The way that Laurent stiffened was telling. Robinâs gaze locked onto him, watching him carefully; despite the even tone that the mage used, he knew enough to know that he was just about as disconcerted by this time anomaly as he was. To hear that he was possibly from a different time from him altogether⊠That made sense to him. What surprised him was to hear that heâd been to this city before. He didnât remember such a thing â but then, he hadnât remembered something as important as Validar being his father. Such a fact did not remain outside the realm of possibility.
The part that struck Robin the most was that last statement.
â⊠[T]he time I am from⊠Grima was gone already.âÂ
It shook Robin to his core. Frozen did he become mid picking up a tome, which he toted within his arms after arranging a few back upon the desk. He stared at the desk itself, his heart pounding with something indescribable. An axe would hit lighter than that revelation, that there existed a time that Grima was gone entirely⊠And that the Laurent standing in front of him came directly from that time.
Like a tornado, warmth and chill clashed together chaotically within Robinâs chest. Warmth, because then he could regard Laurentâs time as peaceful, and that saving his own was not an impossible dream but something realistically achievable; with enough effort, Ylisse could be plunged into the peace it so rightfully deserved, so long as Robin managed a return there. Chrom and the others would be happy and safe, and theyâd live out their days together.
Chill, because Robin had an inkling of an idea of what would be necessary for such a thing to happen.
Heâd become resolved to the idea. A plan, etched into his mind like all his other plans, a plan that would allow him to have one final act and leave a lasting impact upon the world and the people from that world who gave him purpose. Chrom⊠He would keep him and his Shepherds from everlasting pain, and generations after to come, and for Robin it was a nice final conclusion. To wrap everything up in the end, a clean cut. He would stop inflicting a burden upon a world after a responsibility thrust upon him from birth.
But on the other hand, the idea of⊠The idea of non-existence terrified him. What lay beyond? At least with a natural death Robin could entertain the idea that he might be able to pass on to some kind of afterlife. But here? Heâd be gone. No more nights at the garrison. No more mess hall. No more playing with spells. No more Lissa pranking him. No more silly ventures with Vaike that inspired exasperation. No more rallying his fellow Shepherds. No more standing beside them in the battlefield, knowing that they would be able to cover his back and he would theirs.
No more waking up beside Chrom in their bed, listening to a soft, âGood morning, my love, my Robin,â every morning that made it impossible not to look forward to every day afterward, with the sense of completeness that Robin didnât think heâd ever felt even before he lost his memories.
Gods, was it selfish? Was it selfish to know that he should die, to desire to die, to want to put an end to it all â and yet to feel like he hadnât even yet allowed himself to live?
I want a normal life. I donât want this. I donât wantâ
A shuddering breath, and Robin managed to compose himself enough to speak, âI⊠I see.â He should be chiefly concerned about the temporal implications of all of this, but the weight that Laurent just dropped upon his chest stayed too heavy for him to think about much else. And in fact, it slipped into his voice as he said ever-so-softly, âSo⊠Iâm⊠Grimaâs gone for good, then. We⊠We killed me.â
He failed to notice he didnât correct himself in that last sentence.
I donât want to be Grima.
Laurent didnât want to unearth such horrid, shaking truths: it hurt his soul more than anything to know he was possibly causing a friend pain. Their frowns and sadness jabbed like sharp blades to his very heart - yet to lie would have been even worse, and proven him an untrustworthy mage. He was no liar: and his friend and leader deserved to hear the truth, at least.
Besides that, if he hadnât told him....someone else was bound to break the news, and Robin would only have been hurt further knowing he, Laurent, hid the truth in such a case. Such small things did very little to make the mage feel better. A silence heavier than the terrible weight settling into the mageâs soul descended on the library: an eerie silence that strung tight as a wound rope and hurt and tugged as much.
He wished there was something to break the silence, bring joy back to the situation - but the fact of the matter was that the whole matter was a serious one indeed. What was said could not be avoided, an inescapable truth - mere words and reassurances could not just instantly make that reality better.
Yet it did not halt the mageâs concern for his friend, and he frowned as Robin referred to Grima as himself. âJust because you share the same blood and are two different sides does not make you both mirror images. You, the person who stands in front of me... are Robin, the tactician of the Shepherds: a kind soul who looks out for friends. A stalwart friend who...does not deserve the burden that lays ahead, to be forced to make such a horrible choice.â
 He closed his eyes, a moment, before fixing Robin with a confident look, reaching to grasp his hand if his friend let him.
âIf you so wish it...I would gladly take this burden from you. Nobody would miss anyone like me here anyway...there is nobody I know here, and I am...as you know, shy, and do not open to others easily.â
....Was Laurent offering to sacrifice himself if he had the power? It spoke volumes of how much the mage viewed others over himself, for him to offer it seemingly with no care to himself...