This spawned from the thought that Grima didn't need Robin to do anything other than stay alive and eventually get to the Dragon's Table. I get that future Grima already won once, but if you're the fell dragon and you go back in time, there is no reason not to stack the deck as much as possible; pretty sure Grima doesn't give a hot shit about the time stream as long as he wins in the end.
Really, all Grima needs is for Robin to be strong enough to withstand the possession, so that he can get his full power.
Plus, as soon as Lucina goes back in time, you can assume that shit's going to start being different, so Grima might as well mess with it too. My reasoning, at least.
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After Emmeryn's death, Grima could see the shift in morale from his vantage point near the battle. While the Ylisseans were broken, the problem lay in the fact that once vengeful Plegians were turned into war weary peace-mongers.
It probably wouldn't make a difference. The princess had come all the way from the future, and in the end, Emmeryn died all the same, and when everything was said and done, the Fell Dragon would once again reign supreme.
Still, the Shepherds enjoyed a miraculous run of victories in the original timeline, and if all of his servants were hesitant to bear arms in the Shepherds' first Ylisse-Plegia war, then the Exalt would have even smoother sailing.
Hm…
Well that just wouldn't do.
If he had the ability, then there was no reason not to make Naga's slaves suffer as much as possible. The fact that doing so meant that his final plans would go off with less of a hitch was just an added bonus.
Even gods preferred the path of less resistance.
"Validar!" He barked.
The tall leader of the Grimleal hurried until he was before his god, and proceeded to kneel.
"Yes, Lord Grima," the red eyed man deferred, head bowed low.
"Assemble this nation's armies. I would address them," the ancient dragon commanded.
If Validar was at all confused, he did well to hide it, and even better to remain silent aside from a quiet, "your will be done."
Waving off his servant, Grima prepared to remind Plegia about the will of their god.
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Lucina watched her father's retreat with despair in her heart.
For all of her efforts, Emmeryn still died, and her future had not yet been averted. But her heart also ached because of the loss of such a great woman.
Despite the pain of seeing her aunt's death, the daughter of Chrom would not be stopped. She could not be stopped. Emmeryn was the latest of too many sacrifices in the battle against Grima.
Lucina welcomed the familiar grip of failure, wiped at the tears that refused to fall, and moved to monitor the Shepherds from afar with an already hardened heart.
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"Your rage is justified, Prince Chrom. But the meaning of your sister's final sacrifice was not lost on me. I suspect many Plegians who heard her final words would say the same. If you lay down your weapons, I vow to protect you as best I can, on my honor as General Mustafa of Plegia," the burly enemy commander offered, a grimace on his face.
Chrom's expression betrayed his answer before a single word could be said.
"Your honor as a Plegian?! Your king has shown us enough of Plegian honor!" The grieving prince yelled, a red haze settling over his thoughts.
Mustafa did not rise to the insult, but instead attempted to convince the Ylisseans to surrender peacefully one more time.
"Exalt Emmeryn wished for the bloodshed to end, and I would honor such a noble death. If you would do the same, I beg of you to surrender without incident, so that the day sees no more violence," he pleaded, his countenance stern but sincere.
Chrom heard nothing past the utterance of his sister's name.
"Don't speak her name!" He roared out, sword held high as the rest of the Shepherds raised their own weapons in response.
"You dare to suggest that you would honor her sacrifice!? You, a servant of the animal that murdered her!?" the blue haired man screamed.
Well past waiting for a response, the captain of the Shepherds rallied his vengeful allies and fell upon the Plegian force, intent on carving his way out of the desert nation.
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Robin fought side by side with the man that he had failed, intent on making sure that no other Shepherds fell that day.
Any Plegian caught in their path was butchered mercilessly, and at the start of the battle, Robin ended their lives without a thought.
But as the engagement dragged on and fatigue began to eat into his anger, the tactician started to see how disheartened their enemies were.
When he looked through unclouded eyes, it was clear that Plegian morale was the lowest that he had ever seen; whatever might have been driving these men before, all they had left now were orders.
Was General Mustafa being truthful? Robin prayed that he wasn't, because if he was…
He and the rest of the Shepherds were slaughtering men and women who had no desire to fight, who would have sincerely let them pass without violence.
The thought made him sick. The general was right; Emmeryn wouldn't have wanted this.
"Robin, there he is!" Chrom's angry command snapped him out of unpleasant thoughts.
Following his friend's gaze, the white haired man saw the general who had offered them protection and had received death in return.
"…Chrom, we might be able to convince him to surrender-," he began hesitantly, before he was interrupted by a furious and bewildered glare.
"Surrender?! Surrender?! Was Emm given the chance to live? They killed her, Robin!"
Chrom's right hand man lowered his eyes.
"These soldiers don't want to- if we give-," Robin tried to get out, still attempting to find the iron in his voice. The amnesiac knew that this wasn't what Emmeryn would have wanted; if there was a more peaceful road, she would choose that path every time.
Robin found himself torn.
Even though he too ached at the loss of such a brilliant woman, he also didn't want to spite her sacrifice by fighting for revenge.
But Chrom found him in a field and gave him everything: friends, purpose, a life to build…
"Robin?!" Chrom shouted, his eyes imploring.
"I'm with you Chrom," Robin replied, after letting out a sigh. He had already broken his promise to save Emmeryn; if this is what Chrom truly wanted, then Robin would stand by the man who had given him everything he had.
The Ylissean's relieved grin eased some of Robin's discomfort.
Charging without another moment's wait, Chrom dashed in ahead of his tactician, Falchion held high in both hands. He brought it down in a vertical slash, bringing all of his weight to bear.
However, Mustafa's muscles clearly weren't for show, as he held Falchion back with only hand on his axe, while simultaneously bringing his other hand around for a punch into the prince's midsection.
Chrom let out a gasp as he barely prevented himself from crumpling from the force of the blow; his opponent, not giving him a moment to rest, flung Falchion down and out from his weakened grip and brought his axe back in a horizontal slash towards Chrom's chest.
The screech of metal on metal rang out as Robin used his own sword and the momentum of Mustafa's swing to deflect the blow and deliver a solid pommel strike to the larger man's nose, staggering him and forcing him back a step.
Robin chose to remain in front of his friend instead of pressing the attack.
"Chrom, can you still fight?" He asked, never once taking his eyes off of their opponent.
"That dastard's just as strong as he looks, and faster," Chrom said instead of answering, wiping spit from his mouth while picking up Falchion with his other hand. He knew that he was too skilled to make such an amateurish mistake. He was also too angry to care.
"I'll lead this time," Robin stated, before rushing the re-oriented Plegian general and striking high, forcing his enemy to block lest he lose his right arm at the shoulder.
No attention was paid to Chrom, who used that to his advantage by connecting with a low slash across the general's thighs, biting deep into the muscle.
As Mustafa's legs collapsed from under him, Chrom pulled Falchion back around and thrust the blade through the large man's torso.
Robin pulled back, seeing no more need to occupy the Plegian's weapon.
After Falchion slid out of his body with the sickening squelch of blood, Mustafa used what little he had left to fall towards the two Shepherds.
"Hrrggh… please, spare my troops," he wheezed, his voice growing weaker with every word, before his spirit finally left his body.
The avenging prince exhaled loudly and looked down at the man's corpse for a long moment, before glancing at Robin with a stoic expression but tired, uncertain eyes. It seemed that the slain commander's last words had eased the Ylissean's rage.
Robin met his friend's gaze and offered a short nod. Chrom looked back at the general's body, before giving the order.
"Shepherds, disengage! Disengage!"
The Shepherds did as they were ordered, weapons still held tightly in preparation should the Plegians press.
Not a single Plegian soldier did anything other than pull back.
Two lines of battle reformed on either side of where Chrom and Robin stood over Mustafa's corpse. All eyes were on the aftermath, the Shepherds looking at their leaders for orders, while the Plegians' gazed upon their general's body in sadness, their weapons sagging in disheartened hands.
The prince let loose an exhausted sigh, before looking up and at the Plegian ranks.
"Allow us to pass in peace, and there will be no more violence today," Chrom shouted out in the most confident voice he could muster.
"Gather your dead… Mourn your general," he continued, before stepping away from where Mustafa lay, face down. After Robin and Chrom rejoined the rest of the company, the Shepherds tensely sidled around the remaining Plegian soldiers, who likewise had yet to begin retrieving their dead, so fearful they were of any deception.
As tense as the moment was, the Shepherds were allowed to pass without incident; once the Ylisseans had made good distance, the survivors moved forward and began their own mourning process.
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The Shepherds remained quiet throughout the entire retreat to Regna Ferox, until they finally dispersed to lick their wounds upon reaching friendly territory.
Robin wandered the grounds that Flavia had generously and yet grimly offered to the Shepherds; the barracks' availability was only due to the losses suffered during the disastrous operation to save Emmeryn.
His goal was to find Chrom and apologize profusely for his failure to save his sister, but also to dissuade him from further vengeance.
It was what Emmeryn would have wanted.
Despite the fact that Mustafa's remaining men were spared, the tactician still felt that he had failed when Chrom had pressed him into fighting the general.
He cursed himself again for not standing firm against Chrom's wishes, for both of their sakes.
If he knew Chrom as well as he hoped he did, then he wouldn't be surprised to see the man hacking away his rage in the barracks' training fields.
He wasn't disappointed.
Chrom stood opposite a training dummy, savagely attacking his inanimate target. Every swing was met with an angry grunt, until finally he shattered the wooden mannequin with a frustrated yell.
As he moved to grab another, the prince was interrupted by the sound of someone calling his name. He turned to see his white haired tactician, and stopped immediately, choosing instead to face his friend fully.
"…Robin," the prince started, before he was stunned speechless by the sight of Robin kneeling in front of him, head bowed.
"Wha?!"
"Chrom, I- I'm so sorry. I promised to save her, and I failed. I," he said, before Chrom interrupted him again.
"No, Robin, you have nothing to apologize for. It's that dastard Gangrel's fault… and mine, for failing to uphold her ideals," the captain of the Shepherds stated, before offering an outstretched hand.
"You were right, Robin. About the Plegian general, I mean. Emmeryn would have wanted me to negotiate, but I let her and all of the Shepherds down. But that's why I need you, Robin. I need you with me, to keep me from making that kind of mistake again," Chrom continued.
Robin took the offered hand and stood up, clasping it tightly, his other hand rubbing the back of his head as he did so.
"Er… that's actually the second part of why I came, so… Good job," he finished lamely.
"What a pair of fools we make," the wielder of Falchion said with a smirk, before his expression slipped back into a more serious one.
"Robin… what if I'm not worthy of her ideals? What if I can't honor her sacrifice?"
"…You won't have to do it alone, Chrom. You'll have me, and the rest of the Shepherds, every step. And we'll build Emmeryn's world of peace, together," Robin declared, extending his hand towards Chrom with a grin.
Chrom smiled back, and clasped forearms with his best friend.
Both men shared the hope that Emmeryn's sacrifice touched the rest of Plegia's troops as much as it did Mustafa and the Shepherds.
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Validar stood behind Grima stoically, his head bowed in deference. He was flanked by his apprentice, Aversa, who stood in a similar position; she hid her nervousness rather poorly, not that it mattered to the ancient dragon.
They stood on the same ledge from which Ylisse's Exalt fell to her death, and on the ground below was gathered the majority of Plegia's armed forces. The "skull of Grima" sat in the background, adding to the tension in the air.
Gangrel was present as well, though he stood to the side, both victim and example of the realities of Plegian politics. His crown meant next to nothing when confronted by the Grimleal. Still, he attempted to hide his displeasure.
It seemed even the "Mad King" had the sense not to cross the hierophant of the national religion.
Grima stepped forward, closer to the silent masses, the purple hood over his head adding to their anxiety.
They only knew that this hooded figure who stood above them was a member of the Grimleal, and by the markings on the robe, a high ranking one at that; when someone dressed in the most elegant of Grimleal fineries moved to speak, all of Plegia listened.
To see their king forced to the side told those assembled enough about this figure's importance. To see Validar bowing his head shocked them into reverential silence. For who could stand above even the leader of the Grimleal?
"What became of the force sent to pursue the Ylisseans?" He asked, without turning back to face his servants.
Validar moved to a knee before speaking, further shocking those assembled. Aversa began to kneel as well, after a moment's hesitation.
Gangrel conspicuously remained standing.
"Your will has been completed. The risen tore them apart; not a single member was spared, as you commanded, my lord," the black haired man said quietly.
Grima answered by waving a hand at him dismissively, again not wasting the effort to acknowledge the two behind him any further. All he needed to know was that there would be no stories of the Shepherds' mercy.
He took another step forward, before holding both of his arms out, as if offering an embrace.
"Brave men and women of Plegia!" He began, his voice imposing but not quite a yell. In spite of that, it reached every ear in the assembly clearly, as if he was speaking to them in private conversation.
"We stand here, at the site of the Ylissean Exalt's death," he continued, as his arms fell a little closer to his sides. He took a deep breath.
"I know some of you may have heard of her wish for an end to our righteous war. Do not let her words fool you. Did any Ylissean sue for peace as they mercilessly plundered our country? Is it not convenient that they ask for peace now, when faced with retribution?"
The faces in the crown looked as if they were hewn from stone.
"Let me ask all of you: where was Ylissean mercy when they invaded our home? Where was Ylissean peace when their armies burned their way across Plegia!? When every family in Plegia felt the bitter sting of the Ylisseans' blades!? Was peace on Ylisse's mind as they brought their war of genocide to our land!? As our leaders sacrificed even their own dignity to try and negotiate an end to Ylisse's crusade!?"
Those assembled hung on every word as they remembered atrocities wrought by the hands of the invaders. As the speech continued, Grima's voice increased both in volume and severity as the crowd clamored restlessly.
"There is not a single family in Plegia that has forgotten their answer! Sons, daughters, husbands, wives, brothers, and sisters; none were spared! And now, when the time has come for Ylisse to answer for its crimes- I ask again! They have the audacity to ask for peace?!"
He raised his arms again, his palms facing the sky, reaching out to the Plegians' fury. The listeners' agitation grew in volume as the Plegians' anger was enflamed, until the once quiet crowd had become an unruly horde.
"Even in death, Ylisse's Exalt denied Plegia her justice! Will we allow her cowardly subjects to do the same?!"
The unruly mass screamed its denial, as Grima's now screaming avatar used the rage in his voice to feed the crowd's own in a vicious cycle.
Validar and Aversa remained kneeling the entire time; Validar dared not rise when his god was speaking, and Aversa merely followed her master's lead. Both of them sat with the awareness that the man inciting Plegia's soldiers into a frenzy was the fell dragon himself.
Gangrel remained standing, an awkward observer in his own kingdom, as his subjects rallied around their hatred.
"Take up your arms for Plegian honor! Hold the spirits of the vengeful dead close to your hearts! And always remember!"
Plegia's soldiers thundered their response. Grima took a moment and lowered his arms.
"We are the just ones!" He bellowed, throwing a fist into the air.
Thousands of clenched fists followed suit, as what felt like all of Plegia roared.
"WE ARE THE JUST ONES!"
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Inspired by the idea that the Plegian people were more bitter than tired.
Thanks for reading. Bigger thanks if you choose to review.
I might keep this going, depending on how inspired I am/how much interest there is.