Sometime between Lissa's death and Morgan's first arcfire spell, Robin began to suffer from intense migraines. They assaulted him about once a week but grew more frequent and more severe the years passed. His back also began to ache when he woke up every day, which worried him. He attributed these symptoms to age, but he could never be entirely sure.
Sleeping also became a challenge, as he developed mild insomnia. He often spent hours in an unproductive limbo fantasizing about his wife; other times, visions of a black world forcefully filled his head. In this world, grass never grew and man never smiled. The sky was always gray, as if a permanent smoke had scorched it forever. Humanity, once proud and mighty, now scavenged for food among dead bodies. They were scared; they were scared because something was chasing them. Specters of some sort. Red eyes and leathery skin. These ghosts scuttled hither and yon among the smoldering lands looking for warm flesh to mutilate.
It was this nightmare that was preoccupying him when Morgan knocked on his bedroom door.
"Father."
She'd switched from "daddy" to "father" only a week ago.
"Hey, what are you doing up? It's an hour past midnight."
"I know, but I couldn't sleep."
"Me neither." Robin rubbed his eyes. "Come here."
She crept across the room and sat against the headboard on the other side of the bed. A beam of moonlight illuminated her features.
"I'm sorry for overdoing that spell today, father."
"You mean the one where you almost burned off my eyebrows?"
She nodded.
"Don't worry about that," he said. "It was partially my fault. I underestimated your ability; I didn't think you'd master it on the first try. You know, now that I think about it, you've surprised me this way over and over again. Most mages don't even attempt an arcfire spell until they reach fifteen or so, and you're not even half that age."
"It's because I've got such a great teacher."
Robin chuckled. "You'll surpass me soon enough, Morgan, but I've still got a trick or two up my sleeve."
"I can't wait to see 'em!"
Suddenly, a pressure ballooned against the inside of his chest. In an instant, his heart felt like it was pumping molten lead. Everything went blurry.
The girl.
Bright phosphenes boiled in from the edges of his vision. A high-pitched ring sounded in his ears.
The girl will be mine.
Grima, he thought.
Soon, she will be mine.
"You…you," he strained, "you stay away from her."
She is strong. Stronger than her mother.
"Shut up, shut up, shut up," he muttered, clutching his torso with both hands.
Her power is great. She will be useful to me.
A metallic throb spread from the back of his head and radiated through his brain, pulsing brightly. Robin clenched his eyes, but it did nothing to loosen the pressure.
She will not die. She will live forever.
"Please, just … disappear."
"Father," he heard Morgan say, "are you alright?"
Her voice sheared through the agony; the noise vanished. The pain retreated as quickly as it had invaded. Robin ran his fingers through his hair and realized that it was soaked.
"Father?"
He exchanged a few shallow breaths. "Morgan, did you get any of that?"
"You were murmuring something. I couldn't hear."
He took her abruptly by the shoulders. "Morgan, I need you to listen to me very carefully."
"Father?"
"One day, something might happen to me. I might disappear. I might die. I might go insane. Whatever happens, I need you to promise that you won't follow me."
"B-but…"
"Please, Morgan."
She swallowed. "Okay. I promise."
Robin wrapped his arms around her and rocked back and forth with her in his embrace. "I love you, Morgan. That's why I can't keep you."
"I love you too, father."
…
…
…
The flow of time seemed to sap Robin's energy and transfer it to his daughter. Morgan was now ten years old and brimming with spirit. Every day, she woke up at dusk's end and drilled herself on ingredients and recipes for medicine. After her father rose from bed, she helped him prepare breakfast and water the garden. Because they lived on a royal pension, they were not tied to a farm or fishery for their livelihoods. Thus, they were free to pursue more intellectual endeavors such as studying magic and accumulating worldly knowledge.
From breakfast until lunchtime, Morgan stayed in her room devouring the latest books that his father provided for her; they never lasted more than a week on the shelf. In the afternoon, Robin encouraged her to interact with the other children. Severa and Laurent lived the closest, so they saw each other almost every day, rotating between the river, the market, and the castle walls as places to hang out throughout the week. Brady and Kjelle lived farther away, while Gerome and Inigo resided on the other side of the city, but they were all able to gather at least once a week (at the discretion of their parents) to mingle.
Owain, Cynthia, and Lucina remained relatively insulated from the rest of the townspeople. They received education from royal tutors and every night, they supped in the dining hall, which was decorated with lush draperies and overseen by a row of crystal chandeliers. However, it became evident throughout the years that the three companions were not born for a pampered life; they were restless in their studies and often they would attempt to escape the watch of the guards and run off into the city. Frederick appreciated this (he had also been a troublemaker as a child) and advised Sumia to grant the children designated days to leave the castle and mingle with the other kids. And so, on the last Sunday of every month, the ten children of Ylisstol convened on the grazing fields to play games and compete in make-believe battles.
Robin always looked forward to these gatherings because he could socialize with old friends. It soothed his mind. The psychological wounds from his wife's death still smarted, but they had at least scarred.
That morning, instead of making breakfast, Robin took Morgan to a local eatery. It was already packed wall-to-wall with patrons, and the two had to wait for half an hour before a waitress finally seated them, took their orders for simple soup, and disappeared to the back kitchen.
"Father, why didn't we cook today?"
"Morgan," he said, "look around the room. Study everything. Remember as many details as you can."
"What for?"
"It's a challenge. I want to see how good your memory is."
She affected a determined smirk. "Alright, let's do it!"
"Okay, I'll give you a minute."
Morgan's eyes immediately began to dart left and right, scrutinizing every face at every table. Her ears perked up, nostrils widened. When a group of men three tables over erupted in laughter, she noticed that; when a woman sitting on a bench across the room swatted at a fly, she noticed that too.
After a minute had passed, Robin clapped his hands. "Time's up."
"Whew, that was exhausting."
He leaned in. "Tell me, what did the man behind me order?"
"Grilled halibut and a flagon of ale."
"Without looking, how many people are sitting at the table behind you?"
"Six."
"How many of them are men?"
"Four."
"And which one of them is left-handed?"
"Well, the one wearing the cast of his right hand is using his left hand, but he's clearly not left-handed. I think it's the one who ordered the eggs."
"Alright, what was the name of the old man with the limp?"
"Richard."
"Very good, Morgan."
"Heeee..."
"One more: who in this room is likeliest to be a magic user?"
"You!"
He bopped her lightly on the head. "Ow!"
"I mean, besides me or you."
She thought for a beat and then pointed across the room. "Probably the young woman sitting over there."
"Why do you say that?"
"She's got two marks on the bridge of her nose. That means she wears glasses, and I know no one wears glasses unless it's to read. And since any woman who reads has a good chance of being a mage, I'm going to go with her."
"Wrong, smartypants. It was the boy over there. He's even got his pointed hat next to him, don't you see?"
"Argh, that's not fair. You had a better view of him than I did."
"True," he said. "I have to say, though, that was impressive. With powers of perception like that, you could easily become a top agent in the government."
"But I like medicine. I want to be a cleric like mother."
"That's what I was going to ask you next," he continued. You've got a great memory, but do you remember what your mother looked like?"
"Only what you've told me, father. I know that she gave me my blonde hair, and that I have her smile."
"Do you have any memories of her at all?"
"I don't think so."
"What's the first thing you do remember?"
"Your voice," she said. "You were singing a song to me. Something, something, do not cry, something, something, Naga is nigh."
Robin shifted in his chair. "But that was before your mother passed away."
Morgan shrugged. "It's weird. My mind's just empty when I try to picture her face, but everything about you is so clear." She poked his chin with her finger. "You got this scar when I was practicing a lightning spell. I just realized that I never said sorry for that, so I'm sorry, father."
"It's okay." He took her hand and pressed it against his cheek.
When the soup arrived, Robin thanked the waitress and then downed the contents of his bowl in three long gulps. Morgan claimed she was full after drinking only half of her share, but he suspected that she just wanted him to eat more after seeing him finish his portion so quickly.
"Don't worry, Morgan. I'm stuffed. You need to grow, so go ahead and drink up."
"Aww, you saw right through me."
"You're a hundred years too early to be tricking me, ya little rascal."
"Hmph."
Robin paid after she was done, and they began their walk to the grazing fields, which were two miles from the restaurant district.
The sun rode a cloudless sky that afternoon. Workers and beggars, farmers and traders, peddlers and shoppers all crowded the streets on this beautiful day of rest. Listening closely, one could hear the buskers fiddling for the passersby out of the droning static of conversation.
Leaves rustled.
Sumia and her company had been at the grazing fields for an hour before they arrived. No one else had shown up yet. When she spotted him, she nodded to a nearby soldier, signaling that they posed no harm, and then came to greet him. Morgan ran off immediately to join with the three other children in a game of tag.
"An hour early. I thought Morgan and I would be the first ones here, but you've got us beat," he said. "Good day to you."
"Good day, Robin," she replied.
Their meetings throughout the years had never grown warmer since his first visit to the castle. Robin knew that she never forgave him for her husband's death and that she never would.
"How are things in the castle?"
"Fine."
"And Plegia?"
Sumia paused. "As our former tactician, I suppose you have a right to know. In fact, it looks like we may have a situation with Plegia."
"'A situation'," repeated Robin. "I know that kind of political-speak. You're talking about war."
"Not quite. Plegia's just been more confident in their diplomacy lately. They're asking for more favorable trades and have been less apologetic for encroachments on our borders. They act like they've already restored their forces to pre-war numbers."
"Have they?"
"Probably not, but they're certainly rearming. I've reached out to our contacts in Plegia, including Tharja and Henry, and they tell me that they've already had three different army recruiters knock on their door in the past week."
She shot him a sidelong glance. "Tell me something, tactician. On that fated day at the Dragon's Table, I saw Grima take control of your body and then murder my husband. And then he vanished without a trace." She turned to face him. "I don't believe that a force strong enough to possess someone like you could just disappear."
Robin stepped back. "What are you trying to say?"
"I get these nightmares, Robin. Of the sinister spirit. I see Grima about to kill my husband, and I'm powerless to stop it. It's always the same. Have you had nightmares like that?"
"I… I have."
"Tell me about them."
"I also dream of that moment," he lied. "Grima has control of my body, and I see myself killing Chrom."
Sumia sighed. "I see," she said. "Last week, Frederick and I spoke with an envoy from Plegia who demanded that we remove several outposts from a border region by the Ylissean mountains. When I refused, he pulled out a hidden dagger and lunged at me."
"An assassin?"
"Yes. I locked eyes with him as he closed the distance. They were red like yours when you killed Chrom."
He blinked.
"Before the dagger could land, Frederick parried the blow. The assassin then used the blade on himself and muttered something before he sank it into his chest."
"What did he say?"
"'Grima is here. He is here in Ylisstol.'"
Robin said nothing, stared at his feet.
"So," said Sumia, "I hope you can see why I'm concerned."
"I understand," said Robin. "If it worries you so much, then I'll leave the capital. I'll move away from you and your children."
"And Owain?"
"I'll ask him what he wants," he said. "But I do have one condition, and that is to allow me attend this year's summer festival one more time."
"That's acceptable," she said. "Lucina! Cynthia! Owain!"
The three children ran over with Morgan close behind.
"Father!" exclaimed Owain, embracing him.
"Hey, it's only been a month, kiddo."
"I've improved greatly since our last meeting. I daresay I could match you in a duel this time. How about it?"
"Later," said Robin. "An important question: do you like the castle? Do you like this city?"
"Of course!"
"If Morgan and I were to, say, move to Southtown, would you rather remain here or go with us?"
"Gah! Why must you make me choose?"
"No reason. Just a simple question."
Owain glanced over at Lucina, who was whispering something in Cynthia's ear.
"I'm sorry, father. But Lucina promised she'd help me perfect my fencing skills, and I've got to see that through."
Robin forced a smile. "I understand."
Sumia motioned to her children and cleared her throat. "Come on, now. It's rude for you two to ignore Robin like that."
Cynthia stepped up first. "Uncle, Robin, it's good to see you."
"Likewise, Cynthia. Have you finished sewing that dress yet?"
"In fact, I will be wearing it to the festival," she said. "Will you be going?"
"I will, and I hope to see you there."
He switched to Lucina, who was staring at her feet. "And how about you, Lucina? Will you participate in the ribbon game this year?"
No response.
"Lucina, don't be rude," said Sumia.
Finally, she deigned to look at him. "I hope so."
"It's not easy. You really have to be in the right spot to even have a chance of nabbing a rag."
"I know."
"And when if you do get one, make sure you hold it tight. If you don't, someone else might rip it from your hands."
"I know."
Robin sighed. "Please take good care of my son."
Lucina grunted in acknowledgement and then turned to Cynthia and Owain. "Come on, let's finish our battle over there. You too, Morgan."
The trio ran back to the grazing fields while Morgan remained by his side. "Lucina's usually very kind to everyone. How come she was so cold to you?"
"She has her reasons," he answered. "Don't take it as a mark of character. Now, go on and join them."
Morgan happily obeyed.
Soon, the rest of the families arrived. The children fought in a giant play battle, and the adults talked of nothing but the coming festival until dinnertime.