Thank you so much, Herr Wozzeck! I now know about the accent options! Once I was told about the 'ny' sounding accent, I asked my friend about them. And, after staring at me as if I was a complete idiot, she told me how to get every accent. And so, to prove my newfound prowess with accents...I sent Herr Wozzeck a review reply...with an umlaut in it! I know...I'm shameless, aren't I? Oh, and by the way, I wrote this chapter at 11:00 at night. Any inconsistency in the story is not my fault. Please just notify me of it in a review or something, or I won't know to correct it.

Eclipsedragon does not own Fire Emblem or anything else.

Matthew stands in the middle of his tent, huffing and surveying all that is around him. He knows already that he will have to leave Marquess Ositia and his army, although it will be traitorous to do so. But he has to go prepared; has to bring provisions enough to keep him well for the journey to the Dragon's Gate, where his enemy undoubtedly awaits. For the return journey, he packs nothing: after all, what would be the point when there will be no return journey? Matthew will go to avenge Leila, and then, when he has completed his task, he will join her in death, and they will be together forever. There is no other future for him.

Where are his lockpicks? He scans the tent – and that is how he sees her once again. Right there, perched upon a pile of his clothes. Watching him. Smiling at him. This time, it isn't Serra. This time, it's really her! He reaches out to her – and suddenly, she's not there anymore. Gone. He forces himself to relax – it's one of her spying tricks, that's all. She always was better than him at learning these things. He doesn't blink when she appears again, right behind him.

"Matthew…" Her smile has gone, and she looks troubled. Are those tears? She can't be crying – Matthew knows that Leila never cries.

"Leila? Leila, what's wrong?"

"Don't hurt them! Forget, just don't hurt them!" The scene changes before his eyes. His tent is gone: swept away by the confusion of the battle suddenly surrounding him. He's fighting people, people he should know, but he can't remember their names, only the one name that echoes through his skull, drawing him to the promise of death, sharpening the pain in his heart. Another flash of pain, a red mist rising before his eyes. A girl attacks from the sky, white wings suddenly beside him as mauve hair flies in his face. Her lance punches through his left arm. In a rage, Matthew strikes out at her. He must have hit an artery – blood fountains from her side. A blue haired man sees this: his roar echoes across the plains.

"Florina!" Beside him, Leila is crying again: not silent tears now, but harsh, desperate sobs.

"Matthew, stop it! They're your friends: you swore to help them! You joined Marquess Ositia to save us all!" The blue haired man - Marquess Ositia, he remembers now – is charging at him, axe raised. His gaze flicks past the lord's attack, to catch on a girl in a cleric's uniform. She's staring straight into his eyes, and suddenly it all comes back to him. They were his friends. They were his friends! Oh Elimine, what has he done?

Matthew slumps to his knees, waiting for the attack he knows is coming. Cold steel bites into his shoulder. He can hear the sound of his flesh splitting; feel his veins pumping yet more blood into the wound. It's no more than he deserves, he thinks. He's already covered in blood; a murderer. He betrayed them.

Suddenly, the vision recedes. He's back in his own tent once again, with the dreadful fear of death hanging like a cloud over him. Matthew begins to pack with renewed vigour. After all, if he's far enough away from them, he can't harm them, right? Such irony.

"Serra, you're telling me you woke us all up for a meeting because Matthew's eyes looked strange?" Hector glares at the girl before him, blinking sleep from his own eyes.

"No! I mean, yes, but this wasn't just strange! He's dangerous! When he looked at me, just for a moment, I couldn't see Matthew. I saw…I can't explain it; I just know there was something wrong!" She's struggling helplessly for words. Sir Oswin raises a hand.

"He's lost someone he loved, Serra. People are always a little strange whilst grieving. I'm sure he'll be better in time." That calmness has always irked her. Now, at a time of crisis, when she knows that inaction will condemn Matthew, she herself can do nothing against it, now that Oswin's reason has convinced all the others. Her stammered protests have no ground, and she is left to stare helplessly at the fire.

"Um…Serra?" Priscilla is making her way back from her tent, concern showing in her face. "You didn't seem quite yourself when you were speaking to Lord Hector, and your face was pale. Are you coming down with something?" Serra suddenly has an idea. If anyone can see the truth, Priscilla, as another healer, albeit one less experienced than her, can.

"Priscilla! You have to see Matthew! You're a healer – you'll know something's wrong with him too!"

"What?" Serra drags her at high speed towards Matthew's tent, and peeps through the door. Suddenly, she flings it open and steps inside. Priscilla stumbles in too – when faced with an iron grip like Serra's, there is no choice – and is greeted with the sight of a completely empty tent. Matthew's belongings have all gone, and more importantly, so has he.

A man, standing watch over an army camp. A shadow in the trees behind him. An unsheathed blade; the same man turning, surprised. Blood, spattering onto the fallen leaves.

"I'm sorry…I had to silence you somehow. You'll survive this wound. I had to do it…for Leila's sake."

"Holy Saint Elimine…he's run away!"

"Who's standing watch tonight? We have to alert them!"

"Merlinus…"

"What? That merchant?" Their footsteps echo on the ground, hurrying to the silhouette of a caravan in the night. Suddenly, Serra halts abruptly. Priscilla almost runs into her, but stops as she sees what has caught Serra's attention. A frozen face, staring up at them from the ground. Blue hair, shining black in the night with blood. Merlinus.

"Eeeeeeeeeek!"

Yes, I know cliffhangers are evil. After proclaiming my utter hatred for them, I go and write one in...This makes me a hypocrit, doesn't it? Well...review, and you get to find out what happens next! Oh, and please have a happy new year!