Author Note: Well, I can't say this will be original, but I can guarantee it won't be a re-telling of the game. This story will actually focus more on the future children. But, I'll eventually tie them together with the Shepherds. On another note, I haven't played through the game as many times, so I don't know about some of the supports. I'll be pretty ignorant on that regard. So if I make a mistake that doesn't seem like I could fix without completely redesigning the whole chapter. Then, I'll have to ask you to bite your tongue. However, if it's pretty trivial, then let me know, I'll correct it to the best of my ability.
Regarding the future children. For the sake of showing off some fatherly genes, I'll have the children bearing the same hair colour as their father. Furthermore, I'll attempt to make the children have a few traits that the father has. Yeah, So, I hope that doesn't make them that OOC.
Finally, regarding OOC. It's my first time actually writing canon characters, So, I'll let you know I'll be a bit rusty, criticism in that regard is completely fine. That's all folks, enjoy the show/chapter/prologue.
Three years ago, if anyone told Robin he was going to fight the reincarnation of Grima on the flying fell dragon Grima, he would have to ask you what any of that meant. The tactician suffered from amnesia, and thus knew very little about, well, anything really. But, if we we're to hypothesis, and assume Robin knew what any of that meant. He'd likely scoff, laugh nervously and probably crumble under the pressure of even the mention of attempting so ludicrous. He'd prefer not to dance on the edge of madness.
But preferences are only guidelines, and obviously, they don't need to be sustained. With the cumbersome dragon soaring through the skies and the winds whipping against his plegian coat, the tactician came to realize he was doing more than just dancing with the undesired madness. He was married to it.
But enough of that, the philosophy was starting to make him sick. Besides, after the Shepherds and he managed to defeat the fell dragon, there would be more than enough time to think about the way his life played out.
The tactician ran alongside Chrom, captain of the Shepherds. The two sliced and diced their way through grimleal and slowly advanced their way to the situated Grima, or Robin's doppelganger. The shepherds and grimleal locked blades in fierce battle. The numbers were in the enemy's favour, but the experience and desire was etched on the faces of each individual Shepherd. The desire to change their fate, the desire to prevent what looked like an inevitable outcome.
The enemy numbers were daunting, and slowly the shepherds were pushed back into a corner. Metaphorically that is, after all, they were a few thousand feet in the air, on top of the dragon that for some reason couldn't really decide on a place to land.
Regardless, the Shepherds were now divided into two groups, Robin, Chrom, the Vaike, Lon'qu and Lucina managed to punch a hole through the grimleal defenses and hastily took their opening. Unfortunately, as other Shepherds followed, the hole was immediately closed up by enemy bodies. No matter how swiftly the rag-tag team of fighters followed robin's orders, the sheer number of enemies managed to pick off a few of them. Slowly, but inevitably, the number of enemies enclosed on the group of Shepherds, surrounding them from all angles and forming an impenetrable defense. And much to Robin's horror, he saw as his friends were finally engulfed up by the waves of enemies. Drowned under steel and blood.
A feeling of emptiness slowly swept through his body. He sent his friends to die. Their blood was on him. Thankfully, noticing his friend's deflated and hollow look, Chrom swiftly jabbed him on the shoulder. He said something, but the general cacophony of the environment drowned out the words. Robin had a feeling it was encouragement, and thus decided to put a face that looked encouraged.
The five remaining shepherds pushed their way through the swarms of enemies. If Robin wasn't so demoralized he would have question where in the living hell did they have space for these units, and why some could fly.
But the horrors of war surfaced, and the tactician was too busy struggling to keep his sanity afloat. Even after severing the chain between him and Grima, it seemed the chains of fate were strongly reinforced. The group sprinted down the clearing, or up the dragon's back in a last ditch attempt to attack the otherwise unscratched doppelganger.
One would wonder why on the world they had such a bland, predictable and generally thoughtless plan. The reality of things was, Robin's plan failed in the first phase. Before he could settle the group down after receiving what seemed like lightning strike from the enemy, they were immediately flanked in a three prong-attack formation. Where the enemies came from was unknown and the young tactician struggled to get a bit of order among his fellow peers.
To think his plan was foiled so easily, it was only another reason as why to Robin felt empty, why he felt like a failure. At this point, the five were at the nape of the neck, feet away from Grima.
He stood confidently, staring down the last remainder of the shepherds with a smug smirk. The grimleal advanced on the hero's backs, only to be stopped by the raise of a hand. The five, battered, cut, bleeding and weaken were flanked from the back by what could have easily been a hundred or more enemies, and to their front, was the doppelganger, Grima.
The fell dragon cleared his voice and spoke, his gaze landing on the sweaty tactician, "Return to me...come. We are one... and the same."
His voice echoed over the winds, and promptly silenced the grimleal to a hushed murmur. Robin remained glued to the scaly surface, as if he were petrified by medusa's gaze. Stone cold and unable to think. The other four watched as their tactician remained unmoving. The tension was high, needless to say, the fight was over.
Well, it was almost over. The Vaike stepped forward, snapping not only Robin from his trance, but placing Grima in a foul scowl.
"Teach won't stand for this. We have to fight!" Vaike shouted, looking onto the others in a last ditch attempt of moral boosting.
The four remained silent, but no longer postured in a defeated disposition. Grima boomed into a loud chuckle. He stared at the blond with a humorous gleam in his eyes, even going as far as smiling without the smugness.
"To think, that your resident idiot would be the voice of reason." Grima said more to himself than the shepherds.
"What did you say?" Vaike asked harshly, not taking too fondly to being insulted.
"What will it be?" the fell dragon said, shifting his gaze back onto Robin and successfully ignoring the blond warrior.
That was it. That was enough to put the short tempered Vaike over the edge, gripping his axe he lunged forward, ready to chop the wretched demon into two. What Teach didn't expect was for the fell dragon- the one they were actually on, to tilt its neck and view the battle with its three set of crimson eyes. Also, what Teach couldn't change was his trajectory, already in mid-air he fell victim to the blacken flames. Much to the horror of the four remaining.
If they weren't demoralized before, they were broken now. Robin fell to his knees, his posture slumped and head faced down. He couldn't hear anything, the voices of his friends drowned out, and the scorching heat that slowly passed over them was numbing.
He soon couldn't feel anything, and his eyes closed. A complete failure in every regard, Robin failed, and his friends and their families paid the ultimate price of death. The world was doomed to a repeated fate. A fate that didn't want to change course, one that could not be defeated. If only he could have been more prepared. If only he wasn't so easily baited into a trap.
If only he had a second chance.
If anyone told Robin he was sent back in time instead of dying, he'd scoff, laugh nervously and crumble under the pressure. But one thing was for certain, he didn't suffer from amnesia.
Jolting upright, the dazed tactician found himself laying against the rolling hills' rich grass. The sun beamed brightly, and if it weren't for his hood, he would have likely been blinded by the general light. He slowly stood up, dusting his coat in the process. Robin then stretched his limbs, as they felt stiff and quite cold. Lack of use? Well, no, he remembers sprinting from one end of the fell dragon to the other.
That's quite the drinking story.
Robin can't recall how the events played. He had a vague memory of the battle against fate. He definitely remembered losing. His friends all died at the mercy of the dragon and its subordinates. But this? Why was he in an open meadow, the familiarity of the situation was uncanny to his first time awaking, before Chrom and Lissa.
That couldn't be the case, Lissa was silenced by steel, along with the other shepherds, and Chrom burned to an exalted crisp.
Just thinking about it made the tactician feel hollow. He didn't understand the circumstances he found himself in, but he knew for one, that dwelling on the past wouldn't help him resolve the situation at hand.
Was it the past? Or the future? Robin thought.
He paused, and contemplated the prospect, tilting his head to the side and squinting his eyes in a typical thinking pose. That very well may be a possibility, Lucina along with her friends traveled back in time. The only flaw in the theory would be the most prominent dilemma, what sprung the action. What made him go back in time?
He remembers being burned down, killed by the hands of Grima. Or... more accurately the flames. Details, details, focusing back on the topic at hand, He did awake to a meadow the first time. Even some of the stray trees were in the exact spot as last time. The resemblance was very similar, and that would explain why he felt like this wasn't his first time sleeping here. The sense of familiarity.
However, another problem presented itself. He was woken up by Chrom. Whereas, now he woke up on his own accord, alone. Was it time travel? He didn't know, but thinking about it was really exhausting him.
He could very well be dying, and this was just a dream strung together by his conscious. Miriel explained it to be a coma of sorts, or a purgatory state of mind. Robin didn't remember the exact words, but the general concept was that, the person was sent to a moment in their life that resonated with them the most.
That theory made the most sense. After all, meeting Chrom for the first time very well changed his life. He was lost, confused and had minimal knowledge of the world due to his amnesia. Chrom gave him a role, a life. But, again, the counter-argument would be simple. The memory resonates with him because of Chrom, Lissa and Frederick. Not the meadow. So, why weren't his friends here to greet him?
Was it symbolic? Did Grima still play a role in his life; did he manage to toy with Robin's dying desire of bonds and friendship? No, that wouldn't add up. Robin severed the connection. He was only bound by heart and blood. Not mind.
The tactician sighed, no longer feeling capable of thinking. He lay back down onto the meadow, resting his eyes and thoroughly overworked mind. If he were dying, this dream of his would be over anyways. He can wait.
After hours of waiting, Robin grew anxious. The sun was already dipping and the shadows growing longer. He was pretty confident that this was the same meadow as before. So, by that logic, there should be a town nearby.
The town! That could confirm plenty, with that Robin could cross-reference and thus eliminate a massive burden of confusion. All he had to do was make it to the town. Springing back onto his feet, Robin briskly walked towards the nearest dirt path. Once there, he followed the course that lead to the town of before.
All things considered, the tactician was excited. His heart raced and mind cluttered with possibilities and outcomes. He still didn't understand the situation, or where he was. But, the possibility of time travel could and would be explained as soon as he arrived to the village.
His boots crunched under the dry mud, and the sun finally touched against the horizon. The sky bleed orange and the clouds turned pink. It would have been quite the sight, if Robin wasn't so enthralled by his problem. He continued to run scenarios over his head again and again, anything to make a degree of sense.
He has such vivid memories of his friends and peers, something he didn't have the first time. This meant, the tactician knew a lot of secrets, that being trivial like Lon'qu's gynophobic origins, or things more confidential, like the total amount of wealth and militant power Ylisse held over the other countries.
Eventually, after the sun was consumed and replaced with the moon, house lights glowed in the chilly darkness. They appeared like small little beacons of hope and anticipation for the tactician. He couldn't contain his eagerness any longer and his walk became a jog, then a sprint.
Robin absently noted that the temperature was indeed cold, and his fingers were becoming numb. If this were a dream, it held a high degree of realism. The buildings slowly enlarged as the tactician advanced to the entrance. Only steps away from the gate, Robin could immediately tell that this town was in poor conditions, almost as if it were recently ravaged.
Buildings were damaged, stalls crumbled and produce smeared over the floor. Walls were broken and there were black scorch marks over some of the wooden structures. The stench of death managed to mesh with smoke and oddly enough, a pleasant flowery fragrance. It definitely didn't go together, but who was Robin to complain, the town looked as if it was pillaged.
Just like it was last time. he thought.
He grinned. This was a staggering jump in discovery. Nothing was set in stone, but at the very least, he could at least calm his nerves. If this were a dream, it felt real, and if this were real, then it was a dream come true.
He just may have gone back in time after all. Maybe he did get a second chance. He walked down the stone path, crossing the bridge and made his way to the main scene, or the confrontation with the barbarian chief. It was dark, as night fell upon the town. Crickets chirped in the distance, as Robin inspected the sight. The bodies were gone, but little could be done with the blood that ingraved itself deep into the stone's crevices.
"Greetings traveler." A man said quite loudly given the time of day... or night.
Robin stood up and shifted his eyes onto the man, a typical villager, ragged clothing and scruffy unkempt facial hair. The man's eyes widen in shock, then his facial expressions changed to something of happiness. He grinned and eyes cringed in a kind manner,
"You've returned."
Robin froze, clenching his jaw. The implications of such a phrase sent his mind into overdrive. Returned from what? The future? Past? Hell, the present? The tactician was speeding a million miles an hour, smoke would have seeped through his ears if the villager didn't pat his shoulder and brought him close with a happy sort of embrace.
'We've set up a dining hall just in case you and your peers returned." The man smelled of ale, probably in the middle of a celebration.
"Oh... returned from what, again?" Robin asked, his mind calming itself enough to respond.
"A wee bit forgetful are we?" The man joked, he then proceeded to boom into laughter.
Robin nervously chuckled, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. The drunken villager had no idea what he was doing. Robin subtly untangled the man's arm from his shoulder and then proceeded to backpedal, giving himself enough space to breathe. Alcohol tasted so much better than it smelled.
"Yeah, uh... Listen, bandits attacked right?" Robin asked in an attempt to gather information.
"Mhm, you and your lot did with 'em though. Cheers for that." The villager replied, his face now noticeably more flushed.
Was he getting wasted the more he spoke? That put a new spin on, getting drunk off your own words. He shook his head and eyed the man. One thing was confirmed, the town was celebrating their rescue by Chrom and Robin.
But, that caused more questions than answers. Why did the villager know him, he didn't help out with the liberation, he was too busy sleeping. Perhaps this was a memory after all. Robin gritted his teeth, a sour feeling sticking to his tongue. This wasn't exactly the discovery he wanted to find.
"Didn't you have red hair?" The drunken villager asked.
Robin hardly heeded the question, he was too busy with his perplexed situation, more scenarios to run, more questions needed answers. He crossed his arms, using his dominant hand to pinch his chin in another tell-tale pose of deep thinking.
"Yeah, you did have red hair. Ya dye it or something?"
"Pardon?" Robin asked finally zoning into the one-sided conversation.
"Why's your hair white all a sudden?"
"Uhm..." How was Robin supposed to answer that, it was always white?
"You some imposter or something?" The villager gripped the mug of ale tightly by the handle.
Robin just noticed the mug. Where in the hell did he get the mug? Last thing Robin wanted was to get in a needless quarrel. However, physical contact would help him prove just how realistic this potential dream was. Or, solidify his theory of time-travel. He pondered the thought, and although the immediate result may hurt, it was all for the theory.
"Isn't it improper to assume I'm an imposter?" Robin asked mischievously, an attempt to provoke the drunken villager.
"I will hit you." The man slurred, he was sounding drunker by the second.
"Willing to hit me is an odd will, but I guess you will hit me out of your willing will." Robin was confusing himself, he couldn't imagine what the intoxicated man was thinking.
Correction. He wasn't thinking at all as he swung a fist into Robin's side. It was slow, and the tactician had more than enough time to avoid the swing, but he needed to test something, and self-harm wasn't exactly something he was eager to try. So, get a drunken sluggish man to hit him would have to do.
Needless to say, the dream felt really real. Robin was taken aback by the power behind the hit and fell on his bottom, slightly dazed. The man threw his mug and slowly staggered away. Robin rubbed the side of his head, one eye closed in pain as he watched the retreating figure.
"I wonder." A man said, causing Robin to shift his pained gaze from the drunk onto a the source of the voice.
The man seemingly shimmered into existence. Fixing his glasses, the man offered a hand to the still sitting Robin. Gingerly, the tactician took it and was helped onto his feet. The tactician patted down his coat for a second time.
"Did your provocation bare any fruit for the studies you delved in?" The man asked, this time tugging at his long and pointed hat.
Robin cast a glance from his coat onto the man and immediately identified him. Brown hair, lens-flare inducing glasses, pointy hat, magical tome, long mage-like robe. Only one person could even possibly come to mind.
Laurent.
What in the hell was he doing here. Robin blinked a few times, gaping like a fish when he attempted to speak. No words came, he was speechless. Not the sort of development he would have expected. If this were time-travel, then it was playing him for a fool. If it were a dream, it was odd to think Robin's last moments would be thinking about Laurent of all people. Maybe because he was Miriel's son? And Miriel was the one who sprung the idea of comatose dreams? Robin shook his head, he was over thinking things.
"What is it that perplexes you? Was your experiment inadequately sufficient in order to come with a proper conclusion?" Laurent asked, his tone rigid and professional.
"Uh... Do you know who I am?"
"No."
"Is your name Laurent?"
"Intriguing, I don't recall making your acquaintance." The mage said, narrowing his brows.
"Uh... It's uhm... well... we haven't met... before" Robin said, finishing his sentence lamely and in a small voice.
"hmm... Your struggle to string a response implies otherwise." Laurent observed.
Robin really didn't know how to approach this. He was confused as it was. But, for Miriel's son to make a guest appearance in his dream would have been far-fetched. If it were time travel, then things wouldn't add up. Lucina Arrived to-
Tonight! Robin knew, that if there was anything that could help him solve the mystery, it would be her. She had the most knowledge in the regard, and he doubted anyone else would even bother studying the arts of time travel anyways.
The thought only crossed his mind for a second before his gaze returned back onto the brunet mage. Laurent was patiently waiting for a response, his hat in one hand, and tome in the other. When did he even take off his hat?
"As ridiculous as this may sound. Are you familiar with the concept of time travel?"Robin finally said.
"What correlation does time travel have with us?" Laurent asked, looking puzzled and genuinely curious.
He was playing dumb. Laurent was a time-traveler. That much was certain, the question at hand focused more on whether Laurent actually knew the science behind it.
"Well, you're a time-traveler, and we meet before in... well, I 'm not sure. But we've meet though." Robin said, cursing his tongue's sloppy display.
Regardless, he was blunt and revealed what was on his mind. What were the risks anyways? They were in the middle of an empty destroyed plaza. Not another soul in sight, and if this were a dream, there wouldn't be any consequences.
"Preposterous. On what basis do you make such an accusation?" The mage denied, his stoic demeanour perpetually in place.
Robin smirked. If retaining memories was useful in any way. It would certainly be when attempting to reveal deep and dirty secrets. Laurent had plenty, and they've chatted from time to time for him to learn that. Robin circled the mage in a superior manner, hands held behind his back and bouncing after each stride.
"Well, my dear friend. What if I were to, reveal something about you, that you haven't revealed to anyone." Robin suggested.
If this were time travel, then the statement would hold true. Laurent likely hasn't spoken with any of the Shepherds, and if the timeline was correct. Lucina and the others would arrive later tonight. Laurent's premature arrival was a bit of a mystery. But, baby steps. Baby steps.
"Hmph. I doubt you could, I have nothing to conceal." The mage said, raising his chin in a dignified manner.
Robin's smile deepened, he almost felt smug. He finally stopped his pacing once he was in front of Laurent. The mage took a step back and placed his hat on again. The way the white hared stranger acted was a bit unnerving. The mage knew he had nothing to worry about. Most of his... questionable traits have never seen the light of day.
"Are you familiar with the phrase, 'Blood and Thunder'?" Robin asked.
Laurent froze, he had to feign ignorance. Only one person was warped enough to shout that during battle. Noire. But what did she have to do with revealing his true identity? How did she tie in with this stranger's mental game? Laurent had an idea, but... no. There's no way he knew about that.
"This would be the first time hearing it." Laurent replied calmly.
"The first time? Oh... I can't believe that." Robin said innocently, too innocently.
Laurent narrowed his brows, "What is it that you are instigating?"
"Well, doesn't the phrase make you... uh, tingle?" Robin was never good when it came to romantic teasing.
"Tingle?" Laurent repeated. It certainly did not make him tingle. It did other things... things better not mentioned.
"No, you're right. Not tingle... it arou-"
"I've heard enough. I'll indulge your theory for the time being." Laurent interrupted, his face hidden under his hat.
"Great!" Robin said, feeling very satisfied with himself.
"Now with that resolved. Please introduce yourself." The mage said shakily, still recovering from such a shocking development.
"My name's Robin. Is it familiar? I was Ylisse's tactician, Or... I am... uh, in your timeline I think?"
There was a pause. Laurent narrowed his brows again, the name was completely foreign to him. He didn't do much research on the past, as books were scarce in his timeline, but Lucina specifically told the fellow children the name and role of Chrom's murderer. Robin, was definitely not it.
"Hmm, Ylisse's tactician you say?"
"Grand Tactician... probably. By the time you're born." Robin corrected.
"Most befuddling." Laurent mumbled, contemplating his options. The tactician he had to worry about was a redhead, according to their leader. She emphasized his hair the most.
"Pardon?" The stranger asked.
Laurent's gaze landed on the stranger's confused face. His eyes slowly rose to his hair, white as snow. There must have been some disconnect. Robin claimed to know him, and given that he knew secrets a rare little- not even his mother knew, had to imply that they meet at some point.
There may be repercussions for revealing his hand too soon, but given that the stranger was unarmed and looked relatively harmless, telling Robin what he knew may work out in his favour. Three years of mindless wondering took a toll on the mage's composure. Discussing with someone may very well just be a remedy he needed. His mind was feeling a bit dull anyways. With that in mind, Laurent decided to reveal what he knew.
"The Ylissean grandmaster never had white hair, and he certainly did not go by the name of Robin. It was Cardinal." The mage deadpanned, fixing his glasses in the process.
Silence swept through the town, even the crickets stopped their singing. The tactician fell onto his bottom, looking dazed as he stared up into the starry sky. Of all developments, he wasn't sure what this would mean for his theories? Was it time-travel? Or was it a dream? No matter the outcome, neither would explain why he was replaced.
So with that reveal out of the way. I'll let you know that Cardinal is really just the My Unit/Avatar being customized and what not. I suppose he could be considered an OC. But the story won't focus on him.
Questions:
Who do you think Laurent's father is?
Are there anythings I can improve on?
Review anything helpful. I want to improve my writing, but more specifically my dialogue and innermonologuing. (Even in this partially omniscient perspective) So, I'll probably do a bit more of that along the story, until I realize there's something else that needs improvement that is.