A/N: Recognize this story? I migrated it to my main account (this one). I'm relatively new to FanFiction, so a review, favorite, and/or follow would be greatly appreciated.

These are not my characters.

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She was Ylisse's best ruler.

After her father passed away, she vowed to repair the broken chains that he had left. War had left the kingdom battered, angry, and desperate. And so she vowed to restore the nation's scars – to mend the people, broken both physically and in spirit.

And she kept her word.

When her people were angry, she worked with them in gentleness. When her people were downtrodden, she comforted them and uplifted their morale, guiding the nation down the path towards tranquility. She was an emblem of peace; a symbol of truth, justice, and equality.

Her people respected her. They followed her and supported her in every one of her actions. True respect is not something that is forced tyrannically – nay, it is earned through trust.

But above all else, she had compassion: a deep love for all of her people. It radiated forth from each and every single one of her every actions – through her generosity, her attitude, and her words.

She had stuck through with it.

She had stuck through with it until the bitter end. Until her last words. Until her dying breath.

And look at what it had brought her in the end.

If Chrom learned anything, it was that fate is twisted. Emmeryn had done so much for her people, and destiny spat straight back in her face. His sister was gone, and to the hands of the mad king Gangrel, no less. It was unforgivable.

Drops of water started to bead down his face. Chrom sobbed. He howled. His knees buckled, and he fell down on to the soaked ground. And he screamed in pure anguish, hoping that just something would change.

As he did so, an army of Plegians started to approach him. He dried his tears, the pain within him hardening into a burning rage.

Chrom rose from his position with hatred blazed across his countenance. Here were the people that had robbed him of the greatest person in his life. They would pay for what they had done. It was truly unforgivable, alright.

Clenching the handle of the blade, Chrom raised Falchion, releasing its leather-coated scabbard to the ground – he didn't intend to use it anytime soon. He would make the Plegians pay.

Robin stood by the camp on the worst day of his entire life (he ignored the fact that the statement in itself didn't mean that much).

A storm had struck, one unmatched in both size and ferocity. The downpour was accompanied with howling winds. Even better. The food was soggy as well, and daylight was dwindling away at an alarming and almost eerie rate.

Robin had left Chrom to himself. He said that he needed some space from the rest of the army.

Probably deforesting the area, or sticking Falchion in the ground like he always does. But today he couldn't bring himself to grin at all, and much less to a chuckle.

He turned to the Shepherds, temporarily resting after the heated battle that had previously ensued. All of them looked the same - solemn faces, soaked clothes, and broken resolves.

Robin's mind focused back to himself.

The more he thought about the incidents that had occurred, the more he began to blame himself and the more broken he felt inside. He was the army's tactician. He had just a single job that battle, and he couldn't even save one person. Robin had failed – a feat that prior to the incident, most of the soldiers would have deemed the impossible.

Maybe, if he placed the troops in different positions, everything could have turned out better – perhaps he could have saved Emmeryn's life. He unraveled a map of the desert and started to scribble furiously on the gridded terrain.

Aha! A vulnerability in the defenses! Panne and Donnel could have gone right there - NO! Then they would have both died! Frederick could have guarded them… but then Chrom would have been slain.

And who to guard Chrom?

Robin spotted one unused and unnoticed unit on the sidelines that could have tipped the scales.

Himself. Robin had done it. Everything that happened, Robin could have prevented. He had killed Emmeryn.

The words sunk in, implanted and ingrained into his mind. Robin was no better than a traitor - he deserved to die, at the hands of Chrom, no less. Robin started in the muddy imprints Chrom's boots.

And suddenly, a cry of pure agony pierced the air. Robin approached the battleground, and he stared in horror at an army of Plegians. In the frontlines was Chrom's lifeless body.

Robin was too late. He had just let his best friend die. And he felt even sicker inside – failure, defeat, and agony sloshed around in his gut, turning him queasy.

He should have thought of a backup plan to save the exalt. He should have anticipated the sneak attack that led to Emmeryn plunging to her death. He should have been there to save Ylisse's ruler. Robin should have followed Chrom. He should have expected a Plegian sneak attack. He should have been there to save his best friend. And all of this added up to a simple sum: Robin should have died – twice - for his actions.

And here was the Plegian army, mere strides away from the Shepherd camp. Without any warning, the rest of the tired soldiers would easily be cornered and finished off. If there was one last service Robin wished to perform, it was to die protecting the people he loved and the group he called his family – for the Shepherds he lived, and now for the Shepherds he would die. Conjuring up the incantation for Mjölnir in his fingertips, Robin rushed headfirst to the battalion.

Game Over.

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The end is never the end. New chapters will be uploaded shortly. Questions? Feedback? Concerns? Leave a PM message or a comment - I'll try to respond to as many as I can.