Genre: Romance

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Rolf x Rhys

Warnings: Significant age gap.. if you don't like that sort of thing, I doubt you'd like Rolf x Rhys, so.. read at your own discretion! It may or may not lead up to NC-17, I haven't decided yet.

Comments: I have a soft spot for this pairing from their supports, I think it's really cute. Writing isn't my forte, but I do enjoy it. I'd appreciate no criticism because of that, but if you notice an error that I've missed, please point it out! Reviews are greatly appreciated!

It's also funny that I'd write something like this, since I really, really hate puking. I mean, I know most people do, but I really, really hate it... somehow, though, it's almost cute here.

Disclaimer: I don't own Fire Emblem: Path of Radiance or it's characters.

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Cold Hands, Warm Hearts

The familiar sound of retching woke him from his sleep. Boyd was snoring loudly in the bed next to his, that he now crept carefully around; not wanting to wake his brother from a well-deserved rest after a long, trying battle. Rolf was sure that his brother wouldn't wake until the smell of breakfast wafted into the hall—unless it was Mist that would be cooking that morning, then he would opt to feign being too tired to get out of bed until he was forced to come and eat (then Oscar would laugh at him in his all-too-innocent way, acting like the food really didn't taste that horrible at all).

Shutting the door quietly behind him, Rolf made his way down the hall, stumbling a bit in his grogginess. Placing a hand to the wall, he used it to keep his balance. Another wretch sounded from further down the hall, and it might have made him feel ill if it weren't for the one who he knew was sick—Rolf's worry over-powered any feelings of nausea that the sound might've caused.

After what seemed like a painfully long couple of minutes, he finally came to the room he was looking for, taking particular care to keep as quiet as possible as he passed by the one beside it--the room Soren slept in with Ike. If the mage was grumpy normally, it was nothing compared to when he was abruptly roused from sleep, no help that he was somewhat of an insomniac.

Looking to the ground, Rolf finally knocked at the door, pressing his face close to the hard wood. "Rhys… can I come in?"

At first, he received no response—as the priest attempted to compose himself as best he could before answering. "... Yes." The word came out in a vocalized shudder, sending a sharp twist of pity through Rolf's gut.

The door opened silently and closed just as quietly behind him as he entered the small room, quickly moving to the man's side. He knelt on the floor, hunched over one of the pots from the kitchens, his red hair a delicate looking disarray. The smell was putrid, and Rolf had to shake his head to relieve himself of the urge to gag. "Have you been up sick long?"

Rhys' eyes were heavy with fatigue, even if he would've been able to lie, he knew that the young archer would have seen through it with little effort. "Yes… ever since I retired in the evening." Sometimes, he regretted promising not to hide anything from the boy now kneeling by his side; small hands placed on his lap as he looked at him intently. Why the less than pleasant setting didn't bother him, Rhys didn't know.

Rolf's brow furrowed in concern. "Was it something you ate?" He knew that there were a couple of foods that didn't agree with Rhys' stomach, but as far as he remembered they hadn't eaten anything of the sort the night before.

"I don't think so." It wasn't all that strange. Rhys was frail and sickly, even when in his best health he was weak and unable to help with anything other than healing and tending to the animals. Sometimes he would help Oscar cook, but he felt himself a burden in the kitchen if he got in the lance knight's way.

"Oh." The room was dimly lit by a pair of candles, and Rhys saw that Rolf was smiling. "It's almost 4 in the morning. I'm sorry that you've been awake all night." He wished that there was something more he could do to help—even to fetch the other a warm cloth or heat him up some soup would make too much noise. Rolf had slowly been trying to get Soren to open up to him, so it would be bad to risk upsetting him; after all, Rhys wasn't the only person that concerned him.

The pot moved a little against the floor as Rhys' fingers tightened around the handles, his brow furrowing. He didn't want Rolf to see him like this, when he was at his weakest. "You should go back to sleep… I'll be fine."

Rolf leaned forward slightly, resting his hand on the young man's shoulder. "Don't be silly... a little sleep is nothing. Not when compared to a friend." He had already come all this way, he didn't intend to just leave after saying hello.

Rhys wasn't given a chance to respond as he suddenly tensed and leaned forward, his body arching over the pot with a sickening sound, much worse to hear now that he was so close. Rolf covered his mouth and watched him with sympathy. He knew how terrible throwing up felt, unable to imagine how Rhys dealt with the sensation so often—he was sick to his stomach nearly every other day.

When Rhys had stopped again, the priest coughed, turning to look at him. "Please. You don't have stay… I know it's disgusting." He sounded almost shameful, reaching for a cloth beside him that he used to wipe off his mouth.

"It's disgusting for you, too." Rolf's hand had not moved the entire time, even as the other's body had shuddered with the effort of expulsing the sickness from his body. Even in the flickering candlelight, he could tell that Rhys was paler than usual.

Drawing in a long, shaking breath, Rhys sat up and pushed the defiled pot a good distance away from them, though still close enough that he'd be able to reach for it quickly would the need arise. Resting his hands in his lap, he looked over to Rolf; who rubbed gently at his shoulder, that smile now widening. "At least this way, we can be disgusted together. Even when you're sick, it's nice to have company, right?"

"But I'm always sick." The priest protested weakly. "You keep me fine enough company on the battlefield, Rolf." The boy never left his side in the fray if he had to, and even then he would spare as many glances back to the priest as he could. Rolf had become very protective of him.

"I defend you because I care about you." The hand on Rhys' shoulder fell to one of his, Rolf's other joining it to grasp it softly. The priest's skin was eerily cold, and Rolf set to warming it up, grabbing his other hand and rubbing them both with his own.

"Rolf…" A little bit of life came back into Rhys' soft voice then, sounding a little less strained than it had been moments before.

"I'm here with you now because I want to be! I'm used to you being all barfy anyway, it doesn't bother me much." As if to prove a point, Rolf stretched and sat back on his rear, stretching his legs out before him.

Rhys couldn't help but smile, enjoying the other's company especially when he was sick, since his activities were more limited then. That the boy was willing to sacrifice his own rest to be with him… it meant a lot to him. "Rolf… thank you. Really."

Rolf grinned and gave Rhys' hands a little squeeze, content not to loosen his grip so that he could keep them warm. Rhys didn't mind at all, though if he would've stopped to think about it, it might have been a little embarrassing. As it stood now, though, it took enough concentration just for him to remain sitting. The thought didn't cross his mind.

"I really hope that your barfing doesn't wake up Soren, though." Rolf spoke in a lower tone, like the mage might've been able to hear through the wall even with their hushed voices. Despite himself, he giggled a little at the picture of a bed-tussled Soren stumbling into the room to lecture them about how the army tactician needs his beauty sleep.

Rhys looked a little surprised before shaking his head, smiling weakly. "He might seem mean, but I think he cares for us more than he shows on the surface. I've woken him up a few times in the middle of the night, and he's never really minded. Well, one time he told me that if I didn't stop coughing he'd find a better place to keep my staff, if you know what I mean… but I couldn't stop. It was pretty noisy."

"You can't help it though!" Rolf had caught one of those coughs before, where your throat tickled and you had no choice but to cough or choke. Surely Soren could understand that...

"Either can he." Rhys' smile was sympathetic, knowing how disliked Soren was by the majority of the group, save the original members like himself, and a select few of their newer recruits. Mainly, Stefan and Tormod--both, he saw, would try to strike up conversation with him periodically, though Tormod seemed to have much less luck in pleasing the dark-haired mage. "Soren can't help who he is. At least he's honest."

Nose wrinkling somewhat, Rolf's head hung in thought. "Yeah, I guess. He really isn't a bad person, but he sure is mean sometimes."

Rhys thought that he could feel the nausea rising in his gut again, but it was hard to tell when that moment of release would come until it was too late. For now, he chose to ignore it--the archer's plan was working nicely, Rhys was distracted enough from his sickness to be able to enjoy himself. "That's necessary for a tactician, you know."

"Really?" To be mean?, Rolf thought, assuming that wasn't quite what Rhys had meant. He looked back to him, tilting his head curiously.

"Well, imagine if he was as nice as you. Do you think everyone would listen to your instruction and agree to follow it in battle? If he wasn't so sharp and commanding, no one would take him seriously. He's a talented tactician." Sure, it wasn't the best way to socialize, but Rhys had a feeling that the mage's less desirable traits came from a dark past, or something that he was hiding--perhaps both. Since he was hard enough to talk to normally, Rhys had never attempted to ask.

"Oh." Rocking on his knees a little bit, Rolf's smile returned, timidly. "I never thought about it that way. He's really good at what he does... and he's great in battle, too." His face twisted a little and he laughed quietly.

Rhys raised an eyebrow, reaching to pull the pot a bit closer when he thought he felt that nausea creeping up once more. "As are you, my shining knight in leather armour!" For his condition, the grin that met his lips was a wide one.

Rolf shook his head. "Leather doesn't shine, Rhys. And I'm only great in battle... I wish there was something else I was good at, too."

"Oh." Leaning over the pot again, Rhys looked back at him, giving him a little wink. "I knew that. What to call you, then? Charming?"

"Didn't you hear me? I only have skills with a bow! Even if I am a prodigy..."

Rhys shook his head. "That's not true..." His eyes closed in focus, waiting for the inevitable, but nothing came up into his throat. Oh, how he despised this sickness, always making him wait, only to feel somewhat better until he was sick again. "You have your heart, Rolf. You're very kind and thoughtful."

"I guess." Rolf really didn't see how that was something to be revered. To him, it was second nature to be generous and sweet--he barely had to think about it at all. "It isn't anything special, though."

Turning to look at him, Rhys looked surprised that he'd say something like that. "It---urk, hold on a moment." The hand that was still in Rolf's clenched instinctively as the other gripped the pot handle, and he retched into it once more. The uneasy arch of his back was painful for Rolf to watch, helpless as the other was interrupted by his sickness.

After a moment, Rhys came back up, only when he was sure that it was over for the time being. Sighing heavily, he pushed the pot away and turned back to Rolf. "Sorry. I was trying to say..." He placed his other hand on top of Rolf's, still warm from the other's hold. "It is... very special to me."

Rolf blushed and looked back at him; for the first time that evening, like a child. He regained his composure quickly, smiling at those words and bringing his hand on top of the other's to hold both of them once more. "I'm glad, Rhys." What he thought to say then sounded strange in his head, but he said it before he thought not to. "You're very special to me, so that works out nicely."

There was a small silence where Rhys blinked and looked like he'd perhaps misheard, eyes widening as Rolf froze like he had been shot with one of his own arrows. Looking down, the embarrassment from their positions finally settled in and Rhys blushed, a healthy red in contrast to his pasty skin.

Shyly, as if he'd done something wrong, Rolf retracted his hands, looking at them for a moment before pushing himself off of the ground. Reaching down, he helped pull Rhys to his feet, then moved to his bedside, reaching to fix the covers.

Rhys stood by quietly, linking his hands together in front of him as Rolf pulled back the covers and straightened them where Rhys' restless movements had thrown them around. "Rolf..." He thought to say something more, but he was still quite flustered, sure that he had picked up a certain tone from those words. That Rolf might have meant them as more than a friendly gesture... it was a possibility, but could it really it be true? Rhys didn't know what to think, other than he was sure that the idea wasn't unpleasant.

When Rolf finally broke the silence, it was as he bent in the corner to retrieve a thick blanket that he placed on top of Rhys' covers. "You should keep warm, so use this blanket too." His voice seemed rather unaffected, but it was hard to tell when he had been speaking so quietly all along.

"Oh, right. Thank you." Suddenly able to speak again, Rhys bent to pick up his pot, setting it down at the side of his bed, near where Rolf stood--now busy fluffing up his pillow. "Thank you for taking care of me."

Rolf turned to him and hugged him suddenly, unable to look him in the face. A little 'oof!" left the priest's lips and he smiled tiredly, lightly returning the gesture. When Rolf pulled away, he averted Rhys' gaze, looking elsewhere. "Of course. I hope you won't be up all night barfing."

Smiling, Rhys hesitated before taking the other's hand in a light grip, letting it go a moment after. "At least it will be in a nice, warm bed. Rest well, Rolf."

The touch surprised Rolf, and he paused a moment more before moving to leave, turning once he was some distance away and looking back at Rhys, just a quick glance before turning to open the door. "You too. Try to get as much sleep as you can, okay? We might have to fight tomorrow."

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Rhys smiled back at him, even if he wasn't able to see it. "Okay. Goodnight, Rolf."

"Goodnight!" Rhys watched him until the door closed behind him with a click. He looked at the door for some time, wanting to think but finding himself too tired to. Laying down, he pulled the covers of his newly made bed around him and willed himself to fall asleep, wanting to get at least some rest before the next bout of retching began.

Rolf paused at the door once he had closed it, small fingers lingering on the handle. He couldn't believe that he had said that... it had slipped out without him realizing. It wasn't the words that worried him, but more the meaning that lay behind them. The thing those words had really meant... that Rhys was more than just special to him. Just a little more.

He thought it curious that he was comfortable enough, but still, he worried about what the other would think were he to really know what Rolf felt about him. Rolf was technically still a child, even if he had matured tremendously over the past couple of months. He was barely more than halfway through his teens, and Rhys was in his early twenties. Not to mention that he was male.

When Rolf retired to his own bed, having made the careful journey back to his room, he sighed as he slipped back under the covers. He wondered if Rhys would be able to fall asleep at all.

He hoped that the Goddess would bless himself with dreams where things were a little different between the two of them, dreams that he secretly wished would become reality.

It was Rhys that would have one of those dreams that night.