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Robin was not surprised when Marth revealed herself to be Lucina. She called it motherly instincts, and it may have been, but it was also being perceptive to the little details that all seemed familiar to her. The initial sight of blue hair and Falchion secured to her hip were obvious parallels, but without enough information at first, Robin gave the girl the benefit of doubt and went along with the lie. Because of course, she claimed to be Marth and wielded the same blade as Marth, but the legendary blade’s hilt did not match those depicted in the stories. The hilt she gripped in order to protect them, was distinctly Chrom’s Falchion.
When Robin crossed the field to where her husband and daughter embraced, her sneaking suspicions of Marth’s true identity were only confirmed. After Lucina fell into Robin for a hug as well, Robin pulled back and eyed her grown daughter from an arm’s length away. And Robin didn’t understand how she only had sneaking suspicions of Marth’s identity before because it was so obvious now.
The way she ran her hand through her hair when she was thinking of what to say, flustered, and not always tactful with words, was just the same as Chrom. The way she ducked her head down and cradled the back of her neck with her hand when embarrassed, just as Chrom did out of habit. Lucina, always so guarded, must have never realized that her dark blue eyes displayed emotions like an open book just as Chrom did.
It was Lucina, always Lucina. She could never be Marth no matter how much she tried, because she’d be better at imitating Chrom instead. And to do that, she wouldn’t even need to try.
When they found Morgan surrounded by crumbling pillars and rotting Risen, the first thing Robin noticed was the hair. And though she did not have a son or even the awareness that she would have a son someday, she knew that that was her boy. Because of the hair. The same hair as infant Luci back in Ylisstol and of their grown Lucina who fought just behind them in those ruins. Rich blue hair. Chrom’s hair.
When Robin and Chrom finally broke through the ranks of Risen in a desperate need to reach their son, she saw him for the first time up close. His hair, messy and windswept like Chrom’s always became even after she attempted to fix it. His full grin that took up nearly his whole face, just as charismatic and open as his father’s. His eyes were hazel. Her brown diluted by Chrom’s blue. That bit of brown in his eyes was the only thing Robin saw of her.
And so maybe it surprised her when her son, who looked so much like his father, did not drop his sword and tome to run to Chrom shouting “Father!” but instead ran to her and shouted “Mother!”
Much later, when she voices her thoughts to Chrom about how their children look so much like him and unknowingly hints at the sadness that they hold none of her, he settles both his hands on her shoulders, making sure she listens. And then he recounts in only some of the ways that she was, thankfully, for once, wrong.
Chrom’s reminded of Robin when Lucina grows nervous and tugs on her long hair. How many times has he had to grab Robin’s hands and gently guide them away from her white locks with words of encouragement? He wonders how both his daughter and wife, the two strongest people in his life that don’t bolster at any opposition, don’t realize how much potential they have.
How Lucina’s smile may not always split to reveal her teeth, but remains genuine all the same and still manages to reach the eyes. And in the times that she laughs—a laugh that begins restrained but slowly gets less controlled and louder— Lucina will clasp her hands over her mouth to muffle the sound just as Robin does. It’s a sight that becomes more common as their time with her grows, and every time Chrom can’t help but see Robin in their daughter’s moments of joy.
And the way Lucina stands before him when they spar. Her cockiness in battle—
(That doesn’t count, Robin interrupts, No one is as cocky as you, Chrom.)
(Fine.)
Then the wit she carries about her reminds him of Robin. The way Lucina cocks her head to the side in calculation of the opponent. When she moves, she’s efficient with her strikes. She might break a sword or two just as easily as Chrom may break walls, but unlike him who keeps going because he relies so much on strength, Lucina will stop and scrunch up her face in concentration trying to figure out where she messed up. The way her brows furrow and the way she bites her lips is the same look he’s seen Robin wear when she loses a game of chess and tries to figure out where she went wrong.
And as for their son, Chrom insists that it was not the blue hair that alerted him that Morgan was his son. No, the first thing he noticed about his son as they fought their way towards him was the tattered tactician’s coat that Chrom knew so well.
(Great. That’s a great quality to pass along. We share the same taste in coats, Robin interrupts again.)
(Chrom laughs, There’s that wit I told you about. Now shush and let me finish.)
But once he noticed the coat Chrom swore Morgan was Robin’s double. It was the way their son stood his own even when surrounded by a horde of enemies. He dispelled magic from his hand like second nature and used the metal blades of the Risen as a conductor for lightning. It reminded Chrom of how resourceful Robin was in and out of battle. How independent she was.
He’s reminded of her when Morgan falls asleep with his head using an open book as a pillow, a trickle of drool smudging some ink. A scene he’s walked in on with his wife as the sleepy culprit many times. Both son and wife he carries back to bed all the while preparing a light scolding in the morning on how they need sleep just like everyone else. All the while marveling in how devoted they both are to furthering their knowledge. Chrom was never one to sit down with a book as a child and definitely not now as a man. No, that’s all Robin.
And if Robin wants to insist that Morgan’s smile is from him, then fine, Morgan’s smile is just like Chrom’s. But, the way Morgan’s eyes squint from rounded cheeks is all on her. The way his eyes light up when he smiles when faced with a challenge is all on her. The way his optimism sparks and warms those around him is all on her.
And Chrom will admit, he doesn’t know what Robin is talking about. Because he sees more brown than any possibility of blue in their son’s hazel eyes.