My 100th fic!

*DATES TO KEEP IN MIND: Chapter 1 of FE7 begins in 979 A.S., Chapter 11 of FE7 begins in 980 A.S. and Chapter 1 of FE6 begins in 999 A.S.

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-965 A.S.-

Matthew reached up and tugged on his father's hand and pointed at one of the apples. His father looked down, mid-conversation with the merchant, and smiled. He gestured to one of the red fruits. A winning smile, intoxicating like fine wine, adorned his father's face. Matthew scarcely understood the words that flew out of his father's mouth, as quick as they were.

The merchant laughed. And plucked an apple and threw it to Matthew's father. The brown haired man caught it, reflexes snatching it from the air.

His small hands cupped the treat as his father set it in his hands. Matthew bit into it eagerly, sucking the juice off his lips.

His father laughed at something the merchant said and began to tug Matthew's small hand. Matthew followed, tuning out the busy streets of Ostia. His attention was reserved for the apple and his father's hand that he gripped tightly.

A clatter of hooves resounded on the street. Horses passed them by, stealing Matthew's gaze for but a moment. Atop them rode men and women clad in armor, the blue of Ostia. They tore through the busy street, pausing for none. Matthew's father pushed him back, holding a hand out protectively.

Matthew lowered the apple as he watched the commotion. Of all the times he'd come to Ostia with his father, he'd never gotten to see a horse run that fast. "Father, what's happening?"

"I don't know, son," his father replied, voice gravely. He stroked his stubbled chin in thought, watching the group race towards the castle. "Come on, let's get somewhere else."

Matthew followed his father, chomping away at the apple. Distracted as he was, Matthew didn't miss how his father had his free hand beneath his cloak. Or the frown that covered his face. Matthew didn't like it when his father's smile was absent.

He followed him, hand still clenching his father's, towards a building. Matthew didn't recognize it. His father swung the door open as someone shouted his name.

Matthew turned around to see an armored individual running towards them. His hand was squeezed as he looked up at his father.

"Julian!" shouted the newcomer again. "Julian, they need you."

"Keep your voice down," Matthew's father, Julian, retorted. Gone was the voice Julian used for speaking to his son and merchants and banter. His tone was low, like the end of a piano. "What are you talking about?"

The stranger gasped for breath. He'd been running. "Julian, the Marquess. His wife. They…"

"They what?" Julian's hand came and rested on the man's shoulder. "Explain."

"Dead. Illness of some kind. Uther is gonna be crowned on the morrow." His words were short, clipped. Low. Julian looked around, then down to Matthew.

"Give me a second," he said. He pulled Matthew into the building which revealed itself to be a tavern. Matthew had never been in one. He remained quiet as Julian set him down on one of the seats.

"Matthew, I want you to wait right here." His gaze was filled with tension Matthew was beyond understanding at his young age. "I know the owner of this place, you can wait right here. He'll bring you out some food. I'll be back soon, okay?"

"Okay."

Matthew's father smirked. Holding out a pinky, he said, "Promise?"

"Promise." Matthew smiled, locking his pinky around his father's.

"Good boy," Julian said, standing up and walking back to the door.

Matthew turned and watched the dancing flame of the candle. It was unnecessary in the day time, but Matthew kept himself preoccupied with it. He set the apple core on the table, forgetting he had ever had it.

"You're Julian's boy," a voice said. Matthew looked up and jumped back in his seat. A thin man had taken a seat across from him. Long purple hair cascaded down his face, some of it tied back in a loose ponytail.

Matthew said nothing, simply staring at the man.

"Seems I left my manners at the door," the man smirked. He held out a hand that dwarfed Matthew's. "Astohl. Ostian spy."

Matthew didn't reach for the hand. "Matthew," he said, voice quiet. He watched Astohl, eyes flicking over every detail. He realized the man wasn't much of a man, but rather not much older than he was.

"Does your dad ever talk about his time with the spies?" Astohl asked. He looked eager for information, some light resonating in his eyes.

The smaller boy shied away as Astohl leaned forward.

"Astohl! Leave the kid alone!" yelled the man Julian had spoken to earlier as he stepped from behind the bar.

The purple haired boy jumped, alarmed. His hair threatened to tease its way out of the leather cord that bound it. "I'm not doing anything wrong!"

The barkeep cracked his knuckles. "Boy, do you want me to explain to you why you should do what I say?"

Astohl recoiled with a growl. He grabbed his drink and downed it, stalking out of the bar after. Matthew watched him go. The way his lithe form slid through the door.

It reminded him of his father.

-965 A.S.-

The coronation was public.

In record time, a stage had been assembled. With the mounting tensions from Bern and Etruria, Lycia needed to display solidarity. That meant crowning the next Marquess Ostia in posthaste, not worrying whether the other Marquesses could make it.

Not that Leila knew any of that.

The crowd was predominantly comprised of peasants with some nobility mixed in. The finery was towards the front, much to Leila's chagrin. She stood in the crowd, not minding that her height prohibited her from seeing the stage. Her attention was on the purses of the townsfolk.

Several faces looked toward her with annoyance as she pushed past them in the crowd, but Leila was unconcerned with it.

If she wanted to eat tonight, she'd need to find someone wealthy.

The people began to applaud something she couldn't see. The cacophony rang in her ears and her mouth filled with bile. She hated crowds. But Elimine, she was good at maneuvering through them.

Her eyes locked on a bulging purse. It was partially obscured by a cloak, but the man didn't seem to be paying attention to his surroundings.

Leila's calloused fingers brushed the cloak aside. With her other, she played with the twine that held the purse to his belt.

She slipped the knot and the purse fell. Leila reached out to catch it.

She didn't.

The purple haired man, who was far closer to her age than she had realized, looked down at her. His purse was in his hand, having caught it as it fell.

"You're interrupting something important," he said. His frown wasn't unkind, but more akin to disappointment. It reminded her of her father. One of the few things she'd had when he left her on the streets. "Stay by me. I'll figure out what to do with you after this."

Leila's eyes flicked around, looking for any avenue of escape. She'd seen enough street rats go with older men to know what this meant.

She bolted, knocking someone over as she ran. Leila didn't look back, threading the needle through the crowd. Or rather more like tearing a path through.

Her hands lashed for her neck as something tugged her shirt back, snapping her back. Now prone on the ground, she looked up to see the shaggy haired boy, and he very much was a boy, who had grabbed her.

"First the purse, now running?" he shook his head, hair moving with it. "I took you for someone smart with how you found me in the crowd. But maybe I was wrong."

He reached down and pulled her up. Elimine, he was stronger than he looked. "You're coming with me. "

-970 A.S.-

"Your boy has a smart mouth."

"Oh, don't I know." His father's voice.

Matthew's eyes were glazed over. He looked forward, not seeing anything past the bars on the cell.

"Did you hear what he did? Gave that boy a right black eye, he did." The town jailer.

"I heard. And I heard why."

"I don't blame your boy. He's a good kid, just a bit too smart for his own good."

Matthew's father said nothing else. Footsteps made their way to his cell, summoning Matthew from his reverie. Keys grated on metal in a sharp twist. The door opened, revealing Julian and the jailer. His father still had his physique from his time in Ostia's spies. That, in tandem with his displeased expression, made Matthew shrink back.

"C'mon, son," Julian said. He nodded to the jailer. "Thanks for keeping him in here."

"Not a problem, Julian. You and your wife stop by for dinner sometime, you hear?"

"We will." Julian looked down at Matthew, who hadn't moved. "Matthew."

Slowly with reluctance, Matthew stood. His head hung though he knew he did no wrong. His father's gaze was a weight on him.

The two walked out of the town's jailhouse. The town of Everec wasn't so big to warrant any formal prison by any means, but the town's tavern did mean that some brawls happened. And thus the two cell jailhouse.

Everec was asleep for the most part. Most of the activity in Matthew's hometown was during the day when travel to nearby Ostia happened with regularity. They were the only two on the dirt street.

"Do you want to explain what happened or do you want me to just go forward with my lecture?" Julian sighed. His pace slowed as they approached their house.

"Ivan wouldn't leave Della alone." The resident thug close to Matthew's age and the object of his attention. "I got into an argument with him. But he threw the first punch! But I got him good." Matthew rubbed his ribs gingerly. He may have gotten in the best hit, but Ivan had gotten him far more."

Julian stood in silence. Matthew was used to it. His father, when he had been a spy, hadn't usually had the luxury of methodical thinking. Quick decisions were frequently quick failures, he'd said when Matthew had asked why he took so long to think.

"It was good of you to stand up for Della. Her parents already spoke to me in appreciation for what you did." Even in the dark, Matthew knew his father had at least some approval on his face. "Said you had quite a smart mouth. Some of the things they said you said…well, you better be glad I didn't relay them to your mother."

Matthew hung his head.

"I saw Ivan too. You did get a good hit on him. It's a hard world out there, and you should be proud of that. Especially at fifteen, it's impressive."

"I'm sensing a catch," Matthew said.

Julian nodded. "You're correct." He stepped closer so Matthew could see his face. "You've been getting into plenty of fights, Matthew. Usually because of that silver tongue of yours. Your mother and I…we've been talking."

His eyes wandered to their house. They had stopped some twenty feet from it. "We're sending you to Ostia."

"For what?"

"A job. Some of my old friends need someone to run messages through the castle, the city. Maybe even the country. You'll be well cared for."

Matthew grit his teeth. "Do I have any say in this?"

Julian chuckled. "You're rambunctious, Matthew. I think this'll be good for you."

Growling, Matthew turned around and strut to the door of their home. Julian let him go, making no move to stop him.

-971 A.S.-

"Good!" praised Astohl as Leila blocked his attack fluidly. Her dagger shot forward and Astohl spun out of the way, grabbing her wrist and pulling her off balance. His practice knife tapped the left side of her torso.

"You see? Two knives gives you two weapons, but another hand is usually more beneficial than a second weapon," he said, gesturing to the two knives in her hands. "And you can always drop one of them, but in combat you don't want to have to put yourself into those kinds of decisions if you don't have to."

"I understand," Leila said.

Astohl nodded, accepting her answer. "We'll stop for today." In the six years since she'd met him, he'd grown. The boyish physique and temperament was gone, making way for the fully fledged spy Astohl had become. Gone also was the long hair, the purple tresses trimmed for a short style instead.

Leila sat down right on the mat they'd been practicing on. The sparring room was rather quiet today, a few guards sparring on the opposite end of the room. Most were enjoying the beautiful weather, the sun finally coming out after a period of rain.

But not Leila. Her exam to become a spy was coming up. Every free moment she had was spent cramming training in.

"How're you feeling?" Astohl asked, handing her a waterskin. Another was in his opposite hand, for him.

She snatched it from him. "Good. I think I'm gonna pass."

He grinned. "Of course you will." His hand came down and ruffled her hair. She swatted at him, missing. Astohl laughed, "Just remember, if you fail, you'll make me look bad."

Leila growled. "You're not helping."

"I know." He sat down beside her, the two of them watching the guards practice. "But you'll blow them away. You're a damn good fighter for your age."

The two guards circled each other. One was a large, stocky beast of a man while the other was lithe. "You sure sixteen is okay to try at?" The lithe one lurched forward, striking.

Astohl nodded. "Some assignments will be good to have someone who looks younger. No one would expect you. And you're better than some of the idiots I work with now." The bigger man lashed his leg out and knocked the smaller man off his feet.

"Really?" Leila asked. The big man pointed his halberd down towards his companion. The smaller grabbed the shaft of the halberd and tugged, wrenching it out of his hands.

"Yeah." He gestured towards the guards. "Another reason to not have your hands occupied in a fight." The man got up and attacked with ferocity. The big man couldn't keep up with no weapon.

"Yeah."

-971 A.S.-

"Wait up, young master!" Matthew cried as the ten year old raced through the halls. Hector was a handful, either running away from his lessons or throwing a tantrum.

It wasn't Matthew's responsibility to watch him. The job his father had secured him was simply running messages. Matthew was quick on his feet and had earned the praise of his betters.

But that meant when Hector got running, Matthew was usually one of the few who could catch him. Thankfully all he had to do was follow Hector's giggles.

"There you are!" Matthew exclaimed, scooping the lordling up. "You been skipping lessons, little sir?"

Hector pouted. "Maybe." He glared at Matthew, though it was closer to drawing a smile out of Matthew than a negative reaction.

The clatter of armored footsteps rang behind him. Matthew looked to see Oswin, out of breath and ragged, stumble up. The man had been given the task of being Hector's personal guard. Most rolled their eyes at the position of guarding a ten year old. Matthew didn't.

"Seems like I'm doing your job for you, Oswin," Matthew grinned. He tickled Hector on his sides where he knew he was ticklish. Hector giggled.

"Huff…you try and run in this armor," Oswin gasped. His hands rested on his thighs, supporting himself while standing.

Matthew had respect for the Ostian Knights in how much they wore to protect themselves. He just had no desire to ever try. He laughed, "I'll pass. Here's your liege."

Oswin nodded in appreciation, accepting Hector. He set the blue haired boy down and began to lead him away, lecturing him on the importance of lessons.

Matthew chuckled and began making his way to his destination: Marquess Uther. He had accepted a message that had come from Marquess Elbert from Pherae.

The castle was his backyard and Matthew knew it like the back of his hand. He sped through the halls, waving at the guards he'd befriended and the servants he chatted with from time to time. Several of the serving girls near his age offered him shy glances or even a wink. Matthew hid his blush and continued on, walking a bit taller.

He arrived at Uther's meeting room. He knocked on the door and waited patiently. After a few moments, the Marquess' low voice called, "Come in."

Matthew stepped into the Marquess' room. Uther sat in a fine chair at the head of a table. It seemed to be a tight fit for the giant of a man. Uther was well known for his proficiency on the battlefield, though he'd taken to diplomacy more and more as his years as Marquess grew.

To his right sat Astohl. They both looked to him as he entered. Matthew nodded to Astohl and received a nod back. He vaguely remembered encountering him before his job had started in Ostia. Astohl had apologized for something and Matthew had pretended to remember, saying it was fine.

"My lord," greeted Matthew as he reached out, handing the scroll to Uther. He stood back, waiting to see if Uther had any further direction for him.

As Uther read, Matthew looked around the room. Tapestries that signified each of the Lycian houses hung around. Ostia, Pherae, Santaruz, Araphen, more. There were chairs for each Marquess, though it was uncommon they all met in Ostia. They'd only all been present once while Matthew had been at the castle, for the ceremony where they restated their oaths as lords of Lycia.

"Elbert will be visiting next month," Uther idly said. He wound up the scroll and tucked it away. Turning his attention away from Matthew for a moment, he addressed Astohl. "You mentioned the spies needed more people, yes?"

Astohl nodded. "We've lost several in the past months. We haven't found people who are capable enough to replace them, though we're on our way training some."

Uther turned back to Matthew. "Matthew, your superiors tell me you're smart, personable and quick on your feet and mind. Perhaps I have a position better suited for you. Have you heard of the Ostian spies?"

"Yes, milord. My father was one," said Matthew. A cold feeling was setting in. A memory.

His father stepped through the door. The winter cold slipped in, catching Matthew's attention more than the sound of his father arriving back. He turned away from the small book of stories he read to look at his father.

Julian staggered into the room. There was distance in his eyes. A distance of a thousand miles away from here. Like he looked but didn't see, his mind trapped in a reality that Matthew wasn't privy to.

Slowly, Matthew trudged up to him and wrapped his hands around his legs, his head barely coming up to the man's waist. He looked along his father's belt. There, sheathed, was a large knife. A shade of red peeked out where the hilt met the sheath.

He looked up and his father looked down. Their eyes locked and Matthew saw something that truly terrified him. He looked into his father's eyes.

And it wasn't his father who looked back.

It was a shadow of the man that had raised Matthew.

"And who was your father, Matthew?" Uther asked.

"Julian, milord."

"I remember him. I liked him. Treated me very well the day my parents passed." Uther had a faraway look in his eyes. He shook his head, dispelling it. "Matthew, I think you'd be a strong fit for our spies. Obviously, I won't force you, but I would like you to try it and see if you like it."

Through a dry mouth, Matthew said, "Okay, milord."

-971 A.S.-

"Congratulations," the elderly woman said. "You've passed."

Leila let the breath she'd been holding go as she smiled. Her breathing was still labored, fresh off the fight against the two opponents that lay dispatched on the ground.

"Keep in mind, what you will encounter in this field will not be fair. It will not be a series of challenges you must complete to appease your higher ups." Her tone was harsh, cutting. "There won't be fair fights out there. It will be hard. But today you've proven you've the potential to succeed out there." Her lips quirked into a smile. "Be proud of that."

"I am," Leila said. She was.

"Good. You have tomorrow off. Then, we put you to work." The woman gave her one last approving look before stepping away.

Leila walked off of the mat they'd been examining her on. Several of the onlookers smiled at her, some even offering congratulations. She thanked them, but continued walking to her original destination.

Astohl.

His expression lacked emotion, but there was a small grin on his face. "You missed a block in there that I drilled you on last week."

Leila scowled. "Is that all you're going to say?"

The grin grew into a smile. "You did well. Better than I expected. Congratulations, Leila. You've earned this."

Her arms were around him in the next moment. He laughed and returned the hug. "Thank you," she whispered, "for everything." The words for him alone.

"It's been my pleasure, Leila."

-972 A.S.-

She watched her father from across the street. Leila had her hood up, not that he'd recognize her without it. Her father hadn't seen her in years, not since he'd left her.

Beneath her cloak, her fingers trailing up and down the handle of the knife. Thinking as if they had a mind of their own. She knew she could hit him with a throw from here. He'd deserve it.

He'd left her.

Leila bit her lip. If she, an Ostian spy, killed a man in the street, there'd be hell to pay. It was the one thing that stayed her hand. The thought of Astohl's disappointed face. He'd cared for her so much more than the man begging across the street had.

Her father. She didn't even remember his name until someone had mentioned it during her investigation. Xavier.

"Xavier," she whispered, playing with the word as she spoke it. It was foreign to her now, just like the beggar across the street that had at one point been her father.

She tore her eyes away. He was a broken man now, passed by every passerby. Killing him wouldn't achieve anything. Not now.

Leila walked back the way she came. She stopped when she came to an alley, seeing Astohl leaning, tucked inside.

"Did you have to follow me?" she said. Her voice was missing the fire it had burned with as she'd walked through the city. It was cold, stagnant.

Astohl frowned. "Just wanted to make sure you knew what you were doing. Is this going to be a problem?"

"No."

"Are you sure? If it is, I'll kill him right now."

Leila looked up into Astohl's eyes. They burned, but didn't scald her. No, they looked off at the man who had neglected her. There was a hatred in those eyes Leila had only ever seen in the mirror.

"I'm sure. He's nothing, now. Just a fragment of a memory." Leila looked over her shoulder towards Xavier. She saw him take a kick to the stomach as he tried to speak to someone who passed. No one moved to help him.

"Folks like him are the reason why I like kids. They don't have the cruelty to do what he did to you." Astohl tore his eyes away. But something lingered there that Leila didn't see.

Something festered.

-972 A.S.-

"Quicker!" barked Oswin. His lance shot out past Matthew. The lithe man panted as he swung his knife and knocked the lance away again as it struck.

"You're on the defense, you need to attack if you want to prevail!" Gone was the calm knight's voice, replaced by the ferocity of a man on a mission. His fist swung out and smashed into Matthew, knocking him off balance. The butt of Oswin's lance scraped over Matthew's leg, dropping him to the floor.

Oswin stood over him, a light note of exhaustion in his voice. "Dead," he breathed, extending a hand down to him. Matthew took it and allowed himself to be pulled up.

"You did better that time," Oswin said. "Most of your opponents won't have the stature and tenacity that I do. It'd be a bad time if you were fighting a man like me head on as a spy."

Matthew nodded, hearing the words but lacking the energy to respond. He reached out a hand and grabbed Oswin's shoulder for support.

Oswin laughed. "I suppose we have been going a little hard at it. But think, if you can deal with a man like me, the spies will want you for sure. It's an uncommon skillset for a spy to have." He clapped Matthew on the back, jostling the man.

The two put away the equipment and Oswin departed for a shift with Lord Hector. Matthew stayed behind, leaning up against the cool stone wall for a semblance of cold relief.

In his hands, a letter from his father. It'd arrived months ago. He read it from time to time, just for the reminder.

Julian's letter was a strongly worded counsel for Matthew to not join the spies. Words about how it would change Matthew, how it could ruin his life.

Sometimes Matthew agreed with his father's advice. Most of the time he didn't.

Matthew played with the knife he had taken to carrying now. Flipping it from handle to blade. Handle to blade. Again.

It was a habit that calmed him. He'd learned it from a pirate that'd passed through.

With his other hand, Matthew folded the letter up and tucked it away. His test was coming up. He didn't have room for doubt in his mind.

-973 A.S.-

Matthew's head cracked against the floor. A hand grabbed the cuff of his shirt and lifted him up, only for the other fist to drop on his nose. He flailed his limbs frantically, searching for anything to catch onto and utilize.

"Enough," called a low voice.

The fist stopped as it reeled back. The big man offered an apologetic look to Matthew and backed away. Matthew groaned, holding a hand over his chest where he was certain a rib had snapped.

He looked up into the elderly woman's face. Her expression was mired in disappointment. "Not good enough, Matthew. You fail."

The brown haired man, as he was a man now, nodded.

She looked surprised. "I expected some sort of resistance or quip."

"I failed. I'm on the ground and he isn't," Matthew waved in a general direction. He thought it was where his opponent had walked to.

She nodded and looked over his body. "You weren't bad, just not good enough. Try again in some time."

Matthew nodded and closed his eyes. He sighed as healers began to pour healing magic into him, bones and bruises mending. It was a relief, but not the kind he wanted.

-973 A.S.-

She watched him again.

Xavier still had the same place on the street as he had before. The night air had set in and the traffic had died down, but he still leaned against the wall begging.

Leila bit her lip. She hadn't seen him for at least a year. She remembered a hatred unrivaled when she looked at him.

Now, she just felt pity.

A year of spywork had taught her more than she expected. She'd gone from only knowing Ostia to seeing Etruria, Bern, even Ilia.

People like her father were common all around the world. Most treated their daughters worse.

Her feet began to carry her towards him. By now, they were the only two people out on the street. Leila's hand rested on her knife beneath her cloak. Her hair fluttered in the light breeze.

"Pity for a poor man?" he whispered, holding his pan out that had a couple of coins in it. His face had weathered age's decay, but there was a tiredness in it. Xavier was hardly a spry man.

Leila bent down by him. Through the low light, the father and daughter made eye contact. She whispered, "Do you remember me?"

The man paused, lips quivering in fear. She could see his hands shake, the beggar's bowl wobbling. "Have you come to kill me?" Xavier asked, his voice low. A tone of a man face-to-face with guilt.

She shook her head. "I'm surprised you recognized me."

Xavier nodded. "You look like your mother. Just like how I remember her." There was a faint fondness in his voice, like recollecting a forgotten memory.

"Why did you abandon me?" Leila asked. Her voice lacked conviction, it lacked emotion. She just wanted to know.

"I couldn't afford you," he shrugged. Xavier offered no more explanation than that.

Leila stood up. "You're not my father." Her voice brooked no disagreement.

Xavier bowed his head in acceptance. He kept it lowered as Leila walked away. She didn't look back on him.

He didn't deserve it.

-974 A.S.-

Astohl was gone.

Leila sat on her bed, a terse note in her hand. She'd read it over and over, searching for some sort of answer.

There weren't any. Just simple words of farewell written in haste.

Her higher ups had told her he had resigned. But Leila had heard rumors. Rumors of Astohl, the man she called brother, blundering and running scared.

The note crumpled in her fist. Leila threw it against the wall. It hit with a light tap and fell to the floor.

Growling, she grabbed her cloak and left her room. She needed to hit something, to work herself so she couldn't think of the anger.

Her feet carried her to the training room. It was late, she'd be alone.

Or so Leila thought.

She opened the door to the sounds of exertion. Her feet stopped as she watched a man fighting the training dummy. The door slid closed, quiet, behind her.

Leila had seen him around for the past few years. He was always training. Even now, late when the castle was asleep, he tried.

His practice knives would lash out, knocking the training implement that would send it spinning to strike him unless he'd block or dodge. His arms were a whirlwind and the training dummy missed on all counts.

Sweat ran down his shirtless body. He'd been at it for a while, clearly. The exhaustion was rampant in the way he moved. Oh, he was fast, but there was a lethargy to his movement.

But the determination, the intensity, in his eyes made up for it.

One of the wooden polls swung around his blind spot and struck him. He gasped, groaning as another hit him, stopping him.

He fell to the ground, a panting mess.

"You need to be able to take a hit like that and stay moving," Leila found herself calling out. The sentence hung in the room, a weight on the already exhausted man's shoulder.

"I know," he rasped. He didn't even look back. "I've been trying."

Leila went to him. Ignoring the sweat and filth, she helped him to his feet, leaning him on the training dummy. "You're trying to become a spy, right?"

"Yeah."

"How come?"

"Lord Uther thought I'd be good at it," he said. His head leaned back against the dummy, eyes closing. He wasn't asleep, merely resting.

Leila waited in vain for more. "That's it?"

Matthew, yes, that was his name, offered a shrug that had been dragged through the dirt on the back of a wagon. "Never thought about it. Just figured I'd be good at it. Why are you?"

"It's all I've known, really," she admitted. He offered a nod.

"Sounds like we each need to do some soul searching," Matthew said through a weak laugh. "I've seen you around with Astohl. You're Leila, right?"

"Yeah." That name, a reminder. It hurt, all of it. The abrupt exit, the lack of a reason. Why? Why had he left her?

Just like her father.

"Do you have a bit left in you?"

"Huh?" Matthew's head perked up.

"To spar. Think you can take a bit more?" Leila asked, looking at the beaten man.

Matthew pushed himself up and cracked a grin. He looked awful, ready to collapse at any moment. A stray gust of wind could have swept him away and there'd be nothing he could do. "Yeah, I can. Why?"

Leila shrugged. "I need something to take my mind off things."

He nodded. That was enough for him.

-974 A.S.-

The fist smashed into his face as he stumbled back. But when it reeled back for another strike, Matthew was already moving. The hook went wide, but his didn't.

It's not about how hard you hit, it's about where you hit.

Her words echoed as he drove his fist into the man's solar plexus. The wind ushered out of him, knocking him unsteady. Matthew's next strike found purchase on the man's throat. He pulled it enough to not kill the man, but still hit hard.

The giant of a man fell backwards, arms flailing. Matthew stared at him, lying beside the other he'd dismantled minutes before.

"Well done." The same elderly woman who had failed him now looked upon him with a smile. "You've grown, in more ways than one."

Matthew offered a smile, pleased with the praise. "Thank you, ma'am."

"You have tomorrow off. Then, we begin."

She departed as healers tended to the men Matthew had taken down. But Matthew didn't have eyes for any of that.

No, he looked over to his friends.

Oswin had a smile on his face, the kind that made you radiate pride. The kind that you couldn't help but mirror. He clapped his hands, nodding in tandem.

Little Hector was at Oswin's side. Though he was hardly little anymore. Nearly fourteen, the lord had hit his growth spurt. Still at the age of awkwardness in body, he clapped alongside Oswin, cheering.

And at last, Leila. Her smile was small, but genuine. Pleased. Proud. He didn't have a word to pin on it. But it made him feel good to see her with that aimed towards him.

He walked over to the trio that had watched. "How was I?"

Oswin clapped him on the back, nodding in approval. "Seeing you take care of those big guys reminded me of those early training sessions we had. You've come far, Matthew."

Hector's goofy smile came next. "That was so cool! I'm gonna be strong like you are, just watch me."

Matthew laughed. "Young master, you're gonna tear people like me apart if you grow up to be like your brother."

Hector took it as a compliment.

Leila chuckled. "You were fast, faster than I expected." She paused for a moment, her grin growing. "Not as fast as me, though. You've got a ways to go before catching me."

Oswin and Hector laughed while Matthew thrust a hand over his heart in jest, "Leila, you can be so cruel sometimes."

She rested a hand on his bicep. "Congratulations, Ostian Spy."

His smile soared. "Alright, time to hit the bar?"

"Yeah!"

"Lord Hector, you are far too young for those activities."

"Aw, Oswin!"

Matthew and Leila shared the laughter.

-975 A.S.-

"Elimine, they're sparing no expense," Matthew muttered as he peeked out the curtain. The rumble of the coach as it passed along the dirt road jostled him back into his seat. "Except on the road."

Leila rolled her eyes. "Get all your gawking done now, because we can't be doing that at the ball."

"Yes, mother."

She swatted his leg playfully. It had been shaky at the start, but they'd developed an easy rapport. It wasn't long before they began being paired for missions.

They worked well together. It was that simple.

"Ready to schmooze, partner?" Matthew asked. The coach had begun to slow, the driver nearly arrived.

Leila played with the gloves she wore. "Remember our cover. And the names of the lords we'll see."

"Let's go wish the soon to be Pent and Louise Reglay a happy engagement," Matthew smirked. The coach rolled to a halt.

The door swung open, the driver having stepped down. Matthew stepped out, adorned in a tailcoat he hated. The color was nice, hints of red amidst the black. He resisted the urge to adjust the cravat, it tickling his neck.

His hand extended back into the coach, feeling Leila's gloved hand taking it. She stepped out slowly, careful not to trip on the steps in her heels. Where Matthew felt he looked silly, he knew Leila looked stellar. She moved in the red dress with elegance. Surely it wasn't her first time on a mission such as this, but it still impressed him.

"Shall we?" she asked.

Matthew nodded, arcing out his arm. She looped hers around his.

They walked up the stairs and into the Reglay estate, the site of the ball. From within, music reigned. No expense was pulled for the ball.

Intel he'd read said that Louise was not a strategic choice for the Reglay family as a match for their scion. The Mage General, for all his prowess in the arcane arts, would take a political hit by this marriage.

Yet here Lord Pent was, celebrating his engagement to his soon-to-be-wife. Maybe the extravagance was a political move.

Maybe they just knew how to throw a party.

"Your names, sir and madam?" a well-dressed servant asked. He was the kind of gatekeeper nobles paid attention to, the man who would announce their arrival.

"Sir Matthias and Dame Laura," Matthew spoke, his smile turning disarming. "Knights and Envoys of the Lycian League."

The servant nodded. He turned towards the open door and tilted his head back. With a carrying voice, he proclaimed, "The honorable Sir Matthias and illustrious Dame Laura, Envoys of the Lycia League and Knights of their realm!"

A few heads turned at the mention of Lycia, but fewer gazes lingered. Simple knights warranted little interest. Not when there were so many other important figures at the ball.

Pent Reglay, either an idiot or a decent human being, had invited to royalty of every country in Elibe. Some effort of assuaging the mounting tensions between Etruria and Bern. Matthew and Leila were there in Uther's stead.

Sir Murdoch was there in lieu of King Desmond. And that was the reason Ostia sent spies. Stupid or not, Pent was in favor of peace. That was something Marquess Uther was determined to uphold.

"There, speaking to Count Caerleon," Leila whispered under the cover of the music. Matthew looked across the full dance floor to see Pent Reglay. He dressed in his Mage General robes, the silver becoming iconic. At his side, a beautiful blonde laughing. Louise.

Matthew nodded. The song ended and people clapped for the musicians. He joined, they really were quite good. Matthew slid a glance to Leila, "Dance?"

"We better," she agreed. Together they walked onto the dance floor, basking in the light from the glistening chandeliers. They patiently waited the few seconds before the music began anew.

Their feet moved in tandem, executing the proper moves without flaw. They'd practiced. Matthew had enjoyed those sessions more than he cared to admit.

But his eyes were flicking over the crowd. The Bernese delegation was spread out, hard to focus on. Except of course, the famed Murdoch.

Matthew's eyes flicked past him. If there was an assassination attempt, Murdoch was far too renowned to take an active part.

"On your right," Leila said as Matthew spun her close. Her head rested under his chin for a moment and for the briefest moment, he could smell her hair.

The fragrance lingered as he pushed it from his mind. His head turned a hair to the right and saw a group of three Bernese speaking with one another.

"I don't see any other aside from them," Leila said.

Matthew nodded. "Small coalition, easier travel?"

She shook her head. "They'd have taken wyverns. Easier to overlook."

"Right." Matthew spun them so he could get a better look at the Bernese while Leila watched Murdoch. "I count seven Bernese in total."

"Eight, the other one by Murdoch is an Islander. Bernese by association, but not culture." Leila's eyes locked with his for a moment. He nodded.

The song drew to a close and the polite clapping began. "We better speak to the man of the hour."

"Your time to shine, Matthias," Leila said. They joined hands and quickly picked out Pent. His discussion with Count Caerleon still carried on.

They began to push their way through the crowd. They'd arrived at the party late enough that most would have spoken to Pent already.

Now that both the attendees and guards were tired and drunk, it was Matthew and Leila's time to shine.

"…send her here sometime. I'm happy to give her a little personal instruction," Pent said with a amicable smile.

"Priscilla will be overjoyed! And you must come to my estate sometime and see that tome." Count Caerleon's eyes swiveled over to the duo approaching. "But I shan't take any more of your time today, Lord Reglay."

"Enjoy the party, as I wager it'll continue for quite some time," Pent replied. The Count said his farewells to Louise and then departed.

Pent turned to them. His smile, genuine, was confused. "I am Pent Reglay and this is my soon-to-be-wife, Louise."

"I hope your journey here was safe." Her voice was soft, an air of subtlety. Matthew's eyes saw muscles beneath her dress that didn't fit the standard of nobility he knew.

"I am Sir Matthias, this is my wife, Dame Laura." Matthew clicked his grin up a notch. "We're Envoys from Lycia in Lord Uther's stead."

The confusion cleared from Pent's eyes. "Perfect! I was worried that he had sent nobody, but I'm relieved that those worries are unfounded."

"It is a pleasure to be here, Mage General." Leila bowed her head, a sign of respect.

"Lord Uther apologizes that he cannot be here, but is focused on internal matters at the moment." Matthew chuckled. "His loss, I'm afraid. This is quite the lavish party."

Pent laughed. "A desire of my parents. I cannot take credit for it, unfortunately. Most of the decisions were made by Louise, in fact."

"You should be proud," Leila said, breaking off from Matthew. She shifted her body language completely to Louise.

Pent gestured Matthew a short distance away from their partners. "Tell me, Matthias. Does Lord Uther have any input on the tensions from Bern?"

"Lycia is committed to peace, as we always have been. War between anyone is the last thing we desire," Matthew said. It was true, though Uther wasn't stupid. He had preparations underway to match Bern's increased military spending.

"Excellent. I've long been a man better suited for scholarly work than slinging spells," Pent mused. "War is the last place I would see myself. This position gives me the opportunity to try and better things. An interesting challenge, you agree?"

Matthew smiled. "I think this world could benefit with more people like you, Lord Reglay. Should you continue to speak of peace, Lycia will be a friend to you."

"I'm glad to hear it," Pent said. He waved over a servant who had lingered on the side. "Come, let us toast to friendship and peace." The servant approached, holding two glasses of wine on a tray. He put them forward, Pent grabbing the closer glass.

Matthew took the other glass. He then offered it out to Pent, who frowned. "A Lycian tradition, Lord Reglay, to switch glasses with the person sitting next to you." As Pent slowly nodded, Matthew went on. "It has a historical root, as in the early days of the Lycian League there were plenty of Marquesses who would poison each other. The tradition began as a disincentive for the practice."

Pent chuckled. "A tradition I've not heard of, but peace is something that comes with embracing cultures." As he shouldn't have heard, as Matthew made it up. He swapped Matthew's glass for his own. "To peace. To friendship."

"To the happy couple," Matthew said with a wink. Pent laughed and they both drank.

It went down like bad wine. It burned his throat going down. A family as notable as the Reglays would never serve foul wine.

It confirmed Matthew's suspicions.

"I won't keep you anymore, Lord Reglay. I often find that parties become all the more enjoyable the drunker your friends are." Matthew bowed. He could feel something catch in his throat. Whatever was in the drink was slow acting.

Pent held out his hand to shake. "It's been a pleasure speaking, Sir Matthias. I hope you and your wife take a moment to say farewell before the evening is finished."

Not trusting himself to speak, Matthew gripped the Mage General's hand. There was a flicker of brief confusion in Pent's eyes before Matthew broke the grip. He turned to Leila, who still spoke to Louise.

Leila turned as Matthew approached. He looked down at the wine in his hand briefly before nodding. Leila excused herself from Louise and stepped to his side.

"You're an idiot," she said, hushed. "Who was it?"

"Servant." Matthew's breath came out cold. Or was it warm? Was that the poison or the wine? Or both?

Leila looked over her shoulder as she led Matthew away. Pent and Louise took no notice, already wrapped in another conversation. She saw the servant who had eyes locked on them.

"Get to one of the side rooms," Leila ordered. She pressed something into his hand. A vulnerary. "I'll deal with the servant."

He nodded, not paying close attention. She left his side and vanished into the crowd. Matthew took a breath and walked towards the side of the ballroom. There was a door that he slipped through.

An immediate quiet hit him, doors behind him blocking the sound of the party. Matthew located another door and entered the room.

A small room. A study, perhaps. He didn't know, didn't care. Popping the cap off the vulnerary, he poured it back down his throat.

He felt the familiar heat in his stomach from the vulnerary, stark contrast to the cold tinge that had taken to his body. Matthew slid down a wall, collapsing to the ground.

This poison, it wasn't quick. It confused him, in his addled mind. Pent could likely heal himself of this poison. You had to be fast to kill strong mages.

A warning, then. A message. For what, he didn't know.

Matthew groaned as the minutes crawled by. He regretted not seeing his family. The argument of Matthew's involvement with the spies had kept him away.

"Why are you joining them? Just tell me why? Is it to spite me?" Julian asked, his face obscured by the thickest frown Matthew had ever seen.

Matthew didn't answer. He didn't have an answer.

He still didn't.

The door opened. Leila stepped in, her breath shallow.

"I took care of him."

It was all she said on the matter. She forced another vulnerary down Matthew's throat, the warm liquid soothing some of the pain.

"We need to get you out of here. I tipped off the guards. Not what I wanted to do, but our job is done now." Her voice was woven with concern. Leila looped an arm over her shoulder and picked him up.

"Thanks," breathed Matthew.

"You're not dying on me," she said, as if it were a fact.

-976 A.S.-

Matthew strolled through Everec, walking through memory lane. He hadn't been back home in years.

For a moment, he wondered if the town had changed. If the people who looked at him in the streets differed from his memory.

He knew it was him, though. Walking through town with knives strapped to his belt, a long red cloak that partially hid them from view, allowing intimidating glimpses as he walked. Tight fighting leather armor, allowing for easy movement in combat.

Matthew caught several women who wouldn't have given him the time of day eyeing him. He'd lock eyes, daring them to look away once they recognized them.

His feet carried him to his parents' house. It was daytime, so there wasn't a guarantee they were home. Matthew struck the door with his fist.

He waited.

The door opened, a woman standing in the frame. Her hair still the light green he remembered, his mother stood in the door.

"Matthew!" she exclaimed, shocked. Her arms were around him as he opened his mouth to speak.

"Long time no see, mother," he said, returning the hug.

His mother, Estella, pulled back, looking her son up and down. "My boy, all grown up." Melancholic tinged words.

Matthew nodded. "I've been busy."

"Come inside," she said, her fingertips still resting on Matthew, keeping him in reach. He allowed her to lead him inside, into the place he once called home.

It still was home, in a way. But six years of living in Ostia made Everec seem…less so. He'd grown up and it had stayed the same.

"Julian!" Estella called. "Matthew is here!"

Matthew watched his father limp out of the bedroom, favoring his right leg. His left was bandaged, the white cloth peeking out from under his pants. Every step he took with the leg pained him.

"Matthew!" his father said, a grin that Matthew had seen in the mirror forming on his face. It'd been some time since he'd last seen him, but Matthew could see the resemblance between his father and him now.

They hugged, Matthew careful not to bump his father's leg. "What happened?" he asked as the detached.

"Bandit attack three days ago. Nothing we couldn't handle," Julian waved aside. "I'm far more interested in how you've been, son." Julian began to hobble over to a chair, brushing off attempts to help him.

Estella took a seat next to his father, holding his hand. Where his father was tall, she was short. Where he was a friendly spy, she was a shy seamstress. They were opposites, but they were still together.

Matthew sat down across from them. "I've been well. Passed the test, became a spy almost two years ago. Made some friends, went on some missions. Life has been good."

"Congratulations," his father said. His tone bespoke of cheer, but his eyes frowned. His mother smiled, but it was worry in her eyes.

They simply cared. He saw that now.

"There was a reason I came here," Matthew said. He looked to his father. "I have a reason why I'm a spy."

Julian said nothing, but his face turned serious.

"I want to save lives. I've saved people without even thinking about it. This world of espionage isn't easy and I know I've become more jaded, but it's fulfilling. I help people or I stop people who would do harm. Lord Uther is a good man. I enjoy working for him."

He'd given it thought since the Reglay party. His zero hesitation to drink that cup instead of Pent. The poison had hurt like a bitch and had been one of the longest nights of his life.

But seeing Pent and Louise, knowing he saved Pent and the happiness they shared…he was proud of that.

Julian slowly nodded. "I won't lie, I still don't approve of you being in that world. I know the kind of things you can be told to do." He took a breath. "But that's an admirable reason. I can at least be content that my son has grown up to be a good man."

Estella nodded, saying nothing. Her hand grabbed Julian's, squeezing. "I'm glad you're safe, Matthew. I just worry that one day you won't come home and your letters will stop coming."

"I've got a partner who has been watching my back. With her around, I'm perfectly safe," Matthew reassured.

Estella's eyes widened. "Her?" Matthew could see the moment his mother latched on to it.

He sighed. "Yes, her."

She nodded and he knew she'd ask more later. He locked eyes with Julian and his father simply chuckled. Tension he hadn't known about left his body and Matthew rolled his eyes.

"So old man, how'd you manage to take a hit like that?"

-976 A.S.-

"There's been no word of him?" Leila asked, frowning.

Lord Uther shook his head as he leaned on the table in his meeting room. He looked tired. Leila didn't remember some of the lines on his face being there before.

"Astohl's departure was unfortunate. We've received no indication as to his whereabouts. He was trained well, after all."

"Can you tell me why he left?"

Uther fixed her with a look. "That's sensitive information, Leila."

"Yes, sir." Her dissatisfaction was barely contained.

"I will tell you, but know that it can be spoken to no one, understood? Not even Matthew." She'd never seen Uther look that intensely towards her.

"I understand, sir."

Uther nodded. "Astohl killed a civilian. He was off duty and reportedly killed a man."

"What?" Leila gasped.

"There were witnesses," Uther said. "Described Astohl perfectly. When we went to speak with Astohl, he had already left. Our attempts at tracking him down have been unsuccessful."

"That's all you know?" Leila asked.

Uther brought a hand up and massaged his temple. "It caught us by surprise just as it had you."

"Who did he kill?"

"A beggar. A man named Xavier."

-977 A.S.-

An unmarked grave.

She didn't think her father deserved anything, but the grave was a cruel touch. It had taken Leila months to track down where he had been buried. The grave digger wasn't even confident it was the right grave.

He buried a lot of beggars.

Leila said nothing as she looked down at the grave. There was nothing to say, she'd hardly known the man. She hadn't wanted to.

There was a feeling of regret in her. It was small.

Had her father deserved to die?

No, Leila had decided.

She turned around, walking away from the grave. Matthew stood by the entrance to the graveyard, waiting. He looked up as she approached. "Finished?"

"Yeah," she said.

Matthew looked as if he wanted to say something. But he took a look at her face and seemed to change his mind.

He was perceptive, more than most people gave him credit for. She liked that about him.

"Excited to see Ilia?" he asked. She had to think for a moment before remembering the mission they'd been given that morning.

"I've been before," she said. A wistful smile. "I'm excited to see it again, the snow looks beautiful."

"I don't relish the ride there," Matthew complained. "That'll be a while. But we'll see Sacae."

"Sacae is immense. Like it extends for the rest of the world," Leila commented. The air around them was quiet, serene. The graveyard had been some ways out of the city, far removed from the bustle. A reprieve for the dead, she figured.

"Did you see it when you went to Ilia?" he asked.

"No, Astohl took me some way around Sacae then. I went to Sacae when I was tailing a Bernese convoy," Leila said.

Matthew nodded, something clearly on his mind. Words on the tip of his tongue that hung, unsaid. She pondered what they could be as they walked in comfortable silence.

Whatever they were, he never said them.

-978 A.S.-

The group held their breath as Hector tipped his tankard back, guzzling down the mead. He slammed it down, sputtering and hacking.

Matthew laughed and clapped the young lord on the back. "That'll put some hair on your chest!" he cheered, language coming out in a slur.

Oswin looked like he wanted to intervene, but just sighed as Hector laughed through a cough.

"Men." Leila shook her head, but a smile showed through. She sipped at her mead, in no rush to get to Matthew's point.

"I need another," Hector demanded, eager eyes shifting around the table. Matthew pressed another tankard into his hands.

"Spoken like a true man!" Matthew cried, raising his mug. Hector joined him.

Oswin looked to the only other sober one at the table. "Why did you make me agree to this?"

Leila giggled. "We needed someone responsible for each idiot at the table. You drag his lordship home, I drag Ostia's drunkest spy."

"Drunkest! I haven't even begun to drink!" Matthew shouted, drawing a few looks from the surrounding tavern tables. Oswin fixed each face with a look, challenging them to say something.

"See? You're helping," Leila nudged Oswin.

The older knight sighed. "My drinking days are a decade past. Now that I'm a chaperone I really see it."

Leila laughed and turned her attention back to the other two men at the table. Her eyes rolled as Matthew slammed his mug down, empty. He offered a goofy smile before standing up to get more drinks. Hector's mug came down, delayed. Leila smothered her laughter as she watched the freshly turned seventeen year old man trying to keep up with Matthew as the rogue made his way to the bar.

"You two are good for each other," Oswin commented.

"What?" Leila turned her attention back to him.

"Just an observation. I've watched you two grow up at the castle. You've been good for each other," Oswin said.

"What are you saying?" Leila asked.

"You're more relaxed ever since you started working with him. And he cares more."

"About what?"

"Everything, I think." Oswin's eyes were trained on Hector, watching every person around him. If anyone would even think to try to do him harm, Leila had no reservations that Oswin would be there in moments.

Leila remained quiet. "I suppose," she finally said.

He chuckled. "It's not a bad thing. You're growing, as you should at your age. We can't all be as stalwart as I."

She turned on Oswin. "Why, Oswin, was that a joke?"

A small smile appeared on his face as he took a sip of his water.

-979 A.S.-

"Thank you for your time," Matthew whispered, setting the knife down. He snatched the towel off the rack. It was already covered in blood, but it severed its purpose in wiping up the excess on his hands.

The tortured man whimpered. Matthew left him there, his fate not his responsibility. He left the dark chamber, still futilely trying to get the blood off his hands.

Uther waited for him outside of the room. It was closed off from the rest of the castle, no danger for people listening in. "And?"

"He admitted to procuring a poison for Lundgren. The type was slow acting, requiring many doses to replicate illness." Matthew's report was clipped, professional. "He claims that he didn't know what it was for, but I don't believe him on that. For him to know the qualities of the poison and see the Marquess fall ill slowly, not to mention the bulk he obtained, strikes me as absurdly stupid to not realize its use."

Uther nodded, considering the words. "I'll have someone deal with him accordingly. For now, I want further confirmation of this. I will not have a Marquess of Lycia usurped on my watch. Least of all by someone like Lundgren."

"I'm at your command, my lord."

"Good. You will go and investigate this claim. Ascertain if the tale about poison is true once and for all and gather whatever evidence you must. Should the Marquess' life seem in immediate danger, you may intervene. Keep in contact. You leave tomorrow."

"As you command, my liege."

Matthew departed from the room, discarding the towel on the way. First stop, a water basin to scrub the blood off. Then to tell Leila.

It didn't take him long to clean up. He wasn't fond of torture, but he'd been good at it. Uther respected his desire not to, but sometimes circumstances required it.

He found Leila in her room. She was bent over her desk, scribbling away on a piece of parchment. Matthew waited patiently for her to finish.

"Yeah?" she said, setting down the quill.

"New assignment. I'm heading to Caelin tomorrow. Probably a month or two is my guess."

Leila nodded. "I leave tomorrow as well for Bern. I don't know how long I'll be gone."

Matthew nodded. A reality in their business. "What're you investigating?"

"Black Fang. They've stopped killing corrupt nobles and have been behaving oddly. Uther wants me to infiltrate." Leila rubbed her temple. She looked exhausted.

"So it'll be a while," Matthew said, connecting the dots from his knowledge of the group. "You should get some sleep, Leila."

"I will. I was just writing a note for Astohl in case I never come back," she said. Leila folded up the paper, the ink having dried. She tucked it into an envelope and slid it into a drawer.

He frowned. "No talking like that, remember?"

"I know. Uther seemed worried about the Black Fang though. I'm just taking precautions." She yawned.

"Well, you're done with that letter. Time to get you into bed," Matthew said, walking over to her chair. Leila didn't try to fight him, another indication of how tired she was. He walked her over to the bed, sweeping the blanket back. She kicked off her shoes and collapsed into the comforting confines of her bed. Matthew brought the blanket up and over her.

"Come back safely, you hear?" he said.

"I will," she promised.

Matthew kissed her brow. "Good luck."

-979 A.S.-

He hated Araphen.

It was one of the bigger cities in Lycia, the frontline defense between them and Bern. Matthew supposed it was important in its own right, but growing up in Ostia had jaded Matthew. All he saw in Araphen was incompetence compared to the proud Ostians he'd lived with.

"You won't let me in? That's final?" Matthew said, exasperated.

The Sacaen man shook his head. "My lord is busy currently with Araphen affairs. He has no time for a ruffian such as yourself."

Matthew grit his teeth, wishing he could burst out and declare himself as an agent of Ostia. That would get Marquess Araphen's attention.

"Run along," the Sacaen man said. His hand was on his bow, as if he expected trouble.

The spy scowled and stalked away. He needed to speak to Araphen in secret. Rumors said Lundgren was trying to amass allies in the League. Caelin wasn't terribly far from Araphen. Support from Araphen meant military, as Araphen had always been the barrier between Lycia and Bern, a traditionally tense region.

Matthew made his way through the town surrounding the castle, but made sure to stay near. If Araphen would support Lundgren, that meant trouble. That meant Tuscana, Khathelet and Tania would probably fall into line.

"Smoke! Smoke from the castle!"

Matthew whipped around, looking for who spoke. But a dozen townspeople were pointing up to the castle, smoke pouring out past a tower. Flames licked up the sides.

"Assassins!"

Matthew followed the fleeing townsfolk. He needed somewhere to hide, maybe the aftermath would allow for an opportunity.

He didn't want to get involved. Though maybe…

Matthew watched a woman, dressed in Sacaen garb like the guard from the castle. She conversed with the same man with a retinue behind her.

His lips curled. She was the splitting image of Lord Hausen's daughter, Madelyn.

Interesting.

-979 A.S.-

"You're skilled, I'll give you that."

Leila lowered her dagger as her opponent did. The White Wolf, Lloyd Reed, mirrored her with his sword, sheathing the blade.

"As well," he went on, "we currently need operatives who are Lycian. Particularly those in your skillset."

Leila nodded, though she was unsure whether he could see her in the dark room. The Fang had asked her to meet in this location. And Lloyd had been waiting.

It creeped her out. But orders were orders.

"I'm pleased to hear it," she said, tone level.

"You will report one of our bases in Bern. There's a message in your room in the inn with the details. Then we'll give you work." Lloyd walked past her, stepping out of the single room building and onto the street.

Leila waited a minute before leaving. Tailing Lloyd wouldn't accomplish anything at the moment aside from blowing her cover. Instead, she made her way to the inn.

When she opened the door to her room, she saw an envelope resting on her bed. Leila picked it up, breaking the seal with a flick of her nails.

But inside wasn't the location to meet.

No, it was a sheet of paper with a name. Information about the named individual, ranging from appearance to frequented places. It wasn't anyone of significance, a mere peasant.

"You know what to do."

Leila whipped around to see a man she'd only heard rumors of. A man dressed in black, the Angel of Death. Long daggers rested at his waist, but they scared her as much as they would if drawn. This was Jaffar, one of the Four Fangs.

"What do you mean?"

"Kill him," Jaffar said. He pointed at the sheet. "Come here when done." With that, Jaffar turned and opened the door, slipping out into the hallways.

Leila dashed to the door, looking outside. No sign of the Fang.

She cast a glance over her shoulder at the envelope.

"Fuck," she whispered.

...

Matthew used the dirty hem of his cloak to wipe the blood off his dagger before sheathing it. No one paid him any mind. Caelin soldiers ran about, some fleeing with the defeat of Lundgren, others scampering around to the wounded.

He sat down on the ground, choosing a nice patch of ruined grass that was at least free of blood. Matthew watched the activity unfold around him, wishing no part.

"Mind if I take a breather?" Wil stepped up to him. His arm was bandaged where an arrow had caught him. Matthew remembered it, having jumped into action and chased down the archer.

"How's the arm?" he asked.

Wil sat down, leaning on the castle wall. The alabaster walls were free of blood, though scratches and damage was rampant. "Better, Serra took a look at it. Said it wasn't life threatening and that I was being whiney."

Matthew snagged his canteen from his belt and handed it to Wil. The archer took it, greedily guzzling the water. "Sounds like Serra," Matthew laughed.

"So what are you doing after this? Gonna stay here?" Wil asked, handing the canteen back.

"Going back to Ostia. Might hang around here for a few more days yet, just to make sure everything is going smoothly."

"Got someone waiting back home for you?" Wil jibed, lightly elbowing Matthew.

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Someone, sure. Dunno if she's waiting around though."

"Trouble in paradise?"

"More like ships passing in the night."

Wil scratched his head. "Not sure I know what you mean."

The spy laughed. "Don't worry your head about it, Wil. You just take care of Lyndis."

...

"I've got it," Leila called out in her room. A bloody leather pouch was in her hands, the red liquid beginning to seep out of the bag.

Jaffar melted out of the shadows from a spot by the dresser. He gave her a pointed look and lightly gestured to the bag.

Leila flipped the bag upside down and a bloody hand fell from it, landing on the ground with a thud. She looked to Jaffar, waiting for an answer.

The assassin slinked over to the hand, looking down at it. He nodded. "Good." Jaffar reached down and plucked the hand up by a fingertip and held it out to her. Leila opened the satchel and let Jaffar drop the hand in.

"You're in the Fang now," Jaffar said. He jerked his head, a signal for her to follow him.

"Where are we going?"

"Bern."

-980 A.S.-

Matthew buried his knife in the spearman's throat. A torrent of blood bathed his hand, a stain that likely would take hours to scrub out.

He imagined what his father would say to the fact that killing a man had become an inconvenience for his hygiene. How he'd become so inured to killing.

Matthew looked to Hector swinging his axe with a single hand, lopping arms off of their ambushers in the halls of Ostia. A man sprung from the shadows, sword held aloft to attack the scion of Ostia.

The spy threw his dagger as he ran, drawing another from his belt.

...

Leila wrapped her arm around the guard's neck as a hand covered his mouth. He struggled, trying to scream.

His struggle subdued after some time, the life leaving his body. Leila lowered him down. She looked to Jaffar, who stood over a body that had been laying still longer than hers.

He said nothing, giving her only a silent gaze. She took the rebuke for her inexperience and entered the castle with him.

...

"That's Eliwood!" Hector cried. His axe was in his hand before Matthew or Oswin could cry a word of caution.

"Milord!" Oswin shouted as Hector ran off to go help his friend.

"Just another day," Matthew chuckled as he unsheathed a knife.

...

"Finish him off," Jaffar instructed as he exited the room. Laus soldiers paid them no mind as they ran through the halls.

Leila nodded, drawing a knife. She turned to the Marquess, weak and lying on the floor. He looked up to her, eyes defiant.

She stepped to him and knelt down by the old man. "Help is on the way, Marquess. You do not die today."

Hausen's eyes narrowed. "My granddaughter, is she…?"

"She plans an attack on the castle. She still lives. And I'll make sure you live to see her."

...

"Leila," he breathed as they embraced while Hector spoke to Lord Hausen. Matthew's arms wrapped tightly around her as her head rested against his chest.

"It's good to see you, Matthew," she murmured.

"I missed you, Leila," he said, words delivered softly.

They stood together for a long time, neither wanting to let go.

...

She stared back towards Caelin. Her reverie broke when Limstella touched her arm and she was teleported to the Dread Isle.

...

He gazed towards the approaching land mass from the ship, hoping that he would reunite with Leila again soon.

-980 A.S.-

"The punishment for traitors is death." Ephidel's voice slithered, his whisper a hiss.

She heard the brush of Jaffar's footsteps across the green stone of Dragon's Gate. It was a mere moment of sound, a breath of warning.

Leila swiveled, lashing out at the air. Her steel was rebuffed by a strike and her arm recoiled back. Jaffar emerged from the shadow that had been behind her.

"Die," he muttered, man of few words. His twin red knives twirled in his hand. Leila drew a second from her belt, two long blades in contrast to Jaffar's curved weapons.

He was on her in a second, a whirlwind. Strikes came from the left, right, above, left, right, below, she couldn't keep up.

Her daggers met his with sparks, glancing off the curved blades. She lost ground, giving Jaffar every inch he took. The man in black pushed her back and back and back.

A dagger collided with her knife and held fast, Jaffar's strength pushing against hers as his blade slowly pushed closer and closer to her.

Leila dropped her other knife and punched Jaffar in the gut.

It hit the ground with a clang so only Leila heard his surprised grunt. She lashed out with her other dagger, breaking the hold Jaffar had. He blocked it, but his off kilter stance allowed for her to run.

Her boots clacked against the stone, ringing clear for Jaffar to know where she was. But what other option did she have?

She turned a corner, a dagger brushing against her shoulder as it sailed past. The thin cut stung, but she kept going. Her feet carried her out of the Gate into the cloudy, foggy weather.

Moisture coated her boots as she stepped into the grass. She looked wildly into the trees. Where to go? Where to go?

Jaffar burst out of the opening she'd just come from and leapt down the stairs, landing in the grass with a squelch.

She ran.

...

"I'll go scouting ahead," Matthew said. "My eyes are good in the fog."

"Be careful." Hector nodded. "Yell if you run into trouble."

Matthew laughed. "Trust me, I'll run if I get into trouble."

He trudged through the swampy grass of the Dread Isle towards the forest. The fog made it hard to see through the branches. With teeth grit, he made his way closer to the forest.

Clang!

Matthew cocked his head. He heard it again. Fighting.

A knife hissed from his sheath as he began to creep closer.

...

She was tired.

His blades descended, the ferocity never stopping. She knocked one aside, but her lack of a second weapon left her side exposed for Jaffar to dig the blade into.

She fell to the ground, her clothes feeling the chill of the water splash around her. Bleary eyes looked up at Jaffar as he looked down. Her arm shot out, shooting for his leg.

He kicked the knife from her hand mid-swing. It sailed away, far from her reach. He looked down again, meeting her eyes. There was something in them, something almost human.

A hand snapped around his leg as she tried to pull him down. Jaffar shook her off and delivered a hard stomp down on her arm.

Leila screamed, convulsing in pain. She rolled over, pressing her face into the mud. Her good arm cradled her broken one as blood streamed down from the various cuts that littered her body.

Tear mixed with the mud. "Ma…tthew…As…tohl. Where…where are you?"

It all felt cold, so cold. The cuts didn't hurt anymore, the arm was numb. She felt tired, eyes heavy with lethargy.

Her broken arm fell from her grasp. She didn't feel it.

She didn't feel anything.

Leila closed her eyes.

...

"Get the fuck away from her," Matthew growled, his dagger out of his hand and already flying at the man in black.

One of the red knives caught the knife and knocked it away. The man glared, turning his attention from Leila. He held his knives aloft, prepared. "This doesn't concern you."

"Bullshit," Matthew snarled. The knife in his hand shook with rage. Another shaking hand drew another from his belt. "You hurt her. I'm going to hurt you."

"Die." The man in black jumped at him, aiming for a quick finish. Matthew read exhaustion in his movements and adapted.

Matthew stepped back, allowing his assailant to swipe at air. Red met black as Matthew took the dominant role, slashing and hacking at the man who had hurt Leila.

Every strike was blocked, but Matthew's grin grew as he forced the man back, further and further. He glimpsed a tree and began to angle and force the man's back to the tree. A strike collided with the man's side, scoring a hit as knife shred cloth and skin.

Triumph surged through Matthew before one of the knives skewered him through his stomach.

The man's boot kicked Matthew off the knife, blood spurting out in a trail as he slid off the steel to the ground. Matthew didn't scream, his mouth still fixed in the grin of presumptuous victory.

"Nice try," came the emotionless voice of the man. He leveled his knife, ready to take Matthew's life. The Ostian felt his knives knocked out of his hands with a sweep of the assassin's boots.

"Fuck," breathed Matthew, his voice rasping in jagged heaves. His hands fumbled for the knives, but they were far from his body.

"Pray," instructed the man, shoving the blade down towards Matthew's exposed neck.

The blow never came.

...

Breath came to her in a flourish, a sudden whisk that sent her eyes snapping open. Leila gasped, moving her arm only to find it in immeasurable pain. She blinked, seeing Jaffar standing over her as she sank deeper and deeper and deeper into that mud. Leila screamed.

"Shhhh, it's alright now," Jaffar's mouth moved, but his voice wasn't what came out. Leila blinked again, seeing Lord Hector instead of the Angel of Death.

"Hector?" she whispered.

"You're safe now, Leila," Hector smiled. He wore no armor like she was used to seeing him in. Bandages wrapped around him as he sported a collection of lacerations.

He saw her looking. "Same fellow that got you, from what I figure. Put up quite a fight, but Oswin and I drove him off. He's okay too, Serra is attending to him in another cabin."

Cabin. Leila noticed the room's casual rocking back and forth. She was on a ship.

"Where are we?" she asked, leaning up from her bed.

"Easy," cautioned Hector. Leila slowed down, but still sat herself up. When he looked reassured, he answered. "Leaving the Dread Isle. Eliwood and the others fought Darin and investigated the Gate."

"What happened?"

Hector shrugged. "Eliwood and Lyn weren't chatty about it. I was stuck here. But I think Eliwood's father…"

Leila nodded, understanding. Her gaze passed over the room, falling on the other bed. Matthew lay, covered in his red cloak, breathing softly.

"Is he…?" she trailed off.

"I got there just in time," Hector said, face grim. "Told me he was scouting ahead. But I just had a weird feeling in my gut, so I followed him."

"Will he be okay?"

"Serra says he'll make a full recovery. Bit of a fever, though. He just needs rest. You do too, Leila." Hector fixed her with a look that brooked no disagreement.

Leila nodded, and leaned back down. Her eyelids felt heavy and she slipped into a comfortable sleep.

...

He woke unceremoniously. His eyes flicked open, shifting to look at her sitting next to him. She lay her head against the rocking ship, her body sprawled tiredly over the chair she sat in.

Matthew thought she looked more beautiful than he'd ever seen her before.

He raised a hand and grasped Leila's in his. Fingertips brushed over callouses, their rough familiarity bringing him comfort.

Body wracked with lethargy, his eyes felt heavy. Matthew surrendered back into the embrace of sleep.

...

When he woke the second time, Hector sat across from him. One bandage wrapped around his head, looking fresh. Matthew barely opened his mouth to speak before Hector was pressing a canteen into his hands.

"Drink, we've barely been able to make you drink." Hector's instructions came akin to words spoken from lord to vassal.

Matthew guzzled down the liquid, the cool feeling soothing his parched throat. After draining the container, he croaked, "How long was I out?"

"A week? A little more? Don't know. Your wounds were easy to tend to, but you got a fever that refused to break." Hector's expression was somber. "Had me worried there, Matthew."

"Can't do much about the fever, young master," Matthew said through a mustered grin.

Hector shook his head. "I meant the running off to scout. What were you thinking, fighting that man alone?"

Memory of being skewered with a blade flashed in his eyes. Matthew swallowed. "I had to protect Leila, milord."

"Matthew, you would have died had Oswin and I not arrived when we did." Hector shuddered. "That man, whoever he was, is dangerous. Oswin is the reason we are all still alive."

A thought flashed through Matthew's head. "Milord, is Leila—"

"She's fine," Hector assured. "Shall I fetch her for you?"

Words fumbled in Matthew's mouth and Hector laughed. "I will, then," he said. "Don't go anywhere."

The spy looked down at the bed as Hector stepped out of the room. He laughed a little, feeling how week his legs were.

Minutes trickled by like sand in an hour glass as Matthew only listened to the rhythmic rock of the waves. He thanked Elimine that he didn't get seasick.

"You're awake."

Matthew turned his head towards the door. Leila, his partner, stood in the door frame. Utter relief displayed across her features.

"Did you miss—"

He didn't finish. Leila had her arms around him, holding him tight.

They remained like that for some time. Matthew closed his eyes, feeling the embrace of the woman he knew he loved. He felt at peace, serene.

Leila pulled back. "Matthew—"

This time he interrupted her. Though racked with exhaustion, Matthew pulled Leila close to him and kissed her.

They broke apart. "I missed you," he said.

Leila kissed him again. Matthew didn't complain.

-980 A.S.-

Leila enjoyed holding his hand. It was something she didn't think she'd be so fond of. Now, she just couldn't get enough of Matthew.

The two walked through the halls of Ostia. Hector gave them leave after arriving in Badon. Leila to go report about her mission, and Matthew to give an update on the search for Marquess Pherae.

She needed to remember to thank Hector for giving them time together.

"If Uther gives us time off after this, I'd like to take you to meet my parents," Matthew said. They approached Leila's room.

"I'd like that," she said while squeezing his hand. "Julian and Estella, right?"

"My mother is particularly excited to meet you." Matthew laughed. "Kept asking me about you the last time I was home."

Leila turned the nob on her door. "Did she now?"

"You would've been so embarrassed with the types of questions she was asking."

Leila breathed in the familiar smell of her room. It was home. She looked to her desk, a note atop it. Breaking contact with his hand, Leila walked over and opened it.

"Leila," she read aloud, "I hope this finds you in good health. I won't skirt the issue. I want you to know I'm sorry. Sorry for leaving you.

"I killed your father. I was drunk and angry for how he treated you. I wasn't thinking and look where it got me, running for my life from Ostia.

"No words can undo what I've done. No words can tell you how sorry I am. I failed you, Leila. I hope you've found better company to keep than me, people who aren't too coward to look you in the eye like I am. Astohl."

"Leila…" Matthew whispered, stepping up behind her. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her tight as tears began to run down her cheeks.

He guided her over to the bed. Leila felt the familiar depression of the mattress as the tears escalated.

She missed her friend. She'd never forgive him for leaving.

Matthew's arms wrapped tighter around her. She felt safe in them. Slowly, the tears trickled to a halt and sleep took her.

-980 A.S.-

They walked down the streets of Everec. Their hands were joined, similar smiles of content displayed for all to see.

"Almost there," he said while looking around.

"So you grew up in a town this small?" she asked.

Matthew nodded. The small houses felt especially small after everything he'd seen. "Yes, I did. I think I'm more of a city person now."

"I don't know. A town this small sounds calm. Peaceful." Leila looked around, taking in everything.

They arrived at his parents' house. Matthew knocked on the door. Moments later, Estella opened it. She cried for Julian to join her and that their son was home.

Conversation blurred to a flurry that they could barely keep up with. But eventually, his parents asked, "So how did you two meet?"

They looked at one another. Matthew stared into her eyes as Leila's smile grew. Their hands squeezed each other's. They reveled in the moment.

"Well," Matthew chuckled.

Leila finished, "That's a long story."

And they began to tell it.

---

Author Notes: When I sat down to think about what my 100th fic should be, it became clear to me that I wanted to do something with Matthew and Leila. I originally planned to just do a longshot of Leila vs Jaffar, but I thought why not combine the facets of all my ideas together into this amalgamation? So here I am, thousands of words later, with this piece. I am incredibly proud of this.

Especially since this fic was written over the course of two or three months that have been the hardest moments in my life as well as some of the happiest. I've been struggling with mental health issues and I almost lost that battle, but here I am finishing this story. I'm so happy to share this with all of you for what it means to me.

And it's the 23rd of December! This day has particular importance to me as it marks the anniversary of when I started writing. SEVEN years of writing. It is remarkable to write something like this compared to what I used to write. I used to dream of creating a oneshot that was over 10k, filled with detail. And now here I am.

Thank you to everyone who has supported me and made this possible. You make it all worth it.

---

Ages I created to refer to throughout the story.

Ages at Start (965)
Matthew: 10
Leila: 10
Astohl: 15
Hector: 4
Uther: 14
Oswin: 20
Pent: 14
Louise: 12