The night after Grima's ultimate demise was a quiet one. Where there would normally be boisterous celebrations were instead only silent campfires, and if a newcomer were to join the Shepherds that night they couldn't be faulted for thinking the Shepherds had suffered a horrendous defeat rather than the world saving victory they had. Indeed, to the Shepherds, it had been a defeat.
They'd lost Robin.
Not since Emmeryn had the Shepherds ever lost one of their own. Yes soldiers had died in the wars against Plegia and Valm, but never a Shepherd. They were their own group, a family more than a battalion. They had fought and bled beside each other, for some months and others years considering the strange recruitment methods of the group. Losing one of their own, no matter how noble or heroic the sacrifice, shook them all to their very cores.
And none more than the family he had left behind. His son Brady, his daughter Morgan, both inconsolable at the loss of their father and hero. Chrom had been his brother in all but blood, the two having forged their friendship through countless battles at each other's backs. And of course none missed him more than his wife, Maribelle. She had given the tactician her heart, and now she felt as if it had been torn out of her chest. And she hated him for it.
She remembered Naga telling them all of the connection between her love and Grima. How it could only have been severed if Robin struck the final blow, though it would cost Robin his life. She knew as soon as Naga said it that that was what Robin would do. He had already decided on that course, even before Naga revealed there was a chance he could survive. And the moment Naga said there was the small chance he could, maribelle knew in her heart of hearts that there was no stopping him.
Oh sure she begged. She had commanded, threatened, pleaded for him not to. She had tried everything she could think of to convince him not to sacrifice himself, but all to no avail. he had waited, bided his time til the opportunity presented itself, and then he struck the fallen version of himself down with a Thoron, giving that damned grin of his as he broke away from her.
Oh how she hated that grin.
She'd hated it when it first showed itself after Vaike's repugnant behavior on the day she first met him. She hated it when he gave it as he was tended to after her rescue. She hated it when she first truly spoke to the man who would one day become her husband. That lackadaisical smile that just made you feel perfectly calm and at ease, whether it was over a pot of tea or staring out at over a thousand heavily armored enemy combatants. No matter the situation, he always seemed to be able to give that grin. She hated it almost as she had hated his coat.
It was so dark, so drab, so Plegian.
She understood Robin's attachment to it, and even if she detested it personally she had never brought it up to him. It had been one of the few things that he knew when he awoke with amnesia, a part of him as much as his hair or eye color. She had seen the way he tended to it, lovingly mending the thing after every battle. The day it had nearly been burnt to cinders by an enemy mage was one of the few times she had ever seen Robin so broken. He was lucky either he or one of the previous owners had hexed the coat with some kind of protective magic, or else it would have been lost. It was that day Maribelle had known that Robin would never part from the coat.
And so she tolerated it, if only so that her love could be happy. And now it was all that she had left of him.
Sure there were his books, and his spare clothing, and several other things that belonged to him, but this coat was his. After everything on him crumbled into ash, including the dull gold band he wore on his left ring finger, the coat had remained, the perfect reminder of the man who had worn it. Maribelle had been clutching it close ever since, suddenly admiring what she had so long detested.
Where once she saw a dark color, she instead saw the perfect contrast to the bright and cheerful man who wore it. Where once it was drab, now it seemed to be the only kind of clothing that would fit a man such as Robin. And where once she saw only the clothing of a Plegian, she only saw Robin's clothing. To have this coat, still with the faint smell of books and paper and ink, and not to have Robin just seemed so wrong. Where once she would have given anything for him to leave it, now she would give anything for him to put it on again.
As she cried into the coat, she wondered if she would ever be able to see him in it again.