Fellblood
Robin thought himself a man of intelligence and rationality. After all, he was the Grandmaster of Ylisse for a reason; he most certainly hadn't gotten in on good looks or a charming personality. It had been his calm reasoning and tactical thinking that had gotten him a job, make no mistake. It was this same supposed genius mind that was now racing, realizing truths he had hoped to escape; lies he had wished were honest.
His father… no, Validar, he had some means of controlling him, of this, he had found out the hard way. The Fire Emblem was gone, the fight almost lost. Validar would resurrect the Fell Dragon, Grima, and the world would become raptured in blood and chaos. All because of Validar. All because of Grima.
And, Robin realized;
All because of him.
Part of him wanted to reject any responsibility. It wasn't his fault that he had been molded into nothing but a vessel. He cannot help that Validar shared blood with him. Robin was dealt a bad hand, could he really be to blame for that?
Yes, he realized. Yes he certainly could.
He'd seen it in the eyes of his friends. Frederick's, cold and furious. Cordelia's, betrayed utterly. Sully's, burning with a desire for vengeance. Virion's, questioning and melancholy.
Lissa's, with only fear.
Chrom's, with only rage.
All directed toward Robin.
No one spoke to him, no one acknowledged him. He knew the look in their eyes only from glances at their stares, when they thought he hadn't noticed. They would immediately turn away, look forward and marching ahead, as though he were nothing more than some unpleasant thought.
For the first time since he had woken up in that field, nearly five years ago, Robin felt utterly and completely alone.
So, the second they had made camp, Robin was off. He'd ran, making sure not to be followed, running until he had gotten far enough away. A small field, some thirty minutes from the camp. The gentle breeze against his face, the melting sun as it set low in the sky, all of it was serene. He sat for a moment, simply watching the grass blow in the wind, lost in thought.
He would be the instrument of everyone's demise. He would be the fire to baptize the world.
He thought back to his past with the Shepherds, who had taken him in with open arms. Whether it was Lissa's playful pranking, Frederick's militaristic code of discipline, Sumia looking after them, or Chrom simply helping him to his feet whenever he would fall down, they were Robin's family. Not Validar.
Yet now, it would seem this was no longer the case. Robin knew why, he understood why, but damn. It hurt. It hurt, seeing eyes filled with love now only bearing disdain, disgust even.
He couldn't blame them. He was Grima.
And as his hands wrapped around his blade, he reminded himself of this.
He was Grima.
His blade lifted, pointed to his chest.
He was Grima.
He saw flashes, memories of his friends… no, his family. He could do this. He could do them one last service.
He was Grima.
His mind wandered over everyone he had come to know, until it landed on the one person he had been the most reluctant to think of.
He was Grima.
He had been the one to take her father from her. He had been the one to take everything, to leave her with only her sword and a desperate people begging her for help.
He was Grima.
As his sword fell, his lost thoughts were of her, his blade coming closer and closer to his chest, only thinking of the woman who had become his dearest friend.
I'm sorry, Lucina.
He was Robin.
His blade paused, a mere inch from his chest. He dropped it to the ground, it clattered away as he sat there, quietly suffering. He needed to die, his loved ones needed him to die. He knew that clearly and without question. So, why was this so hard?
He knew he was Grima, but when he thought to all of his fondest memories with all of his loved ones, he couldn't help but feel differently. He was Robin.
But, that changed little. He was still dangerous, his mere existence a threat to everyone he loved.
For them, he reminded himself, For her.
He fell to the ground, endlessly frustrated. Chrom's look of rage, Lissa's look of fear, Frederick's look of fury, all of it embedded into his mind. He had nothing more to live for anyway, he decided.
Yet before he could stand to collect his blade, he became aware of someone approaching him. A glance confirmed it was the last person on the planet he wanted to see. Falchion at her hip, hands behind her back, she moved with purpose before stopping a few feet away. He forced himself to turn forward, knowing full well that the look in her eyes would be what broke him.
"Lucina," he said, tentatively. Despite not looking directly at her, he could sense her tightening up in his periphery. He was only met with silence.
"It's funny. I used to speak often of how I would do anything to regain my lost memories. Now, I think I would do anything to forget," he said, smiling forlornly, "But no matter, what are you here for?"
His question went unanswered. For a time, he simply sat in silence while she stood by him. Finally, he sighed and turned his head to see her face.
The look in her eyes was something that would haunt him. They were so beautiful, but they held only disgust, betrayal, and fury. This, mixed with her otherwise blank face, a hand resting on her blade's hilt tightly, and her tense shoulders all screamed one thing to the experienced tactician.
Danger.
Robin laughed sadly, "I suppose you arrived at the same conclusion I did? You did say Chrom had been betrayed by one of his closest friends, and now you've seen how."
Lucina's grip tightened, her face now struggling to maintain its blank expression. He could tell by the tightening of her lips, the twitch of her nose.
"...I'm the one who doomed your future, Lucina. The one who kills Chrom, the one who ensures the rise of Grima," Robin said, struggling to maintain eye contact. She was silent still, for several moments, before finally, her face couldn't keep up the mask she had tried wearing.
"You are Grima! You took everything from me! My father, my mother, my kingdom, my friends! They're gone because of you!", she said, malice in her voice. The Brand of the Exalt seemed to glow in her eye, as she drew Falchion from its sheath.
"No more. Not again. Never again. I would do anything to protect my father, anything to protect the future. If your life means a future without Grima, even if it simply reduces the odds of his rise, you must not be allowed to live," her voice was stern, cold, and angry. Robin could feel himself die inside, the feeling only growing stronger when he found himself agreeing with her. Slowly, calmly, he rose to his feet.
"You were my friend, Lucina. Whatever judgement you render, I will accept. But please, can you offer me one favor?"
The tip of her blade was pointed at him now, her silence returning.
"Please, tell Chrom… tell everyone I'm sorry," her silence did not waver. She gave a short, terse nod.
"Thank you," Robin gave a sigh, turning out to face the setting sun. There were worse ways to go, he decided.
He made to take in a deep breath when he felt it. A blade, piercing through his back, ribs, one of his lungs, before exiting through his chest, now covered in his blood. His breathing hitched, any words he might have had caught in his throat as he tried and failed to intake air.
The last thing he became aware of in the waking world was Lucina's beautiful face in his periphery, tears threatening to fall as she did her best to face him, to look him in the eyes. He saw all of her pain now, her sadness.
The last thing that the Grandmaster Robin would ever hear would be her soft voice in his ears, a whisper that struggled to even get out the words.
"I'm sorry, Robin."
Then, Robin embraced the nothingness of death.