This story was written as a Secret Santa for an exchange on deviantART. I decided to divide it into two parts because of its length. Depending on whether or not people actually want to find out what happens, I may post the second part. I did my best to mention as many of the recipient's favorite couples as possible, though I will admit that Rhys x Mia is one of my favorite as well. Please enjoy!

~Zilver A. Hawk

THE BUCKET LIST

PART ONE

Always a bridesmaid and never a bride. At least that was how the saying was supposed to go. Rhys had never been a bridesmaid or even a groomsman. He was always asked to officiate a wedding. Over the years, he had watched so many young ladies walk down an aisle of sorts, a man of importance at their arm. The union of King Naesala and Princess Leanne had probably been the most grand, and then there was Mist and Boyd in their very own mercenary keep. He had even watched two men share vows. It had been incredibly uncomfortable for him. A relationship of that caliber was bound to end badly, but it had been a secret ceremony. He supposed Prince Reyson and King Tibarn were entitled to love each other just like any mortal being.

Whatever the case, he had been to many weddings. He enjoyed the atmosphere. Two people sharing their love was the most powerful feeling in the world. No matter what race they were, he could feel the intensity of that power radiating the entire night. It felt like a shield to any negative emotion. No harm could come when two lovers were together.

At least, that's what he thought. He had never felt the feeling himself. Perhaps when he was a bit younger, but it had been years since the war. With each passing day, he was beginning to feel older and older. Perhaps he had been in love once, but he wasn't sure now. He loved his work at least. He woke up every morning to beautiful bright faces that called him Father. The little ones at his school would cling to his legs and his hands. They would kiss his cheek and cry into his shoulder when they scraped their knees. He loved all of his children, and he wouldn't change a thing about it, but sometimes he wished there was more to his life, someone to share it with.

With a sigh, the young saint arose and began the short trek from the old mercenary keep to his school built nearby. He hadn't meant to think about such dreary things, but recently, his heart had started to grow heavier and heavier. He was getting older, and he still didn't have a family of his own. He wanted to give his parents grandchildren, even though they had already told him how proud they were of him. They had been so good to him. They deserved that happiness that all parents deserved from their children.

"No…not again, Rhys," he told himself. He managed a smile and pushed himself along to his school house. It was a modest little one room building. Some people called it a glorified shack, but it was his pride and joy. A little garden the children had planted as a project grew in the front, full of vegetables and flowers. They tended to it themselves, and he let them vote on what to do with the produce. Most of the time, they donated it to the shelter which couldn't have made him any prouder. The inside was always tidy with his desk at the front and places for the children to sit all lined up parallel to it. There were places to leave their cloaks when it was cold and places for their bags usually full of books he had gotten donated and their lunches. Crudely drawn pictures hung all across the walls, all handmade by his loving pupils' tiny hands. It made getting up at the crack of dawn every morning worth it.

On his way into the building, he knelt down to pluck a weed out of the garden that one of the children had missed. It was their project, but he was more than glad to help. When he rose, the silver blade of a sword was pressed against his forehead. Someone was inside the school. "I wouldn't say a word if I were you, Father…" a young man spat.

Rhys froze, his heart leaping into his throat. He had been at the end of a blade many times, but the direct danger to his pupils scared him more. The oldest was only twelve. He prayed none of them had arrived yet. If someone had to get hurt, he wanted it to be him. He kept his mouth shut like he had been ordered, and when the man urged him to rise, he did. He wasn't too old, perhaps a bit younger than himself. He had cold black eyes, but that was all he could see from underneath the man's cloak. It was enough.

"I'm lookin' for someone," he said. Without waiting for a response, he shoved a hand drawn picture into the saint's face. It was just a doodle of a flower, a pink one with yellow spots. In the corner however, a barely legible name caught his eye. Gillian. The face of a little girl of eight with beautiful long red hair, giant green eyes, and soft freckles filled his mind. He had to be kidding… "Can't find her anywhere in town. I guess her family's slippery. Thought you might be able to point her out to me. I know she comes here."

For a moment, Rhys was dumbstruck. The man had a blade to his chest and was asking him to find a little girl. "…what would you plan to do with her?" he managed to ask.

The young man's scowl twisted into the slightest smirk. He lifted his blade from the saint's chest to his neck and watched him squirm for a bit. "Daddy owes a debt, and it's about time he paid up one way or another. Consider me a tax collector."

It took a lot to make Rhys's blood boil. He could tolerate being bullied because of his health because he knew it was all in good fun. He could even laugh at the cruel antics of some of his friends, but the thought that someone would hurt a little girl just for money made him turn red in the face. "I'm afraid you'll have to kill me to get to any of my students," he stated firmly.

"Fair enough. I'll just wait for her to come wandering to school."

What happened next became a bit of a blur for the saint. Instinctively, he raised a hand and called out a spell, not in defense, but in warning. A ball of light shot into the sky and exploded in the sky. It had become a symbol of distress. There was no doubt in his mind that everyone had seen it. That would keep the children away. He felt the cold steel of the man's sword slice into his chest as soon as the light left his hand though. As his vision started to grow blurry, he fired off one more blast into the sky. Just for good measure…