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“Thank you, Chrom. For...everything... Tell the others...my last thoughts were of them... May we meet again, in a better life...”
And just like that, she vanished, leaving nothing behind but her tattered cloak and her wedding ring.
“Robin! No! Ah gods, no!” Chrom cried as he fell to his knees, Falchion falling upon Grima’s back with a loud thud. The familiar cloth seemed simply ethereal with the way it lay in his grasp—it was light, cold, and lacked the body that kept its form. She was gone…Robin had left their world, and there was no way to bring her back. Lucina and Morgan, they were too far away to have seen what just happened before his eyes. Chrom’s wife, their mother, sacrificed herself for their future.
“It is time. The Fell Dragon has been defeated. You must return to solid ground before the remains fall to the earth.”
Naga’s voice echoed within the young lord’s mind, a warning that everyone else would see death had they not prepared themselves for her to transport them to safety. Chrom wasn’t ready to let go, he wasn’t ready to say ‘goodbye’. He never was.
When he lay with his tactician the night before, she promised him that she wouldn’t sacrifice herself. When they made love, for the last time, he pleaded for her to stay with him. He pleaded for her to let him deal the final blow to Grima. He kissed her all over and whispered to her how much she meant to him, not as a tactician, but as the love of his life—his other half. She complied, reassuring him that they would just put Grima back to sleep…
She lied. All that Chrom could muster out of the situation was that his wife, his best friend, his tactician, and his other half had lied right through her teeth. She shoved him out of the way at the very last second and struck Grima down, killing herself in the process. How could someone he loved so dearly, who birthed him their only child, who vowed to stay loyal and devoted to him lie right to his face?
“Milord!” Frederick called out, his voice wavering as he noticed Robin’s cloak within his master’s hands, “M-milord…we must hurry.”
Yet Chrom kept his vow of silence. He wouldn’t speak until he had to, until he had to face the Shepherds and tell them of Robin’s sacrifice. He would have to stand there with a prideful smile and embody the essence of hope…hope that Robin would return to their world once more.
The news hit each Shepherd hard, some harder than others. While Chrom assured that Robin had strong ties with everyone and that she might return to their world, nearly everyone had their doubts. There were no remains, her body itself was destroyed in the process. Naga was all-powerful, but no one, not even Libra, could believe that human flesh could materialize after an impact such as that. It was a hard bit of reality to swallow, but many accepted her death quickly…
Except for one particular soul, a young man with hair like his father but eyes and a face just like his mother. Dressed head to toe like the hero-tactician, the young man heard his father’s report, and instantly he lashed out with a weak cry. Tears stained the young man’s countenance as he screamed out to the heavens, right in the middle of his father’s speech.
“Mother…!”
Chrom heard the young man’s voice and stopped mid-sentence. His son, his youngest, and the one person in the realm who would attempt to rival his own affections towards Robin. At such a tender age, the young man lost his mother, apparently for the second time. Chrom had to stay strong for his men, but deep down he only wished he could weep the way his son from a different time did. If only he could embrace Morgan and cry with him, pleading for Naga to return the woman they loved back to their world. But there was nothing he could do but grit his teeth and talk over the young man’s screeching.
“No! Not again! I won’t accept that she’s gone! She’s not gone!”
Gods how Chrom wanted to calm his son, though the anger bubbling within his own chest only begged for him to tell his son to quiet himself. But he couldn’t, for he knew how much Robin meant to the young man. Morgan was a child in war…he shouldn’t have been fighting in the first place, yet there he stood, covered in the blood of previously slain Grimleal with tears staining his visage.
It was then that Chrom had to numb himself—all of his feelings of sorrow, fury, infidelity…they all had to be pushed aside, for his sake and the halidom’s. No one would see him as a true hero if he broke down in front of his men, or if he called to his youngest to cease his mourning. He would allow for Morgan to lament—he was the only one who really could. With a bitter smile, Chrom faced his troops one last time, and with a prideful, booming voice he cried out,
“My fellow men and women at arms, though we lost our tactician and our queen today, we must never forget Robin’s sacrifice. Now our children, our children’s children, and generations to come can live in harmony knowing that Grima will never awaken. Now that evil no longer looms over our world, let us take time to cultivate our lives, our families, and a new, hopefully lifelong era of peace to come.”
Still, it was as if his words had fallen on Morgan’s deaf ears. All of the other Shepherds applauded him, some muttering that a time of celebration was upon them, and that kegs of ale should be prepared at once. Had Chrom slain Grima himself, maybe he would have taken a moment to enjoy such a celebration…
Alas, the march back to camp allowed for his emotions to marinate. The once prideful posture he carried dissipated to a sorrowful slump in his shoulders. Falchion’s scabbard continued to gently tap his thigh with each step he took, and by no means did he even have the energy to hold the blade steady at the hilt—he needed to feel its movement, lest he truly believe that his entirety went completely numb. No hand held his, no set of tanned and toned arms snaked around that of his own, and not a single phrase left a Shepherd that sounded remotely like the woman he fell in love with. The mementos she left behind were minimal, and it would only take days for her scent to finally dissipate from her cloak. That wonderful feminine smell of lavender and vanilla would be nothing more than a dream to him, and he couldn’t bear to even consider having her belongings torn from their shelves back in Ylisstol.
Chrom’s mourning completely contrasted with his son’s. In the back, dragging his feet, Morgan continued to openly weep for his mother. His friends, they were off with their families—their full, happy families, glued together with life and love. But Morgan had nothing…his father lead the march by himself, and Lucina walked ahead of him, most likely in frustration. She didn’t show a single tear nor did she speak a single word upon hearing of her mother’s sacrifice. Morgan was aware that she had hoped Robin would make the sacrifice, for it ensured her and all the others in this realm a safe future.
“It’s not fair.” He muttered between sobs, “Gods, it’s not fair…”
Back at camp, the somber mood soon dissipated. The celebrations began—a realm at peace was certainly worth the libations. There was cheering, singing, and even a bit of dancing (at least between Olivia and her philanderer of a son). Everyone congratulated Chrom on his success—he was to begin his exalted rule over a peaceful and passive halidom, just like Emmeryn had done beforehand. The Shepherds could finally dissolve to tend to their families, to nurture their newborns without the fear of Grima looming above them. The children from the future-past wept with joy, for their younger selves were promised something they could never achieve.
But the exalted family was in shambles.
Chrom stood alone by the fire, keeping a vow of sobriety in honor of his late wife. He had nothing to truly celebrate; the halidom was at peace, yes, but at what cost? It lost its queen, the other half of the exalt. Lucina would grow up without a mother, and Morgan…would never exist. Chrom would never be able to truly live the dream of holding his first-born son in his arms. Just the thought of Morgan…of Lucina…even if they were in their own separate corners of the camp, Chrom could only envision their countenances. Lucina had Robin’s almond-shaped eyes, pointed chin, and beautifully sculptured nose. Morgan had his mother’s honey-amber gaze and her smile, though he certainly took after Chrom with his hair and his facial structure. Both of them, together, were the embodiment of the woman he came to love, nay, outright adore in every aspect. Seeing their faces at this time…it would only weaken his will to keep a straight face. So, the lord continued to fumble with her ring in his hand, twin to his own which was safely kept underneath his heavy grey gloves. The fire caused the gold to shimmer like new, reminding him of the day he placed it upon her thin and delicate ring finger. He remembered the way she smiled, how her rosy cheeks reflected nothing but love and adoration for his being. It was the day that their two halves became whole—the happiest day of the young man’s life.
“…why did you lie to me, my love?”
Chrom saw to his own tent for the rest of the evening. No one would know that the lord lay on his bedroll, his body entangled in his wife’s cloak and the rims of his eyes reddened with sorrow. A soft sob would escape him, nothing that could be heard past the thick layer of canvas that was his tent. He needed to cry—Chrom had to let his emotions flow, no longer could he allow his chest to burn with regret in not mourning his wife’s death. She left him a widower, a man to raise a little girl all by himself. The fact that she trusted him enough to do such a thing on his own was foolish, but he would nurture Lucina with as much love as two parents. Robin would have wanted it that way.
“I miss you.” Another sob escaped the exalt’s throat before he buried his face into the hood, where her scent was the strongest, “Ah…Gods, Robin, I miss you so much…”
Morgan wept in his tent, louder than usual. It was wrong to run, Robin always taught him to face his fears with a smile. So long as they existed in reality, nothing ever had a 100% chance of winning, there was always a weakness. The darkness had a weakness. Grima had a weakness. However, Morgan felt that the realm to which Robin was cast into was impenetrable. There was no way to bring her back; it wasn’t reality, it was a realm that went by a completely different set of logical rules.
“Mother…mother!”
“Morgan…”
Lucina had pulled his tent flaps apart and watched him as he wailed into his pillow. The surrounding Shepherds could hear him, and it would have been a lie to say that no one had worried for the young prince. Quickly, Morgan sat up, pillow still within his grasp for security,
“Luci…Lucina…” he wiped the snot from his nose, “Gods…Gods, she’s gone.”
“I know.” Her tone was dry—it had to be. That’s all that she could muster up. She raised the morale of her brethren when Grima attacked once, and that same demeanor carried over as she tried to keep both her father and brother level-headed. Morgan noticed this, yet due to his lack of understanding his brow furrowed in confusion,
“How can you stand there so calmly? How can you be so distant? You haven’t bothered to speak to me once since….since….since father-”
“She made the right choice, Morgan.” She explained, “Robin…mother…she did this for us. She did this to make sure that this realm could be safe for our upbringing-”
“Your upbringing,” he shot back, “yeah, that’s right, your upbringing. You are back in Ylisstol, as a baby. Your younger self exists…”
Lucina’s eyes narrowed, her breath hitched as Morgan continued to speak,
“…I don’t exist. Mother and Father were too busy fighting the war to have me. It’s not like back in…your time.” He grit his teeth to stifle a sob, though it was unsuccessful for tears once again poured from his dimmed eyes.
“Morgan….Morgan, I’m sorry-”
“Don’t!” he yelped, “Don’t even stand there and try to think that what she did was OK! You still get to exist in this realm! Mother killed herself for you! Had…Had we not shown up, I could have had a chance!”
“You’re speaking in nonsense, Morgan.” She refused to raise her voice at her little brother, “You know that mother not having you in this realm doesn’t affect you in the slightest. We’re from a different time and we have our own lives. The other me…I can’t do anything for her. It’s just her and father, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”
Morgan continued to glare at her through his watery gaze,
“What? Would you have liked to see father have to raise two children without his wife? How…how selfish. Just so you could see your smaller-self grow…that’s not what any of this is about, Morgan. You must understand that had mother not made her sacrifice, the outcome would have been the same. You would have watched yourself grow, yes…but only to see yourself and all of us die again. And if not us, our grandchildren, or their children. Grima would have returned all because of a selfish choice. You and I both know that…As a son of the exalt, one who carries the brand as well, you should know that self-sacrifice is the trait of a true hero.”
“I wouldn’t know that.” Morgan grumbled, “I wouldn’t know that because I don’t remember any of it. Whatever you’re spouting at me must have been something father told you. I only…know mother. I only know the woman who was taken from me!”
It was no use, Morgan refused to accept that his mother’s choice was with him and everyone else in mind. He refused to see it as something wondrous; rather, a punishment.
“Don’t…speak to me again.” A low murmur left the young man’s throat, “Leave me alone, Luci.”
She couldn’t. For once, the young princess from the fallen future showed an ounce of affection, pure affection. She dropped her paralleled Falchion and fell to her knees, embracing her little brother despite him groaning at her touch. She never had the chance to do such a thing in her time—by the time the world went to hell, Morgan had vanished. She never knew where he went, and it was safe to assume that this Morgan might not have been her direct little brother. Her real brother might have been dead, or captured by the Grimleal. Still, she would treat the boy who shared her hair, her face, her eyes, and her brand like they were from the same womb.
“…So, stay determined as you grow, love as you go…” Though her voice was hoarse from battle, Lucina was able to sing a gentle tune to calm her brother. A lullaby that she recalled, one that Robin sang to her when she was a child. It comforted her in the darkest of hours, and she had only hoped that Morgan’s Robin sang him the same tune.
“…Think of the kindness that I've shared, and cherish those who care…” He muttered.
Holding him closer, Lucina allowed for a few stray tears to linger upon her visage.
Together, they sang,
“Even when we're worlds apart, stay in my heart. Someday you'll have a choice to make, I hope that you'll be good….”
Please, be good. Just be good