, and that reality tore through him as he forgot the rules he had set for himself months ago to maybe, just maybe lessen the blow of his powerlessness.
“Chrom,” he whispered, and he gasped when Chrom looked up at the sound. He barely dared to let himself hope, but he forced himself to focus, let himself hope. “You’re doing so well, my love.”
Chrom’s weeping turned into sobs, and he curled further in on himself. Robin stopped himself before he attempted to touch Chrom’s shoulder, knowing it wouldn’t work. He stood there, watching as he could do nothing as Chrom cried and cried and cried, until he eventually fell asleep and Robin was whisked back to the abyss, attempting to lock his feelings away behind the ivy of his love.
He heard fervent whispering when he returned to the dark, again in that language he had no hope of parsing. He blocked it out, returning to the state of calm he had familiarized himself with, allowing himself to float in the chasm of nothing that he’d come to love.
He was safe here. He wasn’t forced to do anything, wasn’t forced to swallow the reality of the seeds he had sown, even if it was the only choice he had. He would return; he knew that. He could feel the truth thrumming in his veins, keeping him clutched in its warm embrace.
The next he was pulled away, he was thrown into the otherworld again, landing in the too-soft soil and staring up through the red leaves of purple trees. He pushed himself up, feeling the warm breeze already ruffling his hair.
He would never understand why this was the only world in which the gods had granted him the privilege of physicality.
He followed the wind’s whispers, looking out for what might be the key. He didn’t want to stay here; he had resisted the pain of those memories this long, after all. He followed the patterns, as always–which of his loved ones would the key represent this time? It was all he had to figure out, and then it would appear.
The words whispered melodies, now, with nothing more to the gusts than their pitch. Olivia, perhaps? But then the wind became sharper, faster, as though emulating a fight. Inigo, more likely, he found himself thinking; he had seen the way he danced with Lucina, and he had no doubt that Olivia had taught him to dance in their time. And the grace which Inigo moved on the battlefield, the footwork that he used with ease, the way he had twisted away from stray blades and whistling arrows–it all suggested a background of dance. Robin wondered idly if he and Lucina had finally admitted to Chrom what they were, or if they were still keeping it quiet for fear of a reaction despite however much time had passed. (He found himself wondering if they had admitted it to themselves, too, for Lucina’s frantic denial when he’d last teased her about it suggested that she hadn’t quite come to terms with it, either.)
The wind led him on a twisting path, causing him to stumble and trip over stray branches and roots as he lept through the trees. Eventually, he came to a flower field, rife with blues and oranges and purples and yellows. In the center of it all was a rose, perfectly formed save for its opposing colors, with sage green petals and blood red thorns, unimaginably wrong as Robin had discovered all things were in this hellscape of twisted memories.
He bent down and picked the rose, minding its thorns. He felt the wind turn cool as it wrapped around him, dissolving his essence as it sent him back to the void, just as he so desperately craved. He did not want to face his memories, nor did he feel a need to. He’d let himself remember when the all-encompassing guilt didn’t come hand-in-hand, when he could hold his family and friends and apologize for what he put them through without the barrier of tangibility getting in the way. What was the point of remembering when he couldn’t wrap his arms around Chrom’s shoulders from behind, pulling him from his work with a kiss to his cheek and a bit of long-awaited mischief? When he couldn’t go out into Ylisstol with Lucina in their free time to try on ridiculous outfits and imagine Chrom’s reaction to them, leaving plenty of gold in their wake despite never buying anything? When he couldn’t drag Morgan out of her room late at night to set up a harmless trap for Chrom when he walked into his office in the morning, hiding in the corners of the room while they waited for him to stumble in with a still-steaming cup of coffee?
He tried to push those dreams away, the ones that rose unbidden. He would get that. He knew he would get that, even if it would take a while to come. (How long had it already been? How much time had he missed out on? How old was his daughter, now? The baby girl whom he’d left alone in the castle before they left for the campaign, compelled by duty and the future of his family? How many years of her life had he missed, all because he wanted to spare his descendents the pain of fighting Grima yet again? How many milestones, how many celebrations, how many birthdays?) He hated the anguish that filled him, even though there was nowhere for it to go. It overflowed, like Chrom’s body had during the Awakening, silver rivulets of energy exploding from him before disappearing all within the same instant.
The longer he stayed in the void, in the otherworld, in his world as a ghost, the more he questioned his decision. Was all of this worth the pain he had caused? Were people a thousand years in the future worth any of this? He couldn’t handle it for much longer. He couldn’t.
He was just a man. He was just a man who made the good decision, the right decision, the selfless decision. So why was he being punished for the circumstances of his birth? He didn’t want to be a vessel. He didn’t think he did, at least, based on Validar’s explanation of his past. He didn’t ask for this. His choice to do what was right was not a longing for punishment. It was. The guilt of Grima’s presence, of the two of them being one in the same, weighed heavily on him. He couldn’t go on without this. He can’t keep going through it.
With conscious effort, he closed his mind to the thoughts, to the memories. Now wasn’t the time for them.
(“Now” would never be the time for them, not when he still floated through this hellish, cleansing void.)
§
Chrom joined Sully on her next excursion. And the one after that. Still, there was nothing, but Chrom did not–could not–give up hope.
Lucina alternated with him, determination still burning bright in her eyes despite the lack of news. Morgan joined her, sometimes, which Chrom was glad for; it was good to see her pulled away from the work she had taken on of her own volition. He didn’t want her too stressed out, stretched too thin; she was still a child, after all, and watching his daughter take on roles that didn’t yet belong to her made him uneasy.
Owain and Cynthia were able to drag her out of her mind the most reliably, and he, Sumia, and Lissa had all decided to turn a blind eye to their mischief as long as it kept them focused on something other than the responsibilities they had forced upon themselves. (Frederick was hesitant to agree. Henry encouraged them.)
By the time the two year mark rolled around, Sully had to stop going on the excursions (Stahl’s orders). Her third trimester was fast approaching, and everyone determined that riding on a horse for days on end–and quite possibly fighting the remaining Risen–was not a good idea. So despite her protests, she remained at the palace, helping to oversee Kjelle and Owain’s training of the new recruits.
Chrom was more free to wander, with so many of his friends and family in the palace. Lissa and Henry had been granted full authority to make decisions for him when he was out, and Lissa had promised to keep Henry from making any nefarious decisions in his name.
So he’d go out with some of his Shepherds every couple of weeks, looking far and wide across Ylisse in the hopes of maybe, just maybe finding Robin. Once or twice, he’d gotten his hopes up, seen a villager with short white hair or a figure lying in the grass somewhere. But other than that, nothing; just as always, it was as though he had never existed in the first place.
Chrom got more desperate with each passing day. He hoped he hid it well, hoped he was able to bury it under his duties as Exalt and as a father–Lucy was turning three, what a wonderful yet strange notion. She had grown up so fast, he felt, but already showed the same stubbornness and determination as her older counterpart. (Watching the two of them together never ceased to put a smile on his face. Lucina doted on her like he’d never seen between her adventures with Inigo, and Lucy adored her in kind.)
But at night he’d still reach for Robin, even though he knew the bed would be cold. He still looked at maps with the intention to remind Robin of the ridiculous things they’d done within Ylissean borders, like the time they managed to get lost in a cave and had to use a Fire tome to guide them out or when they’d managed to lose not just one but both of their horses in a forest just west of the Plegian border. But Robin could not see what he wanted to show him, nor could he show him things in kind.
“Come back to me,” he’d whisper in the quiet of the night, whether in their room in Ylisstol or on watch while looking for him. “Come back to me, sunshine.”
The days continued creeping by, weeks quickly turning into months. Young Owain’s second birthday came and went, little Inigo’s and baby Cynthia’s not long after. Kjelle was born, much to the older one's disgruntlement; she wasn’t sure how to behave around her younger counterpart, despite her still being an infant. Tharja and Miriel announced their pregnancies to him on the same day, much to Chrom’s amusement, Cherche following not a month later. (Gerome found it incredibly funny that he would be older than Severa in this world. His sister had disagreed.)
Chrom was happier, even as the frustration grew. He was able to grow and live around the grief, around the hope. Robin was his main priority, of course he was, but he was living, just like he asked him to. Just like he promised he would.
He was glad they’d had the conversation, “just in case”. He didn’t feel guilty, knowing that this is what Robin wanted. Knowing that he’d be glad that Chrom was able to live without hindrance just because Robin was gone.
(If he were dead, it would be another story. But Chrom could hold on hope that he would come back, even as the years dragged on.)
So he kept searching, and kept sending people out to search. Someone was always out in Ylisse, eyes peeled for the familiar sight of their tactician. Someone was always out there, prepared to bring him home.
He’d see him again. He knows he will. He can’t lose faith in him.
After all, when has something being impossible ever stopped Robin?
The two and a half year mark comes and goes. 30 months. Chrom didn’t think he could take it anymore.
But he still went on his expeditions. Still did what was good for his citizens–they had long since realized that the lack of Robin’s appearance was not due to injury or any other such thing–and worked tirelessly to maintain good relations with their neighbors.
His last expedition was the one that hurt the most.
He barely dared let himself hope, and yet he couldn’t help it. It was himself, Frederick, and Lissa, the same group that had found him the first time, all those years ago. They were heading to Southtown, looking for a Plegian (though this time, it was a much more joyous reason than looking for a fight). But Chrom locked the feelings inside; just because the circumstances were so painfully similar doesn’t mean that fate would grant his wish.
(Lucina had told him otherwise, as she stood there to see him off. She was smiling, as if she knew something, as if she felt it too. But Morgan’s eyes were withdrawn, and she wore his coat instead of hers or even forgoing it, as she often did these days. Somehow, he felt better trusting Morgan; Lucina held out hope through everything she had been through, and it was admirable, but somehow Morgan’s dejectedness as she wished him farewell felt more realistic.)
Lissa was fidgeting more than she usually was, and even Frederick seemed restless. Chrom always was on these journeys, the impatience being worse when he was actually out looking, but Frederick was usually reserved, rarely allowing himself to let loose enough to show anything other than suspicion when he donned his armor. So maybe…
Maybe they’d find him. Maybe subconsciously, they all knew this was the one. The last one.
Lissa and he fooled around when they stopped for camp, wrestling like they had when they were children. Frederick turned a blind eye, knowing how beneficial it was for them to do such a thing–becoming a father really had changed him, Chrom thought with a chuckle.
“C’mon, let’s go help Freddy,” Lissa said when Frederick started lighting the fire, cackling as his face soured at the nickname Sumia had given him. But he didn’t tell Lissa to stop, and her joy was infectious; eventually the three of them were laughing around the fire, eating bear meat that Lissa had once despised and now admitted a fondness for.
As Chrom looked up at the stars that night, he felt light in a way that was almost unfamiliar to him.
Robin… you’ll be there, won’t you?
They packed up quickly come morning, continuing their trek, following the same paths they had taken all those years ago. Chrom couldn’t help the giddiness he felt as they approached Southtown, approached the field. He knew it would only make it worse if he was wrong, if he wasn’t there, but he couldn’t help it.
They rode through the town, smiling and waving at the residents like the royalty that they were. But Chrom’s mind couldn’t be further from the village, as he resisted the urge to push his horse faster, sprint to the field that was barely a mile away.
Eventually, they made it through, and Chrom urged his horse into a gallop, ignoring Frederick’s warning as he crossed the plains.
And there it was. A figure lying in the grass, in the exact same spot Robin had been. Chrom swallowed the emotion curling in his throat, slowing his horse and dismounting as he ran on his own two legs.
The figure’s hair was white. The shirt was the same that Robin always wore, the features were the same, skin that same beautiful umber color–
It was him.
Chrom felt tears brimming in his eyes, felt himself choking on a sob. It was him. It was him. He was home, he was finally home, they had finally found him–
He heard Lissa and Frederick dismounting, but Chrom just stood there, admiring the rise and fall of his chest, admiring the way he was there –
“He’s asleep,” Lissa murmured. “What do we do?”
“We aren’t equipped to bring him if he’s unconscious,” Frederick said.
“Well we can’t just leave him here!” Lissa cried, and Frederick put his hands up. He said something, that much Chrom was sure of, but it didn’t matter.
Robin’s eyes were open. He’d forgotten just how beautiful they were, molten caramel and the teas that Sumia preferred, deeper and richer than anything else in the world.
“There are better places to take a nap than the ground, you know,” Chrom heard himself say, the same words that he’d said the first time around. He stuck his hand out to Robin, and he grinned as he reached up to take it. Chrom pulled him up, wrapping his arms around him. “Welcome back.”
“I’m home,” Robin whispered, and there was a bit of wonder buried in that tone. Hearing his voice again, feeling him pressed against him once again, finally, finally–
“You’re home,” Chrom replied, and he felt himself begin to cry, tears leaking from his eyes. “You’re home. I finally… I finally found you.”
He sobbed on the words, tightening his grip on Robin, who threw his arms around him just as tightly, burying his face in Chrom’s shoulder.
“I’m so sorry, Chrom,” Robin said, and he was crying too, Chrom realized dully. “I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t mean to leave you–”
“Shhh,” Chrom said, almost laughing through his sobs. Of course Robin was apologizing. Of course he was, even though he was the most perfect thing in the world, even though he had done nothing wrong. “Don’t apologize, don’t you dare apologize, you didn’t do anything wrong.”
Robin didn’t reply, but Chrom heard him sob into his shoulder, and he tightened his grip on him in response. He felt Robin’s knees buckle, and he lowered them both to the ground–he was surprised he’d managed to stay standing for so long. He was still crying, too, still sobbing into Robin’s hair–so perfect, so soft, so him –and holding him close to his chest. He doubted he’d ever let him go.
“I left you,” Robin sobbed. “I left you and the girls and–”
“You’re here now, right?” Chrom asked, desperate, tightening his grip on Robin. Gods, don’t let this be a dream.
“I am,” Robin replied, laughing through his tears, as though it was the best thing that had ever happened to him. (As far as Chrom’s life goes, it was.) “I am. I’m here, I’m here, Gods, I’m here.”
Eventually, Lissa threw her arms around the two of them, and Robin looked up as Chrom did and only then did they remember that there was a world outside of the two of them. And Robin disentangled himself from Chrom and hugged Lissa, apologizing to her too even as she assured him that it was okay through tears of her own. Chrom looked on, his heart filled to bursting, watching as Frederick approached Robin and offered him a hand, which Robin took before pulling him into a hug.
Robin was home. And Chrom couldn’t be happier.
§
Robin felt it as he was brought away, but the black he saw didn’t change.
He couldn’t blink in his ghost form, couldn’t close his eyes, so his first thought was that he’d been sent to the otherworld yet again. But he couldn’t figure out why; he’d been through all of his loved ones, had he not? Every Shepherd, young and old, had been covered. So why…
But the wind was cold, he realized as it ruffled through his hair. And he thought he could hear voices, but he wasn’t quite sure; there was a ringing in his ears, one he couldn’t parse through. But his ears never rang in the otherworld; the wind had to be heard, after all.
Which meant…
“Well we can’t just leave him here!”
Lissa.
And if she was saying that, he was likely there. Present. Visible.
Physical.
His eyes flew open, and he almost started crying then and there, for Chrom was looking down at him, staring at him with all the love in the world. And there were tears in his eyes, and oh, how the guilt came rushing back with a vengeance, fighting the love that filled him from head to toe for dominance.
“There are better places to take a nap than the ground, you know.” The first words he’d ever said to him, repeated back. He was almost afraid that he’d simply been sent back in time, but Chrom hadn’t looked at him like that the first time around. With all the love and adoration in the world.
He stuck his hand out for him to take, and Robin did. He noticed that his gloves were gone, but that Grima’s mark was no longer on his skin. It worked.
But that was the least of his worries, as Chrom pulled him into a hug, strong and encouraging and loving. “Welcome back.”
“I’m home,” Robin whispered. He couldn’t quite believe it, after so long of nothingness. He could feel Chrom’s arms around him, feel the warmth of his skin, the strength of his body, hear his voice so clearly.
“You’re home,” Chrom replied. He was crying, Robin realized, and there was the guilt again, almost feeling as though it would swallow him whole. “You’re home. I finally… I finally found you.”
But those words were so filled with love. He didn’t blame him, Robin realized; he wasn’t mad. And the dam broke at that realization, and he threw his arms around Chrom and buried his face in his shoulder as the grief and guilt and love that he had locked away flooded him, coming out in gasping, ugly sobs.
“I’m so sorry, Chrom,” Robin said, and the words would never be enough, could never be enough, even as all the pain and heartache from the last however long seeped into them. “I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t mean to leave you–”
But then Chrom was shushing him, in the same adoring way he always did, beautiful and gentle and it just made Robin cry harder.
“Don’t apologize,” Chrom begged, “don’t you dare apologize, you didn’t do anything wrong.”
But he had, Gods, he had. He’d abandoned him, he’d abandoned Lucina and Morgan and little Lucy and left them alone in the aftermath of the Gods-forsaken war against what could, in some fucked-up ways, be considered himself. And as he thought more about it, more about what he did to them, he cried harder, his knees buckling. But Chrom guided them to the ground, still so unendingly gentle, as though Robin were the most precious thing in the universe. And Chrom was still crying, Robin realized with a jolt, his face buried in his hair as he held him so tightly, so lovingly. How could he tell him not to apologize, that he hadn’t done anything wrong, even though he had hurt him so clearly, so deeply?
“I left you,” Robin sobbed, and Gods, he thought the guilt would kill him as he thought of Lucina, desperately clinging to whatever she had left of him, and Morgan, burying herself in the work he had shown her how to do and the coat he had thrown her before he jumped into the fight, knowing that Frederick and Stahl and Kellam and Vaike would hold his family back so he could do what he thought so clearly that he needed to do. “I left you and the girls and–”
“You’re here now, right?” Chrom asked, desperate, tightening his grip on Robin as though he couldn't bear the thought of letting him go.
“I am,” Robin replied, laughing through his tears as reality hit him, the best dose of it he’d ever gotten. “I am. I’m here, I’m here, Gods, I’m here.”
And he buried his face back in Chrom’s shoulder, holding him closer, tighter, unable to even consider letting him go. And then there was another set of arms around him, and he turned to see Lissa, and she was crying too but he hugged her all the same, crying as he murmured repeated apologies to his little sister, the one he’d abandoned. And she told him that she forgave him, and that he shouldn’t apologize for doing what he had to do even as she choked on her tears, clinging so, so tightly to him.
And then Frederick was there, offering him a hand with a smile that was much less reserved than what Robin was used to, and Robin was wrapping him in a hug and they didn’t need to say anything, for Frederick knew he was sorry and Robin knew he was simply glad he had done what was right to protect Ylisse.
Before he knew it he was being led to their horses, getting in the saddle in front of Chrom and twisting his neck to kiss his cheek. And even such a simple action had them both tearing up again, and Robin was reminded just how lucky he was to be home.
For he was home, braced by Chrom’s arms as he turned for Ylisstol, leading Frederick and Lissa as they raced against the wind, laughter ringing out through the entirety of the journey. As they took camp–the only camp they would take, Chrom vowed, wanting to get to Ylisstol just as much as Robin did–and ate wild bear, Robin laughing as Frederick’s aversion was still so very clear, even after all these years and all the training he forced himself through during their campaigns. And oh, how good it felt to laugh, unbridled and joyous and real. When was the last time he’d been blessed with such a luxury? He couldn’t remember.
He’d laid curled against Chrom’s side that night, relief flooding him as they found themselves falling into a sense of normalcy. Feeling Chrom’s heartbeat right next to his was unendingly reassuring, something he’d never take for granted again.
He loved this man, he thought, staring up at him as sleep evaded him, joy filling him with energy he hadn’t had in a long time. (More likely, it was due to the way he hadn’t existed for two and a half years, body stockpiling energy wherever it had been. But he chose not to think about that; he could feel guilty when he was no longer tucked away, safe in Chrom’s embrace. So he closed his eyes and nestled closer and allowed himself to simply rest, away from the horrors of both this world and the next.)
They got up early the next morning, Chrom wanting to make it back to Ylisstol by midday. He was so happy, Robin thought as he watched him, as he rode with him pressed against his back. Chrom loved him, loved him deeply, and Robin loved him in return, feeling the reciprocated love etched into his body, spirit, and soul.
His love was why he was there, after all, why he had been able to come back.
What a wonderful feeling it was.
Ylisstol was thriving.
Robin felt his heart surge when he saw how bustling the town was, how well it had recovered from the dark days of war. They hadn’t stopped in any villages, skirting around them to make the best time possible, but if the capital was doing this well Robin had no doubt that Chrom was working tirelessly to ensure that the rest of the country was equally as prosperous.
They walked through the crowded streets, letting Frederick and Lissa take their horses to the stables so they could enjoy some time alone together. The feel of Chrom’s hand in his was even better than he remembered, with his thumb drawing simple patterns on the back of Robin’s hand. The citizens stopped and waved to Chrom, some doubling back when they saw Robin beside him; he wasn’t sure what, if anything, the citizens had been told, but eventually he heard his name whispered in excited disbelief as eyes followed him.
And yet, he didn’t feel the need to hide. He just smiled and waved, equally as giddy as he had been on his and Chrom’s wedding day, all those many, many years ago. He got smiles back, saw children jumping in their excitement at having been acknowledged by him. His happiness felt as though it were overflowing, doubly so when they came into view of the castle gates.
He and Chrom came up to it all too slowly, even with Robin pulling him along. He was home; he was really, truly home, and it was the best thing he had ever experienced, hand in hand with his husband as he was finally, finally home.
The gates were open by the time they got to them, and Robin waved to the guards with a grin. They waved back, happiness and relief relaxing their shoulders as they did so.
The Exalt’s consort was home.
Home. What a funny word, Robin thought in the back of his mind. This was the most he’d ever thought about it, the most he’d ever uttered the word. But that only added to his excitement.
Gods, it was good to be back. It was good to be alive.
They ran into the entrance hall, Robin pulling Chrom along. Chrom was laughing, warm and loud and bright, the same way he always had. He shared in his husband’s excitement; it was the first time since the second war that they were in the castle together.
Cynthia is the first of the Shepherds they see, coming down the hallway and stopping short with wide eyes when she processed what she saw in front of her.
“ Robin!” she screeched, and before he knew it, the pegasus knight was barrelling towards him, and he let go of Chrom’s hand to meet her in a hug, laughing bright and cheery. “Oh my Gods, you’re back, you’re back!”
“I’m back!” Robin repeated, still laughing. She pulled away, her eyes shining.
“Oh my gods, I have to tell Mother, and the others!” she said, already bouncing as she thought about it. “Oh, and Morgan’s going to be so–”
“Don’t tell Morgan,” Robin said, and he saw Chrom’s brows furrow in sync with Cynthia’s. “I want to surprise her and Lucina.”
Cynthia brightened once again, this time with a mischievous air. “Oh, okay!”
Before Robin could process anything else, she was already gone, running down the hall. No doubt he’d soon be swarmed, but he would take the initiative, too.
He turned a corner, grabbing Chrom’s hand again as he went. He was calmer, now, though he could still feel the excitement thrumming through him, putting an almost uncharacteristic bounce in his step.
Next was Stahl and an unexpectedly emotional Sully, who spat out threats as she hugged him, demanding that he never pull a stunt like that again. He agreed easily, happily, because of course he did. He arguably hated it more than anyone else did.
Next was Sumia, who found him quickly and ran into his arms, babbling about how happy she was that he was home. She pulled away after a moment, talking about Lucy–“she’s growing up so fast, she’s going to be so happy to see you”–and hugging him again before letting him go.
Owain, Severa, and Kjelle were arguing about something as they walked down a hallway. It hit him just how much time had passed when he saw them; Severa’s hair was braided down her back, and Kjelle’s had grown past her shoulders. None of them were wearing armor, another shock to his system, with Severa and Kjelle both in sundresses.
Severa noticed him first of the three, and he smiled and waved at her. She stopped short, not quite believing her eyes, and when Owain noticed and followed her line of sight, he dropped the box that he had been carrying.
“Uncle Robin!” he yelled, and then he was racing down the hallway, almost tripping over the rug. He stopped in front of him, eyes wide and smile disbelieving. “Holy shit, you’re back! I mean, not that I ever doubted you, legend that you are, but–but you’re back!”
“It’s a wonder you can function at all,” Kjelle said, giving him a once-over as she followed him. She then turned to Robin, smiling. “It’s good to have you back.”
“It’s good to be back,” Robin replied, smiling.
“I’d hope so, after all this time,” Severa said, rolling her eyes. Good to know some things never change, he thought, though he knew she was happy to see him.
“Oh, Inigo and Lucina are gonna be so happy to see you,” Owain said. “They’re in the training grounds, when you’re ready.”
“Of course they are,” Chrom sighed, shaking his head. Robin gave him a quizzical look, but he waved it off; later, Robin figured.
Miriel and Virion were thankful to see him, and Vaike had been excited even as Nowi cried with how relieved she was that he was home (it would come out within the week that she was pregnant with Nah). Tharja had been disbelieving when she’d seen him, Lon’qu relieved. Noire, Nah, and Yarne had been excited, Yarne rambling about how much he’d missed him and how glad he was that he wasn’t dead.
Henry had been excited to see him, handing baby Owain (who had been on his hip) to Chrom so he could hug Robin, but also asked about his time away with almost eerie intrigue, fascinated by the answers Robin gave.
“Do you think your body is different, since it dissolved after you defeated Grima and then you didn’t have one until recently?” he asked, cheerful as always even as the question made Robin’s skin crawl.
“I’m… not sure,” Robin said, furrowing his brow as he looked at his hand. It was a fair question, but not one that he was prepared to find the answer to.
“That’s okay! We’ve got plenty of time to figure it out,” Henry said. He then took Owain back and walked away, leaving Robin to watch his retreating back.
“I forgot how weird he was,” Robin said, though there was still affection in his tone. Chrom laughed, shaking his head.
“Lissa will make sure he doesn’t do anything too crazy,” Chrom said.
“Reassuring.”
Laurent had dropped the books he’d been holding when he saw Robin, though quickly attempted to regain his composure. Robin held back his laughter to be polite, but the moment they were out of earshot he had chuckled. “He really does take after both of them,” Robin said, and Chrom agreed with a smile.
Brady burst into tears almost immediately after seeing Robin, wrapping him in a tighter hug than he was anticipating. Olivia had practically tackled him, yelling at him for putting them through that until Kellam–he was even easier to miss without his armor, good gods–pulled her away with a smile, expressing his own gratitude that he’d returned. Gaius handed him a lollipop, Maribelle scolding both of them (though Robin had seen the tears that she rapidly blinked away). Cordelia had practically crushed him, and Libra praised the gods for bringing him back as Panne threw a smile his way (which, if he was honest with himself, was more than he expected). Gregor had clapped him on the back hard enough that Chrom had to grab his arm so he wouldn’t go flying, and Cherche and Gerome had both expressed how grateful they were that he had returned, even if Gerome had just agreed with his mother’s words. (Robin had long since become accustomed to his quiet nature, and hoped that he never felt pressured to speak around him.) Ricken had jumped at the sight of him, practically bouncing with his excitement.
As much as Robin loved them all, he was relieved when he had crossed everyone off the list. He didn’t have to worry about being interrupted, now, as he went to find his daughters.
Lucina was first, as he knew where she was. He and Chrom made their way to the training grounds, and Robin smiled when he saw Inigo and Lucina sparring. Their fighting styles were mesmerizing on their own, with Lucina’s speed and Inigo’s grace, but watching them spar had always brought a smile to his face.
It was a nice reintroduction to them, he supposed.
Inigo noticed him first, seeing him out of the corner of his eye before doubling back, eyes widening. Robin had to bite his lip to keep himself from giggling as he pressed a finger to his lips, and Inigo nodded slightly before returning his attention to Lucina.
“Are they still together?” Robin whispered, leaning over to Chrom.
“I think Inigo intends to propose,” Chrom replied. But instead of the worry he’d expressed at the beginning of their suspicions (no doubt thanks to Inigo’s reputation), there was affection. It warmed Robin's heart, and he turned back to the match in front of them.
Lucina backed up before running at Inigo with a yell, catching his ankle with her foot and sweeping him to the ground. He tried to salvage his position, but ultimately failed, falling over and panting with a smile as Lucina stood over him.
“Best out of three?” Lucina asked, offering a hand to Inigo. Inigo glanced at Robin before taking it, and Robin just shrugged. He wanted to see what Inigo would choose to do.
“I think there’s something you need to see, first,” Inigo said, looking at Robin as though trying to figure out if it was okay. But Robin wasn’t paying attention to him, focused on Lucina as she frowned at Inigo before following his line of sight.
She dropped the training sword she was holding as her face slackened, and she clapped a hand to her mouth.
“Papa?” she whispered, and Robin nodded, smiling.
“I’m back,” he said.
And just like that she was in his arms, crying into his shoulder as he held her, and oh, how he longed for this. Longed to be able to comfort her, hold her, nurture her.
“You’re real,” Lucina murmured, laughing. “You’re really here.”
“I am,” Robin confirmed, tightening his grip on her. “I’m here. I’m right here, Lucina, I promise.”
Robin felt tears spring to his eyes as she kept crying, though he made no move to stop them. There was no point trying to hide how much this impacted him; this was his family.
“I’m sorry I left,” Robin murmured. “I’m so, so sorry I abandoned you like that.”
“You didn’t abandon me,” Lucina said, pulling away. She was smiling, even as she wiped at her eyes. “You killed the monster that haunted my nightmares. That–that isn’t abandonment.”
And Robin felt the tears flow faster then, hugging Lucina closer again. He hadn’t thought of it like that, and yet it made perfect sense. Because that’s exactly what he did, even if it took a while to return to her in the aftermath, even if he wasn’t there to soothe the lingering nightmares and fears.
But Chrom was, he supposed. And neither of them had been there for her in her first timeline, through no fault of their own. So maybe this was the best outcome after all; maybe killing Grima had been worth it, even if it meant missing some of his family's life.
And he was here now, as Chrom pointed out.
Lucina pulled away, eventually, smiling wider than he’d seen in a very long time.
“Do you want to see Lucy? Your Lucina, I mean,” Lucina asked. And Robin smiled before nodding; he’d like nothing better. And so Lucina led him through the winding hallways, and he could hear Inigo and Chrom whispering about something behind him.
He wasn’t prepared for just how big she’d gotten.
She’d still been an infant when he’d left, but now she toddled over to Lucina when the door opened, a bright grin on her face.
“Cina!” she yelled, and Lucina laughed brightly.
“Yeah, it’s me!” she said, leaning down and picking Lucy up. “But I brought someone with me. Do you wanna see him?”
“Yeah!” Lucy said, so enthusiastic despite still being so small.
Lucina turned to Robin, and her smile was so bright, so genuine. “It’s Papa!”
Lucy looked at him with curiosity, and a pang of guilt and grief ran through him. Of course she wouldn’t recognize him; she’d been just a few months old when he left.
But after a moment she reached out, and Lucina passed her to him. And as he held her, she giggled, and smiled so brightly at him.
“Papa!”
And Robin held her close to his chest, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Yeah,” he said, his voice soft. “Yeah. I’m Papa.”
He felt a hand on his back, but he didn’t have to look to know that it was Chrom. He saw Lucina slip out of the room, and heard footsteps going down the corridor, but his focus was trained exclusively on Lucy. She was babbling about something, and he heard himself agreeing with her at appropriate intervals.
It wasn’t too late. He was still a part of her life; he was still her Papa. And he’d do his damned best to be a good one.
It took him longer than he would have liked to track down Morgan.
He eventually found her curled in his coat in the library, tucked away in the reading nook he preferred. She looked so peaceful, with her legs up on the bench as she looked between the window and what he suspected was her sketchbook; he almost didn’t want to disturb her. But he also didn’t want her to go without him any longer than she had to, and so he walked up to her, hoping that his footsteps were enough to catch her attention.
She finally looked up when he was a few feet away, eyes widening as her shoulders dropped. Robin smiled at her, already feeling tears pricking his eyes; he’d become familiar with that feeling after today.
“Papa,” she said. It wasn’t a question; she believed what she saw, but tears were already rolling down her cheeks as she looked at him. “They found you.”
“They found me,” Robin confirmed. He hesitantly opened his arms, and she scrambled to stand, putting her sketchbook and pencil down and collapsing into his arms. “I’m so sorry I left you, Morgan.”
Morgan didn’t respond, she just clung to him, grip tighter than he thought possible as she buried her face in his chest. She wept quietly but forcefully, little hiccupping sobs escaping every so often.
“You came back,” Morgan whispered eventually, and Robin tightened his grip around her.
“Of course I came back,” he said, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “I will always come back for you.”
And as Morgan pulled away, smiling up at him through her tears, Robin decided that everything he had been through, everything he had put himself through, was worth it if he could hold his daughter close and reassure her that he would always find his way back to her.
Don’t take my sunshine away indeed, Chrom.