OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

They came and stained the night red with fire and blood. Bandits one and all, they torched homes, killed innocents, and hunted down their victims through burning streets that roared with fire. From where she lay underneath the bed, scared and trembling, Amelia could hear dying screams cut short by the swing of the axe. She squeezed her eyes shut and covered her ears, trying to make it go away.

An hour ago, she had been sitting on her mother's lap as she listened to a bedtime story. Amelia had heard all the stories so many times she could recite them by memory, but she would still ask her mother to tell her a story just so she could hear her voice. Some time after the second pig's house of sticks collapsed, Amelia fell asleep in the warmth of her mother's embrace.

She woke up under the bed with the blanket cushioning her body from the hard ground as the chaos outside her door erupted in screams and blazes. From under her bed she could see that the dresser, table, and chairs had been overturned in some sort of struggle. Her mother was gone.

Morning came and the bandits left with the night. Amelia crawled out from under the bed, thankful that her home had somehow withstood the fires. All around her were survivors examining the wreckage, seeing if there was anything that had not been burnt to a crisp. There were piles and piles of rubble to search through, but it was worth it if they could find just one thing to salvage.

As they tried to save what little they could, they passed by bodies that littered the streets like rag dolls, limp and lifeless, and everyone averted their eyes from the mothers who sobbed into the bodies of children and brothers who cradled their sisters' hands.

The job came with the short straw, but the body count had to be established and they had to figure out who was dead and who wasn't. One by one, bodies were laid down side by side on the ground. A white cloth covered each one, a bit of dignity for the dead.

While the men dug holes, Amelia searched the line of white-clothed bodies, her heart skipping a beat every time she lifted a cloth, scared that the next pale face she looked into would be her mother's.

Someone took hold of her shoulder. He turned her around and said, "Your mother isn't there."

Amelia sighed in relief and smiled. "Really? Where is she?"

He didn't reply at first and he wouldn't look her in the eye. Finally, staring at the ground, he said, "We couldn't find her. The bandits--they must have taken her with them. I'm sorry."

Her smile slid off her face like an oiled rag. The air felt cold against her skin as goose bumps raced their way up her bare arms, fingers locked in shaking fists. The world dissolved into masses of grey clouds and brown mud as tears ran down her cheeks.

Amelia shook her head frantically. "No, that can't... that can't be true..."

She lurched forward, stumbling over uneven ground that she couldn't see, and grabbed the man's collar. She looked up into a face with two blotches of what may have been eyes and demanded, "Where are they? Tell me where the bandits went!"

Two hands took hers in a soft grasp. "Listen, Amelia, they've left this place for good. Your mother is... is gone. You have to accept that--"

"No!" she screamed. "No, no, no!" Hair stung her skin from the force of her head whipping side to side. Wet eyes squeezed shut, she wrenched herself away from him. "Stop it!" she sobbed. "Don't say that! I'll go save her--I'll fight them if I have to!"

Amelia turned in some vague direction and started running. If she searched hard enough and she tried hard enough, she would find her mother. Somewhere out there, her mother was waiting, waiting to be freed from her captors.

A pair of arms encircled her from behind. She kicked and thrashed against them. "Let me go!" she cried.

"She's gone," he said quietly. "There's nothing you can do for her."

Slowly, the strength flowed out of her. In the end, Amelia let herself sob in his arms. Grey and brown mixed into the ugliest colour she had ever seen.

ooooo

Amelia fingered the two vulneraries in her pouch and found herself wandering in the direction Caellach had headed towards. She tried to believe her feet had picked a direction at random. Coincidences happen, she told herself.

Not for the first time, Amelia wished she hadn't gotten lost. There had to be someone out there who could help, preferably a comrade who wasn't as lost as she was. Perhaps it hadn't been a good idea to wander off alone into the desert. Then she wouldn't be following after the enemy.

Except that she wasn't following him.

When she saw a man, staggering through a haze of sandy breezes on legs that seemed unfit for walking, she dismissed it as a product of the same over-imaginative part of her silly mind that insisted there was more to it than a simple coincidence. She thought it would be harder to run into the same person twice in a desert--especially if you had no intention of following said person. Then the man collapsed in the sand and Amelia acted on an instinct she didn't know she had.

"Caellach!" she called out as she ran. Amelia reached him and took in the sight of a dark stain spreading through the back of his shirt. He laid face-down in the sand so she grabbed at the shoulder opposite her and pulled to try and flip him over.

"Dammid, lemme alone," he muttered with his voice muffled by the sand.

"Get up," pleaded Amelia as she shook him.

Groaning, Caellach rolled over. "Whozzat?" he said as he put a hand to his head to block the sun from his eyes. Amelia watched him stare into her face and smirk.

"We keep on running into each other," commented Caellach with half-lidded eyes. "Come here often?"

"I don't think this is the time," said Amelia with a sideways glance at his wound. "Can you walk?"

He grinned at her. "Depends. If I say no, would you kiss it better?"

Amelia nearly rolled her eyes. "This really isn't the time." She reached towards him. "Let me help you. That looks bad."

Caellach sat up, wincing as he cradled his wound. He leaned away from her outstretched fingers, blood crusted at the corners of his mouth. "What are you trying to pull?" he demanded.

Amelia withdrew her hand and looked into his narrowed eyes. "What do you mean?" she asked.

The mercenary struggled to his feet. His hand clutched at the hole in his shirt and the fabric bunched together in a mess of sand and clotted blood. Chest rising and falling with laboured breaths, Caellach glared at her. "This isn't your problem."

Amelia stood there and watched him get up and stumble away in tattered boots. She could see his hair, unkempt and windswept, pressed against his scalp with sweat. His shoulders were slumped under their own weight and he walked with a stagger that threatened to turn him on his head. Before his crooked path of footprints could lead him out of sight, Amelia ran after him.

"Let me help you," she insisted, reaching out towards him. Caellach slapped her hand away again.

"Take a hint," he hissed. "Take a damn hint."

"I can help you," she insisted again.

"Give up," groaned Caellach in exasperation.

Amelia shook her head. "No."

There was no reply this time. Maybe he had finally relented. Then, just to prove her wrong, Caellach hobbled away as quickly as he could manage. Amelia easily caught up. He grimaced, gripping his wound tightly as he tried to speed up.

"You stick to me closer than a gold digger sticks to a balding rich man," he said through gritted teeth.

"I just want to help!"

Suddenly, he turned back and grabbed her wrist in a vice-like grip, shooting pain up her arm. "You wanna watch me die, is that it?" accused Caellach. His chest heaved up and down; whether it was from fatigue or anger she couldn't say. "Get lost," he said. "This isn't a street show."

Her skin had gone red and sore from his grip, but Amelia didn't try to pull herself away. Instead, she looked up at him and quietly said, "Please let me help you."

His voice lowered into a growl. "Help me? Yeah right."

"Please," she said, gaze never wavering from his.

Caellach stared back at her, breathing heavily. The hardened glare fell away from his face, replaced by tired eyes and a look of self-doubt as if he couldn't quite believe what he was about to do next. Slowly, his grip loosened and he fell backwards into the sand. Caellach laid there and closed his eyes.

"Just... do what you will."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Amelia knelt beside him.

ooooo

Caellach could feel her fingers massaging the contents of the vulnerary into his wound. He laid back on his shirt, a filthy piece of torn fabric spread out on the sand. He didn't consider complaining; there were worse beds to be had.

Above him, the sky spun in a swirl of blazing white and clear blue. He could see the black shadows of vultures drifting in circles with wings lazily outstretched as if they had all the time in the world to wait for their next meal. Caellach groaned and tried to keep his head from spinning along with the rest of the damn sky.

"Are you all right?" she asked. Of course she's concerned.

"Worry about yourself," he said as he rubbed his temples, "You know how easy it would be for someone to take advantage of you?" The colour blue was dancing across his vision and knocking him silly. If only he weren't so light-headed, the whole thing would be a heck of a lot more bearable.

"I'm doing this of my own free will."

"Of course," replied Caellach. After rolling his eyes, he turned and looked at the first vulnerary bottle, the one that had already been used. It laid empty in the sand. He remembered when he had given those to her to repay his debt, as he had called it. Screw irony.

Caellach could feel the sands shifting as she squirmed and her fingers tensed over his raw skin.

"Spit it out," he said.

"I-I'm just wondering what happened."

He smirked. "You mean you're wondering why I'm dying?"

"I..." Her mouth simply opened and closed.

"Please. We both know it's a fatal wound. The entire continent's supply of vulnerary can't fix me, girl."

Silence reigned the air. He could feel her bloodied fingers brushing wispy paths across his raw skin. Caellach looked up into her face, but she avoided his gaze. What did she see in a dying man's eyes? He sighed. She practically jumped away at the sound.

"S-sorry!" stammered Amelia. "Did I hurt you? Are you all right? I wasn't too rough, was I?"

When he got his mind around what she just said, Caellach burst out laughing. Unbelievable. It had to be some big, cosmic joke. Just when he thought he had his share of laughter, it just kept on pouring out of him. He was practically in hysterics before his throat became hoarse and his lungs became strained. The girl merely watched, frozen with indecision as to what she should do.

"I'm sorry," he rasped as he wiped a tear away from the corner of his eye, "were you asking if I was in pain? It's not going to matter much longer, toots. There's nothing you can do for me."

"No!" she blurted. Caellach winced slightly as her fingers pushed harder into him. Immediately, she took her weight off of him. "S-sorry," stammered the girl.

"Been through worse," said Caellach. The sky blurred until the shadows of the vultures disappeared into the clouds. It wasn't going to take much longer.

Caellach grinned and looked up at her face. Blond strands were blurred until they were indistinct and her nose almost disappeared amidst the shadows of her face, but her eyes were surprisingly clear and in focus. "You fallen for my irresistible charm or somethin'? Can't bear to see me go?"

Even with his failing eyesight, he could see her cheeks take on a pink tint. "That's not it," she whispered.

Caellach barked out a harsh laugh that left him panting. "Quit the army, kid. If you can't watch a man die, you're better off knitting."

"I had to at least try," she said. "To save you."

"You've got some sense of humour, kid."

A strange comfortable feeling set in. From the moment he had pulled the sword out of his body, the wound in his body sent jolts of pain through him with every small movement. It had taken a while to get used to, but before long, the pain was little more than a sensitive ache. Now the ache was gone and an unnatural numbness replaced it. Caellach felt pressure on his hand and looked to see the girl holding it. She quietly asked, "Is there anything you want?"

Somewhere far away above him, Caellach heard a vulture's call. They were waiting for their feast and they would leave behind a pile of bare bones. Nothing of the man who had sweat and toiled would remain. He'd be back where he started--in a desert with nothing.

Caellach took one last look into her eyes and closed his. "Get me out of here."

Slowly, his world faded to nothing until he couldn't feel anything but her hands wrapped around his. Eventually, that disappeared as well. It suddenly dawned on him that he never got to be king. His years of sweating, killing, surviving--all wasted.

Fuck.

ooooo

Amelia watched the fire flicker against the darkness of night. She never knew she could miss greenery so much. Tonight, everyone was celebrating the reunion of the twins and gratefully accepting the chance to rest before attempting to take back Castle Renais. All around her, the soldiers were drinking, eating, and laughing.

"Amelia! What are you doing all alone?"

The girl turned to see Neimi sitting down next to her on the log. Her eyes were reddened as they often were but her smile was anything but downtrodden. Amelia had always admired her ability to bounce back.

"I guess I'm not in the mood," admitted Amelia.

Neimi shuffled over until the two girls' shoulders touched. "Come on, Amelia. We've defeated an enemy commander. Loosen up and have a little fun!"

Amelia flinched. Neimi looked over, concerned. "What's wrong?" asked the archer with a note of panic in her voice. "Are you feeling unwell? Is there something bothering you? Oh no, it's something I said, isn't it, I'm sorry, I don't know what I said wrong but I'll make it up to you and I'll promise I won't ever say it again, I didn't mean to, please don't be sad--"

"It's okay," said Amelia as soon as she could get a word in edgewise. "You don't need to apologize."

She looked around. Someone was dancing on a tabletop without a shirt, protably a man who would later wake up with a terrible hangover. Others were busy talking and eating with comrades. All the knights had shed their armour to relax from their usual duties. Amelia spotted Colm sulking behind a tent as he stood around in bare feet. Whether or not his boots had been somehow mysteriously misplaced was anybody's guess.

"Colm looks pretty down," commented Amelia as she gestured toward the thief.

Neimi turned to look in the same direction, her brow furrowed in worry. Her eyes seemed redder too as if the thought of the thief being sad somehow stimulated her tear ducts. "I'll go see what's wrong," said the archer.

Neimi left to talk to the thief, perhaps lend him an extra pair of boots. Quietly, Amelia got up from her seat and slipped away towards the stables. She took a horse and headed for the desert. An hour or two later, she returned tired and dusty with nothing to show for it but a man-sized bundle secured to the saddle of the horse she led by the reins.

Amelia had to convince herself to think of the bundle as a cache of supplies wrapped up in brown cloth. If anyone asked, the large discoloured spot was not a bloodstain. She had dropped it in the mud, that was all.

Before long, Amelia reached a clearing in the forest. Taking a shovel from the horse, she began digging. It was surprising how much stronger she had become since joining the army. Digging the hole was hard, sweaty work but Amelia managed it better than she thought she would.

Under the cover of darkness, she dragged his body off the horse. It fell to the bottom with a loud thud. Before long, the hole was filled and she was left staring at a patch of upturned earth with a plank of wood nearby. Somehow, it felt wrong to leave his grave unmarked.

Maybe it could say... what could it say? Man who flirted at the most inappropriate of times? Man who would have laid siege to Jehanna until she lay before him like a beaten dog? Loving husband, reliable father, helpful brother, loyal friend--as far as she knew, none of the typical labels fit. If someone chanced upon his grave, what should it tell them of the man buried there?

Amelia hesitated a moment before she started carving words out into the plank of wood.

Caellach Tiger Eye. Man of great ambitions.

And maybe that would be enough.

...

..

.

FIN

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The last chapter took a while, but here it is, my little three-chaptered story for the world/FE community to scrutinize. It's not very organized. I probably should've written all three chapters before posting them. I think I tried to cram too much into the last chapter. Waurgh.

If you ever wondered what the heck is up with the title, I'll just leave it up to your interpretation. I had an idea, but somewhere along the way, it kind of... died.

Please review (or not) as you see fit. I'd appreciate your opinion, your crit and your thoughts. Thank you to all the readers and reviewers who have read the story! Your support is much appreciated!