Fire Emblem Fan Fiction ❯ Fire Emblem Tellius Saga: Book 2 ❯ CHAPTER 50: CORONATION ( Chapter 19 )

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

Following the victory at Melior, Elincia hosted what may have been the largest impromptu party the city had ever seen. Every soldier and member of the citizenry from Melior and the surrounding towns celebrated their hard-won freedom. The caches of food and drink Ashnard had stolen from the people were returned to them and consumed all at once. Beorc and laguz reveled side by side, and the festivities continued for over twenty-four hours.

Soren did his best to lie low and wait it out. The battle had left him feeling like he could sleep a hundred years, and the onslaught of noise and drunken behavior grated on his nerves. He was certain everyone was equally exhausted, and yet they still had enough energy to embarrass themselves and make themselves sick. Soldiers and mercenaries, knights and peasants, Gallians and Crimeans—they all reenacted moments from the battle, shared stories (which meant embellishing them with each retelling), and spoke excitedly about all the things they were going to do now that the war was over.

But this could only go on so long. Eventually everyone remembered that their friends and comrades had died beside them in those stories, and that the only difference between them and the storytellers was luck. Eventually everyone remembered that more than half of those who’d marched on Melior had not lived to dream of the future they’d fought for.

When this realization set in, the army embraced the task of burying their dead. The food and drink they’d enjoyed turned sour in their stomachs. At first this was a welcome reprieve, but Soren didn’t enjoy being surrounded by mopey, listless men and women either. He hoped these days would pass quickly and whatever days the future held would come soon.

 

Soren filled his time organizing small excursions to seize the remaining Daein outposts and ensure each town was purged of Daein occupation. But these missions required very little care or planning. Word of Ashnard’s defeat spread faster than wildfire, and the surviving soldiers were fleeing Crimea like rats from a burning building.

Pegasus riders brought reports that the first group of prisoners, those from Pinell and Nados, had arrived safely in Daein, where the Imperial Army had been waiting to clap them in irons and assign them to a register. There were also rumors that these prisoners were being ferried to work camps instead of being returned to their homes and families. Additional rumors said commanders and officers of every rank were being taken separately, interrogated, and hanged. The pegasus riders Soren debriefed hadn’t seen or heard anything to confirm such hearsay. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t tempted to believe it.

On the other hand, when Crimean forces managed to capture Daein troops, the officers and commanders were merely imprisoned until any potential war crimes could be investigated. The regular soldiers were always allowed to return to Daein (and whatever fate Begnion allowed them). Soren thought Elincia was being unbelievably soft. But he was Ike’s adviser, not hers.

The princess would have plenty of her own advisers soon enough. Only four days had passed since the battle, and already Crimean nobles were arriving in Melior. They had used their money and resources to remain underground during the occupation. Some had undoubtedly served Ashnard and helped him maintain a hold on the country. Even those who had committed no blatant treachery had refused to resurface and support Elincia during the rebellion. Yet they had the audacity to arrive now, surrounded by their personal guards, and sing her praises.

 And they weren’t the only ones to arrive late. General Zelgius, Prime Minister Sephiran, and an army of five thousand Begnion soldiers had arrived just two days after the victory at Melior. Once again, their swift arrival meant they’d set out long before hearing of Crimea’s victory. Zelgius claimed they’d come to lend support for the final battle but arrived too late. Ever a gracious host, Elincia invited them to rest a few days before returning to Daein. The few Begnion soldiers who’d fought in the Crimea Liberation Army and survived the war would go with them. But Tanith was heading directly to Sienne to report to the apostle. Astrid, Devdan, Marcia, and Makalov were returning to Begnion as well, but amidst tears and hugs there were promises of return.

Their departure occurred on the fifth day, and this was also the day the rest of the non-Crimeans prepared to go their separate ways. Tibarn, Naesala, and the few surviving hawks were going back to their islands. Ranulf, Giffca, and the surviving beast laguz were going back to Gallia, and they were taking Reyson and Leanne with them for a visit. 

Tormod, Muarim, and Stefan would return to the Grann Desert. Predictably, Stefan pulled Soren aside and offered he join them. Soren refused. Now that Ike knew he was a Branded and accepted him anyway, he refused to leave him. Even if Ike disbanded the mercenaries and decided to live here with Elincia, Soren would find some way to serve him.

Zihark, Sothe, Tauroneo, Jill, and Haar were returning to Daein (ahead of Zelgius’s army), and each were given identification papers so they wouldn’t be mistaken for Daein soldiers. No doubt they wondered about the changes their nation would soon face under Begnion rule. Ashnard had no heir, so there was no one to represent the people and resist the apostle’s control.

The rest of the army, including the Greil Mercenaries, were staying in Crimea. After their friends had gone, Ike held a private dinner with the mercenaries (plus Mia and Volke) in one of the palace’s smaller, more intimate halls. Throughout the meal, Soren had a foreboding feeling that some sort of announcement was imminent, and he imagined Ike was about to call an end to the Greil Mercenaries. Needless to say, he didn’t have much appetite.

When only bones and crusts were left, Ike stood with a crystal goblet in hand. “For the past year, I’ve been focused on winning this war. I stand here today as a testament to your fortitude and commitment. I understand this will never suffice, but I wanted to take a moment to say something to you all…” He raised the glass in a toast. “Thank you. I hope I may continue to rely on you.”

Despite his trepidation of what was to come, Soren was the first to stand. “Of course. I hope that I may continue to be of service.”

Titania stood next, raised her glass high. “You’ve grown so much…” With her other hand, she wiped away the bud of a tear. “I would like nothing better than if Commander Greil and Elena could see you now.”

Next Oscar stood. “What a long road we’ve traveled! And yet, in many ways, it seemed to pass so quickly. I’m glad it’s finally over.”

“We did well, didn’t we?” Mist said next. “I’m sure Mother and Father would be proud of us.” She was seated at Ike’s right hand, but now she stood and wrapped an arm around his waist. He put his arm around her shoulders.

“Great job, Ike!” Boyd said, jumping to his feet. “Of course, if I hadn’t been by your side the whole time, victory might have slipped away.” He laughed, and Ike shook his head, smiling.

“Ike! Ike!” Rolf not only stood, but hopped onto his chair. “Er…I mean, Commander Ike! I’m going to keep practicing so I can be better than ever! Thanks for having faith in me.” Oscar gave Rolf a scolding glare that seemed to say I-taught-you-better-than-to-stand-on-the-furniture, and Rolf hopped down.

Meanwhile, Rhys gave his testimony: “Finally… It’s finally over. At long last, we can return to a life without war. Praise the Goddess.”

“Um, Ike,” Gatrie stood and raised his glass in his fist. “Are we going to go back to being mercenaries?” It was the question burning in Soren’s mind, and although he had no doubt they were all wondering, no one had dared ask until now. “I’m a great soldier and all, but…the easygoing life of a mercenary is the only life for me!”

Ike nodded firmly. “Yes.”

The relief was visible on everyone’s faces, and Soren felt an enormous weight had lifted from his shoulders.

Gatrie smiled sheepishly as if he’d been a fool for even having to ask. He rubbed the back of his neck and laughed. “Good, now all we have to do is find some good-looking lasses and our lives’ll be sweeter than honey!” He raised his glass high and drained it.

Shinon was next, and all eyes turned to him. He sat glowering into his drink instead of standing and raising it like the others. “Bah,” he spat. “I suppose you want some kind of congratulations now, right? Well, too bad. You’re a snot-nosed whelp, and I’m still better than you. Don’t you forget it.”

Ike shook his head as if Shinon were no more than a rebellious child.

Next was Mia. “We did it! Woooo-hooo!” she hollered, then raising her glass so fast she sloshed half onto the table. “You know, I am completely in love with your fighting style, Ike. If I could train under you, thar would be great!” She lowered her glass slightly and donned a more modest expression. “So let me stick around for a while, alright?”

Ike nodded, smiling. “You are a welcome addition to the Greil Mercenaries.”

Last came Volke. He hadn’t spoken much during the meal, and he too didn’t stand. “I’ve no more work here,” he said quietly, addressing Ike. “I will be leaving shortly. If you have need of my services, you know how to reach me.”

Ike nodded solemnly. “I won’t forget what you did for me, or my father. We owe you a great deal.”

“You paid me,” Volke shook his head. “You owe me nothing. A mercenary should know that.”

Ike raised his glass higher. “To Greil,” he said.

“To Greil!” everyone repeated. Even Shinon stood now. Everyone drank deeply (except Gatrie who’d already drunk his) and sat down again.

The dinner having concluded, Volke slipped out, but the rest stayed to talk about what they would do next.

“Will you keep your title as a lord?” Titania asked Ike.

“No, I will renounce it as soon as Elincia is coronated,” Ike replied with surety, and Soren was surprised.

“How long will we stay in the capital?” Gatrie asked.

“I was hoping to leave as soon as possible,” Ike said, leaning forward and placing his forearms on the table. “After the coronation of course.”

“Will we go back to the old fort?” Mist asked.

Ike shrugged and looked to the others. “Is that what you’d all like to do?”

“I’d like to track down my parents,” Rhys admitted. “I hope they’re alright.”

“We can do that,” Ike said, nodding. “Anyone else have family? Mia?”

Mia shook her head. “None above the ground, and I never saw much use in visiting graves,” she said cheerily.

Ike knew the rest well enough to know there was no one else who needed to visit kin.

“I like the idea of returning,” Titania said, “But I wonder if the Greil Mercenaries could…branch out.”

“After all the time we spent in Begnion,” Rhys added, “We didn’t get to see much of it.”

“Let’s just not go back to Sienne,” Boyd groaned. “It was so boring.”

Ike nodded. “I bet they need mercenaries in Begnion too.”

“I’d like to see Daein—as a traveler rather than an invader I mean,” Gatrie mused, rubbing his chin. “I hear the Daein lasses are something special.”

Ike nodded again. “How about seeing it as a mercenary for hire?”

Gatrie smiled. “Aye, that’d do.”

“So long as the gigs pay well,” Shinon groaned. “I’m not dragging my ass around all of Tellius for a copper piece.”

Ike leaned back in his chair. “We could take simple jobs. Maybe we won’t have to fight at all. We could just frighten away bandits and pirates. We’ll help the common folk, like Father did.”

“Easygoing life, like Gatrie said.” Shinon smiled at this thought. “Only life for me.”

“I am still gonna become a better archer though,” Rolf assured.

“Ooh!” Mist said suddenly. “Do you suppose they might need mercenary work in Gallia? I’d like to visit Ranulf and the others.”

Ike grinned. “I’d like that too.”

“And let’s not forget dear old Crimea,” Mia proposed. “They’ll be a lot of work for us here too I reckon.”

“Ooh!” Rolf said next. “While we are in Begnion, let’s visit Astrid’s family. I hear they’re rich!”

Ike and the others laughed.

Next Ike turned to Soren. “Soren, you’ve been quiet.”

“Typical,” Boyd teased.

“Anywhere you recommend we go?”

Soren shook his head; he was still just glad Ike wouldn’t be staying in Melior with Elincia. “I will follow you anywhere,” he finally answered, “and I entirely trust your judgment in this.”

 

The mercenaries enjoyed themselves for the remainder of the evening, and Soren dared to feel content among them. But the next day, he stole himself for less pleasant company. Ena was taking Rajaion’s body back to Goldoa today, and Soren wished to speak with her before she disappeared forever. 

“Take care. Give my regards to Prince Kurthnaga,” were Ike’s parting words to her—words Soren overheard from just outside the door where he was waiting.

“Thank you. I will,” Ena replied. A moment later she appeared in the corridor. She seemed surprised when she saw him. “Oh!” she said. “Ike is free now, if you wish to speak-”

“Actually, I intended to have a word with you before you left.”

Ena seemed curious. “Well, my carriage is scheduled to leave soon. Would you walk with me?”

Soren shook his head. “I was hoping we could speak more privately. It will not take long.”

Ena hesitated.

“Surely they will not leave for Goldoa without you,” he reminded her.

Ena nodded and allowed Soren to lead her to a vacant parlor nearby. There were many quiet places in the palace these days, since the noble families had not all come out of hiding yet. Elincia still hadn’t hired a full staff either, so there was little chance of a servant walking in on them.

“You are Sir Ike’s tactician, yes?” Ena asked once they’d arrived.

“Yes, my name is Soren.”

“I remember you fought well at the battles of Gritnea and Melior,” Ena said politely.

Soren noticed she didn’t mention the battle of Nevassa, in which he and Ike had bested her, but he didn’t point this out. He did not bring her here to boast, nor make small talk. “You are a noblewoman from Goldoa, aren’t you?” Soren asked. “And your grandfather Nasir was as well? And your fiancé Rajaion, was the Rajaion—son of Deghinsea and the crown prince of Goldoa?”

Ena seemed uncomfortable. “Who told you that?”

“The royal library.”

“What you say is true,” she admitted.

“Then tell me this—why did you three leave Goldoa? How did the crown prince become a mere mount for King Daein? Why did Nasir pretend to be a beorc sea captain? Why did he betray Gallia and Crimea for Daein? And why did you serve as Daein’s general in Nevassa?”

“Why are you asking all of these questions?” Ena hissed. She seemed pained to recall her lost loved ones, but Soren didn’t care.

No one else would question her because she was in mourning, but Soren only cared about answers. “Because no one else is, and they should be.”

“You’re wrong. Ike asked—out of sympathy.” Ena sighed, “But I understand what you mean. You want the whole story?”

“Yes.”

With arms crossed, Ena launched into it: “Three years ago, Rajaion left Goldoa to learn more about the outside world. It is forbidden, but some attempt it anyway. We lack wings or tails like our laguz brethren, so many of our kind believe they can pass as beorc if we are careful.” She paused a moment and let her arms drop. “Others went with him, only to be captured and turned feral...”

“Go on,” Soren prompted her.

Ena shook her head and continued more slowly. “When Rajaion did not return, I went after him. But I was too late. Ashnard had twisted him into something else. He didn’t even recognize me.”

“And yet you stayed?”

Ena nodded. “I couldn’t leave him, so I served Ashnard to stay close to him.”

“And Nasir?” Soren asked.

“He abandoned Goldoa for his own reasons, almost two centuries ago. When he learned of the trouble we were in, well…he served Ashnard to save me.”

“His own reasons?” Soren repeated.

Ena’s eyes flickered in irritation. “My mother and grandmother were claimed by the same illness,” she explained. “He thought beorc medicine would have saved them, but the King forbid it. After they died, he left in disgust. I was quite young at the time…”

“A simple chain of emotional pitfalls then,” Soren concluded. “You are telling me that Goldoa never formally supported Daein, nor intends harm to Crimea or desires the release of the dark god?”

“Quite the opposite. His Majesty King Deghinsea is adamant Goldoa remain neutral in all affairs, and he is equally adamant the Dark God never be released again.”

Soren nodded to show he believed her. The silence between them stretched. He felt he wanted to say more, but he couldn’t think what to ask. He had the impression she was keeping something from him, but he couldn’t imagine what. The way she’d explained things, it all made sense.

“Is that all you wanted?” Ena asked curiously. “To know Crimea and the medallion are safe from Goldoa?”

“Is that not worth wondering?” Soren shot back.

“Then I will be going.” She bowed her head politely before reaching for the door.

“Wait.” Soren stopped her. If she disappeared to Goldoa, he would likely never meet another dragon again. He had to ask, now or never.

“Have you thought of something else?”

“Do you-” Soren closed his eyes for a breath and gathered his nerve. “Do you know…what I am?”

Ena cocked her head and ran her soft blue eyes from his head to his toes. “You are one of the Parentless, yes?” she asked. Her voice held no judgment, and for that, Soren was relieved.

“It’s not something I want known,” he warned.

“Who would I tell?” Ena replied with a careless wave of her hand.

Satisfied his nature would remain secret, Soren continued: “It is said the dragons have the keenest sense of all the laguz.”

“It is true,” Ena agreed. It was clear from her expression that she was wondering where this was going.

Soren felt he was floundering but pressed on. “Between you and Nasir…dragons seem quite unlike other laguz. You think and scheme, and…” Now Soren was wondering where he was going with this as well.

“What do you mean to ask?”

“Can you tell my parentage?” Soren finally blurted out. “Is there any way at all to determine who or what a Branded’s laguz ancestor was?”

“Oh.” Ena’s mouth remained in a little o-shape from a moment as she seemed to think how to respond. But then she shook her head. “Personally, I cannot. And if there are any who can, I have not heard of it. In Goldoa, we do not speak of your kind.”

Soren was embarrassed and waved his hand in a sharp, brief gesture to indicate she should just forget it. “Fine. Never mind then.”

“You think your laguz ancestor was Goldoan?”

Soren didn’t think he could be more embarrassed than he was now. “It was just a thought,” he said, and when Ena didn’t reply, he added quickly: “It’s just, the mark, the placement is like Nasir’s, Rajaion’s, yours.” He brushed his forehead as he spoke. He tried to keep his movements loose and natural, but his spine and limbs felt as stiff as a marionette.

Ena shrugged. “A laguz’s markings, and a Parentless as well, it is arbitrary, isn’t it?”

“Yes of course,” Soren agreed, feeling uncomfortable and clammy. “Thank you for your time.” He brushed passed her and left the room. He strode purposefully away but didn’t run. He knew she would know if he did, and he didn’t want to reveal his self-consciousness any more than he already had. Out of all laguz, Goldoan blood seemed the least terrible option. The dragons were strong and smart. They commanded the respect of everyone.

It was a foolish thought, Soren told himself. It was foolish to ask. But after a few minutes he was able to remind himself that Ena probably didn’t care. And at any rate, she was returning to Goldoa were she would remain in isolation with the rest of her people. As the centuries of her long life crawled by, she would likely never think of him again. It was a comforting thought.

 

Elincia’s coronation occurred two weeks after Ashnard’s death. The palace was bedecked with bouquets, pennants, and banners bearing Crimea’s emblem and colors. Thousands of tiger-eyed butterflies, one of Crimea’s most beloved symbols, had been captured for release at the moment of her crowning. The castle gardens, which had been burned, trodden, and watered with blood during the battle, had been plowed away and replanted with sod and flower bushes. This was where the Crimean nobles would sit (and lucky peasants stand) while Elincia was crowned on the spot where Ike had slain King Daein. Servants had scrubbed the balcony’s tiles for hours, but still the vast shadow of blood remained.

Soren stood on this balcony the morning of the coronation and watched dawn’s soft rays illuminate the courtyard. Spring was in full bloom, and the day promised to be a warm one. Servants were already arranging chairs and tables. There was to be a banquet and dancing after the ceremony. (Mist had been jabbering about it nonstop for three days.) But Soren was just waiting for this all to be over. He’d promised Ike he would attend the ceremony, but he wasn’t looking forward to it. He cared nothing for the coronation.

And yet he’d woken early and come to this spot, to stand where Elincia would stand in a few hours and become queen.

Soren had planned every battle of the war that had led to this day. He’d fought and bled and strived for this. In the beginning, he had advised Greil to turn Elincia over to Daein and take their side in the war. How long ago that seemed now. If Greil had done as Soren had advised, they would all be long dead. Daein had never intended to let them go free even if they had handed over the princess.

If Ike and the others had left Elincia on the roadside, they might have remained mercenaries in Crimea under Ashnard’s rule. But sooner or later the Daein Army would have demanded the mercenaries either turn over their weapons or work for them by terrorizing innocent Crimean civilians. Naturally, they would have refused and been out of the job.

The Black Knight would probably have found Greil no matter what, and killed him. That much had been inevitable.

If they hadn’t travelled south to gain Caineghis’s aid, the laguz nations wouldn’t have known until too late that Ashnard intended to invade Gallia as well. The Mad King would have sown his war across the continent. Then perhaps the dark god might have been revived; Soren wondered what that would have been like.

He continued watching the servants work. They moved around him now, setting up an ornate throne and positioning daises for the symbolic instruments of office to be displayed. They ignored him, and Soren ignored them.

Why did I come out here? he wondered again. Is it because I think I deserve this more than Elincia? Do I think I could do a better job? The answer was obvious and immediate: no, he had no desire to rule over others. But perhaps he’d to come here to be sure of it.  

“Good morrow,” came Bastian’s voice behind him. Soren cursed the man’s soundless steps. “Have you come to observe the fair light of Ashera’s dawn on this historic day? Surely it should be recorded, put into song—the first verse of the ballad of Princess Elincia’s momentous coronation! The bards of the land will sing of it for centuries to come!”

“Is that why you are here?” Soren asked, refusing to answer. “To compose a ballad?”

Bastian stood beside him and sighed in satisfaction. His eyes were fixed on the sharp line between the castle roof and the sky. Soren assessed his ridiculous outfit. Apparently he’d dressed for the occasion, which meant brocade robes and more sparkling decorations than even Empress Sanaki had worn. Even his shoes were ridiculous—the toes pointed and curved up with golden bells dangling from the end. Soren realized how talented this man must be to approach unheard while wearing bells on his feet. Once again, Soren reminded himself that Bastian would be dangerous to underestimate.

“I have the honor of overseeing the preparations for the coronation. My presence should be of no surprise.”

“I’ll be going then,” was Sore’s reply. If Bastian wanted to talk to him, he would have to admit it and stop him.

Sure enough, he placed a hand on his turned shoulder. “Pray hold a moment, good sir.”

Soren shrugged off the hand and faced him with crossed arms. “Yes?”

“I must admit I have been wishing to speak with you. Rumors, like ghosts, flit here and there. Rumors that the Mercenaries of Greil will steal away like thieves in the night once the crown touches the princess’s radiant head. A loss, nay a torment, it would be if these rumors came true and I missed my chance to speak with you.”

It was true the mercenaries wanted to be on the road by nightfall. They’d been trying to keep this a secret, but Soren wasn’t surprised Bastian had uncovered the truth. “If we are going to talk, can you please speak normally?”

To this, Bastian just chuckled.

“Well?” Soren growled. “Are you going to ask me to impress upon Ike the importance that he stay and support the new queen?”

Bastian’s smile stretched upward and inward. “Oh, no,” he finally said. “Quite the opposite. Before lovely Elincia lies a path riddled with broken glass and biting rats. These are not the sort of enemies that can be slain with a sword. The time of battlefields is behind us.”

“Then what do you want?”

“The rumors, they murmur in the dark, whisper that the Mercenaries of Greil intend to leave Crimea. I quite like this idea. For a time, it is best that Ike and his treasured friends are out of dearest Elincia’s reach.”

“You want me to keep Ike out of Crimea?” Soren asked in disbelief.

“For a short while or two, yes. But I would much enjoy, Sir Soren, receiving a letter from you from time to time. I would like to offer the mercenaries work, if the need should arise.”

Soren said nothing. He turned Bastian’s offer over in his mind.

“I know no company more able, nor more reliable in a pinch. I take comfort in keeping track of such assets,” Bastian pressed.

Finally, Soren answered: “I will keep you apprised of our travels. But I expect such information to remain between us. And I expect you to pay well, if we accept a job from you.”

“Splendid!” Bastian seemed overjoyed. He took a deep breath through his nose and put his hands on his padded hips. “What a splendid day,” he addressed the gardens, the skyline, the servants who’d moved a polite distance away. “‘No matter how harsh the winter, spring will ever follow’—that is what the people are saying.”

“The citizens of Crimea are poets.” Soren left without another word, and Bastian didn’t stop him this time.

 

Mist had been buzzing with nervous energy all day. A set of ragged nerves she’d never displayed in battle were now exposed at the prospect of Elincia’s imminent coronation. She spent the morning running to and from Elincia’s side, ferrying messages, making preparations, and encouraging the young monarch. Soren only saw the princess once, and she seemed subdued. The excitement that seized her retainers and friends was invisible in her.

Ike was also behaving oddly and seemed to be avoiding the princess as much as possible, but this had been going on for days. Treating with Begnion’s envoy was a welcome distraction for him, and Soren found it intriguing as well. Although Zelgius and his army had retreated to Daein, Sanaki had bid Sephiran stay and witness Elincia’s accent to queenship in her place. The once-mysterious monk proved to be a wealth of information.

First he explained the identity of Altina, the woman whom the heron princess Lillia had wished to receive Lehran’s Medallion. Apparently ‘Altina’ was the little-known surname of Begnion’s line of apostles. That made young Sanaki the holder of the release galdr. However, the medallion wouldn’t be going to Begnion. It was to be safeguarded by the surviving herons now. This seemed prudent to Soren. After all, it was still a mystery why Lillia would have wanted the medallion in the hands of the one person who could willingly release the dark god.

Sephiran also announced the discovery of new evidence indicating Ashnard had been responsible for framing Serenes for the assassination of the Apostle Misaha. No one was surprised by this.

As a piece of parting advice, Sephiran apparently encouraged Ike to remain in Crimea and support the new queen. Ike smirked at this fact when describing the exchange to the mercenaries. “Little does he know our plans,” he said.

Soren considered the fact that Bastian and Sephiran, two peers of the realm, had offered contradictory advice. It appeared Bastian wanted Elincia to grow strong on her own, whereas Sephiran wanted her to continue to rely on Ike for the adoration of her people, the loyalty of her military, and the intimidation of her enemies at court. The motivations of both men were reasonable given their allegiance to Crimea and Begnion respectively.

Titania and Lucia arrived a few minutes after Ike finished his story. Like the rest of the mercenaries and soldiers in attendance, both women had dressed for the occasion. No one wore armor or was laden by weapons today—no one except Ike, who’d been allowed to carry Ragnell as a symbol of his rank. (That being said, it was considered a holy artifact and would be going to Begnion in the hands of Sephiran when all of this was over). Soren had reluctantly left his wind tome in his room and donned his new black robes. They were modestly embroidered with silver and jade thread to indicate his status as a wind sage (not that such recognition mattered to him), and even his shoes were new.

“Everyone looks lovely!” Titania beamed. But her eyes flashed when she saw an unruly curl bounce across Rolf’s forehead. She immediately wet her thumb and began forcing it back. Rolf squirmed, clearly embarrassed.

In addition to his sword, Ike wore his armor and a new cape. He would appear beside Elincia at the ceremony, and the coronation organizers thought it best if the audience recognize him for what he was: the hero who had saved Crimea. His armor had been buffed until it gleamed, and his new clothes had been purchased in careful replication of his usual attire. He even had a band around his head like he wore into battle. Surrounded by his unarmed, well-dressed companions, he was like a wolf among sheep—a wolf who would protect his sheep against any enemy.

“Is everyone ready?” Lucia asked pleasantly. “Ike?

He just nodded.

“I will take you to Princess Elincia,” Lucia said, gesturing that he should follow.

Titania released Rolf. “And I’ll lead the rest of you lot to our seats.”

The group divided, and Soren watched Ike depart with Lucia. His expression was uncharacteristically masked. As he followed Titania into the gardens and took his seat up front, Soren wondered if Ike could be suffering from a broken heart. He wondered if Elincia had rejected him or if he hadn’t yet confessed his love at all. This train of thought was unsettling, so Soren turned his mind to the state of Crimea instead.

If anything had become obvious over the past two weeks, it was that the common folk wished to sing Ike’s praises even more than Elincia’s. The people had become more warlike too. Children reenacted bloody battles in the streets, and as young men and women crawled out of the woodwork, they registered for the militia, enlisted as soldiers, or applied for a place among the Royal Knights in droves. Relatively fewer had signed up for the reconstruction corps, and far fewer had applied or re-applied to the royal academies. This was a considerable reversal of the nation Crimea used to be.

The barracks and military quarters, the defensive walls and gates, these had been fully repaired (or close to) in such short a time. And yet the once-proud Royal Library still sat in shambles. Soren would know—he’d spent much of the past two week there, sifting through information before anyone thought to start guarding it again. (All the old librarians had been killed or had fled.)

Crimea had changed. Hopefully it would be stronger now, but Soren saw the danger in Ike continuing to stay in court. His clout with the military combined with his close relationship with the queen would frame Elincia’s ascension as the advent of a martial regime.

Perhaps Ike saw the danger too, and that was why he’d been acting so strangely. Perhaps a part of him wanted to stay with Elincia, whom he obviously cared deeply for, even as the rest of him adamantly refused his lordship. Perhaps he wanted what was best for Crimea. Perhaps he was just being selfless. 

Soren’s musing ground to a halt when Ike and Elincia appeared on the balcony above. He was holding her hand, walking briskly, as she glided alongside him. When they reached the edge, they raised their clasped hands to thunderous applause. Their names were shouted from all sides, and the mercenaries whooped and hollered next to Soren.

When the applause finally subsided, the ceremony began. Ike dropped Elincia’s hand and stepped to the back of the balcony. There he sat in a fancy chair and watched the magistrates perform the numerous rituals necessary for the induction of a new queen. The ceremony stretched on for over an hour and was quite boring.

When it was finally complete, the festivities began. Music played, food was served, barrels of ale and wine were rolled out, and servants spilled into the garden to rearrange the furniture and open the doors to the main entertainment hall. Soren retreated to the walls and shadowy corners, where he could see everything but remain unnoticed. He watched Ike shake countless hands and exchange pleasantries, clearly out of his depth.

The war was over.

 

After several hours the sun began to set, and Soren retreated to his room. The party would continue all night—after all, Crimea had much to celebrate—but the mercenaries had all agreed to meet in the stables an hour after sunset. On his way to his quarters, he stopped by the stable and ordered the servants to prepare their horses and hitch up the cart they’d packed earlier.

The stable hands were clumsy, slow, and prone to bouts of giggles, and Soren realized they’d been drinking. Of course, the nobles, soldiers, and their families weren’t the only ones celebrating Ashnard’s demise.

Rather than scold them, Soren left them to their work and returned to his room where he donned clothes more suitable for travel and retrieved his wind tome. An expert in the city had resewn the binding and restored many of the damaged pages. Pages with no usable spells had been removed, and fresh pages had replaced them. With his pay from Elincia, Soren had bought additional spells, but they were mostly the simples ones: Wind, Fire, and Thunder. He wondered if it would be a long time until he had reason to use advanced spells again.

With nothing else to do, Soren returned to the stables to await the others. Ike was the first to arrive, and they sat together in silence. The tipsy stable boys and girls pretended to leave, but Soren knew they were hiding and watching.

“I’m glad to be going home,” Ike sighed after a while. “But without Father, I don’t know if it will feel like home anymore.”

Soren tried to feel what his friend felt, but he could not. He understood on the surface: obviously, Ike missed Greil even after all this time. But Soren couldn’t feel that same pain, so he replied honestly: “I am not one to know such things. ‘Home’ holds little meaning for me. It always seems to move, and I feel no anxiety about returning or having you as our commander instead of Greil.”

Ike smiled at the ground. “Thanks.”

Not quite sure why Ike was thanking him, Soren decided to change the subject. “However, I am curious why we are returning to the old fort at all.”

“What are you talking about? Of course we’re going back.”

Soren’s words caught in his throat for a moment, but he pushed through. “You could have had a bright future here in Melior. Elincia already made you a lord. In return for winning the war, she could have bestowed even more lands and titles upon you. You could have become the Commander of the Royal Knights. With future victories, you could have moved up in the court. You could have been rich beyond your wildest dreams. One day…you could even have married the queen.”

“What?” Ike spluttered and finally looked at him. His eyes were wide and his jaw loose as he stared at Soren, evidently flabbergasted. “What brought that on?”

Soren refused to fall for his performance. He cocked his head. “I am asking an honest question. One I am sure many people are wondering.”

“What people?” Ike returned defensively.

“Most people would not reject a lordship, Ike…” Soren considered adding the equally ridiculous scenario of refusing the opportunity to court a royal (especially one he was clearly devoted to) and become a royal himself. But Soren bit off these words, not able to acknowledge them to his face.

Ike crossed his arms. “Well, I’m not most people then. Owning land and titles—that doesn’t mean anything to me. I have the Greil Mercenaries. That’s all I need.”

Soren shook his head. “A mercenary fights for money, Ike.”

“Well, I have other reasons.” Ike smiled to the side, refusing to be swayed by his lecture.

“The only reason the Greil Mercenaries are still following you is because Elincia didn’t pay well enough for the war contract. They can’t retire yet, but someday they will. Retire or die on a mission—those are the only options available to your supposed ‘family’.” Soren didn’t know why he was saying these things. He didn’t actually want to alienate Ike, and he wasn’t trying to make him regret his decision to leave Elincia.

Ike didn’t seem particularly troubled, but he did peer deeply into Soren’s eyes as if trying to understand something. His eyebrows furrowed a tick. He seemed about to say something, but just then, he caught sight of Titania and closed his mouth.

The Greil Mercenaries’ deputy was walking into the stable yard with pink cheeks and a happy smile. She was also dragging Gatrie behind her, who appeared dead on his feet. He must have drunk too much again.

Ike waved cheerily in greeting, and Soren knew the discussion was over. Ike hadn’t really answered any of Soren’s lingering questions, but his conviction had been oddly comforting. Ike truly didn’t want to stay in Melior with Elincia. He was determined to leave. Soren told himself he ought to be grateful for that and move on.

Oscar and Boyd appeared not long later, carrying Shinon between them. The archer was already snoring loudly, unaware of all around him. Boyd had clearly been drinking too, but he wasn’t nearly as far gone. Once they’d loaded Gatrie and Shinon into the cart, Oscar tousled Boyd’s hair and asked if he was well enough to ride. “Uv’course I’yam,” he moaned, pushing his brother’s hand away.

Mia arrived next, escorted by Mist and Rolf. The pair walked on either side of her like railings, redirecting her whenever she got distracted or tried to wander off. Watching them make their way slowly down the road was rather amusing. Mia’s hair and dress were disheveled and she’d somehow lost the ornate hairpiece she’d been wearing earlier in the evening.

Rhys, to everyone’s surprise, was the last to arrive. When he finally ran up to them, he was out of breath. “I’m sorry I am late!” he gasped. “Titania convinced me to have bit of wine and I fell asleep on a bench!” He was obviously horrified by his own actions, but everyone else just laughed.

“Alright, that’s everyone!” Ike clapped his hands together. “We ride through the night. I hope you’re all up for it.”

Boyd groaned, and Titania looked suddenly less certain. Mist and Rolf yawned in unison, and Gatrie added his snores to Shinon’s inside the cart. But no one protested.

Gatrie and Shinon’s horses were tied to Oscar’s and Titania’s, and Rhys and Mia drove the cart. Rolf rode with Boyd, and Soren, Ike, and Mist each had their own horses. Once everyone was mounted, they set off at a leisurely pace. Soren wasn’t usually one for riding, but he’d practiced recently in preparation for this departure. When purchasing the horses, Titania had taken into account the inexperience of her comrades. Soren, Ike, and Boyd each rode docile old mares, not warhorses. After all, there was no rush. They only wished to be far away before Elincia or anyone else could track them down and guilt them into returning.