Fire Emblem Fan Fiction ❯ Fire Emblem Tellius Saga: Book 1 ❯ CHAPTER 11: GREIL'S MERCENARIES ( Chapter 11 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Upon leaving the blind woman’s cottage, Soren resumed his now familiar trudge from one village to the next, seeking work from whomever would give it. This was an even more difficult task than usual until his bruises healed. If his birthmark and general raggedness didn’t already repulse people, the purple and yellow bruises certainly did. They were an indication he attracted violence and trouble.

 

Summer had arrived by the time Soren could find regular work again. He was hired to repair the windows of a rundown inn. He washed the glass panes, filled the cracks with foul-smelling resin, sanded them down until his arms felt like gelatin, and then washed them again. It was a full day’s work, but in return, he was fed from the inn’s leftovers and allowed to stay in one of the rooms.

The inn was falling apart, held together by rotten boards, crooked nails, rusty hinges, and scratched glass. But there was a potato patch behind the inn and a small distillery behind the stable. The innkeeper sold moonshine to keep his guests drunk and the rooms rented.

It was a damp day, and not a single ray of the young summer sun found its way through the clouds. Soren’s hands were numb, and without the glass in the windows, a draft seeped through the drawn shutters, making the interior clammy as well as dark. Only a few men and women sat in the chairs, wrapping their fingers around mugs of black coffee while beside their hands were upturned glasses once containing liquor.

“You done yet?” the innkeeper asked, pouring Soren a mug despite his age.

Soren accepted the burnt-tasting liquid, because he would take anything. “I’m done,” he answered, “But they will have to sit overnight.”

“You’re losing me customers,” the man grumbled. “It’s damn cold in here.”

“The task would have taken the same amount of time, no matter who did it,” Soren returned. “You are the one who gave me the instructions.”

“I thought you would’ve finished sooner.”

“A deal is a deal,” Soren reminded him.

“Aye, it is.” He slid a key across the counter. “The room is yours. But you help me get those panes in place tomorrow and then you gotto go. No sleeping in or hanging around, you got that?”

“Understood,” Soren agreed. He was tempted to go to the room now, but if he was not present at the end of the evening, he suspected the leftovers would find their way into the trough for the neighbor’s pigs instead of on a plate for him. So he waited for the innkeeper to give up waiting for more customers and give him what he owed. Soren knew his work deserved more than the last rind of bread and the dregs of the stew pot, but he also knew better than to try this man’s patience and ask for more. While he waited, he sipped the coffee and listened to the quiet murmur of the inn’s other occupants.

Nothing sparked his interest for a long time. But then, when he’d reached the grounds at the bottom of his mug, he overheard something that caused his head to snap up:

“The Greil Mercenaries I think they were called,” a deep-voiced man was saying to his companion. He had his feet kicked up an empty chair. “Yes, that was their name. I’m sure of it.”

“Never heard of ‘em,” replied his companion, a man leaning so far over his bowl that droplets of steam condensed on his whiskers.

“That don’t mean the stories aren’t true,” the first man replied. “I heard they took care of that little ‘spute in Arbor lickety-split. When the Knights got there, the lot was sure embarrassed to find their job’d already been done for ‘em. By a rag-tag band of mercenaries no less! That’ll show ‘em what all their pretty armor’s worth.” 

“If they’re so good, why’s it I’ve never heard these stories?” sighed the man with the wet beard. 

“Oh they’re small-time, but I swear they’ve got potential. Maybe I’ll join ‘em myself,” the man chuckled.

“What, are you going to whack the bandits with your shovel?”

“Hey, I was a good shot when I was younger!”

Sensing that the conversation was moving away from the information Soren wanted to know, he decided to step in. Leaving his mug behind, he approached the men’s table. They stopped talking to stare at him.

“What d’you want, kid?” asked the deep-voiced one.

“Did you say Greil’s mercenaries?”

“Yeah, ‘Greil’ or whatever. What’s it to you?”

“Where are they located?”

“Get lost, kid. This is a priv’t conv’sation,” groaned the wet-bearded one.

“Where can I find these mercenaries?” Soren pressed.

“Why d’you wanna know?” the deep-voiced one harrumphed.

“That is my own business,” Soren shot back. “The sooner you tell me, the sooner I’ll be out of your hair.”

“No idea where their base is, but I heard about the job in Arbor, and another job in Misiline, so maybe around there’bouts.”

Soren nodded and left them alone as promised. Soon after that, the innkeeper laid a plate of food in front of him. Despite his hunger, he ate slowly and ruminated on this discovery.

Greil was not a common name, and the existence of a mercenary band with that appellation surely meant he’d succeeded in founding the company he and Elena had once planned. This suggested Greil had not lost his mind in a violent rage again, and therefore Ike was likely still safely living alongside him.

If he found the mercenaries, he would find Ike, and if Greil’s offer still stood, he may very well find a job and a place to stay. Whatever his reasons for leaving Ike and Greil those years ago, they did not concern him anymore. Any sense of security would be better than his current struggle to survive, and seeing Ike again would be far better than continuing to be alone.

 

While he headed southwest, Soren inquired about the mercenaries everywhere he went, but no one seemed to have heard of them. So Soren decided to try the smaller villages—the much smaller villages. They were pitiful places comprised of a few tiny shacks clustered together on lands with poor soil. These towns contained a disproportionate number of the elderly and infirmed, because the young and strong had either moved to cities or were traveling as farmhands where the earth was more fertile.

Among these impoverished and hopeless people, Soren finally heard tales of the mercenaries. He discovered they were stationed near the city of Arbor, just as the man in the inn had said, but from here they serviced villages throughout the entire hold.

 

“The Greil Merc’naries? Oh sure! They’re up in the ol’ fort, in the woods, that’a way,” said an old codger with only four fingers remaining on each hand and about that many teeth missing from his mouth.

Soren nodded and started off in the direction he’d pointed. His ambition to find the mercenaries had superseded his search for food these past few days, and his body ached with weakness.

But these complaints melted from his mind when the trees finally thinned and he entered a rocky clearing, at the center of which was the ruin of a fort. It was surrounded by a tall stone wall, so Soren could not see much of what lay inside other than the keep’s main tower. The exterior was gray and uninviting, but as he drew closer, he heard voices, shouts, and even laughter coming from inside.

The front gate was ajar, and Soren could now clearly hear the sounds of people talking and weapons clashing. A horse nickered. A girl’s voice laughed riotously as if maybe she was being tickled. Suddenly feeling nervous, Soren took a steadying breath.        

“What do you want, kid?” a voice yawned, drawing his attention to a young man he hadn’t noticed before. He’d been sitting against the wall, but now he stood and stretching as if just waking up. The man was tall and lean with a long ponytail of maroon hair. A longbow and quiver rested against the wall alongside him. “Well? You just come to stare?” When his mouth was closed, he looked bored. When he spoke, he scowled.

“I’ve come to see Greil.”

“What does a pipsqueak like you want with the Commander?”

“Is he here, or isn’t he?” Soren glared back at him.

“Whatever,” he yawned again. “I’ll bring you too him, but you’d better not tell him I was sleeping on my shift, alright?”

“Wasn’t on my agenda,” Soren replied.

“Hmph.” 

The ponytail man led him into the fort, and to Soren’s slight disappointment, it wasn’t as big as it had appeared from the outside. The wall encircled a training ground, a small stable, and a garden. In one corner was a collapsed watchtower, but the only other edifice was the modestly sized keep, the top of which he’d seen from outside.

The well-trodden bailey was vibrant with activity. Several pairs were sparring within dirt-drawn rings while others watched, calling out advice and warnings. Soren counted ten heads including the one next to him.

“Yo, Boss!” the ponytail man called, waving to where Greil strutted among the matches, watching the pairs trade blows with a gruff frown. His poleax was strapped to his back, and he was paying particular attention to where Ike was sparring with a red-haired woman.

The woman was wielding a wooden pole and Ike a wooden bat carved into the approximation of a sword. She easily deflected each of the boy’s furious blows.

“Don’t go easy on him, Titania. He needs to learn to defend as well,” Greil called out, and the woman immediately countered and disarmed Ike, planting his butt in the dusty ground.

Ike seized the bat again, panting hard. Greil moved his son’s fingers into the correct grip and then pressed down on his shoulder while kicking his feet into a wider stance. “Try again,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir!” Ike crowed.

Hearing his friend’s voice sent Soren’s heart racing, and for a moment, it was as if all the unpleasantness of the past few years had been nothing but a bad dream. Oddly enough, he felt proud that Ike was finally learning how to fight. He’d waited so long for this.

“Yo, Boss!” the pony-tail man called again, jogging up to get Greil’s attention. “There’s a kid here asking for you.”

This time, Greil glanced at them. He looked mildly surprised to see Soren, and his flat mouth eased into something of a smile. He raised a hand to stop the sparring match, even though Ike and the woman had only traded a couple blows. Saying something to Ike, he pointed in Soren’s direction.

His heart beat even faster the moment Ike’s face turned to look at him. His friend was older, taller, less child-like. He looked healthy, and his skin seemed to glow beneath the sweat and dust. Soren offered a weak smile.

But Ike did not return the expression. His eyes were unrecognizing, and that stopped Soren’s heart cold. Ike looked confused, and he said something back to Greil, who replied with more inaudible words. Soren forced himself to catch up to the ponytail man.

“Well who do we have here, Shinon?” the red-haired woman addressed Soren’s escort. She stepped up to them and leaned the pole against her shoulder. She looked familiar, and after a moment, Soren recognized her as the knight who’d processed Sileas when the pair had crossed into Crimea. If he hadn’t remembered Koure from that same day, he didn’t think he would have recognized her. But he did, and he found himself wondering why a Royal Knight was sparring with mercenaries.

Shinon shrugged. “Some brat who insisted on talking with the Commander.”

“I can speak for myself.” He gave Shinon an icy glare before turning to Greil.

“Soren,” Greil greeted him with a firm handshake. “I wondered if I’d see you again.”

Soren took a moment to examine the imposing man. He looked older, a bit grayer, but no less strong and sturdy. “I was wondering, sir,” he began, “if your offer still stood.”

Greil surveyed him for a few moments in return, but then he nodded decisively. “Indeed it does. We could use another good hand. Come inside, and we’ll talk about the business of it. Titania, you come too. You can go back to your post, Shinon. Ike, practice your breathing and stances.”

“Hold up.” Shinon raised his hands. “You’re going to let this pipsqueak become a mercenary? Why not just send Rolf out there if you want to see a kid get maimed?”

“Shinon,” the woman—Titania—scolded, “It’s not for us to question the Commander’s judgment.” Despite her words, she glanced at Soren with uncertainly.

He understood their doubt. He knew he didn’t look like a mercenary, and he knew everyone in this yard was thinking the same thing. But he was determined to prove himself. Braving another glace at Ike, he needed to see if doubt filled his friend’s eyes too.

It did not. That being said, he still looked confused—and perhaps a little strained, as if struggling to remember something. Soren didn’t understand how he could have forgotten him, but that was not a question he could ask right now. Greil and Titania were leading him into the keep, so he followed, leaving Ike behind.

 

Apparently Greil could tell how hungry he was, so while they discussed wages, Soren dined on cold rice left over from the mercenaries’ midday meal. He didn’t want to seem weak—especially when promising his strength to the company—but his stomach certainly appreciated the food.

It was quickly decided that Soren would be given one share of the company’s profits, which equated to about two percent. It was a pittance, but Soren was in no position to haggle. When business was concluded, Titania went to prepare a room and mattress and to draw up the official contract. Soren was left alone with Greil.

After an awkward silence, the man said softly: “It is good to see you again, Soren. I’m glad you’re alive. I know it couldn’t have been easy these past few years.”

“I survived,” was the only response he could give.

“I’m sure you’ve had to fight, and I would understand if you’ve had enough of it.”

He didn’t know what Greil wanted him to say, but he wouldn’t moan or gloat about it. “I’ve had my share of scrapes.”

Greil sighed. “Children are resilient. They don’t scar easily, but that doesn’t mean-”

“I am not a child,” Soren cut him off, surprised that the words had slipped out. Greil had never been one to beat around the bush, and it was oddly frustrating to hear him do so now.

“I am not trying to belittle what you’ve been through.” He shook his head. “I’m trying to say you don’t have to sign that contract. You would be welcome to stay without joining the company. It’s what Elena would have wanted.”

“I will work for my keep,” Soren replied firmly. “I am a mage.”

Greil frowned. “I shouldn’t have invited you to join at such a young age. She tried to tell me it was a bad idea, but I thought I was doing you a favor. I thought I was giving you a livelihood… but killing is no way to live.”

“Strange coming from the commander of a mercenary company,” Soren observed.

“It’s too late for me; this is the only thing I’ll ever be good at. But mercenary work isn’t for everyone. It isn’t easy. We have to keep fighting. That’s the job.” He sighed again. “Tell me, Soren…have you ever killed anyone with that little book of yours?”

Soren swallowed before answering, knowing he had to appear composed. “Yes.”

Greil gave one solemn nod. “Are you really willing to do it again? And again? That’s the job, lad, and I have to know you understand-”

“I did not come here on a whim,” Soren cut him off again, surprised by the irritation he felt bubbling to the surface.

Greil nodded one more time. “Then it’s decided. Welcome to the Greil Mercenaries.”

Soren released some of the tension in his shoulders. “Thank you, sir,” he managed to say, even though the gratitude felt unfamiliar on his lips.

“I’m sure you must be tired, but there’s one more thing I need to discuss with you...”

“And what is that?”

“Ike.” Greil leaned back in his chair so he could look at the training ground below the window. “I’m not sure what he remembers about you, but I don’t want you to be disappointed if it isn’t much.”

“Why would he not remember?” Soren tried to keep the anxiety out of his voice.

“I know you were good friends. But after Elena’s death, Ike coped by…forgetting her.” Greil seemed to lose his usual confidence, and for a moment, Soren saw the broken man from that night after the storm. “He doesn’t remember Gallia or our move to Crimea. We don’t discuss it, but he never speaks of his mother—or of you. I’m afraid you were a casualty in the culling of his memory… I don’t want you to be surprised, so I’m telling you now.” Once the uncomfortable confession was over, Greil seemed to regain his composure. “Aright?” he asked gruffly, as if it were that simple.

“I understand,” Soren said, although he did not.

“I’ll show you to your room,” Greil said, rising from his chair. He led Soren down the hall, where Titania met them halfway. Transferring Soren to her, he took his leave of them both, and Titania escorted him the rest of the way.

“Excellent to have you among us,” she greeted kindly, and Soren assumed she didn’t remember him from that day on the Daein border. He saw no point in trying to revive her memory or forging any sort of bond between them, so he said nothing.

The room she led him to was a bit cramped. There was a bed with a table beside it, a chest at the foot of it, and a narrow wardrobe on the opposite wall. A window beside the wardrobe looked out on the forest behind the fort.

“I’m sorry about the size,” Titania apologized, “We were using this as a storage room before today, but at least it’s clean.”

Soren shook his head. “It is fine,” he said, and it truly was. He’d never had a bed to call his own. Even when living at Temple Asic, he’d been given the soft sleeping mat and nothing more. He was grateful for the sturdiness of the furniture, the privacy of the lockable door, and the drawers where he could store possessions he might own in the future. No matter how small or insignificant this room might appear, to him it was a sanctuary.

 

After bathing, resting, and making himself as presentable as possible, Soren went to share dinner with the rest of the company. He tried to control his breathing as he walked down the corridor, but in his twisted-up heart, he feared this arrangement wouldn’t work out. He worried the other mercenaries would despise him and his friendship with Ike would never be rekindled.

Arriving in the mess hall, Soren concentrated on walking with patient yet deliberate steps. He didn’t want to seem timid, but neither did he want to seem arrogant or overeager. Mist caught this eye and patted the space on the bench between her and Ike. Judging by the nine-year-old’s wide, friendly eyes, it seemed she recognized him even though her brother did not. Ike gave a small wave as his own invitation, and Soren was relieved he was making an effort.

Once Soren sat down, a green-haired boy smiled broadly and reached across the table to shake his hand. “I’m Boyd,” he introduced himself. He couldn’t have been much older than Soren, but he must have been the type for whom puberty hit hard and fast. His muscles and too-tight clothes did not quite match his still-boyish face. Soren gave his own name in reply, and this triggered a round of introductions starting on Boyd’s left:

“Gatrie,” said a big man with spiky yellow hair, blue eyes, and a squarish face.

“Shinon,” said the archer from earlier.

“I’m Rhys,” said the next. He was a young man with very pale skin, orange hair, and red eyes. He seemed friendly enough, but Soren couldn’t help but stiffen when he saw he wore the white robes of a light mage. For a moment they appeared red-stained to Soren’s eyes, and Rhys’s smile twisted in to Gorgov’s slack death mask

But the vision passed as soon as the next person introduced herself, and Soren hoped nobody noticed his reaction. “Titania,” said the red-haired woman from before, “but we’ve met already.” She was seated at the head of the table to Soren’s right, and Soren had gathered by now that she was Greil’s second-in-command.

“Rolf!” announced a green-haired little boy on her left. He must have been Mist’s age if not younger, and Soren wondered why there was another child here. 

Mist was sitting between him and Rolf. “I am Mist,” she said, “but you must know that. We’ve met before, right?”

Soren just nodded and turned to face Ike, who was seated immediately to his left. His breath caught at the site of the boy’s smile. It was the same friendly smile he knew so well, and yet there was still no recognition there. “My name’s Ike, but I guess you know that too. Father said you stayed with us for a while when we were kids.”

A bubbling of frustration, a prick of betrayal, and a deep sense of loss pierced Soren’s heart in that moment. In just three and a half years, Ike had completely forgotten him, while during that time Soren had been forced to remember everything. It took all of his self-control to hide his disappointment. “Yes,” he said after a pause that was only a second too long.

“Let’s be friends, okay?” Ike extended his hand in the narrow gap between them.

Soren didn’t trust his voice, but he accepted the handshake and nodded. Staring into Ike’s bright blue eyes, his disappointment ebbed slightly. Whatever had happened in the past, he was here now, and he would start over if he had to. Ike was still the same person, and despite everything, so was Soren.

On Ike’s left, Greil took his seat opposite Titania. He needed no introduction.

Soren scanned the group and thought someone was missing. A moment later, a green-haired young man entered with a large platter. Laying it in the center of the table, he removed the cover to reveal a turkey surrounded by roasted potatoes and vegetables. He then sat down between Boyd and Gatrie.

“That’s my big brother, Oscar,” Rolf said, pointing excitedly. “His cooking is great!”

Titania covered Rolf’s extended finger. “It’s rude to point, Rolf,” she admonished.

“Let’s eat!” Greil ordered, and everyone dug in. Only the light mage Rhys whispered a prayer over his plate before eating, and Soren was oddly relieved this wasn’t an overly religious bunch. (Then again, he supposed mercenaries usually weren’t.)

The meal wasn’t as uncomfortable as Soren had feared. The company seemed more than happy to discuss ordinary things and relive shared memories, but neither was Soren ignored. They told him stories of the company’s previous exploits, they explained their own pasts and reasons for joining, and of course, they asked him about himself. Any degree of interrogation made Soren uncomfortable, so he gave brief, vague answers and changed the subject when he could. Everyone seemed to get the hint and stopped asking personal questions by the time the meal was over.

Whenever he could, Soren tried to catch glimpses of Ike and assess the years of change in him. The boy had grown several inches, and he looked harder and pointier around the edges, as if he’d lost the soft roundness of his baby fat all at once. Other than that, he wasn’t much different physically, but over the course of meal Soren realized he’d changed in other ways. He had matured. He wasn’t the silly, carefree child he’d once been. He spoke with the others about real battles and real death, not play-fighting with sticks.

Soren quickly realized he was absolutely devoted to the mercenaries, even though he was not a full member. He had never seen battle himself, and oddly enough, this was a relief to Soren. He didn’t want Ike to grow too much just yet.

 

Understanding and anticipating the behavior of his new companions seemed like a necessary first step to living among them, so Soren absorbed everything he could about them as quickly as possible. First was Titania, Greil’s deputy. As a Royal Knight, she’d risen to the rank of captain before retiring at a young age, and many of the mercenaries referred to her as “Captain” out of respect. Although Soren did not know the full story, he understood she left the army to help Greil found the mercenary band out of a sense of loyalty to him that somehow trumped her loyalty to her nation and her vows as a Royal Knight. She was trained as an axe paladin, and as expected, she was the most skilled fighter in the company (second only to Greil).

Oscar was the only other cavalryman in the group. He was a lance paladin, and he too was formerly a Royal Knight. After the first few days, Soren realized he recognized him as well. Oscar had been one of the knights to greet Sileas when the pair had entered Gallia. But like Titania, he showed no sign of having recognized him in return, and Soren was not about to remind them. He did not want his new companions thinking he had anything to do with Gallia, and therefore the subhumans who lived there. As for the man himself, Oscar was calm, patient, and reserved. He was an excellent fighter and a descent cook, just as Rolf had claimed. Boyd and Rolf were both his younger brothers, and it was to become Rolf’s guardian that Oscar had retired from the Knights.

Although they looked entirely different, Boyd was actually Soren’s age. Despite his large size, his immaturity was evident in his rash and often rather stupid behavior. But he was a full member of the company, having joined a year ago at the age of twelve. He wielded hand axes in battle, and what he lacked in technique, he made up for with endurance and grit. 

Rolf was only eight years old and much too young to wield a weapon, but he insisted on serving the mercenaries by helping Mist with chores around the fort and tending the horses for Oscar and Titania. He was cheerful and always full of energy.

In many ways, Mist was the true master of the fort, and it was her, not Greil nor Titania, who kept everything running smoothly. She cleaned the dishes, the floors, the kitchen, and the outhouse. She did the laundry and mending and made lists to plan the shopping. Like Rolf, she helped Titania and Oscar with the horses, and she helped Rhys with his herb garden in addition to doing much of the regular gardening herself. When the company decided to replace the ruined watchtower with wooden scaffolding, it was Mist who managed the project and encouraged everyone until it was finished. Her ability to handle any task cheerfully was astounding, and Soren marveled at how much she’d changed in Elena’s absence. While Ike had pushed memories of his mother away, Mist held on to the ones she had. She hummed the ancient lullabies Elena had once sung, and she always wore the bronze medallion under her shirt. Sometimes Soren saw her clutching it while she sang, and he tried to ignore the memories that crept into his mind. 

Shinon was the exact opposite of Mist—lazy, negative, and ill-tempered. He was a man of few tastes: money, girls, and the chance to stick his opponents full of arrows. He was a talented archer, and Soren assumed that was the only reason Greil kept him around. Of all the mercenaries, Shinon was the only one who treated Soren unkindly. But it quickly became clear he treated everyone that way (except Greil), so Soren did not take it personally.

Gatrie was an armored lance knight who charged into battle dressed from toe to tip in blue-painted steel. He was a better man than Shinon, although the pair appeared fast friends. Gatrie prided himself on his chivalry and had a soft spot for anything female. He was rather gullible too, which placed him at Shinon’s mercy more often than not.

As for Rhys, he was a fragile being and not much of a mercenary since he could hardly stand the sight of blood. But he was the company’s only healer, and his staff was appreciated on the mercenaries’ more difficult jobs. Despite his white robes and Soren’s initial impression, Rhys only dabbled in light magic—making a burst of light to illuminate the dark seemed the best he could do. He was not ordained, although he’d apparently spent some time studying at a distant temple before giving up his ambitions of becoming a priest. He’d returned to this region to care for his sickly parents, and due to a trick of fate involving saving Titania’s life, he’d been welcomed as a mercenary. Rhys was a dreamer, with a wistful imagination and a love for the goddess that Soren was hard-pressed to tolerate. He told himself it was because of this, not because of Gorgov, that he avoided talking to Rhys if he could help it.

The last two members of the company were Ike and Greil. Ike didn’t fight yet but trained with a practice sword almost every day. Greil, on the other hand, was the best of them all. Everyone in the merry band was fiercely loyal to him, and Soren felt the tug of that loyalty too. Like most of the others, he owed Greil for giving him a second chance at life, and he would not soon forget that. But at the same time, he knew Greil’s dark secret, and for that, he could never worship him like the others.