Author's notes: There are two endings - one a "normal" ending, and the other, a "true" ending. I'll leave it to you to decide which is which.
This is my first ever oneshot piece. Dedicated to all the fans of Fire Emblem who felt the heartache as we watched Matthew losing Leila in Fire Emblem 7...
If you'd like to read this piece with music, come and visit the Archives. It's on my profile link. Please, sit back and enjoy the tale.
Leila…I'm coming. I'm coming back for you.
Matthew reverently stared at the Wish Staff in his hands as he approached her old gravesite. He could feel the life-essence coursing through the thin glass rod. Whatever enchantment Bramimond cast earlier must have worked.
The lake before him was still as a mirror's surface. He could see the faint reflection of the stars. Beside him, the peach trees wavered in the night, their fragile branches hiding him from the rest of the world. He could smell the light fragrance of their newly blooming blossoms – it was something that she would have liked. In fact, it reminded him of a little dying sapling Leila had found years ago, back when everything was still...
She'd have loved to see that tree give off fruit…
He didn't think it would survive, but, fifteen years later, it grew into a beautiful peach tree…just like the trees in front of him…
Shaking his head, Matthew moved on.
The scene was undeniably peaceful, but Matthew's anxiety could not be quenched. Take this staff, the dark sage had told him. Bring it to wherever you would like, and make your wish there. The magic will take care of the rest.
A mixture of dread and excitement made him feel lightheaded. What if the Wish Staff failed? Then, all these years…it would have been for nothing…
And what if the staff worked? A small, annoying voice that suspiciously sounded like Serra whispered to him. What if it worked? You stupid blockhead. Give up after, not before you've started something!
That possibility…he didn't dare to think about. Either way, he had to try. The thief eagerly moved forward, each step taking him closer to his final destination.
Even in the near-total darkness, he could still see the small clearing. His heart ached. This wasn't a proper burial…no headstone, no flowers…only a patch of dirt marked the final resting place of his love.
Holding the legendary item high above his head, the thief closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Leila," he whispered gently. "I would like to see Leila again…"
He felt a faint tingling and knew that the spell had started.
I was too late once, Leila. I … I won't be late again… he thought as the heat intensified. The light inside his hands grew brighter and brighter until it felt like it was going to burn his eyes away. Stubbornly, the thief clung onto it, knowing that the moment he let go, the magic would end, spelling the end of his only dream.
Speak your wish, he heard an ageless voice say. Holder of the staff of dreams, speak your wish.
"Leila," Matthew answered without hesitation. "My wish is to be with Leila again."
A pillar of light erupted from the ground, blinding him with its brilliance as the Wish Staff grew warmer and warmer. Matthew gritted his teeth as he clenched the staff, his knuckles turning white with exerted pressure. His hands felt like they were on fire, but if this was all that it took to bring her back, then he was willing to bear it.
Suddenly, the pain disappeared as the Wish Staff became soothingly cool to the touch.
It is done.
Faintly, he heard Bramimond's voice. Or perhaps it wasn't Bramimond – he couldn't tell.
Behold the continuation of your dream.
As the thief blinked, the pillar of light broke into a million sparks of luminescence. The Wish Staff exploded, breaking apart like a meteor shower as the light faded away. A rush of something – it felt like the wings of a bird – brushed past his face as the nearby woods were plunged into a comforting darkness.
A dazed Matthew rubbed his eyes. Groggily, he tried to see his surroundings. All the while, his heart pounded wildly. Everything was as Bramimond had said…everything had happened…did the spell work?
Nothing. The same stars twinkled at him, their glitter strangely unforgiving. Beside him, in the small clearing, everything was still the same, save for a gentle mist rising from the surface of the lake. A small breeze blew past him as a few peach blossoms fell, their unspeaking voices articulating his sorrow.
What's gone cannot be returned, young Matthew…Dimly, he recalled Bramimond's ethereal voice. All things return to the hands of their creator, sooner or later…why go against the natural order?
The sand had flowed steadily from an ornate hourglass inside the sage's study. The nearly abandoned hallway had smelled faintly of rose petals as the dark sage shook his head.
I know! But…just this once, could you please try? I beg you…even if it's for just a second, let me see her again! Please! You're the only one who can help me…I need to tell her something…
A memory coursed into the forefront of his mind as the thief remembered. He had braved countless dangers and traps in order to visit the Dark Sage – the last legendary hero of the world. If Bramimond couldn't help him, then…it was likely that no one else could.
I do not understand. Does she mean that much to you? Young Matthew, just who …who was she? How could such a human being evoke such strong … feelings inside of you? The sage's timeless eyes gazed into his own as the thief blinked. A hint of confusion had crept into Bramimond's voice.
She was my beloved. Please...I just want to tell her I love her. That will be all. Master Bramimond - you can talk with the fallen, even bring them back, couldn't you? Please, I -
To his surprise, Bramimond merely laughed. His dry voice echoed out into the nearly abandoned hallway.
What makes you think I can do that, young Matthew? Do you believe me to be divine?
No…but …I ….I thought you could…
He could remember his knees giving out as he found himself numbly kneeling before Bramimond. So, it was all a lie? Lord Pent, Serra, all of them…did all of them maintain an illusion for him, feeding him false hope to keep him going?
An agent of the divine, perhaps, but not yet divine…never divine…merely a fading power…
The hourglass trickled slowly as Bramimond coughed. He almost sounded a little disappointed.
Still. Tell me your tale…you have came far beyond what anyone your age should have been able to accomplish. Still laughing, the sage bent down and offered him a hand. Tell me, young Matthew. Who is this 'Leila'?" Perhaps through your tale, I may learn something…
So he told his story. At first, he spoke haltingly, unsure of the sage's intentions. Matthew was not an accurate storyteller – not only did he have a tendency to embellish things, bringing up such intimate memories only tore new holes in his wounded heart. Still, he tried his best to present the whole tale, pausing every now and then to brush aside some tears that had unwittingly gathered. He told the sage of their childhood, and how they both entered into the service of House Ostia. He told the sage everything he could remember, sparing no details. From the moment they had met to the moment of their separations…their hopes, their dreams, and the love they had for each other…
He was half-expecting to be teleported – or worse – out of Bramimond's study at any moment. Yet, the sage made no move to stop him. Bramimond simply sat there and listened, nodding once in a while to show that he was still interested in hearing Matthew's tale.
Master Bramimond…do you know…how painful it was, when I held her… one last time…in my arms? That day…It still seemed only like…only a few days ago, she was in my arms, laughing and smiling. And then, she was gone…I had thought that … we could be together…but it appeared that destiny … had… other plans…
He wasn't sure if Bramimond could understand him – after all, Bramimond was fabled to be emotionless, a legendary magician who had given up his humanity for the arcane arts. Brokenly, Matthew articulated his feelings anyway. The deepening despair as he saw her corpse, the anguish of never seeing her again, he told it all – even his lingering regret, something that he hadn't told anyone else before.
I couldn't forget about her… no matter what I did, I couldn't forget about her. And my only regret was that I could not tell her "I love you" when she was still alive…
Indeed…if he could see her again… even though she might have guessed at it already, he wanted to tell her that so much….
…Go on, young Matthew. I am, and have been, listening…
There is nothing more to tell, Master Bramimond. I'm done.
I see…an interesting tale …Though the memory is hazy, even I …Bramimond paused, as if deep in thought. A hint of emotion appeared on his visage as he mused. Was it sympathy?
I… what is …I see. I could relate, now…no? No. I … Well, then, it would be interesting to find out…
For a brief moment, Matthew thought he saw something underneath the dark sage's imitation of his own face. The thief squinted to get a better look. Bramimond, however, paid him no heed as he continued to talk with himself. A learning experience…a chance … a challenge?…Hah! Indeed. A worthy endeavor…indeed, a test of my skills…
Suddenly, a pair of deep golden eyes stared back at the thief. A regretful smile appeared on a thin, haggard face – a face that was very different from his own – as Bramimond coughed again. It was a lonely face. One that was neither young nor old, but had lived for too long, seen far too much…
Indeed, I could…once. I gave it all up for… for what? It would be nice…wouldn't it? What would you have done, old friend? What would you have done…?
The sage's whisper was so quiet now that Matthew couldn't quite make it out, yet the thief could have sworn he heard a name. Perhaps it was something that had happened in the ever-distant past.
In the next moment, though, all was normal again. A perfect, seamless image of himself replaced whatever the thief had seen, and Bramimond once again lapsed into silence.
I promised nothing. Finally, after a long while, the sage spoke. And I will promise nothing.
I understand. Master Bramimond, thank you for listening. I shall be going now…Carefully masking his disappointment, Matthew turned to leave. Only his heavy footfalls reflected the heaviness found in his heart.
Going? Going where? To find your Leila?
Yes, Master Bramimond. To find Leila…wherever she may be…or to join her, I don't care…
…I thought you wanted my help?
It was too much. No words in the world could express his gratitude as the thief fell to his knees.
I require no payment. You have nothing I could possibly want, either way, Bramimond quipped, mistaking Matthew's silence for reluctance. The thief couldn't tell what the sage was thinking, nor could he figure out just what in the world caused the spellcaster to help him. The only thing he could remember at the time was that wistful smile on Bramimond's face as the sage pulled him back to his feet.
…Only this: come back and thank me, if the spell is working. That would be more than enough.
The rest … the rest of the time he spent there was a blur. The sage told him to wait outside, and disappeared for an entire week. When he had reappeared, the Wish Staff was in his hands. Carefully wrapping it in a golden scarf, Bramimond quietly instructed him in its usage and bid him farewell.
Good luck, young one. I do not usually try for miracles, but …may this staff revive your dreams. Use it well, and you may find it redeeming more than one person…
The lingering, wistful smile on the dark sage's face was one that Matthew could never forget.
He should have known this from the start – bringing someone back to life was impossible. Pent, Canas…even Bramimond couldn't promise anything. Yet, from the way the dark sage had answered him, there might have been a chance…was that a lie told to keep him happy, knowing that he wasn't ready to face the reality yet?
Then…why would he have gone to all the trouble to make such a staff?
Should have just given up, Matthew…should have given up a long, long time ago…
He thought he had gotten over it – he had handled himself with unusual composure at the sight of her limp body. The days and nights without her, the thought of never seeing her again…he had thought he could put it all behind him. His work output had nearly doubled. He had even forgiven Jaffar…the man who…
Yet no matter how you tried, you couldn't live without her, could you? You never forgave Jaffar, either…you were only being merciful at the time because she stopped your hand…
Matthew didn't know what to think. He tasted something salty as he struggled to wipe his eyes.
…At least you tried, Master Bramimond. Thank you…
The thief brushed aside one final tear as he spared a loving glance at her resting place. Carefully laying the lightless Wish Staff atop her gravesite, Matthew sighed. He should at least return to Bramimond to thank him for all he had done. After all, Matthew was only a nameless spy, working on behalf of Lord Hector. It was unusual for the dark sage to accept visitors, let along go through all that trouble to help him…
"Matthew…" A faint, insubstantial voice whispered.
Ignoring the cry, the thief continued on with a bitter smile. So, even the winds taunted him now…
"…Matthew?"
His heart skipped a beat. Slowly, he turned around, unwilling to believe his ears. That voice…the same voice that haunted his dreams…
"Matthew…"A pair of bright red eyes, full of concern, stared back at him. Slowly, the rest of her body materialized from the mists. Leila's pink hair loosely flowed down her shoulders as her form solidified. The corners of her mouth lifted slightly as she smiled, her visage as lovely as ever.
Bramimond…the dark sage's name faintly registered in his mind. Surely, this was a dream…
But the young woman appearing before him was no mirage. Everything from her long, slender eyelashes to that semi-relaxed stance…the Leila standing before him… this was too detailed for something he could simply construct from a memory…
He did this…he created a miracle…
"…Leila?" He felt completely drained – so overwhelmed by his emotions. The thief weakly stared as the young woman took a faltering step towards him.
"Leila!" Matthew shouted joyously. Staggering to his feet, the thief stumbled forward. "Leila!"
She was so close to him…he could see the gentle rise and fall of her chest, smell the faint lilac scent of her body…there was no way she could be an illusion!
His legs, numb from kneeling, felt like leaden bricks. As Matthew quickened his pace, however, the only thing he could think of was his Leila…at last, at last!
Suddenly, he slipped on a nearby stone and tripped. The thief gasped in shock as Leila simply passed through his outstretched arms. Without even bothering to wipe the dirt from his face, he desperately reached for her again. All the while, a sinking feeling began to appear in his heart.
No, no…
Yet, try as he might, he couldn't touch her. For the briefest moment, he could feel the smoothness of her skin…but the feeling vanished as soon as it had appeared, leaving his hand to pass through nothing but air.
"It's no use, Matthew," Leila whispered gently as she knelt down, wiping away a speck of filth from his face. He could feel her touch … feel the familiar light tingle her finger evoked on his skin.
But why? Why couldn't he touch her?
"Leila…" The thief shook violently as his voice broke. Reaching forward in a pitiful gesture, he tried again. Maybe he was just being disoriented…maybe, if he reached out a little more…and wished for her a little harder…
"Matthew, stop... you can't touch me like you once did…" the young woman smiled wistfully. Shaking her head a little, her long hair fell over one side of her face and covered her left eye. "I am nothing but a shadow…a spirit, given physical form by your wish…"
Tenderly taking Matthew's outstretched hand, Leila traced a thin line across her body with his finger. For a second, he could feel the soft fabric of her tunic and her warmth beneath. He could even sense her steady heartbeat…the thief's own heart quickened.
Then, like awakening from a pleasant dream, his finger passed through thin air as his hand dropped slowly back to his side.
"But…Bramimond…the staff…" A wave of unbearable disappointment washed over him as the thief numbly spoke. "He…he…said…"
"Bramimond didn't lie to you, Matthew. Magic itself is the stuff that dreams are made out of. But Bramimond, as powerful as he was, cannot do everything. Bringing people back from the beyond…that power was beyond even him."
"Then…Leila…what are you, if not alive? How come I can see you?" Matthew's voice rose as he ignored the slow flow of tears that was steadily running down his cheeks. Above him, the sky lightened – the night was almost over, and the fog had long since stopped rolling in. "And how? How! How can you touch me, but I cannot…touch …."
"I…" The pink-haired spy paused for a long time, searching for the appropriate word. Finally, she sighed. "Matthew. I am … neither alive nor dead… Bramimond's spell merely gave my essence form, so I could speak with you. Even that time … is running short."
It is theorized that each and every one of us possesses a unique essence. I prefer to call it the "soul." This essence of ours is beyond conventional empiricism, beyond all the limitations of our world!
Lord Pent…surely…there's a way? You said that this essence cannot be destroyed by any means. So doesn't that mean…
"How long, Leila, then? How long?"
Indeed, but consider the following analogy. A dragonfly cannot know the beauty of the sky until it has passed its natural lifespan in the water, no?
"Not long, Matthew…until sunrise, perhaps. Then I must fade again…"
But … that's then…how would you know what the future holds?
No one can tell what the future holds - but Matthew, all it takes is a little bit of faith. Can you trust me?
Yes, Lord Pent, but…I know you can bring her back…with magic…tell me how! Name whatever price, whatever task you want me to do! Let me…
That memory…it was from a few years ago. He couldn't help but to feel a little embarrassed by his outburst. Pent, however, had paid it no heed. The Scholar-General only chuckled as he patted his forehead.
Matthew, you do know that magic itself is a rather costly price, is it not? Our spells are crafted from paper and ink, some rarer tomes, gems. These are but simple elements, used as an equivalent exchange for the powers that we conjure up. How would you find an equivalent element for what you ask, which is life itself?
The thief collapsed against a nearby tree. This night … the polarizing feelings of joy and sorrow, hope and disappointment - it was too much for him.
…And that, my young friend, is the limitation of arcane arts. Simply put, there is nothing in the world that is as valuable as life. Matthew could remember the sage avoiding his gaze. Pent was clearly unwilling to continue on further with the topic at hand. Perhaps he, too, had experienced sorrow firsthand.
Lord Pent, then how did Ninian come back to life?
Your question…about Ninian, and how she was reunited with Lord Eliwood…I know not. Ask Bramimond, if you get the chance, though I fear the dark sage has already passed away…
Lord Pent, so it is magic! Is there any way you could –
I lack the power. I won't claim it is impossible, but I cannot do it. The sage's last words, however, rang in his mind. How could you expect the student to rise beyond his teacher? If there is a way, I think it has been long since lost.
"Shh…Matthew, don't cry anymore. This isn't like you."
He blinked. In another moment, he could feel Leila sitting down beside him as she cradled his head with her arms.
