Fire Emblem Fan Fiction ❯ Fire Emblem Tellius Saga: Book 2 ❯ CHAPTER 53: FREED ( Chapter 22 )

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

The apostle was not impressed by their charade. She sat in a mountain of robes, silk ribbons, gold tassels, and velvet sashes (or at least, Soren thought she was sitting, she could have been standing for all he knew—her form hidden by the robes of her office). Her head was held high, with an imperious glower on her face.

Roughly the same age as Rolf, she’d grown a lot in the past three years, but she still seemed too young to rule a nation. She was flanked by holy guards, and behind her knelt five handmaids, including the one Soren had terrorized. The other four had their heads bowed, faces impassive, but she was looking up, hurt and confused.

“You threatened my servant in a hairbrained scheme to manipulate me,” Sanaki said with grave authority. “I should have all three of you thrown into prison at once!”

Soren had had no dealings with the empress during their last visit in Sienne (not after finding the young monarch stowed away on their ship with a twisted ankle). He’d almost forgotten what a brat she was. “Ike and the others are already sitting in jail for conducting mercenary work without license,” Soren replied. “I have the proper paperwork here. Sign it and we will go.” 

“You do not tell me what to do, mercenary,” Sanaki warned. “And you do not speak until prompted.”

Soren ignored her. “Your own soldiers followed Ike into battle. They respect him and would not be pleased to learn he has been imprisoned. Neither would Queen Elincia, with whom you wish to maintain amicable relations.”

Sanaki was clearly annoyed but remained composed. “Do not worry yourself, mercenary,” she said. “I will free your commander. General Ike served his purpose well, and that does not go unrewarded in my empire. I merely wished to impress upon you the seriousness of your idiotic plan. Should it happen again, I will not be so merciful.”

Soren said nothing, but Mist spoke up. “Thank you, Empress Sanaki. We truly appreciate your generosity in meeting with us and granting our wishes. The citizens of Begnion are fortunate to have such a noble ruler.”

Sanaki seemed amused by her flattery. “I see you, at least, have more manners than your brother or this lowborn cur,” she said with a sigh, glancing a moment at Soren with disinterest. Then she waved her hand. “Tanith, the papers.”

Soren handed over the scrolls, which Tanith brought to Sanaki on a small golden tray. One of Sanaki’s servants brought her a pen and ink while another brought ribbon, a candle, and a bar of wax. A third brought the empress’s seal of office in a small velvet-lined box.  

The empress read the documents before signing, scrolling, and sealing them. Tanith dropped it in a travel canister and handed it back to Soren.

“I trust you’ve read the work agreement?” Sanaki asked. “You understand that seven percent of each job must be paid to the theocracy by the end of each year or before leaving the country. Contracts completed at the behest of a government or military agent, however, will not be subject to taxation. The license lasts for three years. If the Greil Mercenaries wish to continue operating in Begnion after that point, a new license must be drafted.”

“I understand,” Soren said.

“Seven percent?” Rolf grumbled, “We never had to pay taxes in Crimea.”

“Shhh!” Mist hissed. Soren imagined she understood that the mercenaries wouldn’t be reporting their income or paying any taxes, and no one would bother hunting them down for it.

Sanaki frowned, perhaps suspecting this fact. “Tanith, see to it that these three are given a carriage back to Ghorro. You are dismissed.”

  

Tanith travelled with them to Ghorro, and despite her usually reserved nature, she, Mist, and Rolf seemed to chat incessantly on the journey. Soren listened off and on, hoping for the occasional detail about the occupation of Daein, the resettlement of Flaguerre and Mugill, the progression of Queen Elincia’s reign, Begnion’s stance on the Laguz Alliance, or even the state of the newly-minted laguz citizens in the desert. But the trio spoke little of politics.

Soren didn’t really mind. He had other things to worry about, such as his inevitable reunion with Ike. He feared Ike knew this whole jail situation was his machination. And if he didn’t already, Soren worried what would happen when he found out—which was inevitable because Soren already knew he couldn’t keep it a secret. The guilt of the betrayal and the stupidity of the whole thing squeezed harder on his heart each mile closer to Ghorro.

“Soren you don’t look so good,” Rolf noted, as the last hour finally arrived.

“I’ll be glad to be out of this carriage,” Soren lied, extending his legs as far as the close confines would allow and pretending a cramp.

“Oh, that’s for sure!” Rolf stretched his arms above his head.

“I hope everyone’s okay,” Mist said softly, leaning her forearms on her knees. “Ike and everyone, and the horses too. How long have we been away?”

“Three weeks,” Soren replied. It had been the expected duration of this little project, but it seemed so long now.

“I hope they’re okay,” Mist repeated.

  

Their concern was unwarranted. They approached the outpost with Tanith strutting in front, fully armored and official-looking. A guard was oiling the front door’s hinges and immediately snapped to attention at the sight. While he seemed to be figuring out how his tongue worked, Tanith, Soren, Mist, and Rolf strode inside.

No one was waiting at the front desk, but two men were arm-wrestling at a small table in the back. One of the men was Boyd. He wore the canvas shirt and trousers of a prisoner but no chains. His opponent was a Begnion soldier, huffing and puffing in his struggle against Boyd’s arm. The mercenary was smiling, obviously working hard to push his opponent’s hand to the tabletop. Then he slapped it down with finality, immediately standing and striking a victorious pose. “Third round goes to Boyd!” he announced to no one in particular. The soldier shook his head in defeat, but he was smiling too.

“Are we interrupting something?” Tanith asked dryly.

The soldier hopped to his feet and donned a look of terror when he recognized her badge of office. “My sincerest apologies, Captain!” He saluted and then bowed for good measure. “There is no excuse for this lack of decorum, ma’am.”

“Rolf!” Boyd cried, running to give his brother a hug.

The soldier watched him go, extending a powerless hand.

Tanith raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t he one of your prisoners?”

“Well, yes, but…you wouldn’t run off on me, would you, Boyd?” the soldier asked hopefully.

“Any other time, of course not. But I think today’s a running day! It is mission accomplished, bro?” he tousled Rolf’s hair so hard he managed to shake his entire head.

“Sure is!” Rolf replied with a thumbs-up. 

“Get me your commander,” Tanith snapped.    The soldier darted into the back, and she drummed her fingers on the desk while she waited.

“Have you guys been alright?” Rolf asked Boyd.

He smiled. “I hope you haven’t been worrying. We’re fine. The guards aren’t bad guys. They’re just doing their job.”

Tanith scoffed. “It doesn’t appear they are doing their jobs to me.”

Boyd chuckled. “No, I guess not. They got pretty lax with us. How’s it going, Tanith?”

“I am well, thank you.” She gave a small smile. “In fact, I am glad to hear the Greil Mercenaries have enjoyed their stay in the Begnion prison system. Please come again.”

He laughed even harder. “Have you been working on that joke all the way from Sienne?”

“Yes,” Tanith admitted.

Boyd bent over laughing, but Tanith grew serious again when the soldier returned with his commander in tow. “Get that prisoner back in the yard!” he snapped at someone behind them. Soren realized the hinge-fixing soldier had been standing there the entire time.

“Sir, I don’t think-” he began, but Tanith cut him off:

“That won’t be necessary. The Greil Mercenaries are free to go. Soren, show him.”

He presented Sanaki’s scroll, and the commander paled at the sight of her official seal. He removed it with trembling hands. “You kids really-”

“Not kids,” Soren corrected him in a lowered voice.    He enjoyed the man’s expression as he read the letter.

“General Ike!” he exclaimed, “He was telling the truth?” His soldiers looked stunned. “The Greil Mercenaries…” He glanced up at Soren, Boyd, Rolf, and Mist as if seeing them for the first time. “We’re so sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” Tanith waved her hand dismissively. “Now release them.”

The commander saluted, and he and his men walked briskly toward the yard. Soren and the others followed after, since no one had told them not to. After Boyd’s arm-wrestling contest with the guard, he wasn’t surprised by what he saw:

Two soldiers were chatting with Gatrie and Oscar by the wall, telling stories and gesticulating exaggeratedly. Meanwhile, Shinon and one of the inmates were having a dart-throwing contest against a hand-painted target nearby. They appeared well matched. In the middle of the yard, Ike and another inmate were wrestling within a dirt circle. They wore nothing but the canvas slacks of their prison uniforms, kicking up dust that stuck to their sweaty skin. Rhys was hovering nearby as the referee, with his hand half-raised to call the match. Mia and another inmate were watching and panting nearby, a sign they’d already had their turn in the contest. Behind them, Titania was sitting backwards on a chair while another inmate combed and braided her hair. She was talking to a guard standing in front of her, who appeared to have just had her hair brushed and braided into two long plaits. The inmate doing the styling had numerous rows of tiny braids in his own hair, apparently an expert.

Soren could hardly believe what he was seeing; the Greil Mercenaries had turned this jail upside-down in less than a month. After a few moments, everyone seemed to notice the new arrivals. Oscar launched himself off the wall and flew to his brothers, wrapping them both in a hug. Soren realized for the first time just how much Boyd had outgrown his older brother, and Rolf was growing tall as well, even if he still looked young. All three rocked back and forth.

Meanwhile Ike threw his opponent into the dirt like a sack of flour and sprinted to his sister. “Mist!” he cried happily.

“Ike!” she raced to meet him.

They embraced until Mist pulled away, her face drawn in disgust. “Ugh, Brother, you reek!” She looked down at her blouse, which was now blotched with sweat and dirt. Ike brushed the back of his head in sheepish apology, but he was smiling. His hair was getting long.

Titania jogged up to them, and her braid untied itself with each step. The soldiers congregated by their commander, wondering what was going on, while Rhys, Gatrie, Shinon, and Mia came to greet the others as well. Even Shinon was smiling, giving Rolf a high-five and welcoming him back. As happy as they were, most of the mercenaries even seized Soren’s hand and patted his back. (Only Mia violated the unspoken boundary and wrapped him in a hug he couldn’t escape.) When Ike shook his hand, he said softly, “Thanks for making it back.”

Whether or not Ike meant the words to hurt, they did. Soren wondered what he knew. But even that couldn’t quell the flood of relief he felt at just seeing him again. Something clicked into place, and Soren no longer felt overwhelmed by his presence. 

 

Tanith led them out of the military outpost, assuring the soldiers and their commander that they wouldn’t be punished, but she did advise they manage their remaining prisoners more professionally. They hung their heads in shame and promised to do so. Tanith seemed satisfied.

She remained with them as they went down to the harbor to extract their belongings from the warehouse. She chatted with Titania and the others, but Soren wondered if that was the only reason she was hanging around.

“Will you be heading back to Sienne?” Ike asked her as evening began to close around them. “You should stay with us a night at least. We owe you.”

Tanith nodded. “Thank you, General. I will certainly take you up on that offer. With your permission, I will also do what is in my power to aid you. The Apostle has asked me to attend your needs. She would see you appeased enough to put this insult behind you.”

Soren wondered if this was true. 

“Our needs?” Ike repeated.

“Summer is coming, and summer in Begnion is hot,” Tanith explained. “I expect you will all need new clothes.”

The mercenaries glanced at one another. Having changed into their usual clothing, which consisted of long sleeves and heavy fabrics. They were already sweating, and in battle they’d be wearing additional layers of leather, chainmail, and armor.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Ike agreed.

“Yay, shopping!” Mist and Rolf exclaimed together.

Titania chuckled. “I suppose we ought to look presentable if we are to be official mercenaries.”

“We can get outfitted tomorrow,” Ike decided. “Thanks, Tanith.”

 

That night, they stayed at the inn from which they’d been taken prisoner. The innkeeper was glad to see them and ordered the cook to prepare a special meal. Oscar and Titania showered her with praise for how well she’d taken care of their steeds. “My sons enjoyed riding them,” the woman explained. “Kept them fit and healthy. But I think they’ll be sorry to see them go.”

The rest of the inn’s residents didn’t understand the occasion but enjoyed the happy atmosphere. A couple of young women took an interest in Shinon, who cried a couple tears of relief, and Soren suspected this was an act to get one on his lap, dabbing his tears, while the other whispered comfort in his opposite ear.

While the mercenaries ate, drank, and cajoled with one another and the other guests, Soren watched Ike from afar and marveled at the fact that he no longer felt his presence like a blaze. After a while, he decided it was like being able to see his own hands, or his own body, or the nose in front of his face. People could use their hands without looking at them, but they could also adjust their attention any time they wished. Soren practiced this now, focusing and un-focusing his Branded sense inward and outward.

Finding it easy, Soren could only chastise himself for taking so long to understand such a simple concept. Ike was a part of him—and always would be. Even if he shuns me for what I’ve done, he added mentally, gathering his nerve. He told himself he couldn’t delay any longer. He had to tell Ike the truth and accept the consequences.

Ike was currently sitting with Tanith at a corner table, and approaching them felt like walking to the gallows. But if he put this off any longer, he was afraid he’d end up screaming his guilt across the room for all to hear.

“Ike, might I have a word?”

He was red-cheeked from the celebratory ale everyone was drinking, but he didn’t seem drunk. His eyes were clear, and his lips were quick to smile. “Soren,” he said, “Join us. Tanith was just offering us a job.”

So that’s why she’s been sticking around, Soren thought, but then he shook the thought away. It didn’t matter. “It is important that we speak in private,” he insisted.

Ike’s smile disappeared and he gave a small nod. “Excuse us,” he said to Tanith.

She waved her hand. “Think nothing of it. We shall discuss this more upon your return.”

Soren led Ike out of the inn, but once they were outside, they kept walking side-by-side and Soren didn’t know which of them was leading. Eventually they reached a stone outcropping that overlooked the harbor, and here Soren finally planted his feet and stopped.

“Well?” Ike said, taking a couple steps farther but stopping too. He turned to Soren and leaned his elbows against the wooden railing.

The words came spilling out: “Ike, I’m sorry. I am the one who reported us for arrest. I was selfish and got everyone thrown in jail so I could get away. It was a stupid plan. Hardly a plan at all. I just did it—I made it up as I went. Ensuring I wasn’t arrested too was hardly more than an afterthought. I didn’t account for Mist and Rolf. I didn’t consider if something should happen while the rest of you were in prison. I didn’t even think through if and how I would be able to free you. It was the worst plan I’ve ever devised, and I am so sorry.” Soren couldn’t meet his eye. He just waited for a response, staring at Ike’s filthy shoes.

“I’m a little confused,” Ike finally said. “Are you apologizing for getting us arrested, or for having a bad strategy?”

Soren paused. He had intended the first, but the second had come out of his mouth. “Both, I guess,” he admitted.

To his astonishment, Ike laughed. It may have been more like a bark than a laugh, but it sounded genuine. “Of course you are.”

“What?” Soren finally looked at his face, wondering if he could be ridiculing him. But Ike was glancing to the side, apparently unable to look at his face either. Soren nearly blushed, irrationally feeling he’d stolen a peek at something he shouldn’t have. But more important than this aberrant feeling was what Ike’s expression revealed—he didn’t look upset at all. “Aren’t you angry?”

“I was at first,” Ike said, looking at the ground now. “I immediately suspected you, and the idea infuriated me. But after a few days, I realized I was mad at myself. I realized that if you did it, then it was only because I didn’t give you any other choice. You asked for furlough, and I wouldn’t give it to you. So you took it yourself, by any means necessary. Of course you did. Because you’re you.”

Soren couldn’t tell whether this was admonishment or praise.

“It’s one of the reasons you’re an amazing tactician. And one of the things I admire most about you. You always find a way.”

Soren was dumbstruck. Admire me? he thought. No—I admire him. That’s the way it’s always been. 

Finally Ike looked at him, and his gaze jumped from one eye to the other like he was searching for something. “I was being selfish, and I knew it. But I thought you were being selfish too. I convinced myself I was doing what was best for the company…and for you. So I thought I was justified… I’m sorry.”

This was not at all how Soren expected this conversation to go, and he still didn’t know what to say.

“You can leave, if you still need to.” Ike took a deep breath. “But don’t think for a second that I want to you to.”

“I… I will stay,” Soren managed. “I want to stay, as long as you’ll have me.”

“So can we call it even?” he asked hopefully.

“Not at all,” Soren replied, but when he saw Ike’s crestfallen expression, he amended: “I mean, on my part! We cannot be ‘even’ because I didn’t just betray you; my actions effected the whole company. You are the commander. You cannot let that pass.”

Ike smiled. “Still giving advice, huh?”

“Well, it is my job,” Soren returned.

“Okay. We don’t need to tell the others. But in return…you’ll owe me one. Someday, I’ll call in that debt, and even if you don’t like it, you’ve got to do what I say, no questions asked.”

“Very well then,” Soren nodded. He trusted him not to do anything too cruel.

Ike laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. Then he steered him forward until they were both leaning on the fence at the edge of the cliff. Letting go, Ike pressed his forearms into the wood and looked at the roofs of the warehouses far below. Soren cast his gaze over the lantern posts on the boardwalk, the moonlight on the water, and the ships coming in and out of the harbor.

After a while, Ike spoke again. “So how was Empress Sanaki?”

“Insufferable,” Soren answered. “Honestly, I don’t know how you managed her last time.”

Ike laughed. “Well, her heart’s in the right place.” They were silent a while longer, until Ike asked: “So, are you going to tell me why you had to leave so bad? Did it have something to do with being Branded?”

Soren shivered despite the relatively warm night air. “Yes and no,” he answered slowly, “I think it had more to do with just being me.”

“You really don’t like people, do you?”

Soren looked up at the sky. “I like the Greil Mercenaries well enough.” Glancing sidelong at Ike, he added, “And you’re tolerable.”

Ike laughed. “You’re tolerable yourself, though you might try not to be.”

“I suppose I should take that as a compliment,” Soren replied, and they lapsed into silence again.

After a while, Ike asked, “So you really just needed space?”

Soren sighed. “Is that so hard to understand?”

“I guess not,” Ike admitted. “I just didn’t want to believe it.” After a long pause he asked, “Is it really so hard to be a Branded among beorc? I mean, no one in the Greil Mercenaries would treat you any different if they knew.”

Soren shook his head. “Yes, they would,” he said flatly. “Very few people are like you, Ike.” He wasn’t planning on saying anything else, but Ike was looking at him with those intent eyes of his, waiting for more. So he continued: “People like me aren’t meant to exist. Beorc consider us monsters. They call us cursed. They claim death and calamity follow in our footsteps.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Ike declared in annoyance.

“Is it? The woman who raised me lost everything and died miserable and alone. The same is true of the man who trained me.” Elena was the next example that sprang to mind, but Soren bit his tongue.

“You can’t blame yourself for those things,” Ike growled.

Soren hated giving Ike reason to despise and fear him; he didn’t want Ike to think he was a monster. But these thoughts were always in his head, and voicing them now felt like an immense release. “I told you I lived with some priests, for a time, but I didn’t tell you they were murdered. The temple was burned down. Everyone died. And then…they burned even more people alive. I had to leave or I would be blamed too. I was always moving on, but no matter where I went, either I was hurt or someone else was—or both, more often than not… Eventually I joined the Greil Mercenaries, and it became my job to seek out strife, maiming and killing others whenever coins crossed hands… Ashnard attacked Melior while I was there. War broke out, and your father was killed. Then it was my job to plan battle after battle, devising the ruin of our enemies. How… How can you say I don’t bring death in my wake?”

Ike had listened without another interruption, but now that Soren’s lecture was over, he shook his head. “Because that would be ridiculous,” he repeated. “You’re the most rational person I know, Soren. You can’t really believe in curses? People die. Yes, there was a war, but you’re no more to blame for it than me. It happened, and we’re lucky enough to be alive on the other side of it.”

Soren let Ike’s comforting words wash over him. “You’re right,” he admitted.

Ike sighed. “Soren, why don’t you ever tell me that you’re hanging on to stuff like that?”

He shook his head in non-answer. Ike could never understand. He had to be careful; it was a matter of self-preservation. To be overheard would be to be cast out.

“So anything else you want to tell me? Any other reservations you have about living amongst us beorc?” Ike held out his hands as if ready to receive a large package.

Soren was silent for a while. Ike was asking him to speak, to lay it all out, to clear the air. He felt he’d already bared his soul tonight. He didn’t think he wanted or needed to say more, but he opened his mouth anyway. “Ike, do you know what it means? My being a Branded?”

Ike tapped his chin in mock-thought. “That you incorrectly think everyone hates you, you’re a little high-strung, and you generally have low self-esteem.”

Soren shook his head at Ike’s joke. He exhaled deeply through his nose. “It means I am going to live a long time.” He hadn’t spoken about this with anyone except Stefan, but he thought Ike deserved to know. “You have to have noticed—I age slowly.”

“And here I thought we just weren’t feeding you enough.”

Soren turned on him, frustrated that he wasn’t taking this seriously. “This is not a laughing matter!”

But Ike’s face was no longer joking. It just looked kind. “So what?” he asked. “Ranulf is three times my age, but we’re still friends.”

Soren had not known Ranulf’s age, but this was unsurprising. According to his research, cat laguz didn’t even leave adolescence until thirty years old. He assembled his thoughts before answering. “You may be friends now,” he finally said, “But how long will that last? Beorc and laguz are too different. Their lives don’t match up. And Branded are different still, somewhere in between.”

“You’ll still be my friend no matter what,” Ike assured. “So don’t worry about it.”

“And if the others notice?”

“Ah—” Ike’s joking tone had returned “—they’ll just be jealous of your youthful complexion.”

Soren could only shake his head at Ike, restraining the temptation to smile. His lips trembled. “Idiot.”

“Idiot?” Ike repeated, putting an arm around his shoulders and turned them both back to the road. “You’re one to talk, Mr. Get-my-friends-arrested-with-very-poor-planning.”

“Then I guess we’re both fools,” Soren conceded, unable to stop himself from smiling this time.