Staring into the blood-red eyes of his daughter, Robin became one with time.
At that moment, he ascended to the fifth-dimension, somehow able to gaze upon the flow of past to future, from reality to unreality as an eagle gazes upon the ground.
He saw the things to come, which included his demise. He spotted his own face at the instant of death, not an old face as he had hoped, but a brave one at least. He caught Chrom's image among the roiling sea of images, and then it was gone. This tide moved quickly.
He looked in the other direction and saw vignettes from the past pulled straight from his memory except in more vivid color. Happy moments like meeting the Shepherds mixed with the darker moments that came later in one infinite panorama. These shards of time swirled and swirled around him until they coalesced into a white portal. In it, Robin spied the sky of a foreign universe but could not see further than that. He looked behind him and saw his daughter in his original timeline, one where he ruled the world as Grima with her by his side. That world would be wrought with disease and pestilence, hunger and poverty, fear and anger, but at least he would be the king of that world, and he would be happy, and his daughter would be happy too.
This he knew.
The white portal led elsewhere. To another parallel timeline where he could redo everything again. He could save Chrom and Lissa and everyone who had perished in this universe, but nothing was guaranteed. He might fail again and everything would revert back to blackness. And Morgan might not be there.
Robin locked gazes with his daughter once more. Her hair was sleek and blonde like her mother's, her eyes bloody like Grima's. Her soft, snowy cheeks did not betray how many thousands of heroes she had slain at its command. She was a demon, yes, but she was his daughter, and he loved her more than the world itself.
"Father…," she pleaded, sadness creasing her lips. And at that clockless moment, when Grima had nearly taken him completely, he wanted to return to her, hold her forever, and rule the ravaged lands as wicked sovereigns.
It was then that fate had conspired to fill Robin's nostrils with the nostalgic smell of wet grass.