The first scene has brief descriptions of violence to a child and the death of a child committed by the bad guys. End of the scene is marked by a line break.

Rest of the author notes at the bottom. Thanks for reading.

That night, the people of the holy city knew to not step outside their doors until sunrise, when the Grimleal's business would be complete.

They could not speak in public of what was to occur within the gaze of hidden watchers, not even to warn traders who braved navigating smugglers' routes around the war's front lines to sell whatever supplies they could. It was their fault for not understanding the signs. The clerics' black silk shoes, decorated with gold baubles, plodded through the hot sand in time through the streets, chanting to their master who slept upon the holy mountain. They lead the hoard of the damned, marching barefoot together in chains, the heavy clanking of iron echoing through every street and alleyway.

If a Grimleal seized you, and you were not prominently wearing a golden tooth or scale, or if you were of a low caste, you would be taken, subjugated by their dark magic, your body quickly covered in black sackcloth and added to the procession, mindlessly marching toward your new destiny.

It wasn't just the unwary victim being added to the Grimleal's sacrifice. The prisons had been emptied; the streets cleansed of undesirables. High caste political dissenters calling for an end to the war, accused Ylissian spies, the infirm, the politically useless among the indebted, all had been swallowed down the castle's throat for some unknowable purpose. This was the largest group they'd ever gathered. The people of the city prayed to whatever god was listening that they would simply be left alone.

Deep within the mountain, the Heirophant's consort, a particularly beautiful and powerful one this year, chosen from the best of the pegasus mages, had given birth to twins. Clerics chanted while healing her. "Praise to the dragon who will sow the desert with Naga's blood. Return, the bringer of life in death."

The dragon they prayed to isn't some coward who hides behind the veil of reality, like the green witch who rules from the sky over the damned Halidom. Rather, it was the very dragon whose bones lay far above them, curled around Castle Plegia, the blessed Grima. Its body covered nearly all of the upper city, the bleached carcass seemingly immune to time, still holding its head straight above the sheer cliff that marked the mountain's edge.

Validar watched from his stone chair as the faithful continued to file into the chamber, echoing with songs to Grima. His consort lay behind him, breathing heavily from her just ended labor, tended to by a pair of clerics. His two children, however, were being prepared by six. How Grima had blessed him, validated his position among the faithful—or so he thought. Twins would surely seal the sacrifice's success. The binding would be powerful.

Clerics moved the wailing babes away from their mother to the stone table in the center of the room, beneath the basin. Validar's consort watched silently, eyes fixed on her children.

One of the high priests, adorned in gold and purple as he was, approached him, kneeled, then reported. "The sacrifice is ready, your holiness."

Validar nodded, smiling. "Excellent," he replied, voice stretched, savoring the moment. He rose from his seat and clapped three times. The chants went silent, but rose again once Validar started singing, following along immediately. The words were familiar and dear to them.

"Claws of the dragon, claim what is yours. The lifeblood of man is yours alone. Teeth of the dragon, claim what is yours. The soul of man is yours alone. Throat of the dragon, drink what is yours. Power and might are yours alone."

That was the signal and, as Validar expected, screams could be heard through the thick rock above them. As the chanting continued, Validar stepped toward the stone table where his twins lay. He looked over them coolly, examining them. A boy and a girl.

The male was smaller and quieter. Validar grabbed him by the arm, causing the child's wails to grow louder, and held him above the altar. A chanting cleric held a large golden chalice just beneath the baby. Above them all was the rock cistern, quickly filling with blood as the screams of the dying went quiet.

Validar drew a bone dagger from his waist, carved from one of Grima's teeth, and slit the boy's throat. The chant grew in volume and intensity. Once enough blood was collected in the chalice, Validar handed the dead boy back to the midwife, who scurried away, chanting all the while.

Validar then held his newborn daughter up to the Grimleal.

"Look upon your savior."

The chant grew frantic.

Validar set the child upon the altar, covered her in purple and gold cloth, and then his bishops descended, preparing for the infusion. As enchanted tubes, painstakingly crafted from animal gut, were inserted into the girl's nascent arteries and hooked up into the full cistern, Validar held up his hands, calling for silence.

A valve was turned. The blood began to flow through her small body. The infant screamed. A cleric took the golden goblet filled with her brother's blood and siphoned it to the flowing river, interspersed among the rest of the nameless dead, who will live again through her. Minutes passed. An hour, all waiting for the confirmation of their hopes.

Then, like the blooming of a flower, the girl's small tuft of auburn hair turned to stark bone white. The six-eyed brand of Grima appeared on her right hand, rising to the surface of her skin from beneath. Cheers erupted. Validar smiled, filled with triumph. Overjoyed, he began to chant, hands held high in worship.

"Praise to the vessel, Grima in flesh! Daughter of the dead, give Plegia life! Death to Naga's daughters! Death to Falchion's sons! Ten thousand times this blood be born from your hands! Ten thousand times this glory be given to Grima!"

The girl continued to cry and scream.

Robin woke up with a clipped scream, frantically reaching for her sword. Chrom, sleeping fitfully beside her, woke with a yelp as his wife crushed his thigh with her sword hand. Robin jolted again, half-remembering where she was, staring up at the royal cabin's roof, processing, looking around, reassuring herself. The cabin was gently lit with mag-light, in case her and Chrom needed to gear up quickly. Her clothes, gear, weapons, desk, tomes, maps, and sundries were on her side of the small room. His clothes, gear, and weapons, including Falchion, sheathed so its new glow was hidden, and the completed fire emblem, each stone in its proper place, were on his side. They were swaying front to back, their ship riding the edge of a squall to capture as much speed as possible.

This was reality. Not that same damned vision, again.

Also, she needed to let go of her husband's leg.

"Augh, gods, Robin," he mumbled sleepily in protest, just before she eased her grip.

"Sorry. Sorry," she whispered, worn thin. She continued staring up at a dim swaying lamp for a few heartbeats, breathing slowly in and out, then turned in their shared bed toward him, scooting close under their light blanket, wrapping an arm around him.

After a moment, forgetting his now likely bruised thigh, he put his arms around her back and head in turn. "Same nightmare?"

"Yeah." He was warm, and so, within the cold and damp of their commandeered Valmese ship, she clung to the living sauna that was Chrom. "Just Grima reminding me why it should be dead."

He nodded slowly, then stared up over her head at his wife's pile of maps and documents lying on top of her desk. She had only come to bed, really, a few hours ago. He threaded his fingers through her long white hair, matted with sweat, gently scratching at her scalp. Soon, he felt her heartbeat slow down, her embrace not quite so tight. He continued, hoping she'd pass out soon.

They laid like that for about twenty minutes.

"You're not going back to sleep, are you?" Chrom said.

Robin groaned, muffled by his undershirt, then shifted so she could speak. "Probably not," she mumbled.

Explaining why was pointless, as Chrom was just as aware of their position as she was. A death god, and whatever forces it was mustering, was waiting for them at the volcanic island Origin Peak. All signs pointed to enemy engagement within the day. Everyone on this ship could be dead by this time tomorrow: the Shepherds, who had left kin and country to follow her and Chrom for years on a series of increasingly dangerous and costly missions; the orphans who traveled through time and dimensions to help a world that wasn't truly theirs; every member of the largely Chon'sin crew currently manning and defending the ship, watching to see if Grima would simply descend from the heavens, part the clouds, and kill them all at sea while the Exalt and Queen slept.

The thought plagued her. Why wasn't Grima attacking now? Sure, she had an active response prepared, eight Chon'sin pegasus scouts were circling the ship at a league's distance, but what the hell was Grima waiting for? It had unlimited opportunities, while leaving her limited options.

Her mind betrayed her and went down well worn paths. She had deliberated this to death weeks ago, after Naga had empowered Chrom atop Mount Prism and commissioned him to seal an awakened Grima—on the other side of the planet. All this after already sailing hard for weeks around the entirety of Ylisse's southern coast to reach the holy mountain as soon as possible.

There had been only one available response. Marching westward across Ylisse was a non-starter. Even though it would have solved their food and supply problems, and stopping at the capital to briefly visit little Lucina was painfully tempting, they couldn't guarantee finding another ship at the western edge of a largely decimated Plegia. The only choice was to go east with the warship they had already commandeered to reach Mount Prism, have Say'ri's people continue to pilot it at near constant full sail, go under and around Valm, hope the battered vessel didn't break apart mid-journey, and risk a flying approach with fresh mounts the moment it became possible.

Beyond all that gods-ordained insanity was the question of why a nearly omnipotent Grima was setting up a defensive position against them at all, no matter that position's strength. Grima could conjure the undead anywhere. If it was going to insist on forgetting it was a god and set up a traditional military defense, why not fly to Ylisstol, leaving its only true threat far behind, destroy the city and remaining defenders, man the castle's many walls and towers with the dead, and repel its exhausted enemy?

Even more, why not just fly around forever, never tiring, just out of reach of the Awakener and the Emblem, killing as it went, destroying everything and everyone she'd come to care about, not from direct action, but from attrition. If Grima's patterns shifted and the beast acted with any intelligence at all, the only option remaining for them might be to take the same path Lucina had, giving up on their world, mourning their baby girl, killed in an inevitable assault against the castle, facing utter failure just on the edge of victory. Or, even worse, what if she was forced to go back, but her mind was wiped, again, like poor Morgan? The thought of losing everyone was-

Chrom shook her gently. "Hey. Hey, Robin."

She looked up at Chrom, blinking, teary eyed. Oh. She was crying. Robin wiped at her face as Chrom watched, brow furrowed. "Sorry. Just stressed," she said.

He waited. His wife was like this. Wait a few seconds, and then her real feelings would reveal themselves.

"I'm thinking about our chances," she said. He waited a moment more. "We're banking on our enemy acting against their best interest. Even with Naga's assurance, I…" She took a deep breath. "I don't know how this is going to end."

Another moment. She looked to the side. "I don't know if I'm going to see our daughter again."

He put his forehead to hers, laying down in the moment with her for a while.

"We're going to do what we can. And we can do a lot. We're going to seal Grima. And then we'll go home and see little Lucina along with the Shepherds, the Children, everyone. We're not going to give up another day of watching her grow up to anyone or anything. I promise."

Her crystal clear hypothetical scenario, fueled by the imagination that had brought them improbable victory after improbable victory, warred with the simple reassurance of her husband. She closed her eyes, remembering the moment the god who was on their side assured them personally that Grima was making a, strategically flawed, final stand on the big rock they were sailing toward. Doubting Naga at this point wasn't helpful.

For further comfort, she briefly sank into her innate supernatural sense of where all her people were on the ship, the ability that gave her pinpoint accuracy in field command. Everyone was fine. Most weren't sleeping that well, but, with one exception, all were resting in preparation for the monumental task that was to come. Vaike was sleeping most soundly of all, because of course he was.

She was almost certain this ability came from her 'being' Grima, but, in this moment, there was a satisfying irony there.

She nodded, then kissed Chrom. "Right," she whispered, closing her eyes and attempting to rest in his arms, if not sleep. Satisfied that Robin was alright, Chrom drifted off and soon was softly snoring, rocked to sleep by the waves.

Robin drifted between sleep and wakefulness for an hour. She kept her sense of everyone's whereabouts on, perhaps to seek continued comfort, but one blip knocked at her mind's door every few minutes, reminding her of the one who was still awake. Maternal worry continued knocking until she let out a silent huff and quietly slipped out of bed and into her boots, dressed in her flying gear's under-layer, enough clothing that it wouldn't be scandalous if Libra caught her above deck.

She opened her and Chrom's door and, of course, just outside the royal cabin, the hulking form of Frederick was sitting on a too small chair, back ramrod straight, resisting the sway of the ship despite being completely passed out. Ever-present guardians had to nap sometimes. He was even dressed in leather armor, instead of the full plate he'd worn seemingly every waking hour since she met him, Chrom, and Lissa in that field three years ago. He'd worn it as his dress uniform at the royal wedding, despite Chrom's pleas. It seemed that seafaring life had worn down his resolve. She'd have to find some way to subtly encourage him to continue that lack of resolve, maybe someday graduate to a shirt and pants.

Robin, chuckling to herself as she remembered Gregor's ribald 'protection' joke at her wedding at poor Fred's expense, slowly moved past more cabins so as to not wake anyone at this early hour, first the other royal cabin, shared between Lucina and Lissa, then a few of the married couples', followed by the crowded general quarters, one of its double doors wide open to manage circulation in a room with that much body heat.

She could hear someone talking in their sleep. Robin poked her head through the open door and listened for a moment.

"Mmrgh… Teach… Teach is gonna… get the dragon… say you're sorry… and apologize to everyone…"

One of the Children, Nah, she thought, hard to miss that silhouette with those ears, slapped his head from a neighboring bunk with a notebook, a loud 'thwack!' echoing through the room.

Robin pressed her lips together hard to keep from laughing and scurried up toward the deck as her resolve weakened, more mumbled complaints half audible down below. Vaike was no longer sleeping soundly. She really did love her people. Bickering like siblings sharing a bedroom, the night before an assault against a being as strong as the goddess most of them worshiped.

With that sobering thought cooling her head as she made it topside, Robin looked out at the busy deck, Chon'sin sailors working on the rigging, manning the wheel and rudder, Say'ri up in the captain's position barking orders. Now away from the more isolated cabins, she could hear and smell the evidence of pegasi and wyverns in the hold-turned-stable beneath them, neighing, thrums and rumblings, the gentle but firm speech of handlers, the rotten floral stench of manure, all mixing with the waves and salt. She'd head down there to check on her hoofed 'child' after she finished comforting her real one.

Off in a corner, hidden behind some tied down crates, Lucina was sitting on the deck—with Tiki. Seems Naga's daughter couldn't sleep either. Finding her here, despite not knowing her exact position, wasn't too much of a surprise. Even though Tiki was under her line of command, Robin couldn't sense her like the rest of her people. She had suspicions as to why, perhaps because of her 'Grima-ness', or Tiki's 'Naga-ness', or, what seemed most likely, those two concepts not mixing well, but that didn't matter at the moment. Robin held back out of their view, to allow their conversation to continue.

Her daughter and Tiki had grown an odd, but sweet, sort of friendship, seeming to hover between sisterly, motherly, and like a kind priestess attending to a distressed parishioner. Apparently something had happened to the Tiki of Lucina's old world. When the ancient manakete first joined the party, Lucina avoided her as much as possible. Then, soon after, Tiki sought her out to resolve whatever it was that she had 'done,' after one dinner service in which Lucina awkwardly left the mess hall after Tiki sat at the same table. That night, Robin sensed that Lucina had stayed outside the tent for a few hours before returning to her quarters.

Now, the two were close, but not in the same way the other Children were with her, where they often tried to cheer her up, or rope her into their antics, which, honestly, was quite normal for their age group, or try to 'remember the good times,' which Lucina received well enough, but with a subtle tension that was hard to pick up on unless you were looking for it. The two of them, however, seemed to simply talk, Tiki matching her daughter's subdued mood, hands folded, mostly listening. Since this started, Robin had noticed Lucina coming out and sitting with her and Chrom and the rest of the inner circle increasingly often, even if her oldest daughter didn't speak too much. Whatever Tiki was doing helped. Better than what little Robin had tried initiating so far, bogged down with running the war and managing their forces.

From behind this crate, she listened to them talk in not quite discernible soft voices, and then, a minute or so later, Tiki audibly said in that ethereal voice of hers, "I think your mother is waiting behind this crate of potatoes."

Lucina's eyes popped up just above the wooden horizon, her thick blue eyebrows raised. "Oh. Yes, um. Hello, Mother."

Tiki smiled as Robin joined the two of them, bowing at the neck. "Commander."

Robin nodded in turn and took a seat on a crate-turned-stool. "Tiki. How are you this morning?"

"Very well, I think. My seasickness is abetting," she replied.

Lucina and Robin nodded absently together, almost synchronized. Lucina looked at Robin, then the horizon. "So, Mother. Are you," she absently tugged at her hair, "are you well?"

Robin shrugged, "Well enough, I suppose."

Lucina nodded. "Good."

Mother and daughter looked out over the sea, obscured by people and rigging.

Robin started feeling mildly guilty. She had interrupted her daughter's private time. Tiki was already handling things, probably. In some ways, she knew Lucina better than Robin did. Doubling down on the girl might be overwhelming, or unhelpful. Maybe this was more about making herself feel better than it was about-

Tiki, who had been looking back and forth between the two fretting women for the past few moments, gave a subtle smile, then stood, and bowed at the hip toward her commander. "I must prepare for the coming battle. Have a good morning, both of you." She then walked with precise even movements down the deck, leaving mother and daughter alone, blinking after her.

"Huh. Well, ah. Guess she," Robin swallowed thickly, "guess she has somewhere to be."

"Mmhm," Lucina replied.

After a few more moments of silence, Robin got off of the crate and sat down, cross-legged, next to Lucina on the deck. Not in a way that they were sitting beside the other, nor were they facing each other, but at an awkward angle, not quite looking each other in the eyes. The silence lasted a few moments, until Robin broke it.

"I," she coughed into her hand, "I couldn't sleep very well. You?"

Lucina shook her head. "I suppose not."

Robin nodded. She scratched her nose. Then she shuffled in place, trying to get more comfortable. Unable to do so, she continued. "I, ah. I wanted to see how you were doing." Time to rip off the bandage. "I can't imagine how this fight must feel for you."

Lucina stiffened, silent. Robin had said the 'wrong' thing, but it was better than not saying it at all.

They were going to kill Lucina's birth mother in just a few hours. Or, rather, the body which housed Grima's spirit, Robin's doppelganger from another world, Lucina's world. Robin struggled to swallow the iron ball in her throat. There were so many things she could say, but some of them were too truthful and would be hurtful, others were cloying and too sweet and didn't acknowledge the darkness of what was about to take place, even under the best scenario.

In a sense, this was 'her' fault. There wasn't any material difference between herself and the Hierophant wearing her face, wearing that damn six eyed cloak, promising death to each one of them and the world, and was more than capable of delivering that threat. 'She' had failed, which meant Robin could too. Even now the risk still remained.

Her mind forged a parallel between the vision she had been forced to witness every few nights since Grima's awakening and Lucina's lived experience. Violent betrayal from a parent. Robin was now hounded by those images, but there was no love lost between herself and Validar. It pushed her toward battle with the remaining Grimleal all the harder. But, for Lucina, it must have been far worse. Robin loved her little daughter, would die for her, and, from Lucina's reaction when she first revealed her identity to her and Chrom, that crushing hug, the flowing tears, there wasn't any reason to think the 'her' of that world had felt any differently regarding the young woman sitting next to her.

And now all of this had happened. Lucina had already dedicated too many of her best years to killing her birth mother. It was unthinkable, the evil , reaching out for the young and defenseless. Lucina didn't deserve this. Not this one, not the one back home. Robin would rather kill herself than allow a reasonable possibility of being taken by that thing .

Robin grit her teeth. To hell with what the goddess said. Grima had to die. She had to think of a way to end the creature, forever. If not now, then she would dedicate her life to killing it in its sleep.

Lucina's wavering voice cut through her rage. "Mom?"

The commander turned sharply. Lucina had tears pricking her eyes and, Robin realized, for the second time today, she was tearing up as well.

Deep breath. And out.

Then, she reached over and drew Lucina into a hug, which the young woman immediately returned. "I'm sorry, Luci. It's just," another deep breath, "It's been a hard night." Lucina nodded slowly, letting out a cut off sob. Robin rubbed her back up and down as her eldest daughter cried quietly in her arms.

Once Lucina's sobs dimmed, Robin spoke softly, close to Lucina's ear. "Luci, no matter what happens today, you are my daughter. I might not have given birth to you, but, after all this, that," she swallowed the iron ball, starting to sob herself, heavy tears falling down her cheeks, "it doesn't matter."

Lucina squeezed her mother tighter; the only reason she wasn't crying along with her was to listen to what Robin had to say. She continued, "I've not given you the time you've needed, but I've gotten to know you well enough that I'm afraid you're going to run after this is over, be alone somewhere I can't find you. Not let yourself have a future."

Robin released herself from the tight embrace and put her hands on either side of Lucina's face, staring her in the eyes. Both of theirs were puffy and red.

Robin's words spilled from her mouth. "You are a member of my family. I need you here, with us. It doesn't matter that there's 'already' a Lucina. She isn't taking your place, and you aren't taking hers. To be honest, and I haven't even told Chrom this, but I'm pretty sure, one, I want to officially adopt you," Lucina let out a heavy sob at that, nearly curling into herself, chest heaving, but Robin, biting her lip so she wouldn't lose all composure, continued holding her oldest daughter's face. "Two, I want to change my daughter's name. You and her are different people. Because of everything you've done, you've given my daughter a chance at having a peaceful good life, and—"

Again, Lucina wrapped Robin in a crushing hug, sobbing. Robin, face puffy and tear streaked, gently shushed her and rubbed her back, rocking along with the boat.

A while later, Robin whispered, "I was thinking about 'Lyn.'"

Lucina sniffled. "F-from the novel?"

Robin turned her head to look at Lucina from the corner of her eye. She had bought The Sword of Raging Fire from their Anna months and months ago for something to read besides endless indecipherable paperwork during her pregnancy.

"Oh, is it—" Mid-sentence, Robin realized who had introduced the story to her. She changed the question. "—something you've read in the past?"

Lucina nodded, happening to wipe her eyes on Robin's pinstripe undershirt. "I like the name."

Robin smiled, running her fingers through her daughter's deep ocean blue hair. "Your father, and the damn bureaucrats, will just have to accept it, then." Lucina let out a small, choked, laugh.

Getting the Council's nobility to accept 'Lucina' as her daughter's name was hard enough. It wasn't a name of an Exalt or Exalt's spouse or children. It was the name of Chrom's nursemaid. Eventually, her husband, the Exalt, had to raise his voice and demand it, which, infuriatingly, cost him political capital.

Robin was getting angry again.

Big breath in, and out.

One long exhale later, she gave Lucina one more squeeze and let go of her, now shifting over so they were side by side, leaning back against the rough wood.

As Robin moved on and made small talk with her new heir, Robin's mind drifted toward a normal state, her sense of where everyone was coming back. So, speaking of children, she perked up, craning her neck backwards.

"I think your brother is hiding behind this crate of potatoes," she said. A squeaky yelp came from behind said crate, then, after a moment, a mop of dark blue hair slowly revealed itself until Morgan's amber eyes were visible.

"Ah, um, hello, Mother. Sister. I didn't mean to listen, but I saw you leaving your room, Mother, and, uh, well, um—"

He must have seen her when she had peeked in on Nowi and Vaike's shenanigans. "Just get over here," said Robin, smiling warmly.

Soon enough, both her extradimensional children were squished together in her arms, Lucina letting out a weak cry of protest before it just turned into a big group hug.

Robin still had no idea where Morgan had come from. He wasn't from Lucina's time. There were subtle and not so subtle clues, foremost being him wearing that damned Grimleal coat when he first appeared months ago—Lucina mentioning to her she didn't remember her birth mother ever wearing it. It made her wary of the mystery 'Robin' who seemingly left the cursed thing as a treasured possession, but, now, well...

Morgan sighed, seemingly content, and hugged her tighter.

He was a cute kid. Even more in his night-blue mage's coat, matching the one hung up in her royal cabin. Morgan had no idea what the symbology of his old coat meant. Her son just wanted to wear something that reminded him of his mother, and seemed just as pleased with his new one.

"So, how much of that did you hear, Morg?"

He looked up, blinking. "Hm? Oh, uh, just the part where you said you were going to adopt Lucina."

Robin ruffled his messy hair, damp with sea salt. "So, everything."

He nodded matter-of-factly in reply.

Robin took a moment to look at his sleepy smiling expression, considering. There wasn't much time left. Preparations for the attack would start in just over two hours from now, by her reckoning, and there were critical things she needed to do before then. Even though she would have liked to spend an hour or so talking with him about this, like she just had with Lucina, a small word would do until the war was over. Then, they'd have all the time in the world.

"Well, just so you know, I was planning on having a similar conversation with you later about adopting you along with her, but time just—" He suddenly squeezed even tighter, taking her breath out of her lungs. Robin glanced over at Lucina, who was starting to tear up again.

Robin hugged him back and scratched slowly at his scalp with her free hand.

It would do.

"Gods," she muttered, chuckling, "both of you are so much like your father. Alright, let's get up before we all start crying again." Stumbling a little, some of their legs fell asleep from sitting so long, they were soon back on their feet. Lucina put an arm over Morgan's shoulder and led him aft, back toward the cabins.

She watched them speak softly to each other as their heads dipped below deck. Now it was time to head down to the stables and check in on Marth. Start today right. Get his saddle. Feed him some snacks. Maybe some—

Frederick was thundering up the stairs, bowing quickly at the two young royals before making a beeline to Robin. He bowed formally, fist over his heart, and reported. "Your Majesty, your presence is required in the royal cabin."

She knew that terse plainly nervous tone well enough that she started striding aft immediately with him. What could have possibly come up in her own bedroom between now and when she left over an hour ago?

"What's happening?"

Frederick pressed his lips together and cocked his head slightly. Translated, she'd learned to know that meant, 'I don't know, and it bothers me more than I can say.' Verbally, Frederick said, "Chrom, fully dressed, opened your door a crack and asked me to fetch you regarding something urgent. I did not ask more."

They jogged down the stairs, not caring much for the noise it made. Some complained from the bunk room, but those complaints were unheard. "And he stayed inside?"

"Yes, your Majesty."

Bizarre.

In moments, Robin was at her door. She nodded in thanks at a wide eyed Frederick, who bowed, then took his post, standing, one hand on the hilt of an axe, ready to let fly if necessary.

She closed the door behind her and stopped dead in her tracks. Chrom, again, in his old blue uniform, looked at her and let out an enormous breath. His face was pale. Sitting in her spot, drinking a cup of tea, was Naga, complete with flowing floating robes, skin pale as milk, bamboo green hair, and a ghostly ethereal glow.

The god looked at Robin. "Take a seat," she said, lips barely moving, but her airy voice filled the room.

Despite her instinctual fear and awe, Robin found the pettiness within her to be mildly annoyed Naga had taken her desk chair. She sat stiffly on her bed, back ramrod straight.

The god drank the remainder of the tea, porcelain sharply clinking together as she set the cup down. She looked at both of them for a long moment. Or perhaps all moments seemed long while speaking with your creator.

"I am not your creator, Fellblood."

Robin blinked slowly, narrowing her eyes. The fact that Naga had just read her mind bothered her less than that seeming like an odd thing to say during a meeting, presumably, about sealing the source of the Fellblood away. Robin sharing Grima's identity and blood wasn't a new or useful thing to say. Chrom looked between the two of them, confused, concerned.

Naga then spoke without moving her lips, casually dwarfing Robin's supernatural communication abilities. "Your pegasus scouts are returning soon. They will report the island is erupting and that Grima is missing. Grima is, however, present. It is in the darkness, as I am in the light. It can choose when to reveal himself. It is hidden."

A heavy silence fell, husband and wife glancing at each other. Robin broke the quiet. "How should we attack a hidden spiritual being?"

Naga hummed, then sipped out of Robin's cup.

Wait, wasn't that cup empty? Again, it clinked as she put it down, half full.

"It is unable to resist its compulsions. It seeks you out. Both of you. Its rebellious vessel and the destined adversary who carries my blood and my fang. All things are equal. If it attacks, it can be attacked. The Hierophant will be on the dragon's body. When the time is right, I will take you up to it. I will remain with you. Protect you from attempts to kill you instantly. It has already tried tonight."

Both royals cursed. Naga didn't comment.

But she did look at Robin, and held that gaze. Robin stared in turn, squinting.

What was happening here?

Answering a question that was not asked, Naga said, "Remember. All that is possible for Chrom to do is seal it."

Silence hung over them like tar.

"Is there a way for Grima to die? Forever?" Chrom asked, voice tense, tight.

Still looking at Robin, the god replied, "Suicide."

Chrom, frustrated, cupped his chin, muttering. "It almost sounds like a joke. As if Grima could feel things like despair or regret."

Naga was silent, still staring at Robin.

The iron ball she disposed of on the deck was replaced with a steel one, sitting in Robin's throat.

Chrom stared at the floorboards, then shrugged. "Then, as horrible it is to think we might be forcing someone else to handle this again—this hell—if it really is all we can do, then—"

The words spilled out of Robin's mouth like vomit. "I could kill it."

Chrom's head swiveled to regard his wife, his mouth hung open slightly. "Excuse me?"

She looked at him from the corner of her eye. Robin didn't reply immediately. When she did, her voice was soft. "I am Grima. If I kill it, then it counts."

Chrom's expression turned from concern and confusion to a wide smile. "That's," his blue eyes were wild, "dear, that's incredible! We have a loophole!"

Naga held up a hand, glancing away from Robin toward the Exalt. "There is no loophole."

Chrom frowned, looked at his god and let out a huff. "Goddess, this certainly sounds like the solution we've been looking for. Why isn't it a loophole?"

Robin's face had grown pale, almost as pale as Naga's.

Naga nodded at Robin, then spoke again to her chosen son. "In killing Grima, she kills herself."

The tar turned to solid rock. The room was silent. Even from the sounds of the waves and wind.

Chrom stuttered for a moment, then spoke. "T-then, we'll just have to seal it."

The silence continued.

Chrom slowly turned to his wife. Robin looked back at him. Her eyes were starting to redden.

"No," he said.

Robin's mouth opened, but no words came out.

"Absolutely not," he said, voice rising.

"We can't allow this thing to live," she said, voice unsteady.

"And we won't," he said, standing, voice even louder, more commanding. "You and Miriel and Laurent and every mage worth anything will work together on how to bypass the seal and kill it later."

"That is impossible," said Naga.

Chrom shot a blasphemous look toward Naga. "Goddess, my wife has done the impossible more than once."

She held up a hand and shook her head. "I do not disagree. However, I could not harm Grima while it was sealed despite attempting to do so during the past millennia. None of you are as powerful or as knowledgeable as I in these matters, with the partial exception of yourself, Exalt, and only in power, and only for a short time." Naga spoke evenly, a gentle, brutal, monotone. Chrom seethed, breathing through his teeth.

Naga turned to Robin, who was staring down at her lap, finding it difficult to breathe. "You, however, are not unlike me. Yet, our differences provide options." The god opened the lost woman's mind. After a moment, Naga spoke softly. "Fellblood, you think I mean to convince you to end your life. You are mistaken. I wish to present reality. Given you and the Awakener survive the upcoming conflict, both sealing and striking Grima down would succeed. Similarly, between finding a way to destroy a sealed Grima and you surviving a fatal encounter today, the chances of each occurring in their given scenario are the same, with a minuscule advantage to the later, due to your strong spiritual connection to your allies, the effects of which you have been depending on in battle for these past years."

Naga stood, her head reaching the ceiling, but then kneeled down to look at Robin in the face. "You are Fellblood. You are Grima. You are not the beast."

And she was gone.

They remained in their positions for the next few minutes.

"No," said Chrom. "I— You can't."

Robin continued staring.

"Please." His voice strained.

Robin folded over herself and heaved, pain racking her gut. Nothing came out. Chrom climbed on the bed and clung to her from behind. She began to sob, bitterly. Chrom as well, clenching her undershirt in his fists.

Her mind betrayed her and showed her images of Emmeryn, dashed against the rocks. Lissa sleeping in Robin's tent, calling and reaching out for her sister in her sleep. Chrom preparing to end his life on Plegian blades, with her barely able to pull him away, then him immediately turning to kill Mustafa and his innocent men with no remorse.

Holding her daughter and son, just minutes ago.

These past hours felt like she had sprinted up a mountain, starting from a dark valley, and now she had been pushed off, tumbling into the abyss, alone.

She dry heaved again, then, shaking, turned and clung back to her husband.

Robin had made her decision the moment she said, 'I could kill it.'

As the minutes passed and the two mourned, mental images shifted from the sickening and paralyzing to the dead man's calm of absolutely nothing. They laid down and cried and held each other.

The deathly calm had taken tight hold of them, but, slowly, images began to enter into their minds that didn't feel entirely their own. A Plegian man sitting on his balcony painting a portrait of Emmeryn, smiling beatifically. The formerly damned holy city slowly expanding, farmland creeping out into the weakening desert. Families walking in the street, buying food, talking casually with each other. The skeleton of Grima, gone.

Faster than the fastest bird of myth, their vision switched to Ylisse. Images of Ylisstol expanding, buildings growing higher. Then, slowly, the thick outer wall disappearing, being dismantled and replaced by homes and shops and guilds. Caravans of all styles and sizes going in and out of the now gateless city. Plegians, Feroxians, Chon'sin, Valmese, and Ylissians all living and working together.

Then up. And up and up and up into the sky and now she was looking down as if their world was a living map. The desert of Plegia largely disappearing, replaced with vibrant shades of green. A lot more green, throughout the entire world.

Robin, somehow, found herself smiling.

She looked up at Chrom. He was smiling too, but still crying, as was she.

"I love you. So much," she said, voice hoarse with tears.

He kissed her, desperately.

Hey, folks! Thanks for reading. Favorite and comment if you'd like. My self esteem may or may not depend on it. Also, brain like watch number go up.

Quick note on content warnings for this story.

That first scene is about as dark as it's going to get. That said, if you know the plot and major subplots of Three Houses, you can likely guess when these sorts of moments could come up again. If anything comes up beyond that, I'll put it in the notes at the top.

Again, I hope you enjoyed reading. Next chapter is going up soon.

4/12/2020 - Apologies for the delays. Family and looking-for-work stuff has hit me, as it has for many of us I'm sure. Writing fanfiction has taken a bit of a back seat. BUT! While handling those personal issues, I've been thinking and plotting out additional details for the upcoming arc, so I hope you will enjoy the higher level of quality that the time spent thinking will give. Again, hopefully. Thanks once more for reading.