Greetings once again, everyone. Playing the game for the hundredth time, it struck me again how confusing it would be to be Robin and hear Chrom and Lissa speak as they did on that very first meeting. (I'm surely not the only one who held their DS whilst going, "What on Earth?!"…?) And so alas, this was born and then morphed into something that I just rolled with.

First time using present tense, I've decided I hate it. But hey-ho, bit late to go back now…

All the same, I do hope you enjoy it.

Fire Emblem Awakening does not and never will belong to me in any way shape or form. I simply enjoy making characters dance to the rhythm in my head. What can I say? It's pretty catchy. As for the image, the artist has my many thanks and it is a shame I found the work though Google.

Just This Once, Simplicity Would be Nice.

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It is warm; pleasant in the heat that touches her chest and comforting to the aches she can feel. Aches that are not quite pain, for the sensations are too weak to be defined as such, but certainly something that leads to thought. How odd that she fails to remember what the cause is; this peculiar dullness that she is certain is present in each of her limbs. It is stranger yet when trying to think, all she can recall is comfort and warmth – much akin to her situation at present – but somehow different. As if the themes of serenity had swept past the layers of skin and muscle and into the deeper threads of tapestry that is her very soul.

She feels a frown twist her lips, bemused at how such a feeling of peace can be remembered and yet be tainted by the throb of aching. With memory granting no clue, she turns her attention instead to locating the source of her discomfort. But much to her discontent, the mind cannot always easily interpret the signals the body provides. A fact further reinforced when sight is unable to confirm what it is that the mind is feeling and touch is currently unavailable.

Again, her lips twist. Why can't she simply reach out and touch? She retains enough of her perception to feel her arms are intact and experimentally she twitches her fingers, pleased to feel a stir of material under her digits. Her fingers move again, the blades of grass tickling the tips and she discerns with realisation that her back is to the ground.

Why am I lying down though? she thinks to herself and no sooner is the conjecture thought when memories barge into her mind, overwhelmingly so. Some are bright, both in clarity and in the swell of emotions that are sprung upon her: the feeling of immense love for the man she sees waiting for her at the end of the aisle she is walking along: a new born babe cradled in her arms, gratitude blossoming in her bosom to see her babe's eye bare the brand of Naga. The sensation of a kiss upon her lips and the shivers that course her body as a hand trails across her hips: and the smugness of finding her lover's weaknesses as he moans underneath her – both enjoying the satisfaction that comes from the exploitation of them.

The shapes twist and change and it is then she sees faces. One belongs to a boy of blue hair, imbued with her tact and strong with his father's courage. The other to a girl with eyes that speak of unimaginable loss and hurt but refuse to be defeated by such things. She sees the kind smile from a woman with a heart as large as Ylisse and a sly grin from a man whom is addicted to all things sweet.

She hears the cheerful banter between comrades and friends alike and the silent laughter shared at a private joke. She watches smiles pass in understanding and the tears shed for one they had all loved. She gasps suddenly, horror pitching the sound as she watches a great woman fall, her death only the beginning of the ill fate that had then yet to come. She feels grief clutch her heart as she sees again the bodies of fallen friends she had been unable to save and the howl of lovers who weep over the loss.

And then, she sees herself. Only it is not her but rather a mirror copy, their lives swayed by decisions alone and yet both as different as the sky is from the ground. Her hand rises in her memory, her thunder striking where it was intended and all she can think of is relief, pure, sweet, unadulterated relief… Until she sees his face. The hurt, confusion and –she is sure of it now- disappointment on his features is reflected on those around her, the hurt more pronounced on her son's face and terror clear in her daughter's frantic rush to her side. Not even the reassurance that she has done the right thing can quite stop the tears that spring to her eyes.

Tell the others my last thoughts were of them… May we meet again in a better life… She watches his hand stretch out for her as he begins to sprint, tears he had always refused to shed now flowing unbidden as he begs her to stay, pleads for her to remain.

I'll always love you, Chrom…

The scenes dissolves as her body fades, a hand rose in a final goodbye, and then in her memory, everything returns to its blackness, leaving only her gasping with the realisation. Battles, the Fire Emblem, Grima, Lucina, Morgan…

Chrom…

It dawns upon her then that her eyes are closed, shut against what she now realises to be the warmth of the sun. That the grass she feels under her hands is also under her neck – she can sense it prickling the skin uncovered by her hair. And she thinks with a laugh that her aches are good, that they represent something she has been missing for so long: A physical body.

Logic is squandered by the giddiness of having at long last returned, but not quite hampered as reason theories that this may not even be real at all. But no, she has waited too long for such a moment, for such a day when at last she could return home. With a firm resolves, she goes to open her eyes...

"Chrom, we've got to do SOMETHING!"

And immediately halts her progress, instantly recognising not only the voice, but this very moment too. Wonder stills her heart as a nameless worry begins its descent into her stomach.

"What do you propose we do?"

Oh gods. Tears well up in her eyes, from happiness or from that worry that is now thick in throat, she doesn't know. It's all so familiar, so very familiar, but instead of the welcoming warmth she had expected from hearing their voices, it is dread that holds her. Returned she may be, but what time have I returned to? She can't help but let her thoughts run amuck, unable to halt the feeling creeping into her chest and winding around her lungs. Do they know who she is? Do they recognise her as wife and sister in blood, or… she doesn't want to think it, but she does… Is she a stranger once more to them?

She knows what she will see when she at last opens her eyes; those bright teal eyes and compassionate smile and the handsome face framed by locks of royal blue. She almost doesn't want to open her eyes to what she knows is awaiting her…

"I… I don't know!"

…But she does and is not at all surprised to see two faces smiling down at her. As young as she remembers them to be from her last memory and wearing the very clothes she had first ever saw them in. How quickly hope can diminish when there is nothing for it to hold onto, leaving nothing but emptiness where its presence had once filled. No armour decorates his body and arms; she is still dressed in the yellow of a cleric rather than the flowing green robes of the sage she had become.

"There are better places to take a nap than on the ground, you know."

I do know, she wants to cry, but it never stopped us from stretching out on the grass to watch the clouds float above until our eyes fell to the call of slumber. Nor did it prevent us from pushing each other to the ground, laughing and squirming until our energy was no more.

"Give me your hand."

She can't even speak, only nodding as she once more slips her hand into his, relishing in the warmth and familiarity. She can feel her breath hitch when she realises he won't have any such sensation. His hand lingers on hers and just when she goes to pull back (to run, scream, cry – her mind hasn't quite decided yet) she catches sight of her hand. Skin meets her eyes, but it is not what is there that holds her attention but rather what isn't. Her eyes widen and her gasp is audible to everyone, earning a chuckle from him and a delighted laugh from his sister.

"It… It's…" she mutters, voice hoarse from underuse and pitched by so many emotions that she can't even begin to unravel every one of them. Tears spring into her eyes and she lifts her gaze to look at him, watching as his eyes crinkle in warmth in the same way they always had for her.

"It's over now. Welcome back, Robin."

If he means to say anything else, then it is tossed to the side as he grapples to stay upright from the force of her hug. He can barely understand what it is that she's saying - something about him knowing who she is thank the gods – but it hardly matters. He's just glad to see her again.

At long last, she releases him and allows for air to circulate his lungs once more. Without a moment's hesitation, her arms are thrown around Lissa, the blonde laughing and crying as she hugs back fiercely.

Only when the young princess pulls away does Robin see her pout. "What took you so long?! Two years you left us waiting for you!"

The tactician's eyebrows knit together as she mumbles, "Two years..? Gods, it didn't feel like that long back in the…" she doesn't finish. Trying though she does, nothing of where she was until this very moment comes to mind. Only that sense of enveloping comfort and before that, the terror of that last battle.

"All that matters is you're back with us," Chrom says, smiling. "There'll be many who will be happy to see you back at the castle."

Her eyes light up, thoughts redirecting to the faces she has not seen for so long. Her grin feels foreign as her mouth lifts, but she couldn't stop it even if she wanted to. "Is everyone still okay? That last battle was gruelling to say the least…"

"Everyone is fine," Chrom reassures and her smile widens.

"And Morgan and Lucina? What about our baby girl? Six years old; will… will she even know who I am?"

Her eyes flick between him and Lissa, sure they must think her excitement bizarre – she cannot recall ever acting so sprightly. But instead her grin drops, noting the worry present on both their faces. Her imagination spikes, conjuring images that only a mother's mind tends to think. "Lucina, she is alright isn't she..? She's not… not…" Robin gulps, but even that cannot allow her to say the word.

"No, no! Nothing like that!" Chrom is quick to refute, but still are his eyebrows drawn together. "It's just, well… 'Our baby', Robin?"

"Of course," she remarks, looking at him as though an extra head has sprouted from his neck. Lissa shows no more understanding than Chrom does and so she turns back to him, her head tilted as she says, "Our little girl back at the castle. Hair blue as your own, surprisingly witty for someone so young and nothing at all like her future counterpart?"

He nods. "I know who you mean, but as for the 'our'…"

"She's our daughter, Chrom." Her tone is firm, as though daring him to dare tell her otherwise. But he doesn't answer and her voice begins to wavers as she whispers, "Right?"

It's Lissa who speaks, her voice low and careful, but undeniably laced with confusion. "Robin… Lucina is Sumia's daughter."

"No. No that isn't possible, I married Chrom, and fourteen months later, I gave birth to Lucina." Her finger points to Chrom. "She has a freckle on her stomach and a strawberry mark above her right eyebrow. She carries Naga's brand in her left eye and Morgan has the brand on the inside of his wrist."

Chrom just shakes his head and it is with sadness he looks at her. "You didn't marry me, Robin. You said it wouldn't be right given our stations and role to the army. I proposed to Sumia shortly after the defeat of that dastard Mad King and she accepted."

"No, that's not right at all! I know I said those things, but then I told you once the war was done, I would gladly marry you!" Robin cries.

"No, Robin you didn't," Lissa says softly. "You were worried that given your position, if you married my brother, it would give the enemy the upper hand as they could use that fact against you both."

She can remember saying such things; all her excuses to push him away all in fear for who he would really be marrying. Her, or the woman she had seen murder him in her nightmares? And yet, even as she had voiced her worries, Chrom had never cared. "That brand does not define you, Robin. You are you own person and it is her I love and wish to have at my side for as long as we both shall live."

Her right hand traces the ring on her finger, the brand of Naga catches the sunlight and reflects it back at her. It almost feels mocking. She knows they are not lying, the coiled knot in her stomach is proof enough, but how else can the ring exist upon her finger? When at last she finds her voice, she whispers, "Then… Then who I am married to?"

Chrom sighs. "Gaius. He asked for you hand not long after my engagement to Sumia. Morgan is seven younger than Lucina, but he bears no mark of the exalt."

"I see," Robin says with a small nod, head facing the ground so they cannot see her tears.

She can see Lissa looking at her, eyes skimming her body no doubt in search for injuries. How dearly she wishes that this could all be explained from having received a blow to the head. But though her body is sore, likely from sleeping on the ground, her head feel physically fine.

"Maybe we should head back to the castle?" Chrom suggests. A hand runs through his hair and the gesture is so familiar to Robin that she sucks in a deep breath to steel herself. She can see the lines of frustration in his posture, and that worried quirk to his mouth. Her hands bind together. She is not his wife, it is not her role to comfort him.

"I don't think that's exactly wise for me to do," Robin says, shaking her head. "I assume I must look exactly like your Robin, but I am not her. I am not the wife Gaius knows or the mother who has adopted the future Morgan as her own child."

"But you're still Robin! You might not be ours, but we just found you – we can't lose you again!" Lissa speaks and glances towards Chrom who gives a heavy sigh.

"You may not be the Robin we met know despite the uncanny resemblance, but even still, I'm not going to turn you away with nowhere else to go. We'll just explain to everyone what the situation is."

"And let them –you both- relieve the pain of losing me again when I find a way to return to my time? No, Chrom, I can't do that to everyone," Robin whispers. She can't do that to herself. Act as a friend and family member to those who look like those she knows, but truly, in this time, doesn't?

"Then where will you go?" Lissa asks.

The tactician lifts her shoulders before letting them slump. "I don't know. I imagine the only one who could answer my questions would be Naga, so Mount Prism will be my best bet," she says and already calculations of distance runs through her head. Not to mention the list of necessities she requires… She would be instantly recognised if she ventured into the town, but she can't deny that she is in need of supplies and preferably something warm in her stomach.

"You're not going alone."

Her eyes snap to Chrom, simultaneously surprised and yet not to see the firm, determined conviction on his features. "I am capable enough, thank you. Besides, if you are suggesting yourself accompany me, then need I remind you of your daughter and wife at home?"

She sees the way his eyes tighten, but still he shakes his head. "No-one can deny me of helping those in need. Besides, need I remind you that I am king?" He smirks and it tugs at her heart, wanting to kiss it away as she would with her Chrom.

"King or not, you have a duty to your kingdom and people. That means no sudden expeditions to give aid to all those you see," Robin reasons. "This is a time of peace, right? I'll be safe with my weapons…."

A sudden dread fills her, an expression not missed by Chrom as his smirk resurfaces. Already she knows what her hands will find purchase with as she delves into her pockets. The Thoron tome is worn; spine bent beyond repair, pages dog-eared and splattered with ink that is both words and random drips. It is the last weapon she owns, her others spent on the battles between Grima's Risen. She closes her eyes. She does not believe in fate, for she is the decider of her future, not some unseen force, but at the moment, she requires something to detest and fate is her pinpoint.

"Seems we'll be heading back to the palace after all," Lissa cheerfully chirps.

Robin can only sigh.

Thank you for reading!