One Million Arrows

He wasn't a kid anymore.

Whatever held Shinon back from returning to the old mercenary fort was for a good reason; he didn't want to get into Rolf's way. He was aware of the time that had passed and how much they'd changed, Rolf especially, and it was in his best interest that Rolf should learn to break away from the nest and fly. He was a man now, twenty-two years old at most, complete with a broad chin, some muscle, and a whole lot of other things that made it evident that he was no longer a kid.

Shinon only visited if he needed the right kind of wood from the tree behind the well for a new bow, or to share a drink or two with Gatrie if he ever happened by town. The old mercenary fort became their new hangout, mainly because its walls held years of tough, bitter (and maybe also warm) memories. He once passed by his old room to see what had become of it, and after seeing his old desk littered with carving knives, pieces of wood, metal, bowstring and lumber shavings, its current occupant was unmistakable. He rolled his eyes at the unkemptness. Rolf must have caught it, seeing as he had walked into Shinon unknowingly, a tendency he apparently hadn't grown out of.

"Sorry about-"

"Rolf, what have I taught you about keeping a clean work area?" Shinon demanded. "You don't just leave the carving knives out like that, anyone can just walk in and take them. And the shavings too, clean them up!"

Rolf stood there quietly, and Shinon half-expected him to bow his head and repeat I'm sorry! over and over again in a scared, high-pitched voice, but the words only came out once, and the voice he used to convey them was no longer so childish.

"It's just that Mist had called me over to the yard to help her with the laundry," Rolf explained calmly. "Now that I'm finished, I'm going straight to cleaning up." He walked past Shinon and into the room, gathering the knives and storing them and cleaning up the wood. The redhead stood by the doorway, watching the younger man clean out his desk.

Sighing to himself, Shinon left for the kitchen to tend to Gatrie, who was sitting at the table and enjoying Boyd's company. The reaver excused himself just as Shinon entered the kitchen, and he took his seat in front of the blonde marshall and gulped down the rest of his drink as Gatrie told him stories of a girl he'd once met.

...

He was making his way back to the inn. The sky was clouded, sprinkled with only a pinch of the faintest of stars, the slight breeze weaving through the marksman's lengthy hair, when he heard a voice call at him from behind. "Master Shinon!" it said. His boot ground into the dirt road, and he pivoted, expecting to see the small, bright-eyed boy with an undying passion to follow and learn, but saw someone completely different, if not recognizable to his eyes.

Rolf was trucking up the road, carrying two bows in his now grown, skillful hands, waving with the other as he quickly approached. The moon peeked through the clouds and shed light on his matured face, his chartreuse hair flailing messily in the breeze. He was starting to look a lot like Oscar.

"You're going to Melior tomorrow, right?" he panted.

"Yeah. You want me to sell those for you?" He gestured at the pair of intricate bows in the younger man's hand.

"They're gifts for two of my students at the academy. Free of charge." Rolf sort of scratched the back of his head as Shinon inspected both bows.

"Pretty nice."

"Thank you."

Shinon looked up sharply and asked, "Why can't you give it to them yourself? You teach at the academy everyday, so you might as well—"

"I'm getting married."

There was an odd silence. And odd and uncomfortable silence. There were many things that Shinon wanted to say, spanning from a range of questions to complete outbursts. He had never suspected Rolf to have any intimate relationship of any kind with anyone of the opposite sex, because Rolf was Rolf, the boy he had taught how to shot an arrow and cheat at cards and to never cry over anything, especially while in a fight…

His contained emotion must have been pretty evident on his face, because Rolf simply replied with a, "I'm not a kid anymore, Master."

Of course he wasn't. Shinon wanted to beat his head against a wall corner, mainly because he can't shake it off – or more like let go of the past. He had to let Rolf go.

"I know you're not a kid anymore. But that ain't a reason for you not to tell me."

"I'm sorry." Rolf's voice was hard as stone, no longer the high-pitched, apologetic child's voice Shinon had remembered hearing once upon a time. He watched the Adam's Apple bob in Rolf's throat as he said the words. "I haven't the time. Wedding preparations, commissions, house work – I simply haven't the time."

They said nothing. The sky grew darker, the moon waning behind the concealment of the sky's thick clouds. The air was still. The marksman glanced upwards, predicting rainfall. No time for questions. He'll get the answers eventually.

"I'm off." He tied the bows to his pack, and after a moment's farewell he headed back to town. He mulled over how he was going to pay this month's rent, and considered doing some mercenary work while he was in Melior or probably mooch off of Titania if he happened to see her there.

That night he lay in bed staring out the window, watching as the rain hit hard on the windowpane, making the sound of a million onlookers hurling rocks at an animal trapped in its glass cage.

...

He met Rolf's wife during the wedding. She was a common commoner who took Rolf's hand at the altar in a shower of tears and sobs. She wasn't pretty or ugly. She didn't care that their wedding was taking place in the courtyard of a run-down mercenary fort. But they were happy together. Shinon saw an unfamiliar happiness in Rolf's usually passive eyes, and he wondered, Why didn't he tell me?

When they said their vows and kissed and walked down the aisle, Shinon stood up and, like everybody else, clapped.

He tugged at the uncomfortable knot around his throat; it were as if his tie were a slipping noose.

He was introduced to Rolf's wife during the reception. Rolf gestured at the sour-faced man who had a shifty gaze and said to his wife, "This is my master, Shinon." Shinon shook hands with her. She smiled at Rolf charmingly, trying to avoid eye contact with the one whom she had been introduced to. After that pathetically brief introduction the newly weds went back to their table and spoke to each other about their future and their children.

Rolf said nothing else to Shinon the rest of the night. Feeling unpleasantly bitter, the marksman joined Gatrie at the bar and took shots until they both got drunk. When the time came to dance he clumsily crossed the floor in Titania's arms, occasionally loosing his footing when he looked over her shoulder to see Rolf and his wife floating in circles like the happiest people in the world.

Did Rolf no longer need him in his life?

He left in the morning with a tremendous headache. He sat in his inn's kitchen, drinking as much brandy as his money would allow. Whenever he thought about the mercenary fort, he thought about bitterness, hangovers, and… some weird kind of disconnection.

Disconnection from what?

Rolf. He'd moved on, found a mate and was going to have a family with her, and Shinon had no role in that.

Shinon's visits to the fort became less frequent. He stayed in town, took some odd jobs, did whatever he could to stay off the streets.

...

The day he returned to the fort was during a time of desperation.

The inn he had returned to for two years kicked him out, saying he was too poor and too much of a drunk to be able to stay any longer. He ambled the streets, his belongings on his back, until he heard that some peculiar merchants were in town. He found them. That Aimee woman was there, Muston, the twins, and that Ilyana girl and Zihark, who were apparently traveling with them towards the east. He felt the rays of hope shine on his back. A good bow under his name was always good enough for some easy coin, even though Aimee was a bit of a hassle.

He promised Aimee that he'd make her a bow by the end of the week. He traveled back to the mercenary fort on one of their steeds, making the trip quick and easy. He crossed the hills that surrounded the fort and pulled up before the front gates, half-surprised to find Mist's children playing with Boyd in the courtyard. He tied his horse to the fence post and snuck away, trying not to get to their attention.

He hurriedly made his way to the back of the fort where the well was, only to find Mist hauling water out of the well. He made his presence clear as to not disturb her and wordlessly walked towards the tree, which had been reduced to a pile of wooden blocks for easy picking.

"Oh… Shinon," Mist said, her voice laced with uncertainty.

He glanced at her over his shoulder. "Hey."

"I haven't seen you in quite a while. It's been about a year."

"Yeah." After much browsing the marksman took a few pieces of wood and tied them together with some rope. "How's Rolf?"

"Oh, Rolf." Mist sounded tiresome as she hoisted the water out of the well. "He left."

"He settled down somewhere else?" He looked at the cleric, seeing her round cerulean eyes glaze over with sadness.

"He didn't tell us where or why. But I have a feeling it had something to do with his work at the academy."

Shinon tried to resist the urge to bite his lip out of irritation. Why was Rolf doing this? Why was he going out and doing all this without letting him know?

Shinon quickly headed back to town, dismayed that he no longer had a place to stay. Aimee let him camp with the caravan either out of pity or interest. Through the crack in his tent he stared out at the stars, overwhelmed by an uncomfortable pain that pushed him to the point where he could no longer sleep.

The next day he asked Aimee if he can travel with them to Daein. He had decided that there was nothing left for him in Crimea, nothing but dull and bitter memories.

Aimee said yes.

...

He deftly secured the arrow, and without a blink, he let it fly.

It sailed almost noiselessly through the dark and hit its target, behind the clothing and flesh of a man's chest, the heart. The bandit instantly collapsed in the mud as if thwacked by a powerful, bodiless force.

The marksman's steel blue eyes shifted towards another target, peering through the various shades of foliage of the tree he sat perched upon, to find Zihark ravaging his opponents like a monsoon. Ilyana was dispatching several men at once with her tome, the bolts of Arcthunder an unpleasantly blinding contrast to the night sky. Bandits. Just bandits. Shinon had more than a good share of them across his years, so they weren't much of a challenge, more like a workout before bedtime.

Eventually they'd killed enough of them to scare them off, and Zihark gave the signal for everyone that the coast was clear. Nimbly ascending from his hiding spot in the tree, Shinon went for his tent to get a new change of clothing before going to sleep. Aimee spun next to him from behind the caravan, catching him by the arm before he can take another step.

"I'm absolutely thankful that you're here to help defend our meager little caravan, Sir Shinon," she murmured to him engagingly. "I don't think Ilyana and Zihark would have been able to handle them on their own."

"It's part of the job," was his brusque response. He made to shrug her off so he can enter his tent without dragging her along with him, but she persisted.

"Come now, there must be some way for me to repay you…"

"Your hospitality's enough. Could you let go of my arm?"

Sighing, the raven haired shopkeeper complied unwillingly. "Very well. But remember, if you ever feel lonely, especially at night…"

Whatever else she said was muffled by the sound of Shinon closing the tent flap behind him. He set away his bow and quiver against the tent wall, then pulled out the knife he always kept in his boot and slid it under his cot pillow.

He completely forgot what he was doing. He collapsed onto his cot, his eyes closing, inviting him to sleep, but he stayed awake.

It's been several months since he'd left Crimea. He didn't know why he wanted to travel east to Daein. He'd just figured, after learning that Rolf had left, there was nothing left to look after anymore, nothing left to think about. Something like that had urged him to travel, see something refreshing everyday, something that would take his mind off how mediocre his life was. How mediocre his life was right now. It wasn't the same before…

Shinon grasped his pillow. He couldn't believe it; he missed the days before the Greil Mercenaries were disbanded. He missed storming villages and kicking bandit ass and taking names and doing all of that beside Gatrie, who was slow as heck but it was great how he managed to skewer anyone in his way, and then there was Rolf, who couldn't even hold the bow properly the first few months, but look at him now, he can shoot a leaf falling a mile away and lodge an arrow through three solid bodies.

Rolf… Shinon was proud, so very proud of how he turned out, and now he was gone. As a teacher, his only wish was to see his student surpass him in skill, but he had a feeling that he wanted more than that.

He laughed at the air. A few fingers hooked languidly around the buckles of his coat, and with a harsh tug they came undone. He felt vulnerable as he found himself falling to sleep at last.

He needed to find him. He needed to find Rolf.

Whenever they stopped by a town or city, he'd ask around. In bars, marketplaces, inns. Most of the people he asked gave him odd looks, wondering if he were slightly deranged or completely lost. Shinon tried his best not to sound that way and had almost given up hope, once.

He had become so distraught one day that he swept himself inside the nearest bar, a bar in Nevassa, noticing that the damn place was empty of customers, and grabbed himself a counter seat and said to the bartender, "Hit me."

The bartender spun around from polishing the glasses, almost surprised to see the man sitting so squarely in front of her.

"What can I get for you, sir?" she asked.

He considered ordering a beer, but said otherwise.

"A glass of red wine, if you got any."

She filled him a glass and spun it across the counter his way. He caught it between his two fingers and took his first sip, short and sweet. He exhaled heavily and set down his glass, glancing out the window.

He weighed his options. He'd might as well ask.

"A question."

She spun around again. "Yes?"

"I'm looking for someone. Green hair, blue eyes, carries a bow."

The bartender went back to her dishes, the clinkings of glass against glass and water flowing searing through the bar's overall silence. She didn't respond.

Shinon lifted an impatient eyebrow. "Well?"

Then, over the noise, she said, "I've… seen someone like that."

He shifted in his seat. Grinning faintly, he pressed on, "Did you talk to him? Did he tell you where he's going?"

So suddenly, she shut off the water flow of the sink and turned around to get a good look at him. Icy blue eyes, sharp as a hawk's and as devious as a fox's. Long, wine-coloured hair tied so strictly to the back of his head that only a few loose strands bobbed over his eyes. He seemed tall enough to tower over her, and on the bit of exposed skin between his sleeve and glove she observed that he was sufficiently endowed in muscle.

Holding one of the dishes close to herself, she asked, "What do you want with Rolf?"

He leaned across the counter even further, and impulsively she stepped back. He had to prop his elbows on the counter top to maintain his position. "You seem pretty fond of him. Well, let me tell you that I've known him since he was a small kid, and for the record I've taught him everything he needed to know, especially how to kill. And I mean him no harm or anything like that, so I'd like it if you could tell me where he is right now."

He gazed at her intensely, giving her one of his "death stare" looks that had its way of giving his dying enemies an extra push towards death, and it managed to make her flinch and look away and fess up.

"He works for the Daein army."

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You're kidding me."

"You don't believe me?" she said defensively. "Ask my father. He hired a Crimean sniper to take his place in the army." She hesitated to continue, turned away towards the window and said, "My father can't fight. His lungs are on the verge of failure. If there is no other alternative then they'll force him to enlist. We owe our lives to Rolf for taking my father's place, so if you're here to take Rolf away, you'd also be taking away my father's will to live."

Shinon held back the urge to suck his teeth in annoyance. Looks like his plan was out the window… then again, he wasn't quite sure what his plan was. Did it matter whether or not he was able to bring Rolf back with him to Crimea? As long as he found him and knew he was safe, that was enough for him.

"We owe our lives to him. We—"

"I don't want to hear it." Shinon finished his drink and pushed the empty glass towards her. "I'm not here to take Rolf away. I just want to see him again. And thanks to your little bit of information, I can." Digging into his pocket, the marksman produced what little gold he had left and set it on the countertop, then got up from his stool and walked out the door.

...

He had to go back to killing again. He had to shoot all these damned feral laguz out of his way so he can find Rolf.

He ran the edge of the slippery cliff, Daein's rainy weather beating him down. He tried to concentrate solely on locating anything with a lime mop for hair and a crafted bow as a weapon. It was hard. There were too many people in the way, too many half-humans he had to shoot for the chance to make it out of here alive and in one piece. He had no choice but to scream Rolf's name, hoping it wouldn't be drowned out by the rainfall or the chaos or the sounds of people and animals dying.

"Rolf!"

A deep growl next to his ear caused him to spin around by invisible threads and set off another arrow, the head embedding itself between the eyes of a gray tiger which was about to pounce. The furry mass landed next to the marksman's feet, and Shinon took this as another opportunity to call out his student's name.

"Rolf!"

He skimmed the edge of the cliff before climbing up one of the wooden towers that the snipers sat perched upon. This one was empty. The moment he reached the top, he sucked in the cold damp air and let it out in one guttural cry.

"ROLF!"

He stood suspended amongst the mayhem below, trying so desperately to catch his breath and swallow to moisten his parched throat. Someone called after him from the base of his tower. He looked down – hah, another one of those snobbish military officers making a show of his authority.

"Hey! Why aren't you in uniform?" he cried out.

Shinon's curt reply was wordlessly turning away as the commander was unexpectedly torn to death by a cat's claws; the marksman made to nock an arrow, leveling it at an approaching hawk's chest, before letting it fly.

Just as the hawk's destroyed frame hit the ground, Shinon's senses picked up something completely different; something he desperately wanted to hear.

"…Shinon!"

From behind and below. It was definitely him. It was Rolf.

"Rolf! Where are you?"

Below him, all he saw was a spanning river of clashing and blood… No, wait! His sharp eyes traveled across the cliff, searching, spotting for the green…

"Over here!"

Over where…? There he is! At one of the ballistae, killing a raven with his bow while screaming to get Shinon's attention. His Rolf, unscathed, so clean and wet from the rain, his hair askew, his eyes wide and bright as ever.

"Rolf! Stay right there!"

The marksman clambered down the side of the tower and ran like a bolt of lightning, knocking someone out of his Goddess-damned way so he can reach Rolf, his student, the one he'd been searching for all this time.

He reached him. Rolf had grown; he stood past Shinon's chin almost, and his face was broader. Blood that wasn't his painted his face and clothes. He swore, wanting to bite his lip until it bled dry, because it wasn't right. The Rolf he'd known and taught was a grown man now.

It wasn't the same.

"Shinon…?" The younger man peered up at his master, concerned with his transfixed gaze, watching the rain trickle down his face. "Watch out!"

Rolf rushed forward and shoved him. The marksman skidded across the jagged dirt, and watched as his student took a blow to the arm from a tiger that had jumped down from above.

A nearby halberdier skewered the beast in its flank, and Shinon wasted no time silencing it for good with an arrow straight through the eye. He struggled to stand and limped to where Rolf lay, cursing at the pain in his ankle, and brought the boy up to his knee, both of them soaked to the bone and breathing heavily.

"Rolf?"

Rolf only stirred, his eyes of ocean blue staring up at Shinon, confused yet happy.

"My arm hurts…"

Shinon hugged him and muttered, "You idiot."

...

The white sheets, grown stiff from lack of movement, rustled in the dim light.

From his arm chair next to the fireplace, Shinon stirred from his slumber and groggily peered over at the bed on the other side of the room. After a few moments, the sheets rustled again.

He stood up and sauntered towards the side of the bed, the corners of his lips twitching up to a slight smile as he greeted the bed's occupant.

"Morning."

Rolf groaned, his half-lidded eyes switching from Shinon to his arm.

"…How long…?"

"Two days."

He looked down. "I see." Eyes widening abruptly, Rolf glanced back up towards Shinon, a faint smile gracing his lips. "You're unharmed, so that's all that matters."

"Actually," Shinon couldn't help suppressing a chuckle as he said it, "I dislocated my ankle when you pushed me."

"Oh... I'm sorry."

"Hey, no apologizing. It couldn't be helped." Shinon ambled towards a nearby window, gazing out at the dark streets outside the inn. "Is your arm good?"

"Yes, it is. It doesn't hurt at all."

"Perfect. 'Cause you got some explaining to do." He turned on his heel and met Rolf by the eye. "Why the heck did you let some old man buy you into the army? What were you thinking?"

"How did—"

"What about your wife? You'd put yourself before an old man rather than her?"

"She's—"

"And why Daein? Why fight for this damned country?"

"She's dead."

Shinon gaped at Rolf incredulously. "What did you say?"

"My wife is dead, Shinon." Rolf sat up on the bed, eyes glazed over in a thin layer of wetness. Shinon expected him to cry. But he held back his tears. "She died a few months ago with a disease no one could cure. Earlier on I traveled here as a representative of the Crimean army, and during my being here she sent me a letter telling me of her condition. I stayed here, hoping… that maybe Lady Micaiah can cure her, but the Crimean army sent me the massage saying it was too late." Rolf, seemingly exhausted, laid back down on the pillow. "I had to find a job while I was here, so a sickly man hired me to take his place in the army. …By the way, how did you know I was here?"

Shinon shrugged. "I asked around. And… I don't know, there was just something that drew me back here. I don't want to sound like a total mush, but… maybe it was fate."

Rolf closed his eyes, remembering exactly what he meant. "Maybe it was."

...

The following day, Shinon observed, was the first time he'd ever seen the sun shine in Nevassa. It was better than the overcast skies and seasonal rainfall and snowstorms, he supposed.

He watched Rolf stare out the window from their suite, calm and tranquil, tipsy with peacefulness that had emerged from the dying intensity of war.

"Do you remember the day I almost drowned?" Rolf asked him.

Shinon recalled that memory of their much younger years back at the mercenary fort. "Yeah."

The sunshine from outside was reflected in Rolf's smile.

"I slipped too far into the river on that swimming trip. I was literally being tossed around in the water. I thought I was going to die."

"You were only ten at the time," Shinon added.

"I was," Rolf said, nodding. "And then I felt something grab me – I couldn't tell what at the moment – and I was being pushed against the current. I was half dead and I couldn't tell what was happening. Then when I was brought onto shore, I realized that it was you who had saved me."

Shinon sighed, rolling his eyes. "It wasn't like I wanted to save you…"

"But you saved me anyway." The younger sniper eased his eyes closed, still facing the window. "It was that day when I felt just how strong your arms were."

Shinon glanced away from Rolf, then back. The boy's smile never ceased, as if he didn't regret his words. Perhaps he truly didn't. Perhaps the lack of war, lack of blood was already getting to his head. Shinon said nothing.

The marksman lay down at the edge of the bed, keeping an eye on Rolf as he continued to speak. Shinon wasn't complaining.

...

"Come on, I want you to meet them."

Shinon jerked his hand out of Rolf's grip. "I don't want to."

Rolf sighed, turning his back at the sun to face Shinon fully. "It would be great if they knew who my master was."

They were on the street outside the bar. They were already at the front door. Rolf, Shinon realized with a hint of a smirk, was pretty good at buying time. But he wasn't in the mood to play along. If Rolf had wanted to visit the old man, he could have done it by himself.

"Listen, Rolf." The younger man was already rapping on the door's weathered surface. "I already told you that I don't want—"

The door swung open before he can finish what he was saying and that bartender from the other day was gazing past the door frame, her eyes wandering over Rolf before darting towards Shinon.

"Rolf! And…" The bartender couldn't bring herself to look away from Shinon, for whatever reason. The marksman glowered back at her infamously.

He gritted, "It's Shinon."

She pressed her lips together. "Come in."

She led them inside and through the front hallway, past the door leading to the bar and up a staircase that lead to the second floor of the building. Shinon lagged behind reluctantly, consciously making note of the dark and dingy atmosphere that seemed to settle over them as they climbed the stairs. Perhaps it were the lack of windows. Perhaps no one bothered cleaning.

At the top of the stairs was a black wooden door that opened into a meager sitting area adjoined by the kitchen. They were led past these areas and towards another hallway, and they entered the first door on their left – it was a bedroom.

At the center of the opposite wall was a small bed, the tattered covers pulled over the form of a man, who looked more skin and bones than human. His face was wrinkled and worn. His eyes were closed and he lay unmoving as if he were already dead, but what the bartender said to him proved otherwise.

"Father," she said, walking over to him and touching his arm. Rolf followed, peering down at the man; Shinon stayed further back, leaning against the doorframe. "Father, Rolf is here to see you."

The man stirred, his eyelids slowly peeling open halfway, and it seemed that was how far they were able to go. His eyes studied Rolf with an indefinite gaze, which he nodded at, smiling faintly; he eventually caught notice of Shinon by the doorway, and his smile dropped, his head tilting to the side.

"Margaret, who is that man?" His voice was gravely and faint, testament to coughing fits and throat infection, Shinon guessed. Margaret the bartender gestured, about to make the introduction, but Shinon stepped into the room and spoke for himself.

"I'm Shinon, Rolf's teacher."

The room grew still for a moment.

With no reply, Shinon asked, biting back anger, "Were you the one who bought Rolf into the Daein army?"

The man hesitated at first, then… "…Yes."

His brow furrowing, Shinon muttered, "Have him quit."

There was shock from Margaret, and discomfort from Rolf; his pupil stepped forward, trying to intervene, "Shinon, you know the conditions, I-"

"Shut up, Rolf." Shinon turned his full attention to the man in the bed, glaring furiously. "The reality of all this is that you're going to die either way. You look as if you could fall dead any minute. So rip up Rolf's contract or whatever and go out there and fight for your damn country, instead of just lying there without doing anything better with what's left of your pathetic life!"

The force behind Shinon's words might have been enough to kill the man at that very instant. But he lay there, breathing steadily, although he looked to the side almost shamefully. Margaret looked away, hands over her mouth to stifle sobs. Feeling himself unable to hold back anymore, Shinon trudged his way back outside, with Rolf at his tail. Shinon managed to get a few steps out onto the street before Rolf halted him with a rough hand on the shoulder. Shinon turned to face him, expecting to take any punches or slaps. None came.

"Shinon, why did you do that?" Rolf exclaimed, arms outstretched. "I needed a job, and if that man didn't hire me he'd be forced to enlist! I'm a mercenary, it's what I should do!"

"Rolf, just stay out of this."

"Why should I? Shinon, you have to let me go. I'm not your student anymore."

Shinon didn't want to be reminded of that. That cruel reality had haunted him for so long; he felt that this was the only way to resolve it. He thought it was the only way to get Rolf back.

"Rolf, you'll get too carried away if you continue with this. I don't want you to go out there while I live in constant fear of how you're going to turn out."

"If that's that case, then…" Rolf trailed off, hesitating briefly. Then he said, "Join the army."

Countless cold memories filled the marksman's mind, memories so frigid they caused him to rub his temples in distress. "No, not this again."

"If the reason why you're being so worrisome is because you want to be there to have my back, then joining is your only alternative. No matter what you plan to say or do, I'm not resigning." Rolf stared up at his elder, blue eyes beholding a quality of willpower Shinon had never seen before. He was merely awe struck.

The marksman, of all things, planted his hand on the younger one's head and ruffled his hair. Rolf merely stood there, confused.

"You've changed, Rolf." Shinon's voice, even to his surprise, had taken a lighter tone. What he felt… was like some sort of pride.

Rolf, on the other hand, looked away, his eyes welling up.

"War does that to you."

...

Later that day, it snowed. It had been so long since Shinon had experienced snowfall; the last time he remembered seeing the little white specks were several years prior, when he had fought alongside the Laguz alliance against Daein. The sight of it also evoked some… other memories, memories he was ready to forget.

For the time being he stayed indoors, often meandering around the inn he stayed in with Rolf. He drank, trying to avoid the bar down the street where he had the red wine. Other times he watched Rolf practice in the inn's backyard, which was a small square of land with a tree. Once, the young sniper shot continuously at a makeshift target mounted on the trunk, to the point where he eventually drew up a crowd. Shinon watched from the window, a mug of beer in his hands.

The amount of improvement Rolf had made with his skill was astounding. Although his training methods were nothing more than just hitting the target, the power and control with which he drew and shot each arrow was near perfection. He never missed the center, and even shot through a leaf as it fell, embedding it right through the center of the target.

Rolf ended the show when the amount of snow began to accumulate in great piles on the ground. He took it as a queue to finish his practice. He packed up his equipment, spoke to some of the spectators, then walked back inside the inn. Shinon watched until he did so, and the marksman himself decided to prepare for the night.

Before retiring to his arm chair next to the fireplace, Shinon realized that Rolf hadn't yet returned to their room. It was already so late; he thought it would be ridiculous for Rolf to be out again practicing, shooting in the snow and in the dark. Draping a robe over his sleep wear, Shinon exited the room and headed downstairs.

Rolf was still, in fact, outside, but was merely standing on the back porch, leaning against the fencing so still the steady snowfall began to pile up on his shoulders and head.

Shinon stood by the doorway, sighing in annoyance. "Rolf, you going to sleep or what?"

Rolf didn't move. Still looking into the night, he said, "Soon. I'm just… admiring the snow."

Shinon waited, waiting for Rolf to turn around and follow him back inside, but he stood motionless like there were no tomorrow. Shinon took the initiative to shuffle his way through the snow and towards his student to see what his problem was.

He stopped beside Rolf and craned his head past the younger man's shoulder to get a good look at his face. "Rolf, it's late, you should-"

He couldn't finish his words. His mouth hung open in mid sentence. Rolf stood against the fence, his back to the porch light, and his cheeks streaked with tears. They dripped past his chin and onto his knuckles, and his hands gripped the railing so hard they were as white as the snow.

It looked like he had been crying for a while.

Shinon felt like he should comfort Rolf in some way, but what bothered him the most was why he was like this. "Rolf, what…"

"Do you know what it's like to lose someone you hold so dear?" His voice, so straight and unwavering despite his current situation, disturbed Shinon.

And he couldn't say yes. He'd never attached himself so closely to anyone he'd become to agonized if they died, but with Rolf, if…

"I can only imagine."

"It's dreadful." Rolf began to tremble slightly, some snow falling off his shoulders. "My wife – and my child – they were my world. They were the reasons why I got up everyday. A reason to be. But when they're taken away from you it's like your life has already ended. I feel like I no longer have a reason to be alive, but… I'm still here."

"So it no longer matters what you do with your life now? Even if it means dying for this country?"

Rolf closed his eyes. "I'm sorry." He sniffed, finally bringing up a hand to wipe his cheeks from tears. Unexpectedly, he sneezed, clearing the fencing before him of snow. They were both very tempted to break out in laughter, but only found the heart to let out small, hearty chuckles.

"You're gonna get sick, Rolf. You're not even wearing a coat."

Rolf only displayed a faint smile, staring out into the snowy night and beyond the lamp-lit streets of Nevassa, as if he didn't catch a word of what Shinon had said.

"Stand closer to me."

Shinon merely stared at Rolf for a moment, then obliged – "Geez, Rolf." – by shuffling closer to the younger man's side. Immediately Rolf grabbed one edge of Shinon's robe and draped it around his shoulders, almost leaning into the marksman's side, so close that their hips and shoulders touched. The marksman couldn't help but notice how Rolf almost matched him for height. Almost.

Rolf's warmth beside him was very comforting, like he was near a fireplace, and he felt that he could stand there for the rest of the night. Or maybe even forever.

"Rolf, don't die. You still have me, all right? Promise me that."

The sniper lowered his head, exhaling a puff of materialized air.

"I promise."

The snow never stopped falling.

...

"I'm sorry, but I can't quit. I made a deal."

Shinon's fingers beat rapidly against the end table beside him; he didn't know if he wanted to be angry or not. It just seemed so unfair.

"You'll be in there forever!" he said to Rolf. "Either that or you'll get killed."

"I've made it through two wars and so many other battles that I've lost count. And I'll keep going."

"Rolf, listen to me. There's always been that chance. That one chance you might slip up and get yourself killed. You've been lucky enough so far, but what makes you think it'll be the same every time you go out there?"

Time seemed to stop within the room. The noise muted, the air still, the night motionless. Rolf stood with his back to Shinon, leaning against the window and staring out at the streets of Nevassa, like he trying to look past his shadow.

"The sickly man," he said. After a pause, he went on. "Margaret. The people. Oscar, Boyd, Mist. And you, Shinon. That's what makes me think it. Ever since the beginning, when you first taught me how to use a bow, I knew that I wouldn't be using it for the sole purpose of killing. I knew I would be fighting for everyone. I think about you all whenever I head to war. And when I do, I know that I'll be able to survive one day after another."

Shinon shook his head. No, no, no… Don't be like that, Rolf. Don't leave me behind.

But he couldn't control the words as they left his mouth. "Don't talk like an idiot."

He regretted saying that even more when Rolf eased his eyes closed, and wordlessly headed to bed.

...

It was a disaster. A complete disaster.

Shinon's fingers constricted around the note, tightening, deepening until they tore holes into the fine paper. Rolf's bow was gone. His rucksack was gone. The marksman stood beside the bed fuming for a few moments before chucking the note and running off to get changed and grab his bow.

"Damn it. Damn it!" The repetitive mantra of cursing in his head unexpectedly left his mouth. He'd just finished pulling on his boots and he needed his hair tie. …Damn it, screw the hair tie, I'll be fine with my hair down, and he slung on his quiver and snatched up the knife hiding under his pillow and raced out of the inn.

He'd heard of the battle that were to take place outside the boarders of Nevassa, the battle that was said to end the existence of the feral laguz. Rolf was undoubtedly in that battle. It was going to be messy. It was going to be hell. More of a hell than any other battle they've been through. Shinon made beelines through the streets, bending past corners and shop stands just so he can get out there, hopefully before the advance.

He broke through the front gates of the city, finding himself surrounded by Daein soldiers suiting up, and a few tents. Looking up, he spotted a line of ant-sized soldiers lined across the horizon, marching. Marching…

Shit.

He ran, towards the horizon, which was obscured by the overcast sky of winter. He felt the winds pick up as he approached the advancing army. A storm, soon.

Halfway there. His boots left prints on the snow-covered dirt, only to be filled in by the heavy snow that began to fall. The sun above began to wane behind the descent of the thick flurry that would soon nestle atop the raging battlefield. Shinon drew his bow from his quiver. This attempt at rescuing Rolf, he knew, would not end without a fight. Arrows will be shot. He'd have to kill those cursed feral laguz of they got in his way. And Rolf will resist.

He swore to himself that he'd bring Rolf back no matter what, even if he had to break his arms, his legs, or tie him up, knock him out, or put him to sleep. They'd be together soon. They'd go back to Crimea, where everything began, and they'd live life again, without having to fight anymore of these stupid wars in unfamiliar countries, and they'd do as they please. Life would be good again.

He tightened his bow. It was something to look forward to.

The marksman picked up the sounds of battle cries and steel meeting claw just a matter of meters ahead, just as the density of soldiers grew around him. Daein generals were also rising up to take part in the ensuing battle. One of them, he noticed, was a fellow marksman, garbed in remarkable, finely dyed robes that announced his close alignment to the Queen; his bow was no laughing matter either, which was beautifully crafted and looked to be one of a kind, an extension of its holder's power. The look on his face was stern yet calm, holding a natural regality and confidence that only meant that he had been through this far too many times before. His companion's disposition was nearly the opposite; the expression of the trueblade beside him was somewhat chipper, suggesting he might pull off something reckless, yet he brandished his sword with experience and skill. Shinon thought he had seen them both before, not long ago, but quickly discarded the assumption and continued to press through the shifting crowd of soldiers.

The din and the clamor began to escalate. The dull crunching of man-made steel meeting flesh grew louder as the marksman progressed through the lines. The collection of soldiers around him grew even more dense, and it became harder to keep his eyes on the horizon. He had no choice but to push and shove his way through to get to the towers; just wait for one of the archers to get clawed away by a hawk before taking his place. It was his best bet to getting a better view of the battle ground; by then Rolf would be a little easier to spot.

He heard a commander somewhere behind him let out a dignified shout; soldiers swarmed in formation at the command, bracing themselves for the worst of the battle. It wasn't until Shinon reached the less compacted front lines when he saw the shadows of dragons on the horizon, a sight that made him want to cuss every word he knew. He'd fought dragons before long ago at the Goddess' Tower, and it had been something he would never want to do again, even if his weapons and armor were blessed by Yune at the time. But did the soldiers around him even have the slightest idea how to fight dragons? They weren't blessed either, so he figured this entire battle was nothing but leading these soldiers to their deaths.

The least I can do is kill any dragon I see, he thought, latching into the ladder of a nearby tower. He had his blessed Silencer with him, which could still rip any good dragon in half with just one or two arrows. But Rolf was still his priority.

Once he got to the top he leaned over the mass of soldiers and shouted. "Rolf!" He stopped to shoot at an incoming raven before shouting his name some more. He glanced up at the horizon for only a second; the dragons were getting closer. Tall, mobile fortresses shaking off arrows like they were splinters, each thundering footstep bringing them closer towards their doom. He readied an arrow for a white dragon that was close enough to incinerate the front lines with its breath; he steadily aimed at the head, exhaled, and fired. The arrow squarely hit its mark, bringing the beast down enough for some paladins to finish it off. He squinted at the masses of them, expecting Rolf to be on one of those horses, then checked for the sidelines.

Behind a line of heavy armours, he though he saw the elusive flash of chartreuse hair.

There! He leapt off the tower and slid down the ladder, only to find a cat waiting for him at the bottom, claws outstretched. He quickly grabbed the hunting knife from his belt and kicked off the ladder, arms raised overhead as he came plummeting down on top of the feral cat.

He had driven the knife straight into the cat's skull; it didn't even twitch. He got up quickly, glaring at the dumbfounded soldiers that surrounded him. Their shock was short lived when a murder of crows swooped down, clawing and stabbing at the platoon in a crazed frenzy. Shinon regained his bow and began launching arrows, realizing that some of the arrows did not belong to him. He looked to his right; the blonde marksman commander he had seen earlier was not far from him, shooting down the crows faster than he could follow. Once the area was cleared, he nodded towards Shinon before turning to face his soldiers.

"Lancer and mage units, gather in formation and prepare for your next attack. The dragons are approaching; aim for the wings and the head. If you cannot make the shot, disable their legs. Thunder mages need to be critical. Stay together in groups, and you will have a better chance of taking them down. Understood?"

"Sir!"

As the soldiers assembled themselves, the general turned to face Shinon, who regarded him with a gaze understanding and familiarity.

"You're looking for someone, aren't you?"

Shinon glowered back. "His name is Rolf. A sniper, green hair."

The general nodded, glancing to south. "I know him. One of the best in my platoon. He's stationed behind the armoured units over there; get him out of here."

Shinon grabbed him by the shoulder before he could move away, stare icy. "This is suicide. These soldiers are unprepared to fight dragons; they don't have the slightest clue what they're up against."

The blonde sniper gently removed Shinon's grip from his person. "That may be so, but we're not abandoning the capital. We're not going to let go of everything Micaiah had fought and sacrificed so much for. Besides, you're not the only one here who had to fight against the Goldoans in the Goddess' Tower."

He glanced calmly over Shinon's shoulder, and the marksman turned to follow his gaze; a red dragon was already ravaging the front lines, but seemingly out of nowhere a trueblade leapt onto the beast's back, running up its scaly spine. It was a stunt that convinced Shinon that maybe he was indeed batshit nuts, but with two mighty swings of his sword, the dragon's head fell clean off its shoulders, hot flames shooting out of the stump of its neck like lava.

Shinon remembered seeing such a horrific feat at the Tower, and quickly decided that the marksman wasn't joking.

Both archers looked towards the sky and observed that the relentless snowfall was slowly escalating to a blinding snowstorm. The next instant they were looking at each other, eyes narrowed and serious.

"Now go." The blonde marksman pushed away from him, running before his troops to rally them on. The heat of the battle was beginning to get to him, and things were only about to get worse. Drawing an arrow from his quiver and affixing it to his bow, Shinon made a mad dash towards Rolf's apparent location.

"Rolf!" He slipped behind the armoured soldiers just as they were beginning to advance. The archers were following very close behind them, arrows drawn, and at the very end of the line-up was, without a doubt, Rolf.

"ROLF!" He could have heard him. He should have. As the thick flurry of snow descended the armoured line became disoriented, which was a huge disadvantage against the feral laguz. Where were the wind mages?

Just as Shinon began approaching the end of the line, the formation was immediately broken up by a group of tigers. Inexperienced and confounded, the archers were instantly mauled to the ground while the armored units were ripped to death. Shinon shot blindly into the haze, hoping to hit something, and continued to do so as he ran to reunite with Rolf.

He was still alive. He knew he was alive.

"ROLF! Oh, gods, Rolf." He was within arm's reach. A little blood was in his hair, creating a vivid contrast of red and green. Shinon grabbed onto his collar and yanked him his way, looking him in the eyes.

"Shinon—"

"We're getting out of here. Let's go before—"

His voice was cut short when Rolf tugged himself away from Shinon's grasp, giving him a sharp look before firing more arrows into the blinding white.

"Rolf, what the hell are you doing?"

A cat leapt through the thick snow towards Rolf, and the boy spun around and shot it in the foreleg a second before it could claw him to death. He leapt onto the back of the writhing beast, pulled out a dagger from his boot – a kard – raised it in the air, and brought it down hard onto the cat's neck.

Then he kept stabbing. He brought his arm up and down repeatedly with a ferocity Shinon never knew he had in him, and he did not stop until the cat grew lifeless in his grip. He wiped the blood from his face as he stood up, looking at Shinon.

His teeth were grit in agony, tears rolling down his cheeks. His voice dwindled down to a pitiful sob.

"You're right, Shinon. I... I can't keep doing this."

Mixed emotions made Shinon's heart double in weight. Sadness? Elation? Perhaps both. But a smile reached his face nonetheless. He reached out for Rolf despite the distance between him, ready to grab him by the hand and carry him back home, to their homeland of Crimea, where they truly belonged.

"I'm going home."

A shadow loomed behind Rolf. The boy kept smiling. Shinon dropped his hand and reached for his bow, shouting.

"Rolf! MOVE!"

The snow swirled around them, mixing with the blood , the noise, the chaos; and at once, time seemed to slow down to a mere crawl. Shinon could see them through the storm; a pair of vicious claws sailing through the air and the blazing eyes of a feral grey tiger.

"BEHIND YOU!"

Shinon kept shouting. He couldn't even hear his own voice, but he kept shouting, hoping that Rolf had some way of hearing him. Rolf looked up at his master, aware of his words, aware of the danger behind him. Looking ready to roll out of the way of impending death.

But instead, a sad, wavering smile graced the boy's lips. He stood bolted to the spot, blue eyes focused on Shinon, who stared back in confusion and anger.

"MOVE!"

The tiger's claws collided with Rolf's unmoving frame with an organic crunch, pinning his body to the ground with horrific force.

He wished he had reacted faster.

Shinon quickly shot the beast several times in the flank, howling at the top of his lungs as he knocked it down, then drove another arrow through its head for good measure. He knew it wasn't enough. No amount of screaming can match his anguish. No amount of arrows shot in that beast's body could bring Rolf back. Nothing will ever be right again.

Shinon stared hopelessly at Rolf's crumpled frame, which lay listless in the blood-matted snow. The marksman dropped down beside his pupil, laying him across his lap, horrified by his nearly severed chest and the red that blotted his clothes, his hands, his lips.

"You promised me."

Biting his lip to keep it from trembling, Shinon closed Rolf's eyes with the passing of his hand.

"You promised me, Rolf."

He hit the ground beside him with his fist. He willed himself not to cry. A sob escaped his lips.

"I'm alone again."

The snow never stopped falling.

...

Shinon stood over a patch of matted soil, the wind weaving through his hair. In the distance, the sun began to set over Daein. Over and over again, he read the stone that marked the freshly plotted grave. Rolf's name. Rolf's birth date. Rolf's death.

Sighing, he tossed his flowers atop the soil. The delicate petals rustled in the slight breeze, like little spirits desperately trying not to get blown away. Emptying his lungs of air, he found himself talking.

"Remember when I first taught you how to use a bow?" He closed his eyes and let the memories resurface. He felt his lips turn up into a smile."You couldn't even hold it properly. For the first few months, you said that it was too heavy for you to even hold up. I was about to give up on you, just when I thought you were going to give up on yourself.

"But then I saw you practicing alone. You did push-ups in your room. You were up even before sunrise, trying to hit that target. Then I thought that maybe it could work. That maybe one day I could show you off and point at you and tell people that you're the best student I've ever had. And you were and always will be."

The wind howled against his ear as an answer.

And for once, he didn't feel stupid for talking to himself. He knew that Rolf was there with him, he could feel it; his smile, the wind carrying his laughter through the air, like how he remembered it when Rolf was younger. Rolf was free now, free from the terrors of this world, from the malicious compromise of wars and mercenary business, free from Shinon's hold. But Shinon knew he was still holding onto Rolf, his memory, all too tight.

All he had to do was let go.

A few hours later, someone found him. He was leaning against the gravestone, talking to someone that wasn't there when someone appeared, who held flowers in their arms and hesitated to approach him.

It was Margaret the bartender.

"May I help you?" he murmured.

She stood there, not knowing whether to turn away or advance. He glanced at the two bouquets of flowers she cradled in her arms.

"For Rolf?"

She nodded solemnly. "For Rolf. And…"

She set one of the bouquets on top of Rolf's grave, and he raised an eyebrow when she stepped past him and stood before a grave not too far away, a grave that was perhaps a day or two older than Rolf's.

Shinon didn't even have to guess. He plucked a white flower from the bouquet he gave to Rolf and went after her.

Margaret gently set her bouquet on the older grave and clasped her hands together for prayer, but stopped when she noticed Shinon placing a single white orchid on the grave as well, next to her bouquet. She merely stared in mild surprise. Shinon just shrugged.

"Thought I might as well pay my respects. He did contract Rolf, after all."

Afterwards they stood together. She fervently prayed while he said what he had to say, honest yet meaningful words he always thought about telling the old man but didn't. His whispers were so low that he couldn't even hear himself.

"I'm alone now," he murmured when they were finished. "Both of us."

"Yes." Her side was facing Shinon, and she looked down thoughtfully as she continued. "I'm selling my bar and going to work as a nurse at the keep's infirmary. My… father's always wanted that for me."

Shinon nodded without thinking, still looking up at the sky and letting the chill leave goose bumps on his skin.

"At least you have a plan," he said. "I don't."

The sky had grown to become a swirling mass of wind and cloud, and he felt it against his skin: the cool rush of air before the first rainfall.

Then came the first barrage of tiny droplets, barely leaving an impression on the ground and stone. Then came a whole multitude of them, engrossing them both in their trajectories and their pitter-patter symphony. Shinon gently eased his eyes shut, and tilted his head upwards, bracing the droplets that pelted him and the earth. There must have been millions of raindrops. Millions of arrows.

"So this is what it feels like," he murmured as the droplets beat him mercilessly. "To be shot a million times." A faint smirk graced his lips. "…It sets me free."

Margaret did not understand his mentality. She could have left him there - she could have done that hours ago - but she didn't. She stood by his side and together, they endured the rain.

A droplet hit his lip, but unlike the others, it felt warm and tasted salty. Like a tear that had been shed. He reached up with a thumb and brushed the skin where the droplet had touched him.

Shinon knew that no one cried in Heaven.

And of all people, Rolf shouldn't be.

End.

A/N: This was a fan fiction I started writing two years ago, and I'm pretty sure I spent several months on it before letting it get lost in my writing folder. I dug it up again this week, reread it, finished it, and thought it would still be good enough to put up. So I hope you enjoyed several month's worth of hard work!

I find the relationship between Shinon and Rolf to be one of the most interesting developments in the series. You have Shinon, a grumpy cynic whose softer side is unveiled through his apprentice's influence, and you have Rolf, whose true potential is unlocked through Shinon's guidance. I thought I'd put them in a situation where Shinon's attachment to Rolf makes him the one who can't leave the other alone, and how Shinon would react if Rolf were to die for a vain cause. It seems that my motivation to rip these poor characters apart in my writing has not changed a bit.

Disagree with anything? Want to vent out some overwhelming emotions? Review!