“Thank you,” Robin nodded gratefully as her male counterpart departed, then walked slowly over towards her clothing and let out a long breath. She let her drop onto the table beside the wrinkled tunic, then bent to pick up and her pants and, leaning on the table for support, began to tug them back up over her shapely legs to her waist. Her thoughts were entirely elsewhere. How long had it been since she’d seen her daughter? The tactician had been summoned to Askr in the early days of the Order’s war with the Emblian Empire, and been with them since; through all their battles with Múspell, and the armies of Hel, and all the days that had followed. She didn’t regret that - her presence here had made a difference, had helped saved lives - but now, remembering her daughter’s voice, she couldn’t help but dwell on what she might have missed. There’d been a time when the Order’s Lucina, so similar to her daughter and yet in many ways so different, had often led her to such thoughts… but then had come the battle with Surtur, and…<br/><br/>Robin stopped halfway through lacing up her pants. Her hands were shaking; she kept fumbling the laces. “It’s not her,” She said aloud, irritated with herself. The last time she’d seen her daughter, they’d fought. It’d been something stupid; she could barely remember the reason now. Something about Chrom wanting her to clean up her room? Robin didn’t feel like she was much of a mother; Lucina, the grown Lucina, had come to them so suddenly. She’d never had a chance to learn, and so they ended up at loggerheads with one-another so often. How much time had passed for Lucina since then? Had she and Chrom thought that she’d abandoned them? Did they fear she’d vanished again?<br/><br/>The tactician choked back a sob, burying her face in her hands. “It’s<i>not </i>her,” she repeated, vehemently. “It<i>can’t </i>be.” Kiran had run out of the orbs needed to power Breidablik; there were no more heroes being summoned, and no portals back to her world. Her Lucina could not be here.<br/><br/>Robin took a deep breath, lowered her hands, clenched them into fists and forced herself to stop shaking. She resumed tying the laces of her pants mechanically, then pulled on her shirt, her robes and boots and belt. Standing, she took another breath and wiped at the corners of her eyes, composing herself before she stepped out of the stables to see what, exactly, was happening.<br/><br/>And there she was.<br/><br/>There was no mistaking her, even at this distance. She still had her white cloak; the one that had belonged to her fiance, another version of Kiran.<br/><br/>“Lucina?” Robin took one slow, disbelieving step forward, and then another, and then she broke into a run. She barreled straight past the others, paying them no heed; she didn’t stop until she’d reached her daughter, and thrown her arms tightly around her.<br/><br/>“Gods, Lucina! It is you!” The tears she’d been trying to hold back now flowed freely down the tactician’s cheeks, a confused smile breaking onto her face as she held Lucina in her arms. “How… how is this possible? I thought…” For a moment she glanced around in confusion, seeking Kiran’s gaze. “Without orbs…”<br/><br/>Robin couldn’t gather her wits enough to finish that thought, and, in that moment, she didn’t really care. She turned back towards her daughter, burying her face against her shoulder as she wept with sorrow and joy.