Author's Notes: If you haven't figured out by now, Chapter 18 spoilers.
Oh, my, word. I couldn't help it. It's been done before, I know, but hopefully this is a slightly different twist on the standard Chapter 18 fic.
I didn't include Lyn and Eliwood when Matthew sees her body because, well, to be honest, I didn't have a game script on hand at the time. But anyway, consider this a retelling of Chapter 18 with some slightly different turns.
Disclaimer: I don't own FE7 or anything to do with it.
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"Why do you think Lord Hector's taking so long?"
"Serra, you worry too much," Matthew replied, prodding her in the ribs with one finger.
"Ouch! Don't do that, Matthew! It hurts!" Serra pulled away, her face set into a pout. "I think I have a right to be concerned! Lord Hector, Lady Lyndis, and Lord Eliwood set out with the tactician to scout the woods over an hour ago. They should be back by now, don't you think?"
"Perhaps," Matthew said, grinning. "Then again, perhaps I'm right and you're just worrying too much, Serra."
"Much as I hate to admit it, Serra has a point," Erk interrupted. He was absentmindedly thumbing through his Thunder tome. "They should have been back by now. Then again, this island is severely unsettling, so maybe you have a point."
The Dread Isle, Valor. The whole shore was swathed in a thin mist, and darkness seemed to cover the isle even in the noonday sun. Every shadow appeared to be an enemy, and so the entire party of warriors had been struck by paranoia as soon as they set foot on the isle. Matthew had observed this calmly and decided that he must be the only one sane enough to keep his wits about him while here. His ability to see through the fog probably had something to do with it.
"You two really are birds of a feather," Matthew told Erk and Serra, leaning against a nearby tree. You're both just ridiculous worrywarts. Not to mention that you're both far to superstitious for your own good."
"Matthew, doesn't it occur to you that no one who's set foot here has ever made it back to the mainland?" Guy asked from somewhere behind him.
Matthew didn't even bother to turn to look at him. "Guy, let me say that you are absolutely horrid at sneaking up on people. I heard you about five minutes ago and likely would have heard you even earlier, had I not been distracted. Now put your sword away, if you would."
"Would that count as a favor?" Guy sounded hopeful.
Matthew considered the question for a moment before he replied. "No."
Guy cursed, but sheathed his sword nonetheless and came out from the trees to join Matthew, Erk, and Serra as they gazed into the mist where their leaders, along with the tactician, had vanished over an hour ago. The tactician had said something about needing to scout the area in case a battle struck—that way, they could be ready to defend themselves at anytime.
The tactician was impeccable when it came to matters of battle planning—they hadn't lost a single member of their miniature army yet—so no one had protested. Lyn, Hector, Eliwood, and the tactician had left together, fading both into the fog and into the thick woods just off the coast of the Dread Isle.
The paranoia that seized the rest of the caravan, however, had not lightened in the absence of the three lords. Kent had taken to pacing, getting more worried about his Lady Lyndis with every minute she was gone. Sain was trying to calm him down, but, unfortunately for the other members of the legion, he was failing miserably. Oswin was keeping an eye out for Hector, though admittedly he didn't seem as concerned as the others were. Marcus was the funniest to watch in Matthew's opinion—the paladin would pace, spend some time muttering to himself, pace some more, try to find a way to amuse himself (such as practicing his swordplay), then finally resign himself to more pacing.
Erk and Serra did seem worried, but Serra was too busy annoying Erk to spend much time thinking about anything else. Similarly, Erk was too busy being annoyed by Serra to concentrate on his worries. Guy had tried to sneak up on (and most likely attack) Matthew three times since the lords and tactician had left, and he seemed to be getting even worse at it as time went on.
In other words, Matthew was getting a bit bored.
So, instead of continuing his boredom, he decided to attempt to make some small talk. "Nasty weather, isn't it? Hopefully we won't have to fight in it."
He was referring to the fog, which seemed to be thickening. The trees made patches of the air clear, but the fog was still a dangerous thing for the entire party—even Matthew, who could see through more of it than the others.
"We will have to fight in it," Erk replied. "You know it never fails. A fog rolls in and within a few hours we'll be in a battle."
"Ooh, but I absolutely hate it when it's like this," Serra said. She latched herself onto Erk's arm; the mage's right eye twitched in response. "But you'll protect me, won't you, my brave Erky?"
Erk's response was, "Quit calling me 'Erky.' "
The fog thinned momentarily, and Matthew glanced up. "Look! There's Lady Lyndis and Lord Eliwood!"
The two were coming through the trees and fog rather slowly, the tactician shortly behind them. The tactician's hood was up, veiling his face from view. As soon as Lyn and Eliwood reunited with the caravan, they split up. Eliwood was soon intercepted by Marcus, who started a lecture on why he shouldn't worry his guardian so much, while Lyn headed to Kent and Sain as quickly as she could.
Matthew couldn't hear much of what was said, but he saw Kent kneel before Lyn and ask something, to which Lyn shook her head and said nothing. Eliwood made no response to Marcus' lecture, either. Instead, he kept his eyes on the ground as his shoulders shook silently—with rage? With sadness? It was impossible to tell. The tactician, meanwhile, walked straight toward his tent, speaking to no one.
"Something's wrong," Erk whispered. "Look at Lord Eliwood's eyes. They're so dark. Something must have happened out there."
"Erky, you don't think . . ." Serra started, clinging more tightly to the mage's arm. "Where—where's Lord Hector?"
"I hope that you're not right in that suspicion, Serra." Erk made no move to push Serra away.
"You two are worrying too much again," Matthew interrupted. "You forget that Lord Hector is a grown man. He knows how to take care of himself, and I don't think that he'd be the type to let this isle get the best of him."
The fog shifted again, and an unmistakable figure appeared, carrying something in his arms.
"See?" Matthew said. "I can see Lord Hector right now. He'll be within your sight in a few more paces. He's perfectly fine."
Hector continued forward, and Matthew let out a sigh of relief when he could see his master's face clearly. He didn't want to admit it, but he had been just the slightest bit worried about Hector.
There was a pause.
"Matthew, what's Hector's carrying . . . ?" Guy asked at last.
Matthew took a look at what Hector held and shrugged. "I can't tell. He's got it wrapped up in a blanket. One of the ones Merlinus has been carrying around. He must have stuffed one in his pack before he and the others went scouting."
Hector stopped a small distance away and looked over the caravan with eyes that seemed hollow. Finally, he spotted Matthew and gestured to him—an unspoken "follow me"—and turned away, walking back into the mist.
Matthew stood still, wondering what reason Hector had to speak to him in private. Hector's eyes looked the same as Eliwood's and Lyn's—dark and empty, as if he had seen something that infuriated and saddened him at the same time.
"What are you waiting for, Matthew?" Guy asked. "Lord Hector obviously wants you to follow him, so get going already!"
Matthew nodded. "Right. I'd best go now, lest I lose him in the fog." He gave his three companions a grin and a wink. "No worries. I'll be back soon."
"Be careful out there." Erk put a reassuring hand on Matthew's shoulder, then let it fall and gave him a solemn nod.
Matthew only nodded as well, turning and walking into the woods and the mist.
His keen eyesight let him follow Hector with relative ease. They headed deeper and deeper into the forest, until they reached a small clearing.
"You were able to keep up, I see," Hector said as Matthew entered the clearing. "Good." He knelt, placing his parcel on the ground as if it was made of glass and about to shatter. "We thought that it might be best if we told no others in the caravan about this."
Matthew blinked, putting his hands on his hips. "Then why tell me, my lord?"
Hector took a deep breath. He had begun to shake. "You're the only one we couldn't bear to keep the truth from. Especially knowing how close you were to her."
" . . . Her, my lord?"
Hector swallowed and carefully pulled back one edge of the blanket. Underneath was a woman, her eyes closed and her pale face framed by pink hair. She appeared to be only sleeping.
But at the moment he saw her face, Matthew realized why the blanket she was wrapped in was so red—it was soaked in her blood.
"L-Leila. . . ."
Hector looked up, his eyes moist. "I'm sorry, Matthew."
Matthew's mouth could find no words to tell Hector, no "it's all right" or anything of the sort. His tongue felt dry, drier than parchment.
He knelt beside her body and stroked her hair. It was just as it had always been, fine and soft against Matthew's hand. His wandering fingers found their way to Leila's cheek and stroked it, holding some futile hope that it, too, would be the same as ever.
Instead, it was cold.
He pulled back the blanket further. From the front, she was uninjured, judging by all appearances. Matthew didn't doubt, however, that her wounds were on her back.
What . . . what shall I do now?
"Matthew?"
There knelt Lord Hector, on the brink of tears for him. Lord Eliwood and Lady Lyndis—their darkened, empty eyes had also been for him.
Matthew lifted Leila's hands, which were soaked in her own blood. He wiped them on his cloak and held them still in his own hands.
He found that no tears would come. He felt frozen. But he knew that he couldn't stay here forever, cradling the hands of a corpse. He knew that Lord Hector, along with the others, would worry, and he didn't want anyone to worry over him.
Besides that, he had always been the one to make jokes and make the other members of the caravan smile when things were looking down. Who was he to stop that now? He needed to wipe away Lord Hector's tears, make him laugh again.
So all Matthew could do was smile.
He did, looking up at Hector as he carefully laid Leila's hands back at her sides. Lord Hector's eyes were still wet, but Matthew could change all that in a moment.
He kept smiling.
"Matthew, I'm so very sorry," Hector whispered, his voice choked by half-sobs.
Matthew shook his head, still smiling. "What do you have to apologize for, my lord?"
Hector started to reply. "Matthew—"
"You've done absolutely nothing wrong," Matthew continued, cutting off Hector's response. "I mean, surely it's not your fault that Leila ended up . . ." He couldn't make himself say the word dead. Too much finality there. "She blundered, that's all."
"Matthew, please, you don't have to make light of this." Hector's hands were shaking as he wiped his eyes.
"Whatever do you mean, my lord? I merely speak the truth."
"That's exactly what I mean, Matthew. You don't have to pretend to be so carefree. You have a right to be sad, just like the rest of us."
Mustn't let the smile break, Matthew reminded himself.
"Well, to be honest, my lord, after this was over I was going to ask Leila to leave this life behind her," Matthew replied. He stroked her cheek again; it was still cold. "I guess I was a bit late, wasn't I? Ha . . ." He attempted to laugh, but the sound died in his throat. Smiling over this was easy; laughing was another matter. Matthew decided not to try it again.
Hector said nothing.
"If you don't mind, my lord, may I rejoin you later?" Matthew asked, keeping his smile. "If there is one thing that Leila deserves, it is a proper burial."
"Of course. Take as long as you need," Hector said. He stood and walked back toward the caravan, his cape swirling behind him as he vanished into the mist.
Matthew wanted to cry right there, feeling it was safe to do so now that Hector couldn't see. But he found that the reason his tears wouldn't come was because he had forgotten how to shed them.
So he could only continue to smile.
He wished he had a shovel to make things go easier, but all he could find in his pack was an old sword, on the verge of breaking, to serve as Leila's grave marker. So he began to dig the grave out with his hands. He thanked whatever deity was listening that he had the common sense to wear gloves, or the ground would have bit eagerly into his hands.
"Awful weather, this," he commented to the thin air. "It can really tear a man's spirit down. I can't remember the last time I felt so cold."
There was no response, either from the air or from Leila.
Matthew finally produced the best grave he could manage in the cold forest ground, and turned back to Leila. He began to wrap her in the blanket once again, but then paused for long enough to brush his lips against her forehead.
"Unfortunately, this is no fairy tale," he whispered in Leila's ear, though he knew that she was beyond hearing him now. "My kisses will not raise your corpse, and even could I find it in myself to cry, my tears would do you no good either."
He kissed her forehead again, as though hoping that what he just said was not true, though he knew it was. Then he wrapped her in the blanket and turned to the makeshift grave. He started to lay her in it, but suddenly stopped, clutching her body to his chest.
"I'm . . . I'm sorry," he whispered. "I can't even cry over you like a good lover should. I hope you can forgive me for that, Leila. I suppose I can apologize in person if I ever get to see you again."
He stayed there for a few more moments, holding Leila's body against his own, before finally loosening his grip on her and laying her gently in her grave. He took a few long, laborious minutes to cover her body with earth and pack it in over her, leaving only a small mound to mark her resting place.
You have a right to be sad, just like the rest of us.
"I can't, Lord Hector," Matthew whispered. "I'm afraid I don't know how."
He started to plant the old sword in Leila's grave, but then changed his mind and took out one of the newer swords he had picked up from Merlinus while waiting for the lords and tactician to finish scouting.
He didn't want to imagine how they had found Leila while out there. He supposed he could ask Hector about it later. While keeping a smile, of course. He mustn't let anyone be sad for his sake.
Matthew slid his sword into the ground just over the grave. No one else might know whose grave it was, whose sword marked the mound of earth. But Matthew knew, and that was enough.
"I guess this is goodbye, then, Leila," he said as he stood up.
He was absolutely still for a moment before smiling again. "Why am I even still standing here? You'd be hounding me to get back to Lord Hector right about now . . . were you yet alive, I mean."
Matthew knew he should have choked or sobbed on those last six words, but he did not. His voice didn't even crack or go flat. He just kept smiling.
Another silent minute, and he turned away. "Goodbye, Leila."
He left the clearing, and the fog thickened in his wake. By the time he made it back to camp, he knew that he was the only one who could see even half-decently through the mist.
"I'm back, my lord," he called to Hector as he caught up to the axe-wielder.
"Matthew," Hector said, nodding slightly. "But . . . are you sure? You can take more time if you need it."
Matthew surveyed the caravan. They were preparing for battle, judging from the way the tactician was talking speedily with Lyn and her two knights. Eliwood was going through his pack, making sure he had his various swords and supplies. Hector himself was brandishing one of his axes and grimacing.
You can take more time if you need it.
You have a right to be sad, just like the rest of us.
This time, Matthew could find a response to his lord's concern. He smiled again.
"You worry too much, my lord."