Fire Emblem Fan Fiction ❯ Fire Emblem Tellius Saga: Book 1 ❯ CHAPTER 20: LAGUZ ( Chapter 20 )

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

When Soren woke, he remembered all-too-clearly that he’d been lying in the courtyard moments from death. But he was inside now, and he was alive. Blinking slowly, he collected his thoughts and surroundings.

His clothes were still cold and wet, so he knew not much time had passed. Someone had brought him inside the main hall, stripped off his outer robes, and healed his mortal wounds. 

Despite his lightheadedness, he managed to raise himself into a sitting position. His body was utterly weak, and merely expanding and compressing his lungs felt like an exhausting exercise. He inspected the itchy red skin where wounds had been hastily healed on his stomach and chest, but at least there was no dark shadow of internal bleeding. The arm that had been broken felt numb, and the shoulder that had been dislocated felt especially achy. His head pounded, and the light seemed too bright. There was a bucket of bloody vomit beside him, and the taste in his mouth told him it was his even if he didn’t remember expelling it.

He was surrounded by the merchants and mercenaries, some standing, some sitting, some lying down. No one appeared dead at first glance, but Boyd, Mia, and Titania were still unconscious. Oscar, Rhys, Mist, and Rolf were paying close attention to Ike, who was standing a little distance away.

The merchants’ horses and wagon were still here, and someone must have retrieved Titania’s and Oscar’s steeds as well. They were both alive, although the stallion was lying down and panting hard. Most of the candles were lit, and the front doors were closed tight. There were no Daein soldiers to be seen. However, there were two new people in the room; a woman and a particularly large man stood six yards in front of Ike.

“So, uh…” Ike sounded dazed. “Are you two from the palace? Did King Gallia send you?”

Something was wrong, and it wasn’t just the awkward distance between the two parties. As his mind cleared, Soren realized these were not people at all. They were subhumans. The female’s tail was twitching as if irritated, while the male’s swept in small, slow arcs.

“He did,” rumbled the male. His ears and tail were cobalt blue, while his hair and beard were a lighter, more electric shade. There were also blue markings like stripes around his eyes. “I am Mordecai, warrior of Gallia.” He spoke slowly and stupidly. “Your hair is blue. You are Ike. Is this correct?”

Soren couldn’t see Ike’s face, but he could tell by his posture, his stance, and even the looseness of his knuckles that his friend was exhausted but not seriously injured. His sword wasn’t drawn, which Soren thought was careless. Finding his tome beside him, he struggled to his feet while Ike answered: “That’s right—I’m Ike. You saved us back there. Thank you.”

 Mist noticed Soren was awake and held up a canteen of water. He was racked with thirst, so he accepted it. But he didn’t take his eyes off the subhumans while he drank.

“Ranulf told me Ike is not a bad stranger. Mordecai and Ike… We will become friends,” the big one was saying. Soren scoffed between draughts.

Apparently he wasn’t the only one who thought the idea was foolish. The smaller subhuman immediately snapped at her counterpart: “You don’t know that! You don’t know if we can trust him. It’s too soon to tell. He’s a beorc. A human. You know all humans have two faces.”

“Lethe!” Mordecai scolded in a deep voice.

“Beorc?” Ike addressed the female. “What’s that?”

She glared through feral eyes. “That’s what you are. We with the power are laguz. You soft, hairless things with no power at all, you are called beorc.”

Soren tightened his grip on the tome. He couldn’t believe such an accusation, nor such arrogance, could come from a creature that literally had two faces.

“What did you say?” Ike seemed miffed but not terribly angry. He still didn’t draw his sword. 

“Lethe! You are being bad.” Mordecai glanced at Ike apologetically. “The king forbids this. We cannot fight with beorc.”

The female—Lethe—didn’t heed his warning and continued her rant. “Most beorc call us by hated names, look at us with eyes filled with scorn. ‘Subhumans’? Hss! Is that how beorc treat their friends? Is that how beorc treat their allies?”

“You’re right.” Ike shook his head and raised his palms. “Some of us use that name far too readily. I guess if we had thought about it, we’d have realized it’s not a polite term, but we didn’t know you by any other name. I’m sorry.”

Soren thought Ike was being generously diplomatic, but Lethe clearly wouldn’t accept the apology. “You knew no other name for us? Are we really so little to you, human? You, who forced us into slavery? How easily you forget. But we laguz, we remember! We remember how we have suffered at your hands. The king can say whatever he likes, I will not trust you. I warn you now—” she shook her head slowly, with murder in her eyes “—never speak to me in such a way.”

“Lethe…” Mordecai sighed.

Soren couldn’t take it anymore. He walked toward Ike as steadily as he could given the fact that the room was spinning. “What’s your point? Did you come all this way just to complain to us?” He forced a sarcastic laugh. “Typical subhumans.”

“Scum!” screeched Lethe, and Soren was oddly relieved she had reacted to his words. At least she was acknowledging his presence. She took a threatening step forward. “Those who use that name are enemies of Gallia!”

Mordecai growled in agreement. “Subhuman… Enemy… He is an enemy…”

Soren knew he should stop. Somewhere in his mind, he knew this must be the Gallian envoy they’d been waiting for. He understood, on some level, that these two subhumans must have arrived just in time to save their lives. He knew this, but he hated it. He understood that antagonizing the beasts could jeopardize Ike’s relationship with the Gallians and therefore Princess Elincia’s and all of Crimea’s. He knew this, but he ignored it.

His anger intensified with every breath, and his tiredness and pain melted away. He felt hot, and he could see nothing but the two subhumans in front of him. “You think you’re humans? The only thing human about you is your conceit! You filthy, hairy subhumans!” If the beasts disliked that word so much, he was going to use it to its fullest extent.

With a massive growl, Mordecai transformed. Instead of a blue-haired man standing menacingly before him, there was a blue-furred tiger with saber teeth and enormous claws.

“Mordecai! Kill him!” Lethe shrieked, pointing straight at Soren.

Perhaps his close call with death had diminished his regard for his own life, but Soren didn’t care at all that he was about to be mauled by the giant tiger. He had his tome in hand, and he flipped to a page free of mud.

These were advanced wind spells, but Soren didn’t think a regular spell would affect the beast. Mordecai released a dreadful roar and began bounding forward. Soren arranged his feet, prepared to sidestep at just the right moment and release his spell when the subhuman passed. But before he could, Ike ran ahead. He threw himself in front of Mordecai, arms spread wide.

Ike’s body made a sickening crunch as its velocity was instantly reversed. He flew, tumbling backward, landing and rolling several feet behind Soren.

“Ike!” Soren screamed and ran to him.

Ike was gasping for breath, trying to get himself onto his hands and knees. Finally his lungs seemed to find air again, and he drew ragged breaths. He pushed himself into a sitting position, and promptly clutched his ribs. “Ow…” he winced.

Rhys had also dashed to Ike’s side, reaching him at the same time. Now that Ike was breathing, the usually timid healer surprised Soren by pushing him away to get a closer look. He pulled up Ike’s shirt and started feeling his ribcage with expert hands. Soren didn’t have to be an expert to see that several were cracked. The area bloomed with blood just under the surface.

“What?” Lethe demanded, stomping closer.

“I-Ike…” Mordecai murmured. He reverted to his human shape and took a step back so he was standing beside Lethe again. “Ike. I’m sorry… I have hurt you… I did not intend to hurt you.”

Rhys held his staff to Ike’s broken ribs, and although he must have been as wasted as the rest of them, he proceeded to heal the bones with the remnants of his energy. When the light faded, he set the staff aside and helped Ike stand.

“Mordecai, this injury—” Ike winced again, clearly still in pain “—it’s nothing. I’m fine.” His voice was strained.

Now that his fear for Ike’s life had ebbed, Soren’s anger returned in full force. He rounded on the subhumans. “You’re nothing but a beast,” he spat, advancing on Mordecai again. He uttered the words of a wind spell he’d never successfully used before: Tornado. “*Spirits of wind, rip apart these skies, lay waste to my enemy!*”

A cyclone surrounded Soren, whipping up all the dust in the room and tearing the old rug as if the gusts were blades. The mercenaries backed up to avoid the gale. The tapestries bearing Gallia’s insignia waved in breeze, and all the nearby candles were snuffed out. Soren raised his hand, prepared to send the vortex straight at Mordecai. He fueled the spell with his anger and imaged he could even feed it his exhaustion and emptiness.

 “Soren! Stand down!” Ike’s voice was nearly blown away in the storm, but he heard it. Grudgingly, he let the winds die.

“Why did you stop me?” he growled without turning around. “He hurt you! He could have killed you! We can’t let him get away wi-”

“If you hadn’t provoked him, none of this would have happened,” Ike replied steadily. “Right?”

“But-” Soren turned to face him. “I only…” His excuses died on his lips. Ike had been hurt because of his poor judgment. “I’m sorry,” he finally said, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, he limped back to the rest of the mercenaries. Titania, Boyd, and Mia were all awake now, watching him blearily. The short walk felt like miles.

Ike nodded when he passed, but Soren couldn’t meet his eye. When he was finally back with the others, he watched Ike pull his weight off Rhys and clean up the mess he’d made. “Mordecai, Lethe, I apologize on behalf of my company. Please forgive Soren. It’s a poor excuse, but we recently lost…some companions. We’re tired, and we’re not thinking clearly.”

“Ike forgave Mordecai. So now I forgive Soren,” Mordecai replied. “No one need be angry.”

“I apologize as well. My behavior has been unkind,” Lethe said although she didn’t seem apologetic. “I forgot our mission, and I have blundered terribly.”

“Mission?”

“The King wants to see you. We are here to guide you to the royal palace.”

“Night is falling,” Mordecai observed gently. “Will leave tomorrow when Ike and friends are ready.”

Soren kept his mouth shut the rest of the evening, afraid to let his anger get the better of him again. Before the mercenaries retired to their own rooms, Ike told the story of how the two subhumans (which Ike insisted the mercenaries call ‘laguz’) had surprised the Daein soldiers from behind. Apparently they’d been so terrified by the beasts’ ferocity that they fled immediately. Now the two Gallians would sleep in the bailey, keeping watch in case the squadron returned.

 

Sore woke early, felt terrible, and wished he could sleep longer. But he knew they had to move out as soon as possible or Daein would return with reinforcements. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, so Soren first went to the mess hall, where several of the mercenaries were already awake. They moved slowly and rigidly, as if they’d all aged eighty years and now hardly managed to move at all in their arthritic bodies. Even when Rhys healed the worst of their wounds, it could take days to feel normal again. The muscle and skin always felt tight and sore, and healed bones were even more uncomfortable.

Rhys was predictably feverish again. He’d coached Mist through healing his own injury, but he limped as if the wound still ached. Now he sat by the hearth with a cup of tea in his hands. He had a blanket over his shoulders and was shivering despite being drenched in sweat. On the other side of the fire, Mist and Rolf were ladling out soup to everyone who came in. The two laguz were already sitting with steaming bowls. When he received his bowl, Soren made sure to sit as far away as possible.

Farther down the table, Titania still looked depressed, and Soren took this as a good sign she wouldn’t try to talk to him. At an adjacent table, the mage Ilyana was chatting with all four of the merchants as if they were old chums.

Soren kept his eye on the door as he ate, and when each mercenary entered, he sat beside them to obtain their report from yesterday’s battle. He could tell they resented being cross-examined so early in the morning, but Soren had his reasons. He even approached mopey Titania and the chummy merchants. The latter gave him permission to explore their stores later.

His meal long-finished, Soren jotted down everything he’d learned and began estimating the supplies they would need and the length of the journey to Zarzi. Of course, this would have been easier if he just asked their laguz guides, but Soren couldn’t bring himself to do it.

As he worked, he kept glancing at the door, waiting for Ike. Eventually he appeared, and although he looked like he’d hardly slept, that didn’t make him much worse off than everyone else.

The young commander went straight to the laguz. They exchanged a few words, and then Ike went to his sister, who gave him the last of the soup. He tousled her hair and said something brotherly Soren couldn’t hear.

He approached only when Ike sat down and started eating. “Good morning, Ike,” he began, feeling imbecilic. But guilt sweetened his tongue. “May I have a moment of your time?”

“What is it?” Ike yawned, “I’m listening.”

Soren couldn’t tell if he was still angry. He sat cautiously and rolled out the paper on which he’d been taking notes all morning. “Our expenses, our ability to fight, the current status of our troops,” he began. “These are all things you must know.”

“I see.” Ike glanced sideways at the paper while slurping another spoonful of the broth. “Having a grasp of that is part of the commander’s job too, right?” He didn’t sound excited and didn’t look at the paper again. “Understood. Let me hear it.”

“Very well.” Soren turned the paper toward himself and started at the top. First, he reconfirmed that the merchants would be joining them on the road to Castle Gallia. Next, he listed the weapons and armor that had been damaged, lost, or irreparably broken during the three most recent battles. Then he noted which supplies they were running dangerously low on (such as thread, flour, rice, and soap) and how long their current stores would last. To end on a high note, he dove into an analysis of the Daein fighting style citing observations each of the mercenaries had made. “Well, that’s it,” Soren said when he was done. Ike had not said a word through the entire lecture.

“I think I’ve got most of it,” Ike said, but his eyes were practically glassed over.

That being said, he didn’t look the least angry or irritated. In fact, the slight twist of his eyebrows could be a sign he was actually trying to focus. “I’ll give you a report before and after each battle from now on. I hope that helps,” Soren offered.

Ike didn’t comment on his assumption that there would be further battles, and Soren didn’t elaborate on it. “I’m sure relying on you for all the details.” Ike gave a small, tired smile. “Keep up the good work.”

Soren was instantly relieved. “Thank you, commander,” he said, and he let the word rest on his lips a moment. Ike was his commander now. “I will do my best. But if I have your leave, I will see how preparations are coming.”

Ike smiled again. “You have my leave,” he answered, and there was a hint of a laugh in his voice, as if they were playing a game.

 

Determined to take care of everything so Ike could rest, Soren first set out to find the merchants. Although the Greil Mercenaries didn’t have free reign over their merchandise, the leader of the group, Aimee, had said they could buy whatever they needed.

As expected, they were in the main hall loading and hitching their wagon. Although they’d been sharing Castle Gebal for several days, Soren hadn’t bothered to learn their names until this morning. He made a mental note of each of them now: Muston was the armorer, and he was currently tending the horses’ shoes. Jorge and Daniel were twin brothers—a blonde and a brunette. One was the company’s evaluator and buyer, the other a weapons forger. (Already he’d forgotten which was which.) The pair were currently loading boxes into the wagon while arguing about the rules of some sort of boardgame. The leader and vendor, Aimee, was currently chatting with Ilyana, and neither seemed at all involved in the preparations. Soren approached them.

“Ah, you’re the mercenary boy who wanted to see our merchandise, is that right?” Aimee said by way of greeting.

“Yes. I trust you keep a copy of the supply list for your wagon?”

“Tch tch, business, business,” Aimee giggled to Ilyana. “Are you sure you want to join these mercenaries? They’re so serious!”

Ilyana just shrugged sheepishly

“Join?” Soren repeated.

“Why, yes! Your handsome young commander offered her a contract to fight beside you as long as our two merry bands travel together. She went and said yes without even asking me first!” The pink-robed woman donned a fake pout. “Then again, I can’t really blame her. I would have joined myself if he’d asked. Who can say no to those big blue eyes?” Now she sighed and faked a swoon.

Ilyana smiled. “It’s not like that, Aimee. I told you, if there is a Princess Crimea, I want to help her fight against Daein. Especially after what they did to us.”

Now Aimee shook her head dramatically, as if she was about to have a fit. “Of course, of course! Those villainous foes, ruining my business and taking my sweet Ilyana from me.” She smiled and pinched the girl’s cheek.

Ilyana pushed Aimee’s hand away but grinned happily. Soren had had about as much as he could take. He cleared his throat impatiently. “The supply list,” he repeated.

“Right, right.” Aimee waved her hand. She rummaged among the bags waiting to be loaded and soon extracted a roll of papers. “Here it is then. It’s a recent copy so you’re free to keep it.”

Soren accepted the list brusquely and took his leave of the women. He then set about exploring the bags and boxes littering the floor to confirm its accuracy and see the items himself.

 

When this task was concluded, he sought out Titania and found her brooding in her room, packing slowly. He gave her the merchants’ supply list, and told her what essentials he intended to purchase.

Titania accepted the papers and Soren’s report numbly. “Begnion coffee,” she observed, skimming the list. “That would be nice treat for the company…”

“We cannot afford to splurge,” he reminded her.

Titania shrugged, and he left without another word.

 

Soren did a round of the mercenaries’ rooms to make sure they were all packing, but wherever he went, he found his comrades moving at a snail’s pace. Irritated and ready to be gone, Soren found Rhys and procured the company’s funds from the sickly healer.

After buying the necessary supplies and submitting orders for everyone’s weapons and armor to be tuned up, Soren decided to give Ike a follow-up report. He found him outside the walls, watching a bonfire beyond the outworks. Luckily the wind wasn’t blowing in this direction, and Soren couldn’t smell the Daein corpses burning.

“Oh, hey.” Ike rubbed his eyes, but they became no less hollow. Soren wondered if he’d helped stack the bodies. “How’s the packing going?”

“Five hundred gold,” Soren replied curtly, passing him the receipt Aimee had signed.

“What?” Ike asked. He didn’t read it.

“On new weapons and armor, that’s how much we’ve already spent,” Soren explained, “Plus supplies are still running low. We need dried meat, fresh fruit…” Noticing the glazed look return to his friend’s eyes, Soren decided it was better than the hollow one. “Ike? Are you listening?”

“Huh?” He straightened and tried to look attentive, but catching Soren’s unamused expression, he smiled sheepishly. “Okay, sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

“I would have never guessed.”

“Sorry, Soren.” He shook his head to clear it. “Look, could you run that report by me again?” He screwed up his eyes and stared at the receipt as if determined to unlock its mysteries. 

This time he looked like he really would pay attention, but Soren decided to cut him loose. “You’re tired, Ike. You need rest. Go find a cot somewhere.”

“You can tell?” Ike smiled, stifling a yawn.

“Of course. When you are not feeling well, your left eye twitches,” Soren observed.

“That’s…odd.” Ike rubbed his eyes again. “I never noticed.”

“Get some sleep. I can manage things for a few hours.” Soren checked the position of the sun. It was almost midmorning.

“Well, I am pretty beat,” Ike admitted.

“Go,” Soren ordered, suddenly realizing he’d been waiting for permission to rest. He was commander now, but that didn’t mean he suddenly knew how to live without orders. For a moment, Soren considered the stress and confusion he must be feeling.

Perhaps this showed on his face, because Ike grinned. “You know, Soren, you’re not nearly as insensitive as the others say. Deep down, you’re a big softie.”

“Excuse me?” Soren hardened his gaze.

“Oh, nothing. I’m going.” Ike raised his hands in mock appeasement and turned toward the fort

“Mmm,” Soren hummed, determined to have the last word. “Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

This raised a snort of laughter from Ike, but he said nothing more. For a moment, Soren felt at peace. This kind of idle banter had been a mainstay of their friendship for years, but now Crimea was at war, Greil was dead, and Soren didn’t know if moments like this would ever become normal again. When Ike was gone, Soren turned his attention to the heap of smoldering bodies. They would need more dry timber to keep it burning.

 

While Ike napped, he oversaw the rest of the preparations, which included finding Titania and giving her a sharp chastisement: “Get up, and do the work Greil left you.” Being scolded by Soren of all people seemed to bewilder her enough to emerge from her gloom and take the lead. She seemed like herself again—ordering the mercenaries around and whipping them into shape. This was a relief to Soren, who was terrible at giving orders.

The wagon and horses were finally moved outside, after which an excessive amount of time was spent cleaning the main hall. (Since this was a laguz castle, Soren didn’t think the beast-men would be bothered by the presence of more animal waste.) Eventually everyone was packed and ready to go. Titania woke up Ike, and they and the rest of the mercenaries went to pay a final visit to Greil’s grave.

Soren had no interest in such things and decided to wait in his room, appreciating the comfort of a bed one last time before the long road to Zarzi. There was nothing left to do or plan, and his thoughts inevitably turned to Melior. Even in that vast library, he hadn’t been able to find any evidence that he was not a Branded—nor that he was (and being in Gallia again brought that possibility painfully close to mind).

He told himself he had nothing to do with the laguz or this country, but that was a lie. Even if he wasn’t Branded, he’d always been mistaken for one. And here he was in Gallia, because this was where the naïve princess had wanted to go. She thought the beasts would be friendly because her father had once tried to befriend them. Ike and Greil were no different—a child propagating their parent’s delusions. But Soren knew better. All of the problems in his life could be traced back to the laguz. If only they’d kept to their own kind, never tried to be more than animals, never left their borders, never mingled or mated with humans—then Soren’s life might have been less miserable.

Someone knocked on the door, pushing it fully open, and Soren was jogged from his reverie. He sat up and shook his head, trying to eradicate the tormenting thoughts.

“Packing?” Ike stepped into the room and glanced at the bag at the end of the bed.

“Hmm,” he hummed noncommittally and rubbed his eyes as if he’d been sleeping. 

“What’s wrong, Soren?” Ike became suddenly concerned. “You’re ready right?”

His mind cleared, and he realized he had to act normally or risk Ike’s inquisitiveness. “Yes, I’m ready.”

Ike glanced at his rucksack again and smiled thoughtfully. “When we left the base, you only brought a few robes and musty old books. I took even less, but it looks we both travel light, huh?”

Soren stood, tightened the bag’s drawstring, and tossed it over his shoulder. “The burden of unnecessary items is something I detest.”

“Me too,” Ike agreed. “We’re alike in that, aren’t we?”

Soren didn’t think they were alike at all. Ike was full of love and trust, and people loved and trusted him in return. Soren had no idea what that felt like. Ike was strong and confident; Soren was small and circumspect. They didn’t even look anything alike, and—a thought suddenly struck him—he couldn’t even guarantee they were the same species. The idea stilled his blood and turned his palms clammy. “Hmm,” he hummed again, unable to respond.

“What is it? You’ve got that worried look again.”

“Well, um, it’s nothing. Never mind.” He searched for an excuse to get away. “Everyone’s really slow, aren’t they? Shall I go and see what’s taking them?” He tried to leave, but Ike was blocking the door.

“Soren…don’t worry about it.”

“Hm?” Soren hummed aloofly, despite the shock ricocheting inside his brain.

“Sitting in the sunlight this morning, …” Ike turned his face to the window but didn’t leave the threshold. “It helped me understand. I’m alive. I have trustworthy friends. That’s how I know I can go on. I just hope I’m not—” he shook his head “—fooling myself.”

“No, you’re not!” Soren burst, but quickly reclaimed himself. “You’re not.”

“Well then, it’s business as usual. I know we all have troubles, but let us set our shoulders straight and get on with it.” His body language changed in time with his words. He looked taller, and even a little older.

Soren nodded. “Understood.”

Ike finally moved, and they left the room together. “Thanks for all your help this morning,” he said after a while, and his voice was quieter. “I know I wasn’t all there… I’m still trying to figure out how to do this.”

“Think nothing of it,” Soren replied coolly. “I was merely doing my job.”