"I have a mother."
The memory comes to her in a dream. The tactician jolts upright, hands clenching the sheets with eyes alight at the visions.
"Chrom," she whispers, excitedly shaking her sleeping husband awake, "Chrom, I have a mother."
He stirs. "Yes Robin, we all do. Quite impossible to not have one really," he murmurs, rolling away from her grasp to return to his slumber.
She laughs, still giddy at her revelation.
"No my love, I remember my mother. And memory suggests that she's still alive."
It takes a few days to fully prepare for the search – her memory only serves her with vague concepts and images, nothing specific enough to derive an exact location. But after about a week and a half of planning Robin kisses her husband and children – present and future – goodbye and begins her quest.
She travels through Plegia with high spirits for the first few weeks but after two months of bear meat and dirty taverns a dead weight settles in her chest.
Maybe she was wrong. Maybe her mother abandoned her in this timeline.
Maybe her mother's dead.
She writes to inform of her return and begins the journey back with a heavy heart.
She is in the final days of her trek home when she is hit with a migraine. The tactician nearly falls off her steed at its strength, forcing her to stay at an inn for the night. It plagues her through the night, causing tremors and tears that worry the other patrons. Finally it subsides when she catches a view of the landscape and truly realizes where she is – her first memory is of this place, fighting brigades off with a Prince and his company.
Robin nearly collapses at the next recollection. It holds the same setting but a different scene – a woman sings to her sweetly, pulling and younger Robin closer to her chest.
At daybreak she sets out into town to find someone who knows her mother.
Chrom arrives at the nearby town around sunset, too curious to wait until his wife makes the short trek back to Ylisstol – the months have taken a toll on him. When he asks, the villagers direct him to a small hill a little ways away from the center of town where he finds his wife kneeling solemnly in front of a lonely grave.
"I remember her."
She does not turn to face him. Chrom wants to hold her, but the feeling that he's intruding on a private moment keeps his feet heavy.
"Everything, it's all come back." Her words are thick in remembrance, a slight quake in her voice.
"Gods I didn't know how much I've missed her."
Quietly he approaches her, laying a gentle hand on Robin's shoulder.
"I'm sorry" he says. Chrom does not need to see her face to tell she's crying – his tactician shivers under his touch with what he assumes are suppressed sobs.
She gives a bitter laugh. "You want to know the irony?" she asks. He moves to sit next his wife as she continues to speak:
"On the day we met, when the Brigades tried to pillage this town, there had only been one casualty." The words fall out of Robin like lead and Chrom can't help it any more – his other half is in pain, terrible gut wrenching pain – and pulls her to his chest. She makes no move to escape his embrace.
"I…" She starts, and he can feel it, the break in her voice is coming, "I didn't even know it was her."
The Exalt pulls her in closer until the is woman in cradled in his lap. He asks her about his mother-in-law, and she tell him stories – tales of lonely childhood made wonderful by a devoted mother. They remain like this until her sobs settle into quiet sniffs.
"I wish she could've met you. I wish she could have met our children." Robin murmurs into his chest.
The phrase strikes him and an idea comes to mind – something to ease his wife's pain. He shuffles himself and the tactician around, until he faces the grave directly whilst keeping Robin cradled to his chest. She shoots him a look at the change in his expression.
Chrom puts on his best face and begins to speak.
"My name is Chrom, descendent of the Hero King and the Exalt of Ylisse," Robin looks at him as if he's stark raving mad yet her husband continues.
"Milady, I love your daughter with all of my heart and I would have asked you for her hand if circumstances had allowed."
Robin's protest dies in her throat. She knows where this is heading. Tears a little less melancholy a little more touched spring from her eyes.
"So if you would allow me, I would like to tell you about her."
Hey! Hope this was enjoyable to read. This was intended to be a stand alone one-shot, but if I get any more ideas for things that fit under this theme, I'd write more. Feel free to suggest prompts, but as for now, this is it. Rate and Review!