To be an Archer

I spent a great period of time digesting the overload of information that the System had given me in its outburst. In all honesty, at some point, my thoughts wandered to the startling emotion and feelings that the System had shown when it spoke. 

In particular, its sentiments toward the bow and arrow were especially strong, both the care with which it spoke of its advantages and consternation in its voice when it elaborated on its flaws. In fact, I was almost certain that this 'System' was a living person or being. Either that or it had been programmed really, really well.

Nevertheless, I still needed to pick my weapon and these distracting thoughts were not really helping me. So I threw all the irrelevant questions in my head to the wind, analyzing the information I had been given as deeply as possible. For once, the System was entirely silent, no snide remarks or biting observations to be made.

Finally, I lifted my head and I picked up the weapon that would accompany me for many years to come. 

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"Contestant, are you completely, absolutely sure that you wish to choose the bow and arrow??" asked the System incredulously.

"Yes," I replied irritably, "that is the third time you have asked me the same question. What do you have against me becoming an archer?"

There was no reply for a time, so I remained unmoving, waiting patiently for an answer. 

"The archer… the archer is the worst of the roles one can play. You can never strike out by yourself, forced to condone any actions by your 'allies'. Your efforts will never be appreciated, but your flaws magnified a thousand times over… it is a thankless job, one you would be better off without," the System said with a surprising amount of bitterness in its tone.

"If the swordsmen are the warriors and the spear wielders are the kings, then you are little more than a glorified peasant, forever sitting in the shadows while others enjoy the benefits of being in the limelight. You are all that keeps the team from falling apart in a battle, but never will you be recognised."

"Would you be content for your efforts, for your painstaking work to go ignored, to forever stay in the dark? To be blamed for every defeat but ignored after every victory? Do you understand what it is like?" the System asked.

I could hear the desperate hint of pleading in the barrage of questions, in the outburst of statements. It was an unfulfilled need to be understood, for a plight to be seen. 

I pondered the question for some time, both of us brooding in silence. After more than ten minutes, in which I thought of dozens of replies and discarded all of them, at last I decided upon my answer.

"Yes… I would be content. I would be content to sit by the sidelines and watch my allies laugh, revel in the happiness of their survival. I would be satisfied, even if none of them knew how many times I had saved them from the jaws of death, even if they blamed me for the mistakes they had made."

"I would be content because it would mean that they were still alive, to blame me, to laugh with me or to curse at me. I would be content because I could enjoy their companionship just one more day, before we would inevitably part ways. I would be content, even as the end came and I left this world unknown, mourned by no more than a handful, because I had saved the wonderful and weird people around me, so they could live one more day.