Story 3: The Unwinnable Scenario

As I ran a finger through my gray hair, the thought struck me that it used to be silver. Silver and straight. Of course, those two weren't related. Lack of sleep doesn't curl my hair: refusing to bathe does. Why do people bathe? To not offend others' sensibilities. And I do that with my very presence, so…

I almost laughed as I realized I'd just thought the words "lack of sleep." I'd been getting plenty of sleep. A good eight hours last night, if I remembered correctly—admittedly, that was a long time ago. But Chrom had mentioned deep bags under my bloodshot eyes regardless.

And the desert air was not kind to my skin. Plegia's a hellhole, so it's only fitting that even the very air tries to suck the moisture out of you with each passing moment.

I'd aged ten years in three. I figured I was unrecognizable from the man who woke up in that field in Ylisse. Hell, even "Robin, victor of the Valmese War" sounded like a distant memory. I could barely remember Walhart's face.

At the moment, though, that was because the visage of Aversa was burned into my vision. Her taunts echoed in my ears.

"Oho, maybe next time, sweet brother…"

I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head. I'm not there right now. I'm here. I glanced around the strategy tent, as though to ascertain that its inhabitants were all real.

Frederick, Lucina and Chrom were staring at the map intently, perhaps trying to find some new vantage point I hadn't considered. I always appreciated the help, but really, the insight I awaited hearing was from the fifth occupant of the room.

Morgan scratched her messy hair, her lips pouty as she contemplated her notes. An array of her books were laid out across the table, open to pages containing random, archaic strategies from times long past. My daughter had a knack for composing modern tactics out of that antiquated nonsense—a skill she took pride in, to be certain, and a skill I was proud of her for, even more certainly. But she didn't seem to be on the verge of a breakthrough at the moment.

I sighed, rubbing my eyes. "…I don't see it," I said. "I can't figure it out."

"We still have time, Robin," said Lucina gently.

"We should be resting up. Taking inventory. Everyone got Elixirs?"

Chrom rolled his eyes. "We have MORE than enough Elixirs."

Right. I'd been putting the resets to productive use, duplicating small items. Felt especially good to double our stores of Naga Tears each time.

"Our inventory isn't the problem," said Frederick. "According to your accounts, it's Aversa's formidable army. The Deadlords, you said?"

"Yeah." I crossed my arms. "They're inhuman, and there's twelve of them. Plus Aversa. The Dragon's Table couldn't have better guards."

"And there's no cover, thanks to the sand… no useful terrain." Morgan tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Can't attack them from afar, since their position is fortified. Can't attack up close, since there's not enough room to field everyone and they outmatch us when they attack all at once." She pressed her finger against the map, at a space near a cluster of Deadlords. "This looks like the sweetspot. If we could get this chokepoint held, then these few Deadlords here would be occupied long enough for us to deal with the rest."

"Then why not put a heavily defensive unit there, such as Kellam or Kjelle?" Frederick posited.

I shook my head. "No good. There's a mage there, too."

Chrom frowned. "Then pair them up with a healer, maybe?"

"That would work if the knights were able to take one hit. They can't." I stared at my feet. "Res Tonics. Pure Water. Barrier staff. Doesn't do a thing."

Chrom and Frederick both leaned back in surprise and frustration. Lucina ran a tired hand through her hair—now SHE probably had sleep issues.

"That's insane!" Chrom exclaimed irritably. "There's only thirteen of them, and we're helpless against them with twice that number."

"Sucks, doesn't it."

Morgan leaned her elbows against the table, her fingers digging into her hair. "Man… it's right there. A perfect chokepoint, right there, staring me in the face. But we can't hold it."

She pushed away from the table, catching a loud yawn. "I'm gonna go grab some water. Y'all need some, too?"

"Sounds good."

"I'll be all right, Morgan."

"I appreciate the offer, milady."

"Thank you, dear."

Morgan flashed us her bright smile and left the strategy tent.

We were all quiet, pondering the matter further.

"It's never been like this," I said softly, capturing their attention. "There's always been a way… Even in the toughest fights we've been in, I've always been able to see a brute force solution, a solution that would get people killed but would work." I met Frederick's eye, then Lucina's, then Chrom's. "…I've always tried to find a better way, but there had always been a darker alternative I knew I could resort to."

"It goes without saying that we appreciate all of your efforts," said Lucina. "So, this is the one exception?"

"There is no solution," I said soullessly. My eyes drifted downward; my arms crossed uncomfortably. "We've never even come close. It's unwinnable."

"This is not unwinnable," Chrom insisted determinedly. "There's a way that we haven't found. Validar goes on and on about how unavoidable 'destiny' is, but if he believes that, then why were we gifted with your ability, Robin? I know, I know that it's painful, that it's disheartening beyond comprehension, but think of the upside. Thanks to your ability, we can never lose." He smiled. "We've got this, Robin, I promise. We'll make it through."

What a very Chrom thing to say.

"I appreciate your optimism."

…What a very Robin thing to say.

In truth, I had already found a solution. Of a sort, at least. More a 'proof of concept' than an actual, practical answer. I went about testing it later that day, as we faced off against the Deadlords.

I am not humble. Such social graces are long behind me. I know the reality of the situation is that I am far and away the strongest of the Shepherds.

My solution was this: hold the chokepoint myself. Swords, tomes, and a multitude of skills to protect me from what those weapons couldn't. Tonics, Pure Water, whatever. Anything to boost my chances.

This chokepoint was friendly to me. Four Deadlords awaited beyond, but only one to two at a time could even reach me. I kept them at bay for nearly half an hour as the rest of the Shepherds cleaned up the rest of the separated enemies. Took me forever, but I even eliminated all of my opponents. Good for me.

Didn't matter, though. I was dead. Missing an arm, blinded in one eye, gushing blood from my abdomen. I fell before those savage mockeries of life, with only the satisfaction of having taken them with me.

The Shepherds could've won without me. They had dispatched their opponents, even Aversa. Combined, they could take on the Dragon's Table alone.

I saw the triumph disappear from Chrom's eyes as he noticed my dying form. He hurried over to me and took my remaining hand, frowning sadly.

"I-It worked," I sputtered, laughing weakly. "It worked… we won."

"Yeah… But it doesn't matter, does it," Chrom murmured.

I shook my head.

"There's a better way," he insisted. "You'll find it. I know you will. I know you'll be able to use this knowledge to let us win for good."

"I hope so."

He smiled. "So… this is what it feels like, huh? It's almost like mortality. You're the dying one, but… I'm the one who'll disappear."

I chuckled tiredly, which turned into a short coughing fit. "Sucks, doesn't it?"

"I must've felt this exact feeling hundreds of times," Chrom mused. "But it's a first for me. …Robin, I want to apologize for every time you've heard me tell you a joke you've heard me tell a million times. And, just so you know, I notice every time you roll your eyes at my encouraging speeches."

"Heheh… Chrom, you know me so well."

"Sure do." He squeezed my hand. "You're my best friend."

"You're my best friend, too." I closed my eyes.

"Hey… Whenever you wake up, Robin, would you mind telling that to me? I love hearing that."

"Sure, buddy… sure…"

My head lolled to the side, and I peacefully settled into death.

Chrom patiently waited for me to finish heaving into the bucket. "…That rough, huh? Aversa's not playing around, is she."

My stomach finally calmed down, and I placed the bucket back. I reached into my pockets and emptied them of their duplicated items.

Chrom was hesitant. "Do… Do I want to ask how many?"

I slowly met his eye. Wiping my mouth, I stood and mumbled into my sleeve, "Thirty-one."

Chrom's jaw dropped. "Thirty-one? Thirty-one resets?! Gods above!"

"New record, I know," I said dryly, dropping my arm. "Beats out the battle against Walhart by eight."

Chrom shook his head, standing and heading for the tent's entrance. "I… I didn't imagine this would be so difficult. We shouldn't waste any time, then…"

"Chrom, wait."

He paused in the tent flap.

"I… Chrom…" I sighed. "You're my best friend. You know that, right?"

Chrom was at a loss for words. Slowly, he turned to face me, and stepped away from the tent flap. "Robin, of… of course I know that. Why? What happened?"

I shrugged, grinning humorlessly. "Fulfilling a promise I made you." I averted my eyes. "I… I know I'm hard to work with. I know I'm not always patient, but I… I wanted you to know that I appreciate you. You know?"

Chrom blinked. "Gods… Robin, I…" He suddenly looked around, grinning. "Man, can I get that in writing? This is the best moment I've had in weeks!"

I laughed, genuinely. "I'll be sure to carry that with me, Chrom." I gestured out the tent. "Now, let's get going."

…

"…ther!"

Chrom and I exchanged a glance, looking around. We had thought the ruins to be empty, since we had cleared out the last of the Risen several minutes ago. Yet, a female voice resounded from somewhere. Hard to tell where, given the echoing depths of the Ruins of Time, so we both looked around, hands on our swords just in case.

"Faaaaather!"

Easy to pinpoint the voice that time, and we both swiveled as one to face the newcomer. She was running up to us, and stopped a short distance away to double over and pant for breath.

His hand falling away from Falchion, Chrom gave me a curious glance. "Who is she?"

"Dunno."

Chrom seemed surprised at my answer. I guess I did usually know things he didn't, but we'd cleared the ruins on our first try, so how could I have known?

The girl stood up straight, beaming at me. "Oh, man! Took me FOREVER to find you!"

I frowned. "Are you talking to me?"

"Yep!" She put her hands on her hips and faced Chrom. "Don't know you, though. My name's Morgan! Nice to meet you."

"It's a pleasure," said Chrom warily. "My name is Chrom. …Can we help you?"

Morgan blinked. "Well, I dunno. I'm just glad to be back!" She faced me again. "Did you miss me, Father? I sure missed you!"

Chrom and I both reeled.

"What?!" I exclaimed. "What did you call me?"

Morgan's smile wavered. "Uh… Father?"

I turned to Chrom, expecting to see an equally shocked look on his face, but he didn't have that at all.

Rather, it was a warm smile.

"Robin," he said quietly. "She must be from the future. …You're going to have a daughter."

"H-How…? Who…?" I swiftly turned on Morgan. "Morgan, you are my child?"

"Uh, yeah? You okay, Father?"

I approached Morgan and grasped her shoulders firmly. An odd thing to do to a stranger, in hindsight. "Morgan, listen to me." I stared her in the eye intensely. "Who is your mother?"

"My mother?" Morgan was still smiling as she puzzled it over. During the following moment, her expression slowly melted into an upset frown. "…I—I don't know! Father, I can't remember who Mother is!"

I sighed deeply. Figures. Then I procured a smile for her. "…That's okay, Morgan. You're from the future, right?"

She wore a blank stare.

I sighed again, and the forced smile vanished. "Guess we have a lot to talk about, hm?" I backed away and gestured toward Chrom. "Let's get going."

"Sounds good, Father! I'm so glad to be with you again!"

…

"So you were able to secure a victory?" Frederick asked. He'd relinquished his chair to me, and was sitting at the foot of his bed.

"I was. Didn't matter, though, since I died."

"And nobody else did?"

I shrugged. "I didn't exactly stick around to get an after-action report, but it looked like it."

"That is progress, at least." Frederick folded his arms. "Where did you place me?"

"You were paired up with Chrom," I said. "He could always use the extra strength and defense backing him up. You two seemed like a force to be reckoned with, so you'll be with him again this time."

"What if he and I were placed in the chokepoint?" Frederick posited.

I waved it away. "The mage. Ovis. You two can't handle the magic damage he puts out."

"Hm." He frowned in disappointment, and his tent was quiet.

"I'll see what the others have to say." I turned toward the exit. "See you at the briefing."

I crossed my arms and leaned back in the chair. "What do you make of it, Lucina?"

Her hands were clasped in front of her mouth, lost in thought as she was. "…Mm… So, you took four of the Deadlords on your own?" She looked up at me. "What if you were paired with someone?"

"Nobody would be a good match," I stated. "I'm not lacking in any specific area, so an ally would more than likely just be a liability to me. Regardless, everyone is more needed elsewhere to fight the rest of the Deadlords."

Lucina frowned. "You believe that nobody could match with you?"

"No." But after a moment's thought, I added, "Possibly Morgan. She's the only one anywhere near my strength, but it's still a massive gap. And of course, there's still that she's needed with the rest of you, and couldn't be stuck with me."

Lucina pursed her lips, watching me quietly. "…Robin, you push yourself too much."

I snorted. "This, coming from the time-traveler trying to change the future?"

"Don't change the subject. There has to be somebody who can fill the spot. There must be." She smiled. "Father mentioned once that your ability allows us to never lose. There is a way."

"That's mighty optimistic of you." My eyes narrowed. "I see it as a curse. You did too, once."

Her eyes averted. Of course she remembered what I was talking about.

"That… isn't fair," she murmured. "We've already changed so much. Why can't the future change, too?"

I assessed her for a moment. Looked her up and down. The Lucina before me was virtually unrecognizable from the one I'd met two years ago. That Lucina had rarely spoken directly to me, and usually imbibed her words and looks with venom. Took me a long time to figure out why… though that was about the same time that she stopped.

I closed my eyes and discarded those thoughts for now. Reopening my eyes, I answered, "I wish I could share that sentiment."

"I understand."

Not the answer I'd expected. I sometimes saw Chrom so strongly in her that I couldn't imagine her giving an answer unlike one of his—but this wasn't a "You'll come around," or "I wish you did." She had answered with the whole reason she wasn't at my throat nowadays. 'I understand.'

I stood up. "We'll speak more at the briefing. Thanks for the insight."

"Of course."

I left her tent behind.

…

"Good evening, Robin."

I turned around. A similar alarm raised in my mind as last time—alarm at Lucina initiating conversation. That never boded well. However, this time I didn't bother searching for an exit route, as I often did. "Good evening, Lucina. Chrom is back with the rest of camp, in case you were looking for him."

"I wasn't." Her posture was stiff and rigid, possibly in irritation at the mere thought of conversation with me. "Why are you out here?"

I gestured vaguely at the broad expanse of quiet plains behind me, illuminated in an orange glow. "Getting some air." Truthful, though my bluntness didn't help; I saw Lucina's eyes narrow suspiciously. "It's… It's been a long day."

"That it has."

Lucina fell silent. A crisp wind passed by, ruffling her blue hair.

"So. Princess Lucina. What do you need?"

"I wished to speak with you about my father." Her eyes did not move, but her hand tensed on Falchion's hilt anxiously. "Would you spare a moment?"

"Fine."

Another pause as Lucina gathered her words.

"I… am blessed," she murmured. "I was hardly old enough to retain memories of my father before he passed. I'd heard stories… tales of his valor… but in my journey to the past, I felt it necessary to temper my expectations." She inhaled. "…I needn't have. He was every bit as great as the stories said. It saddens me… saddens me that my world was robbed of such a great man."

I didn't respond.

"I won't allow this world to reach the same fate."

Slowly, gracefully, Lucina extracted her gilded blade from its sheath.

I reflexively took a step back, in spite of myself; my eyes followed the tip of Falchion. "Lucina…"

"I knew it," she hissed. "I knew from the beginning! You are my father's murderer, Robin! It was so easy to tell. You are antisocial, you only focus your attention on him… Yet, I neglected to act. My father trusted you so. I thought you could change! Thought he could fix you… but the events of today prove otherwise." She moved her other hand to Falchion's grip as well; the blade was now pointed directly at me. "You are entirely at Validar's mercy! He has power over you, Robin. Regardless of it all—regardless of anything we could do or say—you are still under his control."

I couldn't argue with her. The events of today had been terrifying. The way Validar bent me to his will… the feeling of my own limbs not under my control… I was a pawn, all along.

"So… you plan to kill me?" I asked evenly.

"I do. I will set the future on a better path. I know this is murder, but if I must burn, too…" She glared at me fiercely. "…So be it."

I looked down. A small, pained smile grew on my expression.

"…If only."

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

I squeezed my eyes shut; memory of the last reset was still seared into them.

"…If I must burn, too… so be it."

I closed my eyes. "…So be it, indeed. Do it, Lucina."

She hesitated. "Wh… What?"

My eyes opened. "Do it, Lucina! Kill me! I want you to!"

Her expression remained shocked for a brief moment, before welling with resolve.

I had wondered if this was my fate. If this, finally, was the end of it. Lucina held such sadness in her eyes. Was this the way to change the future? Did it have to be by Lucina's hand all along?

I saw a tear drizzle down her cheek as she held me, watching me die. Falchion lay peacefully in the grass nearby, coated from cross-guard to tip in my blood.

"I am so sorry," she whispered. "This had to be done."

"I understand." I smiled slightly, genuinely. It was a faint hope, but it was hope nonetheless. Would I stay dead? Would this finally be it?

It hurt. It hurt. The pain was laughing at me. "You thought that would WORK?"

And I awoke that morning, and that spark died, and I told Chrom "second try," and we fought through Plegia's Castle once again. I tried to stop Validar. Didn't work. Tried to resist giving him the Fire Emblem. Didn't work. Went exactly the same, and I couldn't do anything about it.

"…In that way, we're the same," I finished quietly. "We have no say in our future. We are both pawns."

Her sword arm fell limp by her side; her eyes, turned downward, began to water.

I watched as the strong princess fell to her hands and knees and began to sob. Pity filled my eyes, but I could not bring myself to join her. I'd lost this same kind of hope hundreds of times over. I was numb to it.

Slowly, Lucina collected herself, and she returned to her feet. The princess wiped her eyes and sniffed. "I-I always held onto that," she whispered. "I always thought… no matter how bad it gets, I could always try to kill you. Should the future refuse to budge, I could always…" She shook her head. "…But your ability… no, your curse… it refuses to let the future change." She laughed humorlessly. "Fate… Fate truly is unavoidable, isn't it?"

"Lucina…"

I knew how much it hurt. I never knew what it felt like to see someone else feel that same hurt.

I thought of Chrom. Chrom had watched me for years. Watched me fight against despair with all I had. He tried to make it easier… tried to be a… a friendly shoulder to lean on.

It was hard. And the more I watched Lucina, the more I saw myself.

I felt hot liquid trail down my cheek.

"Robin," she whispered. "I… I understand. I understand your pain…"

I nodded. More tears began to flow.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"Don't be."

She pulled me into a tight embrace, and we both lost our inhibitions, crying loudly.

I had never—have never—lost myself like that.

That was when Lucina changed.

…

…That second time… I'd noticed something, something I'd missed the first time. Lucina had held a strong gaze at first, glaring at me, but… I couldn't shake the feeling that her eyes carried fear.

…

"Ah!" Morgan's bright smile greeted me as I pushed into her tent. "Good morning, Father! Boy oh boy, thirty-one resets, huh?"

"Good morning, Morgan." I let the tent flap fall, and I took a seat nearby. Morgan was down to business immediately, sitting next to me, spreading out a map of the Dragon's Table's entrance across her lap.

"Ol' Freddie already told me about the last reset," Morgan said. "Gotta say, Father, it's pretty incredible that you could take four of 'em on. Chrom and Frederick together were hardly evenly matched with Mus, right?"

"If past resets are any indication, yes."

Morgan tapped her chin. "How did you die, Father?"

A perfectly normal question coming from Morgan. She didn't exactly have a keen eye for tact; unlike most of the Shepherds in the know, she never danced around the subject of my deaths. Just another way she and I were alike, because fortunately, I didn't mind her question in the least.

"Porcus wore me down. Tough to land a hit on him, and he landed several vicious wounds on me before I got one on him."

Morgan scratched her head. She seemed to be running the gauntlet of her absentminded habits. "So you need a defense pair-up?"

I sighed. "No, Morgan. I've already gone through this with Lucina: nobody would be able to match my pace. I would be more worried about keeping an ally afloat than focusing on combat." Truth be told, the fight with the four Deadlords was as exhilarating as it was terrifying; very rarely did I have such an opportunity to let loose on my opponents. It took everything I had to defeat them, every trick I knew, and though as I lay dying I'd known it was all for nothing, I couldn't help but feel satisfied that I was able to pull it off on my own.

"Are you sure?" Morgan pressed. She put her hands on her hips. "This better not be a pride thing, Father. Give the Shepherds some credit."

"I give them plenty of credit," I snapped. "It's a fact. I'm too strong for them. Honestly, if I was able to restrain my magic better, I would be better off."

Morgan sighed. By this point, I guess she was used to my harsh tone. Months ago, she had initially expected I would use a friendlier tone with her—she didn't remember much, but she did remember that I wasn't an asshole in her future—but she'd quickly learned that sugarcoating is an alien concept to me.

I continued. "In an ideal world, I would have a Shepherd at or near the same level as me bolster my defense and strength. Defense so I could brave Porcus's onslaught, and strength to eliminate Ovis easier and save time and exertion. But no one fits the bill, not even Frederick."

Morgan's eyes brightened. "What about me? Could I join you?"

"No. Even in a world where the other eight Deadlords don't exist, and you weren't needed over there, then you would still be inadequate at my side. You would nearly double my magical defense and offense, but I'm not lacking in those."

Morgan dimmed. "…Oh. Sorry, Father."

"It's not your fault." My delivery could've been less aggressive, so I tried to backpedal a little bit. "The gap between your competence and mine is vast—" Not off to a great start— "but you're still the second-strongest Shepherd available. If it weren't me in the chokepoint, then I would—"

I immediately bit my tongue, hard enough to hurt.

Gods.

That was it.

That—

That right there.

Morgan was lost in thought again, staring at the map splayed over her knees, scribbling notes on a piece of paper; I looked her up and down in bewilderment.

Morgan was perfectly suited to the task. Her magic strength was comparable, and her resistance even surpassed mine. She was lacking in the necessary strength and defense, but she was compatible with anyone; they would not hold her back, nor would she let them, so focused would she be on the battle at hand rather than the safety of others.

I almost felt hopeful. Almost.

Not really, though. This was a death sentence.

With a perfectly-suited pair-up, Morgan would nearly reach my level of durability and strength. Weaker, of course, but two is better than one. Enough to get the job done, the exact same way I'd gotten it done last time. The exact same way.

All this meant was that she would be the sacrifice, rather than me.

No. Absolutely not.

She looked up at me, realizing I'd been silent for a moment. "…What's the matter, Father?"

"N-Nothing." I stood and turned toward the exit. "Thanks for the insight. I'll see you at the briefing."

"Er, wait."

I stopped to glance at Morgan curiously.

She offered me a small piece of paper, smiling. "You forgot this."

"Ah… right." Her notes. She always wrote them for herself for the next reset—essentially a transcript of our conversations. She'd have another sheet ready for me at the end of the briefing. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Father."

Absolutely not. Absolutely not.

The words kept ringing in my ears; I paced with the intent of droning them out with heavy footfalls.

But my mind couldn't resist the temptation, and continued to run scenario after imaginary scenario. Couldn't think of a flaw. Morgan was too competent. Far too competent. She wouldn't fail. She would die so that we could live. She would die for me… and she'd do it with a smile on her face.

I couldn't possibly let her know.

"From the rear!" I heard Lon'qu bellow.

My heart fell. As I'd expected, of course; I had experimented with Frederick's idea, and now I knew I was justified. He and Chrom couldn't hold the chokepoint.

And now we were paying the price; the three Deadlords that Chrom hadn't been able to kill were upon us in a heartbeat. With our group surrounded and our morale plummeting, it was an easy rout for the undead legion.

Myself, I lasted a little longer, but of course Draco was the one to take me down from afar.

Fuck archers.

it hurts

it hurts

"Thirty-two."

"What?!"

"…I tried to pick it up," I explained. "I pried Valflame from Canis's fingers, but it was dull and heavy in my hands. I couldn't wield it."

Chrom frowned. "Interesting… and not in a good way. They carry unique, super-powerful tomes that only they may wield?"

Morgan raised her hand, catching the briefing tent's attention. "Um, actually, no. In Jugdrali myth, only people with major Fala blood could wield it. I don't know why a Deadlord has that kind of blood—safe to say it's some supernatural mumbo-jumbo—but it at least explains why you can't, Father."

"Oh." I scowled. "Wonderful."

"From the rear!"

I groaned with anger. Sumia and Cynthia hadn't lasted ten minutes.

…Draco got me again, the bastard.

"Thirty-three."

Chrom's jaw dropped. "Thirty-th—? That's over a month!"

"Yeah," I said bitterly, "I know."

"We don't put anyone at the chokepoint, we get surrounded, we all die," I said, my voice and temper rising. "We do put someone at the chokepoint, they die, the others get surrounded, we all die!" I smacked the table angrily. "It's fucking impossible!"

Frederick, Lucina, Chrom, and Morgan all winced.

Screw it, I'll try Lucina's idea. Paired with Frederick, I took hold of the chokepoint.

We did well for a while. Tigris fell after a grueling fight; three remained.

However, Ovis was able to slip past my guard and snipe Frederick right off of his horse. I was distracted for an instant, and Porcus shot me from afar with his gods-damn assassin bow.

We lost the chokepoint, and they left me behind to die while they went on to slaughter the rest of the Shepherds.

As I lay there, bleeding out, I had a little time to reflect. What if I hadn't been distracted? I might've been able to take out the other three, but I'd lost Frederick too quickly to fix the main problem: strength for Ovis, defense for Porcus. It would've played out the same, with us trading life for 'lives'. This was an unsuccessful test.

Sure was taking me a while to die. I realized: if Lepus turned around right now, marched over here, and healed me, then they could take me prisoner, hold me for the night, and cement this as a final defeat. That was a scary thought.

Scary enough to motivate me to reach for my sword. I couldn't find it lying around anywhere—must've been flung from my grip. But nearby, I… there… F-Frederick was lying there, his fingers still loosely gripping his silver weapon…

Groaning in pain, I began to crawl toward him. His eyes were open, unfocused, aimed right at me. I couldn't not meet them.

I finally curled my fingers around his sword's hilt with a gasp of pain, and took one last look at Frederick's empty expression. I burned it into my memory. I could never forget. Not if I wanted to.

I forced myself to my knees—oh, how hard it was to not collapse instantly—grasped the sword tightly, and shoved it into my stomach.

Couldn't stop myself from falling over. Buried the sword deeper, actually.

It doesn't hurt like you'd expect, being stabbed. It's a suffocating feeling. Your lungs refuse to respond; no matter how hard you gasp, you won't get any air.

It's the worst way to die.

it hurts

it hurts

I hadn't said anything since entering Chrom's tent. I simply sat there, my face buried in my hands. Chrom was too kind; five minutes had passed and he hadn't uttered a single prompting word.

"Chrom."

I was still covering my eyes, but I heard him shift in attention. "What is it, Robin?"

"It isn't impossible."

"R-Really? You've figured it out?"

"Chrom, it's Morgan."

I looked up at him. My eyes were redder than ever before, and I didn't have a doubt in my mind that I looked like I'd been awake for every one of those thirty-four days.

"Only I can hold the point," I began shakily. "…But if I hold the point, I die, and we lose." I tilted my head. "If I don't hold the point, we lose the point, we get surrounded, and we lose. Point is, whoever holds the point dies."

Chrom crossed his arms, uncomfortable.

"The objective, then, is to find someone who can kill the four Deadlords before succumbing, and it must be all four. I thought that only I could pull it off, meaning this fight was, indeed, unwinnable. But… I was wrong."

"Morgan," Chrom breathed. "You… Are you saying that…"

I shook my head. "Not just Morgan, Chrom… she can't do it alone. She needs an ally."

I wonder if he noticed the way my fists clenched in my lap.

"Two lives to be thrown away, Chrom. Two lives traded for mine."

Chrom was nothing if not predictable. His expression immediately filled with resolve. "That can't be it," he demanded adamantly. "There must be a solution that doesn't involve anyone dying."

I could forgive him his naivety. I'd thought the same, once, but the Ylisse-Plegia War had taught me otherwise. Faces I hadn't thought of in years suddenly appeared in my mind's eye.

Chrom could see the dissent in my expression. "You're giving me that 'I-don't-buy-it' look, but come on, Robin. This is Morgan we're talking about. Your daughter. You've said before that you'd reset if I or Frederick or Lucina would die, but not Morgan?"

"You think I want to let her die?!" I shouted. "Thirty-four resets, Chrom! Thirty-four! If there was a different solution, I would've found it by now!"

"There is one, Robin! There always is!"

"No there isn't! Or have you already forgotten your sister?"

He recoiled slightly.

I immediately regretted what I said. I shouldn't have brought up Emmeryn. I should never have brought up Emmeryn.

"Emmeryn chose to do what she did of her own free will," Chrom stated through clenched teeth. "That wasn't your decision to make as tactician, Robin. That's comparable to saying it was impossible to save Yen'fay."

My temper flared. "That isn't relevant! I'm talking about sacrifice, Chrom."

"Then I suppose you'll mention Ricken and Maribelle next, won't you?"

It was my turn to recoil.

He knows.

Chrom looked down on me, his arms crossed. He knew he had me in the palm of his hand, but he didn't press his advantage. He didn't need to say anything more—he'd already revealed that he knew.

It had been over three years since then, but Chrom still remembered them. Remembered what they'd died for.

I still knew I'd made the right choice.

"…I appreciate your insight," I muttered, and I stood. "See you at the briefing."

…

Kjelle and Noire exchanged a glance. "We, uh…"

They turned back to face us; my hand was clamped onto Morgan's shoulder, as if to hold her in place. My daughter offered a simple, genuine smile back at the other two future children.

"Sorry, Morgan," Noire said quietly. "I don't… I don't know you."

"Yeah, I'm drawing a real blank on your face," said Kjelle. "You weren't one of us."

My eyebrows furrowed.

"Oh, that's okay!" said Morgan cheerfully, brushing it off. "I don't remember you guys either, but I'm happy to meet you! We can be best friends from now on, okay?"

Kjelle frowned. "…Are you sure you're Robin's daughter?"

Noire nudged her scoldingly.

…

I'd thought Chrom was nothing if not predictable. The spirit of his words I had predicted, but not the words themselves.

When I entered Lucina's tent, I was already shaken with doubt. Chrom had strayed from the script, and I knew him better than I knew anyone. What the hell would Lucina possibly say, then? It had always been hard to figure out what she'd say next.

Unable to read what her response would be, I watched her mull over my words. She wore a small frown, staring at the ground separating her chair from mine.

"Robin," she said at last; her voice seemed to shatter the silence. "…Thirty-four resets?"

"Yes. I figured this out on the thirty-first." My heartbeat was loud in my ears. "What… do you make of it?"

"Robin, I…" She met my eye sadly. "I assume you've already spoken with my father. Judging by your mood, he must have spoken harshly. Please understand—he merely wishes to save everyone he can."

"I understand that perfectly. Better than him."

Her hands balled into anxious fists on her lap. "…I am not him, Robin… I come not from my father's world, but from a world of loss and death. I'm familiar with the… the concept of… sacrifice."

My mouth opened slightly. I'd miscalculated. Though I had my doubts, in the end I had mostly resolved that Lucina would respond the same way as Chrom… but why would she? She was the one who had been willing to kill me to save the world. She was the one who'd seen more death than all of the present-day Shepherds combined.

"I couldn't possibly weigh in on this issue," she continued, her voice faint. "What you ask of me is too much. Only you can even… even c-comprehend what you would lose, so to ask me for advice is…" She paused to take a breath. "Robin, if you truly believe that this is the only choice… then I trust in you."

I could only dimly remember the coldness of her glares. When she wouldn't avoid me, she would give sharp remarks in my direction for every little thing.

The image of her Falchion raised at me—of her Falchion buried into my chest, stealing my breath—was distant. So long ago.

This Lucina was hardly the same Lucina.

"Th-Thank you…" A raspy breath. "That's… all I needed, I think. Thank you."

Lucina smiled as I stood from my seat. "See you in the briefing," she said.

"See you."

Morgan was scribbling again, standing over her desk because she was apparently too impatient to sit. Her hair fell over her pencil, causing her to brush the strand behind her ear absently.

Why did it have to be silver? The parentage of the rest was obvious. Always seemed to have the father's hair color. Well, unfortunately, Morgan also followed that rule.

I sighed again, watching her quietly examine the notes she'd left for herself last reset. How to tell her? I knew I could be blunt. I knew I could simply order it of her, and she would comply. But that felt unbelievably wrong. She was my daughter. I couldn't just—I—

I swallowed down a dry throat. "Morgan."

She glanced up from her paperwork, shooting me a tiny grin. "Ah, me first, Father." She finished jotting down one last sentence before folding it up and handing it to me.

I frowned as I accepted the paper. "…Hm. Go ahead, then."

"I've been looking through our past conversations," she said matter-of-factly. Morgan circled around the desk to the side I was on, and she leaned back against it, smiling at me. "Made me think of something. Something from the War of Shadows two thousand years ago. So, I go hunting through some history books. I couldn't find what I was thinking of in most of them; the legend of Sir Frey was almost lost to time, but I knew I'd seen it before, so I kept looking."

"Sir Frey…" I shook my head. "That name doesn't ring a bell."

"I'm not surprised," Morgan replied. "This is his story." She snagged a book off of the desk behind her, and she offered it to me. A page near the beginning of the thick tome was bookmarked.

"'Shadow Dragon: The History of the Fire Emblem, the War of Shadows, and the Blade of Light.' An archaic textbook."

"There are plenty of names in there that have disappeared to the sands of time," Morgan explained. "The likes of Etzel, Horace, and Norne are practically lost. No one knows who they are outside of their names, and that they once served Marth the Hero-King. However, there's a chronicled letter of the Hero-King that once references an Altean knight by the name of Frey. Namely, his sacrifice."

My grip tightened on the book.

"According to Marth's account, Sir Frey disguised himself as the Hero-King to distract the soldiers of Gra and allow the true Hero-King to escape from Altea as it fell. A noble sacrifice that should resound through the ages, no?"

"Get to the point," I snapped. For all Morgan had said, my tone was unnecessarily venomous. But she knew why I was so quick to lose my temper on this occasion. She always knew.

"Dying in place of someone far more important… isn't a bad way to go," Morgan whispered. "…With the right pair-up, I could take your place, Father."

Of course she figured it out on her own. She had a genius to her that I constantly underestimated. Something in me was angry—indignant, perhaps—that she had done this. Perhaps it was the paternal part of me, if such a thing existed, that wanted to shout "No! Absolutely not!" Vocalize my thoughts of the last three resets.

The anger, the shock, slowly ebbed. In its place hung a dull regret. A grasping pain in my chest, frustrated that all I could say was—

"Agreed."

We were both quiet.

"I came here to ask this of you," I stated coldly. "I see you've figured it out on your own; saves me the trouble of explaining." I stood. "You understand you are giving up more than your own life, I presume?"

Her eyes flicked toward the ground. "…Yes. I'll need a volunteer."

"If you can find no such volunteer, let me know. My orders are absolute."

"Yes, Father."

I couldn't meet her eye, nor could she meet mine. This was our last moment together alone, and we couldn't even speak.

"Thank you… for your contribution," I began quietly, grimacing. I didn't know what else to say.

"Anything for you, Father."

I finally looked back at her, and she was smiling. Tearfully.

I was inexperienced with parental duties, and didn't know what to make of these feelings. All I knew was that I hated them, and I wanted them gone.

Morgan and I were not close. Never were. Not the way father and daughter should be.

But it was more than nothing.

"The briefing is in an hour," I said. I was at the tipping point, but I couldn't bring myself to let go, not in front of her. "See you then." I turned for the exit.

Her voice piped in, hopeful: "I love you, Father."

I froze in shock.

"We've never done this before, right?" Morgan asked. "I figure, if this is the end, then we might as well."

I…

I turned around.

"Morgan… I love you too."

She beamed. "Th-Thank you, Father! Oh, I, I love you so—"

"That's enough."

She flinched.

My heart cramping with unfamiliar, uncomfortable agony, I left it at that, and I departed Morgan's tent.

Took me a few minutes to find my own. Only then—only when I was finally alone—could I… could I allow myself to…

"…Are you sure?" I murmured. "You know what this means, right?"

"Of course," said Sir Frederick. "Lady Morgan requires aid, and so I shall give it. No one is more suited to the task than I."

I faced Chrom, as if to silently ask for his consent. His expression told me that he'd already given it.

"I trust you."

He hadn't said that, not with his words. But this, this here… it showed that I had always been right about Chrom. I'd always been able to trust him, and that would never change.

He may not agree with my methods, but in the end, he would always have faith in my judgment. For better or worse.

Frederick looked down at his ward. "Are you ready, milady?"

Morgan nodded.

I tried to lock this scene away in my memory. Me, Chrom, Lucina, Frederick, Morgan… walking into the low-hanging sun, toward the massive spires of the Dragon's Table. A priceless view.

A flurry of thoughts ran through my mind. Seemed my subconscious was sorting through them, trying to determine which was the reaction my body needed.

Should I laugh? I wasn't happy, so it would be one of those laughs.

Should I cry? This was much more appealing to me, but I just couldn't.

Mine was a familiar feeling—the many times I'd bled to death, I'd felt a similar state of shock and numbness. I couldn't feel myself dying, and in fact everything was a thoughtless haze. I recalled those situations similarly to a drunken experience: not in full control of my faculties, yet conscious enough to retain sensations and images.

When I saw Morgan lying face-down in the dirt, her blood and that of her enemies staining the evening sand, I encountered that same drunken, bleeding feeling once again.

It had worked. The twelve Deadlords, as well as Aversa, had all been vanquished. No other casualties on our side, and the Shepherds were now licking their wounds and preparing for the upcoming incursion into the Dragon's Table itself.

Fell to my knees. Arms wobbling, reached for her. Took her into my arms, cradled her head. Her eyes were open, dull; I closed them for her.

How it hurt to be right. Yet, I stared down at her face, and I couldn't get a single tear to move.

I could only rationalize it as dread overpowering my sorrow, because this was only

the first

half.

An entire second battle, an uncertain future, waited for us inside the Dragon's Table. How many more tries would that take? How many more times would I have to watch Morgan die?

"It's unavoidable." The despair was creeping. "Fate is truly unavoidable." That uncertain future ahead—what if we enter the Dragon's Table, and my plan fails? What if I return to Grima anyway? What if all of this has been for nothing?

I felt tears rising, and I clung onto that feeling, trying to push myself over. I stroked my daughter's silver hair, tried to study every inch of her sleeping face…

I hesitated. Between my fingers—a strand of hair, buried under all the silver—

"Blue," I rasped hoarsely, and I began to laugh. The aching, sputtering, painful laugh. "Ha… haha… hahaha… h-how ironic."

I'd never held her like this. I never would've known.

Absolutely fucking hilarious.

I heard shuffling in the sand behind me. The footsteps came to a halt a respectful distance away.

"Robin." Lucina's voice was soft. "…The others… we're waiting for you."

I pressed Morgan's head into my chest: nestled my chin into her hair.

"Give me a moment, Lucina." My voice cracked somewhere in the middle. "I'm trying… to believe it. Trying to believe I've lost my daughter." I paused. "…Our daughter."

Lucina fell silent…

Far too silent.

"…How long have you known."

I heard her feet shift behind me. "A… A month ago. On her back, between her shoulder blades… she bears the Mark of Naga. I caught a glimpse of it during the women's bath hours." She paused. "It was—it was j-just before Plegia Castle."

"And you said nothing."

"No."

Seemed she was going to leave it at that. Any other day, I would've cared.

Gently, I lay Morgan in the dirt; I stood and turned toward Lucina. Her expression was sturdy—serious and straight. But her eyes, though unflinchingly meeting mine, were red with sorrow.

I suppose my expression was identical.

"It doesn't change anything," I said. "She's dead, Lucina. She'll die a dozen more times before this day is done."

"You're wrong," said Lucina, taking a defiant step closer. "It does change things. Don't you see, Robin? Do you see what Morgan represents?"

I was too weary to respond. No wit, no snark, no quip.

"She is the future, Robin," Lucina insisted. "Morgan is impossible! She did not exist in my time; the Grima I fought had no child. This Morgan? Her, right here?"

She jabbed a finger at the body resting behind me.

"She is ours!" Lucina exclaimed. "She is from our future, Robin! A future of you and me. A future where we win!"

I snorted. "A future of me and you? You're being oddly aggressive in your optimism, Lucina. That's not how this works; this is no blessing I wield, but a curse. I have no room for love, for family. This is the second time I've learned that lesson. I only have winning. That's all."

"So you're saying you don't love me, then?" Lucina asked. Her tone was still confident, somehow.

"That's beside the point."

"It isn't," Lucina continued. "I understand your hopelessness, Robin, but the end of the war is at hand. For now, you and I will be as we always were. But when Grima falls—" She paused. "And Grima will fall, I know it. When he does, you will come to me, and we will discuss this matter then."

She offered me a hand.

"I've witnessed the deaths of thousands," Lucina declared. "I've seen a world ripped asunder meaninglessly. So, Robin, do not presume I wouldn't know if Morgan's death was in vain! She gives me hope. She's always given me hope, even when that hope terrified me."

The setting sun cast her in a golden light. It was the same—the same as that time in the field.

How did she know? How did she always know? Lucina was so frustratingly, impossibly hard to read—yet she picked and chose those words, the perfect words to crack me.

A stunned tear ran down my cheek as I weakly reached for her hand; she clasped it stalwartly.

"Morgan… is the proof of our victory," I whispered to myself, trying to get myself to believe the words.

I looked up into Lucina's eyes, into the Brand of the Exalt she so nobly bore.

Slowly, painfully—but, an entirely different kind of pain—a smile grew on my face.

-END?-