A/N: So I got sick of staring at this every morning after work so...so here it is. Pleasedon'thurtme. It is shorter this time around so the next chapter can be longer. Aren't I clever?
(The answer is no)
Goddessdammit all, this was hard.
It had been fine until he'd exhausted his energy reserves and been forced to the more beorc of his two states. The ground around him was charred from flame, corpses still burning. It stank of cooking meat and charred bones. What few soldiers had come near him to begin with had died nearly immediately, screaming as their flesh melted and their bones snapped under Nasir's weight.
But now Nasir was beorc again, with no real breath and skin that was easy to pierce. At the very least, he was quicker on his feet.
He slid underneath the thrust of a lance, twisting and catching hold of the shaft. One swift movement was all it took; the soldier was flying to the side and landing in an undignified heap on the ground. Nasir stomped hard; the man's arm snapped at the elbow.
The man screamed and Nasir kicked him in the jaw, knocking out two teeth and silencing him. His remaining comrade growled and took a wide swipe with his sword. The dragon dodged and the man took hold of his scarf instead. Nasir gritted his teeth even as his air was cut off. Carefully he twisted, letting the stray blade slash along the fabric. The soldier fell back in surprise as the fabric split and Nasir kicked his feet out from underneath him. Power coursed through him and he gave them a look, grinning.
"Run," he hissed.
They didn't need to be told twice; Nasir let the glow of transformation overtake him and they were gone in a flash. He chuckled to himself. From behind him came the sharp sound of a bowstring snapping, followed by a series of obscenities. The dragon sighed and ceased his transformation halfway through. He knew it was an eerie sight and was rather looking forward to the look on Shinon's face.
"Here," he offered. The sniper turned and gave him the up-and-down and chuckled, taking the bow he was offered.
"What's happened to you?" he asked.
Nasir grinned, all sharp teeth and claws and half-scales. "What, you don't like it?"
"Creepy as fuck," Shinon replied. "Reinforcements headed in behind you."
The dragon turned and chuckled. "Oh, this will be fun, won't it?"
"Creepy as fuck," Shinon repeated. It was too late, though; the half-transformed Goldoan was already headed into the group of halberdiers. Already the men were scattering. Gatrie chuckled.
"Well, he does know how to make an entrance."
Shinon nodded and looked around. He had a single arrow loosely strung but there was nothing nearby to shoot at.
"D'you think we can find a corner for a while?"
Gatrie looked around and sighed. All the enemy reinforcements were too far away, and the old wound on his leg was starting to bother him, and he was out of breath and tired. With Nasir terrorizing the nearest group of halberdiers, there was nothing left to do. The blonde sheathed his sword, double-checked to make sure his spear was still strapped to his back, and then smiled.
"Just until my leg stops acting up," he replied. "We'd never get away with it otherwise."
Shinon caught his hand and pulled him toward the center of the courtyard. Gatrie collapsed against the fountain as soon as they reached it and stretched out his legs. The sniper perched behind him and slid his helmet off. A moment later his lips met Gatrie's hair. Then he made a noise somewhere between affection and disgust. Gatrie laughed.
"Well, pardon me for sweating."
Shinon muttered something under his breath and Gatrie tilted his head back, offering his lips. The sniper leaned forward and kissed him again. Gatrie leaned into his touch and at once Shinon was screaming in pain.
He turned in time to catch the sniper. The arrow shifted as Shinon fell and the sniper groaned. It hadn't been a clean shot. The arrow hadn't gone very deep and it was off-center. The silk shirt that Shinon wore beneath his jacket had likely kept it from being fatal. For now, at least.
Gently he lay the sniper on the ground, shielding him as best he could from several more arrows. Then Gatrie turned and stood. An arrow bounced off his breastplate; another whizzed past his head. He dodged the next arrow and hefted his lance like a javelin. The blow was hard and the sniper fell. Gatrie rushed back to Shinon, shouting for Rhys.
The wave of nausea that hit upon Rhys' initial analysis passed soon enough. Shinon had Gatrie's hand in a white-knuckled grip and his breathing was shallow. Gently Rhys prodded the arrow, sending Shinon into a fit of cursing that would have put a sailor to shame. The bishop ignored it, though; he had his other hand against Shinon's side, right where the head of the arrow should be.
Ah. There.
"You've got two choices," Rhys finally said. "Either I can pull it out the way it came and potentially cause more damage to what's already there, or I can open another wound where you can feel my fingers and push it through." He pulled away. "I'm sorry. There's no other way."
And Shinon looked scared at that point. Gatrie made to move, to look at Shinon's face, but Rhys shook his head. This sort of thing was between a healer and his patient. He'd seen Shinon hurt a thousand times, in conditions that Gatrie would never see. The sniper bit his lip.
"Push it through."
He sent Gatrie to go help Ilyana and Mia at that point. This was something he didn't need to watch.
"Alright." Rhys smiled and pressed his brow to Shinon's. "I've never lied to you before and I won't start now. This is going to hurt like nothing else you've ever felt. You're going to scream. If you cry, I won't tell anyone. It's just us, Shinon. Alright?"
The sniper's face was red and he turned away. "Just do it."
He pulled out what he needed. The knife he used for collecting herbs would be sharp enough to cut through. He had an elixir but he doubted a single dose would be enough.
"Do you have—?"
"Mm." Shinon already had a vulnerary in one hand. "Just say when."
Rhys nodded. "Be strong."
"Hurry the fuck up."
He cut through where the head of the arrow was. Blood poured over his hands and he grimaced. Shinon hardly flinched. Then he took firm hold of the shaft and pushed.
Rhys had been right; Shinon screamed. His free hand caught Rhys' shoulder and squeezed hard. The bishop gasped; Shinon had a tight grip made all the worse by pain. Still, he continued pushing.
Finally the arrow was out. Shinon needed no prompting; he downed the potion immediately. The elixir nearly went to waste as Rhys fumbled to hand it to the redhead. Shinon breathed his thanks and took a long swig. There was a little left and Rhys took it, spreading it on the wound.
"You're not allowed to fight anymore," he murmured. "You've got damage that only time can heal. Stay here. I'll send Gatrie back to you."
"Why'd you send him away?" Shinon was already starting to doze off. Rhys patted his cheeks to wake him. After a brief moment of thought he wiped the stray tears from the sniper's face.
"Because he doesn't need to see you like this." Rhys smiled. "Your injuries, your one moment of being weak, will always be between you and I."
"Thank you."
It was rare, hearing Shinon thank him. He couldn't help grinning widely. "You're welcome."
He sent Gatrie back to Shinon with strict orders to keep the sniper awake. After scanning the area for wounded and finding none, he took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Ulki's arms were around him a moment later.
"You seem…tense," Ulki commented. The bishop shrugged.
"I'm frustrated. I don't feel well. I've killed thirteen men. One of my closest companions nearly died not moments ago and I'm covered in his blood and Elincia had to retreat because Ike thought she'd be killed and as we speak our company is trying its hardest to break through four separate groups of elite soldiers who are trained far better than we are. I'm worried that we'll muck all this up somehow. That I'll fail. That I won't get to someone in time to save them." He felt himself tensing and forced himself to relax. "Within two marks' time I'll probably have passed out from healing the wounded, even with Mist and Soren and Elincia helping me. And part of me wishes that this won't end because—"
"I'm going to miss you too, Rhys."
Rhys bit his lip. "I don't want you to leave."
"I have to." Ulki buried his nose in the other man's hair. "It's not as though I'm leaving right away. King Tibarn has told us we're to stay and help rebuild Crimea. You will have some time with me yet."
"And after that, you will leave." The bishop took a moment to turn and cast a Shine. The spell blinded the soldiers sneaking up on them and he nodded curtly at Volke as the assassin disposed of them. "You will go back to Phoenicis and continue your duties as the King's Ears. And you will have no time or reason to see me."
Ulki frowned. "You're implying that you are not worth my time." His hands settled on the other man's shoulders. "I will always have time for you."
"You won't, though." Rhys sighed. "You say you will, and you might at first. And then you won't bother because you have things to do for Tibarn and I have things to do for Ike."
"Rhys." This was a battlefield; there wasn't time to talk. "I am not going to just up and leave you once this war is over. I love you. I have talked to Tibarn. I'm allowed to come see you whenever I have a few days available. Crimea is a day's flight away. It's not as though it's impossible for me to see you."
"But you—"
"I will." Ulki leaned down and kissed him. "Besides," he added, grinning, "if I will recall exactly what you asked for last ni—"
And then Rhys' hand was slamming down over his mouth and the bishop was stomping away, flushing and grinning and muttering about perverted hawks the entire time. Ulki couldn't help but chase after him.
())CRAYOLA))
Cold steel was pressed against his throat. Tormod knew that instant that he was going to die.
The worst part about this was that he hadn't reconciled with Sothe yet. The thief would stay angry with him until after he'd died. Then he might realize that their argument had been a stupid one, but at that point it wouldn't matter anyways.
The blade dug in and he felt blood welling up, ready to burst from his throat with the slightest movement. Tormod shut his eyes and breathed Sothe's name.
Blood sprayed. It took Tormod a moment to realize that it wasn't his, that he was the one getting covered. The thought made him nauseous and he swayed on his feet. After a moment he sank to his knees.
"It's alright."
He didn't fully register the words. Hands were removing his blood-soaked cloak and a vulnerary was being applied to his throat. The blood was wiped from the back of his neck, his hair. When he was clean he felt someone kiss the back of his neck.
"I'm not good with goodbyes."
Sothe. Tormod resisted the urge to turn and punch him.
"Not even close," he said instead.
"I'm sorry I yelled at you. I wasn't thinking. I…my older sister, she…it's like she can read my mind sometimes, y'know? I grew up with that. With somebody always knowing how I felt. I've never had to say anything to her. And when we got separated in Begnion, I was suddenly all alone. Nobody knew what I was thinking or what mood I was in. This is all really, really weird for me, okay?" Sothe swallowed. "And sometimes I feel like you can do that too, because of the things you say or the way you act. So when I'm trying to prepare myself for a goodbye I figure that you understand that I don't want to have to say it and that I'm scared of never seeing you again."
Tormod blinked. "Of never seeing me again?" He turned to face the thief. "Look, you might have a load of faults but there is no way you're getting rid of me so easily. You can write, can't you? I know that you're capable of walking to meet me someplace if we set the date up in advance. Come on. You don't think I'd miss you too?"
"I—"
Tormod would have kissed them if Muarim hadn't firmly swatted him.
"I hardly think now is the best time," he growled. "Save it for later."
And as they stood Sothe just blinked. Finally he managed to stutter a 'Y-you made up!'
())CRAYOLA))
"Rival! Faring well, I hope!"
Oscar smiled and strung his bow, catching a Daein in the stomach. The man fell from his horse and Kieran cheerfully flung a hand axe at his head, killing him instantly. The green-armoured knight shuddered slightly before turning and facing another paladin with a sword.
"Please never smile like that before killing a man again," he called out, wincing as he heard a telltale crunch from behind him and Kieran cackling.
"Nonsense!" the redhead shouted. "I'm beating you!"
Oscar raised an eyebrow as he evaded the blade, driving his lance forward and disarming his opponent. "I beg your pardon?"
"Since you assisted me in my grand escape from prison all those months ago—" there was a pause, a grunt, and another wet crunch, "—I have bested eighty-six opponents in battle and only been defeated twelve times! You, on the other hand," whud "have only bested eighty-two."
Oscar cocked an eyebrow and winced as an arrow buried itself in his left shoulder. His lance spun and drove forward, through armour and mail and finally into flesh. The Daein let out a half-shout, blood bubbling up through his mouth and cutting his voice off as he slumped forward in the saddle and lay still. Three down, two to go.
"And how many times have I been bested?" Oscar asked.
Kieran flushed and drew his sword, muttering something. He ducked as a hand axe came flying toward him. Oscar smirked and then flinched as the axe whizzed not an inch past his nose, thankful that he had his helmet on.
"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that."
"Four," Kieran emphasized, throwing him a dirty look. The green-haired paladin chuckled.
"So wouldn't that mean that I'm winning?"
"No it certainly would not! Defeat is the best way to learn!" Another one of those horrifyingly cheerful smiles displayed itself on the redhead as he casually dropped a hammer on the head of a reinforcement. "Therefore, I am winning!"
Oscar rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, Kieran."
The paladin took a moment to pause. "Are you implying that you are better than me, rival?"
"I am not."
"I think you are."
"I am not."
"You are!" Kieran struck a pose, pointing his axe dramatically before lopping the hand off a halberdier. Oscar sighed heavily and drove his lance through the man's throat, silencing his screams.
"All I'm saying is that you're a bit overdramatic sometimes."
Kieran's eyes widerend briefly and he threw the axe he was holding toward Oscar. The lance paladin ducked just in time and heard a faint snapping sound, followed by the unmistakable sound of metal being buried in metal. A moment later a chunk of wood was hitting him in the thigh. He glanced up and saw the axe, embedded in an archer's chest. The man fell, his arrows spilling out of his quiver.
Kieran caught Henry's reins and pulled them to the side.
"Something's wrong with you," he murmured. "You're never this distracted in battle."
"You're cackling every time you kill a man. It's hardly relaxing."
"I…I suppose." They took a moment to share a vulnerary. "But you've dealt with this before."
"Not like this!" Oscar threw his hands up in frustration. "Not on the battle that will determine the victor of this war, not with you being this ridiculous! I don't see how you can't be serious about this, especially this, for once in your life!"
"Serious! Why on earth wouldn't I be serious! This is my homeland; these are my people! I fight to win and if that means doing what I need to in order to stomach killing all these men then so be it! Do you think I like this? Making women widows and making children fatherless?" Kieran looked away. "I fight to defend my country. Not for the pleasure of it."
"You—"
"If you can't sort that out by yourself, perhaps you don't know me as well as you think." Kieran scowled and turned away. There were still enemies. He hefted his sword and brought it down on a warrior preparing to throw a short axe. It was an easy manoeuvre. Something he could do in his sleep.
He missed.
He shouted for Oscar to watch out, to move, something, but the lance paladin turned just a second too late to dodge. The axe smashed through his armour with a sickening crunch. Blood splattered. Oscar fell.
Kieran leaped from his horse. He didn't think about it when he drove his sword home. He was dimly aware of the warrior falling. It didn't matter. An elixir was in his hand and he fell to his knees beside Oscar, ignoring the bite of metal against his knees. He screamed for Rhys, for Soren, for anybody.
"Oscar?" Gently he pulled the other man's helmet off.
Oscar groaned. He was trembling. Blood trickled from the corners of his mouth. His breathing was shallow, desperate.
"I—I d-don't—th-think I'll—"
Kieran pulled the other man into his arms as best he could. "It's alright. It'll be alright."
"I—" Oscar's voice cracked and blood bubbled between his lips. "I love y-you. I'm s-sorry…I yelled."
"I forgive you. I'm sorry that I'm…the way I am."
"I—"
Kieran kissed him, despite the blood. Oscar was rapidly paling, the trembling in his hands fading. Dimly he heard Mia screaming for Rhys to get to them now, that Ilyana would be fine. He slid his hand against Oscar's cheek.
"I will always love you," he breathed. "Always."
The lance knight smiled, let out his breath, and was gone.
And Kieran couldn't help letting out his anguish, screaming it for the world to hear. Someone fell against his back, sobbing. Rolf. The sniper squeezed him hard and Kieran turned, pulling the twelve-year-old into his arms. Hands landed on his shoulders. He turned his head slightly and saw Janaff. The blond bit his bottom lip and then fell to his knees next to them, spreading his wings around them. A moment later Boyd's shadow fell on them. His face was grim.
"Can't leave him like this," he whispered. In one fluid motion he wrenched the axe from his brother's corpse and flung it aside. It clattered to the ground.
"What d-do we d-do now?" Rolf hiccupped.
"I don't know," Kieran breathed.
Boyd crouched next to them. "We bury him and move on."
And Rolf lashed out then, punching his brother full-force. "Move on? That's all you can say at a time like this!
Boyd stumbled and then took a swing of his own. "What else am I supposed to say! At least I'm being honest!"
"You despicable—"
"You are absolutely—"
"Enough!"
That was Rhys. Both brothers froze mid-sentence. The bishop glared at them. "This is not the time nor place to be arguing. Rolf, go check on Shinon. Boyd, check on Ilyana." When neither moved, he made as though to strike with his staff. "Now!"
He glared at them until they left. Then he gently pulled Kieran to his feet. "Come on. Up you get; things are going to be fine." For a moment he held the paladin. "Kieran. Give me a moment. I promise you may be with him afterward."
"What are you—"
"Does he truly need to be left like this? A gaping wound in his chest?" Rhys smiled. "You don't need to fight anymore. Take a moment and breathe. I'll tell you when he's finished."
Kieran nodded numbly and Janaff led him away.
"I don't know if we can do this." That was Soren, two paces behind him, staff in hand.
"I would regret it for the rest of my life if we did not try."
Rhys slid his hands over Soren's. The sage didn't look at him.
"Best of luck to you," Soren murmured.
"And you as well."
They whispered at the same time, and for three terrifying seconds nothing happened.
Then the light was coming—like a Heal staff but brighter, louder. The wind picked up and the sounds of battle ceased for just a moment. Life itself seemed to hold still.
Slowly, Oscar inhaled.
Rhys let out a small cry of joy. Soren smiled weakly and then he was falling against Rhys. The bishop nearly chuckled but he found that he was dizzy too. It didn't hurt when he hit the ground, even when Soren fell on top of him. The sage murmured a brief apology. Then he fell silent, his breathing calming. Unconscious, or perhaps just asleep. Rhys tried to call Ulki but his tongue was leaden, his eyelids heavy.
He heard footsteps thudding on the stone walkway. Rolf. The sniper knelt next to them and Rhys struggled to move his hand toward the paladin. Rolf asked him something and then he was shouting for Boyd, letting out a whoop of joy.
Rhys smiled and let himself pass out.
