Grima has returned to slumber

The sun set over Castle Ylisstol, its warm oranges and yellows shining down through the tall windows of every hallway and bathing each room in its light.

Prince Chrom, newly having accepted the title of Exalt, stood in the hall of portraits hung in the eastern wing of the castle. The sun shone down on warm stone walls and deep red curtains, highlighting as well a painting of his family – he and Emmeryn beside their parents, their mother still pregnant with Lissa. Next to it, a picture of Emmeryn grown and alone, her peaceful gaze watching over her brother as he stood before her, staring at the next portrait in line.

His gaze rested softly on the painting of him and his wife. It was posed, and gods but standing for it had taken an eternity! But that day... what he wouldn't give to relive those hours standing next to Robin, her hand poised in his own...

"Get back here, you rapscallion!"

The sound of feet bounding down the halls drew his attention away, rather suddenly accompanied by a loud shout.

His daughter ran from around the corner, surprisingly sure on her feet for a toddler of not even two years. Her arms swung beside her as an energetic smile shone on her cheeks. Behind her, Morgan chased her from a safe distance away, careful to give her a lead as she bound up to her father's legs.

"Papa, help!" she shouted, grabbing onto Chrom's boot. A warm chuckle escaped his mouth as he reached down to stroke her head, but Morgan beat him to the punch.

"You'll never escape my clutches, princess!" the young teenager cried dramatically, finally swooping in to grab his younger sister. "NEVEEER!"

Lucina squealed and giggled as Morgan drew her up off the ground by her underarms, swinging her through the air a bit as he did so.

Chrom smiled, endeared by Morgan's ease in adopting the role of older brother. He expected it was a nice change of pace for him after only ever being watched over as a little brother to the other Lucina. Warmly, he warned his son, "Not too rough now, Morgan."

With an indignant look, Morgan clutched his sister closer to his chest and looked his father in the eyes. "Who is this Morgan of which you speak?" he asked, his voice gravelly and fully in character. "I am Jedah! Evil sorcerer and kidnapper of princesses!"

Before Chrom had a chance to play along, a shout echoed from the other end of the hall.

"Halt, fiend!"

In the distant oaken doorway, a figure in yellow robes could barely be recognized as Owain with a fake, wooden sword in hand.

"No. It can't be!" Morgan cried, gripping Lucina tighter in his arms and feigning total shock as his brown eyes widened.

"Unhand the fair maiden at once, rogue, lest you incur the wrath of Owain Dusk!"

Lucina braced her hands on Morgan's chest and turned to look over her shoulder. Her eyes lit up at the sight of her older cousin as he bound towards the sibling duo. "Owain!"

As Owain neared closer, Morgan began to run in the other direction, Lucina reaching for her cousin over her brother's shoulders and laughing the whole way. Chrom backed towards the wall and out of their way as they ran for the doors.

"You'll never catch me, fool prince!"

Just as they were exiting the hallway, the older Lucina entered. Morgan would've run her down had she not sidestepped him and her cousin as they bound past her. Her eyes widened in shock, she watched them go with a small chuckle.

"I'd wager this game is more for them than Lucina," she said through a laugh as she turned to approach her father.

He could see as she came to stand at his side that there was a bittersweetness to her happiness. Though she smiled, he knew her well enough to recognize the look in her eyes when she began reflecting on her past. It was a look he saw more often when she was around her younger self.

The younger Lucina was receiving a childhood she had never had. But like a coin, her sadness always had another side. She had fought hard for that life for young Lucina, and to see her laughing and growing up without worries was the truest sign that her struggles had not been in vain. Grima had returned to slumber for eternity, and the young princess could grow up free of his shadow.

Her father recognized all of this emotion without a need to ask, and when his eldest daughter placed her hand in his, he squeezed it back understandingly. She said nothing on the topic, rather opting to gaze at the same portrait at which her father had been staring. The pensive look left her eyes and was replaced by something softer.

"Is this the portrait from your coronation?" she asked Chrom, her brows pinched upwards and eyes widened, impressed and curious.

"Yes. We had it commissioned in honor of our wedding," he answered. A pain went through his chest remembering that day, and the two blessed years they'd spent with one another before the next war had come. "We were going to have another painting made at your birth, but then Valm happened, and... Well, this is all we're left with."

"You both look stunning."

Chrom let out a weak chuckle. He took notice of his and Robin's robes, rich and regal in their color, high quality in their material, uncomfortable in their weight (if memory served him right). "Your mother always hated being in full regalia. Truth be told, so did I. But we suffered through it together."

From within the ornate wooden frame, above the end table still collecting flowers of tribute, the young royal couple gazed down upon Chrom and Lucina. The pose was stiff – Chrom's back straight, one hand raised near his ribs with Robin's finger's clasped over it as she stood just in front of his shoulder – but they were posed closer than any of the other couples since his great-grandparents. They'd been the first in three generations to marry for love, and the painter had made it visible.

Ye in his mind, he knew he hadn't looked so gentle through the entire session as he'd been painted, nor had Robin.

"My arm is arching," he'd complained to his wife. Two hours, their hands had been clasped raised and stiffly at his chest. His left arm had been fine at his side, but holding the right one up had been becoming more and more challenging. The blue cape he hated oh so much had been weighing down heavily on him, and his robes were beginning to get far too hot for a summer's evening.

Robin had laughed a small laugh, careful to move as little a possible so as not to shift the way the light fell on her dress. "Mine, too," she'd replied. "Don't worry. Just a bit longer, and we'll be left to only each other again."

Chrom had squeezed her hand a bit tighter through their gloves, and on a whim he'd leaned forward to plant a kiss on her cheek.

"Please, do stand still, Your Excellency," the painter had chastised him over Robin's laugh, gazing without amusement over the canvas.

Chrom had leaned back and resumed the same position as before, but a smile had lingered on his face for a moment longer. With a sideways glance at Robin, he saw the same was true for her.

That was the moment their painter had captured. Their eyes were softer than before, their smiles resuming a look of dignity but tainted with actual happiness. They had been truly happy in that moment together.

On that day, Chrom had been able to look and see his wife at his right hand. Now, where she had stood, he saw his daughter – their daughter – holding his hand instead. And all at once, her small similarities to Robin were clear as day. She may have held herself like her father, she may have had his hair and his eyes, but in that instant where he found himself between reverie and reality, she morphed into her mother.

"You have her smile," he said, his voice unintentionally soft. Lucina's eyes left the portrait of her parents as her father brushed a strand of her fringe behind her ear, a gentle smile on his face. Two sets of loving gray eyes met one another. Lucina's smile grew larger, as though her lips alone could connect her to the woman she'd inherited them from, if for only a moment.

Gripping Chrom's hand a bit tighter, Lucina moved closer and set her gaze back upon the painting, a thoughtful look in her eyes. She sighed, barely audible.

"Do you really think she... she's still out there?" she asked quietly, sounding undecided on her own opinion on the matter. As always, she looked to her father to give her all the answers.

There was no doubt in his mind when he replied, "I know so."

Naga herself had said Robin could survive if her bonds with those close to her were strong enough. They would serve as her tether to this world, that Grima's death wouldn't take her life as well. Robin's bonds to her friends were undeniably strong, and her bond with Chrom was...

Well, it was strong enough to have formed despite their being the descendants of gods sworn to be enemies, deep enough to grow into a love that trumped all destinies, and true enough that it had remained a constant through who knew how many worlds.

Robin could not be dead. Chrom could feel it in himself that their bond was not broken – it couldn't be broken, and he was sure many of his friends shared the same feeling. The feeling was a lack of true grief, for somehow their hearts knew there was nothing to mourn. She was still out there somewhere, waiting for him. Waiting for Lissa, for Frederick and Sumia and all of her friends. Her family.

"And we'll find her."

So I know you were probably expecting a heart-wrenching, post-Grima, "Oh God, Robin is gone" chapter. But Chrom was canonically pretty calm (for the aforementioned reasons, in my belief). Do I believe he probably went and cried in his and Robin's tent after that big, inspirational speech of his after Grima fell? Abso-freakin'-lutely. Because yes, it is sad that Robin isn't there with them in the end.

But all in all, this is not a sad story, so I didn't want a sad chapter. This is the story of a woman who defied destiny and chose love, who saved the whole world and secured a brighter future for everyone. She was brave and selfless, and her friends and family have every right to be proud of her, even if they're sad she's gone. For now.

This is a happy story.