Chapter Text
There was one word Robin never expected to hear in his lifetime, and so certain of that he probably would have wagered his book collection. And everyone knew Robin loved those books like the son he would never have.
Correction: like the son he didn't think was possible. Until today.
The moment Chrom, Robin and a handful of Shepherds entered the mystery gate that had appeared after their dramatic rescue of the Chon'sin Princess Say'ri at Valm harbor, they knew there was something different.
"It appears to be a fragment of corrupted space-time," Miriel had observed stoically.
The very idea of someone lost in time gave Robin the shivers, yet the boy they had found there wasn't some traumatized youth trapped in the bleak confines of a lost world. He was impossibly cheerful. Or simply impossible.
Even more so when that pale-haired boy in a tactician's cloak had spotted Robin and shouted, "Dad!"
Robin’s memory of that place was a dreadful haze but he had scarcely found time enough to parse those fragments. Presently the Shepherds marched deeper into Valmese territory while the boy, who called himself Morgan, rode beside Robin's horse with bountiful energy and a never ending stream of questions:
"How do you stop a cavalry charge with only infantry?"
"What do you do with falcon knights if it's raining?"
"Do you suppose the older you is somewhere out there looking for me? Maybe I should stay in one place, you always told me to do that if I was lost. But maybe I'm not lost since you're here!"
Robin rubbed his temples, exhausted with the boy and it was barely noon. Morgan had been riding in their company for two days now and Robin was no closer to figuring out what to do with him. Meanwhile Chrom was strangely attached to the boy already.
"Morgan! Come ride beside me," Chrom called from the frontline. "I need someone to tell me where to look out for ambushes!"
The boy was delighted. "I have more questions Dad so be prepared later!" Then he jaunted forward on his borrowed horse, courtesy of Lissa, and caught up to Chrom. Robin sighed.
"It seems milord has taken a shine to the boy," Frederick remarked, pulling alongside Robin's dappled mount. "I think he's reminded of the day we found you."
"No one seems to recall that the boy came from a mysterious gate. Am I the only one who is the least bit wary?" Robin shook his head.
Frederick stifled a laugh. "I thought being wary was my job?"
Robin's eyes narrowed. "Funny. You know what I mean. This is hostile territory, and the boy claims to be my son?"
"How is that different than Lady Lucina's arrival? She is Chrom's daughter from an unwritten future. I recall you becoming her advocate when Chrom didn't want to accept her as his kin." A select few knew who Lucina really was; Frederick was one of them.
"Traitorous facts," Robin muttered. "Allow me my suspicions then."
Frederick didn't bother trying to smother an amused smile. "Very well. I'm surprised you're not more open to this. We know Lucina came from an alternate timeline of our world, and while she doesn’t recognize Morgan that could be because he’s from a different future."
Robin didn’t agree but he couldn’t place exactly what his reasoning was. He didn’t point out to Frederick that Lucina had arrived in their world as one of Naga’s chosen. An exalted hero. Morgan, if he was truly Robin's future son, was likely not in Naga's favor. Robin stretched his right hand--the one with Grima's ugly brand--wondering if Morgan had one as well. Lucina had proven her heritage as a daughter of heroes with Naga's brand. If the boy was his future son (never mind that the notion seemed all but impossible given Robin's lack of interest in anyone but Chrom) then he could be marked by Grima.
He could be a servant of Grima.
Robin had no idea what Morgan’s world had been like. From Lucina they had learned her world became a mountain of corpses when Grima appeared, and the dragon’s branded acolytes were harbingers of his destruction. No one bearing the fell dragon's mark was to be trusted. That included Robin, though none of the Shepherds agreed.
Robin watched Chrom laugh heartily at something Morgan said, the boy nearly falling off his horse with excitement. Chrom wouldn't approve of Robin's doubt but someone had to maintain the presence of mind to proceed with caution. And the usual suspects weren't up to the task it seemed.
So it was up to Robin.
* * * * * *
On the third evening of their march, Chrom and Robin retired to their tent while Morgan bunked with Ricken, who was elated to have the company of another boy his own age. At least Robin assumed the two were close in age. He hadn't asked Morgan's date of birth because the issue of Morgan's mother was an admittedly troubling subject. Fortunately Morgan claimed he didn't remember much of his past. Convenient timing, but Robin supposed he of all people shouldn't villainize the boy's amnesia.
"And you know what he said?" Chrom continued, "I don't sea it! I was in tears I tell you!"
Robin hummed noncommittally.
"You haven't heard a word have you?" Chrom frowned.
"See, sea...I get it."
Chrom furrowed his brow. "Okay what's the deal with you and Morgan? I think you spend more time avoiding the boy than anyone else here.” And you’re his father. Robin knew that’s what Chrom wanted to say.
"I'm just not sold on the idea I have a son quite yet,” Robin revealed. Personally, he didn’t think he would ever accept the boy.
Chrom responded with a complex smile, somehow both sympathetic and disappointed. "How can you not be? He's so cute, like a less worldly version of you! All curiosity and wide smiles."
Robin, dressing for bed, paused. "You're way too attached Chrom."
"Why? He looks so much like you, he even has that same scary intellect. Of course I'm attached." Chrom beamed like a proud parent. It was depressing to see Chrom so elated by something Robin wished didn’t exist.
Robin frowned. "And you aren't the least bit suspicious?"
"Lucina said there might be other children," Chrom replied matter-of-fact. He struck a match for the oil lantern beside their shared cot. The new flame conjured shadows that danced over the interior of their tent. "She doesn't remember Morgan but that just might mean he came from some other future, you know?" Frederick had said as much yesterday and the notion sounded no less dangerous from Chrom.
Robin, still shirtless, sat down. "I hate time travel. Nothing but one giant paradox if you ask me."
Chrom’s hands settled on Robin’s narrow shoulders, fingers gentle but firm. "When has anything in our lives been easy?"
Robin's concerned gaze beseeched Chrom's common sense. "Just promise me you will be careful with your words around him. We're in Valmese territory, surrounded by enemies, not to mention you-know-what looming on the horizon before us."
Chrom suppressed a laugh. "You-know-what?"
"I hate saying his name aloud," Robin confessed with a bitter sigh. After their meeting with King Validar, the Grimleal sorcerer who was mysteriously back from the dead, the frequency of Robin's nightmares increased. Grima waited beyond the shadows and Robin fervently hoped he wasn't part of the dark dragon's revival. Unfortunately that optimism felt more like naïveté with each passing day.
Chrom huffed empathetically before joining Robin on their too-narrow cot. "Alright, I will be careful."
Satisfied, Robin returned to the task of dressing for bed. Chrom stopped him with a look--the sort of look that broke walls and melted hearts--before wordlessly shuttering the lantern. They didn't talk after that, slow kisses in the dark accompanied by the first pattering rain to hit Valmese soil since they had arrived.
******
It was still raining by morning. The paths between tents were muddy trenches and, though it wasn't yet cold enough for snow, slurried ice bogged every puddle by first light. Morgan was disgustingly cheerful even with mud splashed up to his shoulders and eyes shrouded by a soggy hood. As Robin navigated icy tracks towards the dining tent, Morgan bounced alongside like a wet, delighted frog.
"Do you think Cordelia is making oat porridge today? I love it with molasses and chopped walnuts! It's so comforting during storms like this. In fact I remember eating nothing else for a week during one snowstorm that left us stranded in a training cabin. You didn't want to ever see another bowl again after that!" The boy's laughter rang like a bell.
Robin didn't hate porridge, but Morgan's careless reveal of something yet unwritten put him on edge. "I don't think you should talk about my future self anymore. I'm not him and I don't appreciate the comparison."
Morgan stopped in his tracks, eyes shifting to mud-caked boots. "Oh," he said in a small voice. "I didn't mean--"
"I'm not your father no matter how much you want it to be true," Robin stated, every bit as cold as the rain pouring from a steel sky. He didn't look back as he entered the makeshift mess house, and when Morgan didn't follow he presumed the boy went off to annoy someone else.
The army was positioned in a valley below a mountain road leading to the Divine Tree, avoiding the higher elevations until the storm passed. That meant "Camp Muddy Wallow," as it was affectionately named, was home for the time being. It wasn’t the worst thing to happen since they embarked on their quest to rid Valm of ‘The Conqueror,” but Robin suspected the delay was giving Walhart time to marshal his forces. However there was nothing he could do about that until they reached Naga’s Voice at the Mila Tree.
It was still raining later that day when Chrom had finally learned of Robin's harsh treatment of Morgan. He confronted Robin in their tent. "I can't believe you said that to him! Morgan's only a boy and he idolizes you!"
Wrapped in a blanket at his desk, Robin slowly brought his nose out of a yellowed book and countered, "What I said was no worse than what you said to Lucina."
Chrom sniffed defensively. "That's different and you know it. Morgan hasn't done a damn thing to earn your ire."
Robin dramatically slammed his book shut. "Have you stopped to think I don't want to be his father? I never considered it a possibility and now I'm suddenly supposed to be one to a boy I hardly know?"
"No one said you have to raise him!" Chrom shouted, incensed. "You just listen to him. He isn't asking you for anything other than your time! It's something every child deserves."
"And what gives you the right to judge my actions?" Robin sneered. "You rejected your own daughter Lucina for months!"
Chrom's shoulders shook with something akin to fury and Robin's resolve shattered when he saw something in the man's eyes. "Don't you get it? These children are all grown up, properly raised by alternate versions of us that no longer exist. It isn't our job to raise them, but it should be our job to comfort them." He turned away from Robin and pushed open the rain-soaked flap to their tent. A grey drizzle continued outside. "Their world was broken and they are helping us keep this one from a similar fate. We’re allies at the very least and you’re treating him like the enemy."
Even though Robin knew Chrom was being sensible he couldn't help but hear hypocrisy in his lover's words. "You realize you're countering the very same position you took against me when Lucina joined the Shepherds."
Chrom shook his head and looked away. "I finally see the value of your wisdom then." He let the flap fall heavily, leaving Robin alone with his thoughts and the steady drum of rainfall. Of course Chrom wouldn't see reason. Morgan had already wormed his way into Chrom’s heart simply because he looked like Robin.
Robin stood from his chair and pushed the rain-soaked flap aside, staring out across a muddied field. Someone had to find out if the boy had an agenda, and Robin wasn't going to get anywhere being Morgan's friend, much less the boy’s surrogate father. He needed the boy to remain guarded in his presence--the stress of maintaining secrets often became a slippery slope of tells and Robin was determined to learn what Morgan knew about Grima's revival.
His chance came when the rain finally stopped.
* * * * * *
It was early, too early for the camp to awaken for the day. Robin had just awoken in a sweat from a nightmare, the same nightmare since they had departed Plegia, and he stepped outside for fresh air. Above him wispy clouds swathed a cold pendant moon and stars winked from the black, somehow appearing more distant than their Ylissean counterparts. The damp night was cold against his sweat-soaked skin and just when Robin was about to return to the warmth of Chrom's sleeping body he saw a shadow slip behind a dark stand of pines on the outskirts of camp. It could have been an animal--there had been tracks from wolves, deer, and bear in the valley--but Robin's gut told him something else was out there.
He donned his heavy cloak--Arcthunder tome strapped neatly inside--and silently tracked the moving shadow as it passed beneath low-hanging branches and stepped over silver puddles of ice. The figure was definitely human and Robin wondered if he was just following Gaius on one of his nightly sweeps. Then the shadow stepped into the moonlit valley and Robin recognized Morgan's cloak, the one that was a twin to his own.
More undeniable proof came as Morgan slowly lowered his hood, revealing pale hair matted against a round, boyish face. Robin unlatched the bindings around his tome, though he had no idea if he was going to actually use it, and clung to the shadow of a boulder. He could see Morgan's profile but little else beyond the voluminous folds of the boy's cloak. For long moments Morgan stared up at the moon, arms limp at his sides and body motionless amid serenading crickets and the far-away hooting of an owl.
Robin instantly suspected the boy waited for a clandestine meeting, perhaps with a Valmese faction or a Grimleal spy from Plegia. Even a third party Robin hadn't considered seemed more plausible than the boy quietly standing under the night sky humming an eerily somber tune. Long moments stretched into an hour, perhaps more, until Robin could no longer feel the tips of his fingers flexed against his tome. It appeared Morgan wasn't interested in leaving anytime soon and he didn't seem to be waiting for anyone either, so Robin took action.
"It's always suspicious when someone leaves camp alone in the middle of the night. Even more suspicious when they do so to practice something as innocent as humming."
Morgan's whistling tune died before he turned around, showing none of the shock Robin had anticipated. Then Morgan glanced at the magical tome between Robin’s fingers. His countenance morphed into resignation right before Robin's eyes.
"I was kinda hoping you would be different here," the boy enigmatically replied.
Robin was caught off guard, inelegantly countering, "What?"
"I will still follow you of course. You're my dad..." Morgan continued, crestfallen. "It was stupid to think things could be different.” The boy looked squarely at Robin, a range of emotions skittering across his face. “Your eyes are the same as his afterall."
Robin didn’t know what Morgan hedged. "You're talking about my older self."
Morgan winced. "I'm sorry I compared you to him again." The boy looked afraid for the first time since he joined the Shepherds. Robin, for all his distrust, didn't want the boy to fear him.
"Look..." Robin stepped forward. "I'm not angry at you really. I'm just--I never pictured myself a father and then you arrived and suddenly I'm expected to be one," he explained resting a hand on his chest. "Surely you can understand how difficult it is accepting all of this. I’m actually surprised you are so ready to have me take your father’s place. Don’t you miss him at all?"
Morgan gave a tiny nod but still had a haunted look in his eyes. He said nothing.
"How about we start over, hmm? Put everything behind us and move forward," Robin offered, genial but a little distant. He wasn't ready to accept Morgan as his son, or even as an ally, but he had no desire to instill fear. Fear wasn’t going to unravel the truth.
Morgan didn't respond as expected. He started laughing; a dark, humorless laugh that sent chills down Robin's spine. "I've heard this all before...I guess we are destined to the same path in this world too."
Robin stared, quietly asking, "What path?" Though he knew, so deeply and so wholly, that it was the path towards a world smashed by the snapping of Grima’s chains.
"You know what I mean dad...I hate when you pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. I'm your son so give me a little credit."
Robin scratched his cheek, off-put by the dysfunctional smile on Morgan's normally wholesome face. "Confusion is new territory for me here...I'm actually not sure what you mean."
Morgan's pale gaze regarded him in silence, lips taut and expression somewhere between disbelief and fear.
"Morgan..." Robin’s concern was becoming monstrous in size. "What did I do to you? The other me?"
Morgan shifted then slowly lifted his bare arm, hand trembling into a fist. "If this is another test let me assure you that my loyalty to you is second to none. No matter how many fall." His arm straightened like an arrow pointed at Robin's heart.
And there, etched into the boy's flesh and glowing purple in the moonlight, was Grima's Brand. It was different than his own, but Robin had no idea what those differences meant.
"You're Grimleal," Robin announced as he shot Morgan a withered look. "Are you working for Validar?"
The boy sighed deeply, arm wilting back to his side. "Of course not."
Robin scoffed, "Well you let someone give you that brand. I sure as hell doubt---"
"It was you!" Morgan suddenly shouted. "So stop testing me okay! I know what you want me to do here." The pallor of his face competed with the moon's paleness, breath ragged as he turned away. "I know...what you want."
Robin opened his mouth but nothing came out. Whatever words lived in his throat refused to leave.
Morgan shuddered another breath. "I suppose you want me to prove my loyalty again? So who is the first this time?" The boy's boots crunched over grass dusted with frost as he paced. "Just tell me what to do. I will prove my love for you."
Robin's skin crawled. Morgan's words were just wrong. "I'm not asking for anything, least of all a gesture to prove your love. Love doesn't make demands Morgan. I'm not really your father, but I certainly hope my older self never taught you that." It was a strange feeling being mad at a future version of yourself, but Robin's anger wasn't mitigated by the bizarre circumstances. "He was wrong to tell you that."
Under the cold, bright moon Morgan was stunned, mouth agape as if frozen in time. As Robin stepped closer the boy's shoulders tensed. "I'm sorry." Those words ripped a heavy sob from Morgan, and in a fleeting gesture of fatherly affection Robin put an arm around the boy's shaking body.
Morgan desperately clutched Robin's cloak and buried his cries. "I'm so sorry," Robin whispered, wishing his words held the power to fix Morgan's tears. As infallibly as he knew the tenets of strategy, Robin knew Morgan had been used by a version of himself corrupted enough to brand his own son with a foul destiny. Suddenly Robin didn’t care why Morgan was with them, in this world. It only mattered that the boy wasn’t within arm’s reach of Robin’s future self, a man he was beginning to loathe.
"I don't want you to kill him--" Morgan brokenly sobbed. "He's so kind."
Robin's ministrations stilled, a cold lump forming in his throat. "...what are you saying Morgan?" Robin swallowed, uneasy.
Nothing could have prepared Robin for Morgan's next words.
"Chrom...please don't kill Chrom again."
Again
How could he have done such a thing. He loved Chrom, he would never--no. No! Not ever.
"Chrom is someone I would never hurt. Nothing's going to happen to him," Robin assured, words vibrating inside his chest like a mantra. A prayer.
Morgan sniffled. "I'm not sure I believe that...but I want to. Gods I want to."
"Morgan, in your world...why did I hurt Chrom?" He didn’t want to know, but he had to; it was the same with verifying the death of loved one. No one wanted to see it, but they had to all the same.
Morgan looked up, eyes blinking back tears. "It's because Chrom was Naga's chosen hero."
"And that was a problem for me...?" How did that even make sense?
"Yes..." Morgan said slowly. "Grima hates Naga."
"I worked for Grima then," Robin grimaced, ashamed by the actions of a version of himself he couldn't fathom and equally horrified he posed a threat to Chrom and the others. Morgan was giving voice to every fear Robin kept locked away.
"No." Morgan stepped back and looked at Robin like he was someone to pity. "Don't you know?"
"Know what?" Robin regretted his question already.
"You're Him. You're Grima."
The world around Robin shuddered, teetering like a great wave that threatened to pull him under. He breathed but nothing came out. The crushing weight of darkness set in and Robin could only look up as the bright moon faded and disappeared.
Robin's legs collapsed and everything around him grew dark, extinguished like candle flame snuffed between two fingers.