"May the benevolent Ashera bless you, for our path as soldiers is not one that we have chosen, but one that has been determined for us. We know that your suffering has come to an end, but ours has only begun." Rhys speaks slowly to keep his voice steady. He never liked doing funerals. Especially during wartime.
The small band of mercenaries stands around the grave, stoic, not looking at Rhys but unable to look at the plain wooden coffin in the shallow grave, either.
"Pull yourself together," Boyd hisses, glancing down at his little brother. "What is wrong with you?"
Oscar reaches a foot around Rolf, who stands between them, to kick Boyd's shin. A small smile appears on Rolf's splotchy, tear-stained face. He grips tighter onto Oscar's hand.
Mia is the most anxious of them all, unable to cope with the prospect of anyone's death. She twists her hands together, then fidgets with her belt. Ike, standing beside her, loops his arm in hers. She's grateful for the distraction and leans on her commander's arm. Ike's other side is occupied by Mist, who's using his cape as a tissue.
Titania has allowed Gatrie to hold her hand; the bulky man is sobbing louder than everyone combined. Rhys pauses occasionally and waits for him to calm down, for his voice can't carry above the noise. Titania hardly notices as she stares into the distance. She's numb to it all. They've lost too many already. Ike keeps on glaring at a sniveling Gatrie, but Rhys is secretly grateful. It gives him a moment to swallow his own tears to continue.
"Our bodies are destined to grow old and"—his voice cracks—"pass away. But we live on in a better place, in the presence of holy Ashera, and in the memories of the living. As a fellow soldier, as a mentor," he quickly glances at Rolf, who presses closer to Oscar, "and as a friend." Gatrie covers his face with his hands in despair.
Soren is situated away from the crowd, perched on a rock behind the mourners. It's not that he doesn't care. Things would be different if it had been anyone else, but he doesn't feel anything at all. But he listens, and waits for it to be over.
"And our bodies are returned to the soil that was painted with the blood of our comrades." Rhys tentatively steps closer to the grave, glancing downward. Titania breaks out of her trance and nudges Gatrie closer to the grave. It was decided he would start the burial, but it didn't feel real then. His hand hovers over the shovel, tentatively. This can't be happening, Gatrie thinks, wrapping a hand around the handle. That's not my friend down there. He scoops up the first mound of dirt to heave into the grave. I'm not burying him.
Rhys continues. "And thus we return to our beginnings, where one day we will all meet again in peace." Slowly, the company takes turns filling the grave. Soren steps forward out of respect for the dead, and passes the shovel quickly to Mia. Oscar tries to release Rolf's hand to accept it from the weeping swordmaster, but his brother won't let go. Mia instead hands it to Boyd, who pushes a small amount of dirt into the grave before passing it to Ike.
Ike pauses by the grave, unmoving, opening his mouth to speak. Nothing comes out.
"Commander?" Titania says, approaching his side. Ike shakes his head, not looking up, as he shovels.
The company starts to break up, slowly heading back toward their camp. Gatrie has seated himself at the foot of the grave, mindlessly packing down the earth before him. He presses a palm into the dirt, wipes away the print, and does it over again.
Rhys wraps an arm around Rolf as they walk, but the young archer stops in his steps.
"Rolf?" Rhys drops his arm from his shoulders. "Is everything all right?"
"Yeah. I'm going to... stay with Gatrie." He glances over his shoulder.
"Well all right. Just—" he sighs. "Don't stray too far, okay?"
Gatrie is startled when Rolf stands beside him, but they don't look at each other. There isn't even a marker on the gravesite. Annoyed, Rolf violently grabs the arrows from his quiver to plant them at the head of the grave. It looks ridiculous, the feathers sticking up from the dirt. Gatrie chuckles slightly before crying again. Rolf stands over the arrows, head bowed.
"He taught you, didn't he?" Gatrie's voice is steady for the first time when the realization hits him. Rolf doesn't reply; he sits beside Gatrie and leans his head against an armored shoulder. "How did I miss that?"
"It's okay," Rolf says, his voice small. They sit together, silent, until nightfall brings on the cold. Gatrie rises with difficulty, the clanking of armor breaking their silent mourning.
"Come on, kid. He'd yell at us if we sat around moping like this." He's unsure how to act around Rolf now, if he should hold out a hand to him. Even on the battlefield, he still sees him as a kid. But here, looking upon his teacher's grave, the childlike spark in his eyes has gone. The empty quiver on his back makes it even worse. Gatrie stops at the clearing's edge, his back to the gravesite, waiting for Rolf to catch up. They're in no rush. The moment they leave the site is the moment their lives begin without him.
Rolf sighs heavily, feeling his throat tighten up again. He glances at the arrows before willing himself to turn around, taking Gatrie's hand.
"I'll miss you, Uncle Shinon."