Fire Emblem Fan Fiction ❯ Fire Emblem Tellius Saga: Book 2 ❯ CHAPTER 66: THE LAGUZ ALLIANCE ( Chapter 35 )

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

The Greil Mercenaries strutted into Fort Alpea, where they were applauded and embraced by old comrades from the war. In addition to Leanne, Calill, and Haar, Elincia had had the aid of Nephenee, Brom, Lethe, and Mordecai in this battle. Nephenee also introduced the mercenaries to a new friend of hers named Heather, and Makalov re-introduced them to Devdan, which was confusing to everyone because Devdan was now pretending not to know them and introducing himself as “Danved” instead. Ike seemed incredibly perplexed by this personality change, but before he could demand to get to the bottom of it, Elincia strode into the bailey and everyone’s chatter quieted.

“You have my most profound gratitude, Mercenaries of Greil,” she declared serenely, inclining her head and raising her arms in a curtsy. She was still dressed in her gleaming white armor and golden battle crown, with a gossamer cape billowing behind her. And although Soren knew for a fact that she’d wielded her sword this morning, there wasn’t a single drop of blood marring her outfit.

Ike seemed momentarily lost for words as he took in four years’ change in her face, but then he found his tongue: “It was no problem…”

“Please, come inside.” She swept one arm graciously behind her and proceeded back into the fort. The mercenaries followed, along with Geoffrey, who’d dismounted and was now walking with a woozy-looking Lucia leaning on his arm. Soon they were sitting on some benches in the relative privacy of the main hall. “Sir Ike…” Elincia began again, sounding more like her old self. “If you hadn’t come to help. I would have lost one of my dearest friends.” Reaching out, she squeezed Lucia’s hand. “Thank you… Thank you ever so much.”

Mist and Rhys moved among the benches, tending their comrades’ injuries, although they obviously tried to be polite by making their movements slow and quiet.

“We were happy to do it,” Ike answered with a shake of his head. Like Elincia, he was standing. As an officer, Soren had also refused to take a seat and now stood rigidly to the side. Titania was sitting with one leg outstretched, but that was understandable given what appeared to be a swollen (and potentially crushed) ankle. “And Bastian pays well for mercenary work,” Ike added.  

“Bastian?” Elincia repeated in surprise.

“Yeah.” Ike smiled to the side, clearly becoming more comfortable after the initial shock of seeing her again. “The Count of Fayre knew about Ludveck’s plotting before he left for Daein. Bastian guessed that if he left the country, the rebels would feel confident enough to make their move.” Elincia looked stunned, but Ike just shrugged as if to say the results spoke for themselves. “What else would you expect from Crimea’s top tactician?” His eye momentarily slid to Soren’d, where he winked before looking back at Elincia. “Well, Crimea’s most deceptive old dog, at any rate.” Soren was not as flattered as he was surprised that Ike was suddenly relaxed enough to talk and joke like he and Elincia were nothing more than old friends.

“Yes, that’s just like him…” She shook her head and gave a small laugh.

“Sorry that we had to stay hidden until the last minute. For a ruse like that to work, you have to deceive allies as well as enemies.” His voice grew suddenly somber. “I know you were acting in Crimea’s best interests, but I’m sorry you had to let that happen to Lucia.” His gaze moved to the pale swordswoman, as if to share his apology with her too.

“No…” Lucia took a steadying breath and turned her face to Elincia. “It worked out fine in the end. Please put it out of your mind.” Although Rhys had healed her wounds, she still looked starved, exhausted, weak from blood loss, and likely concussed. But her voice was firm.

“Lucia, Geoffrey—” Elincia reached out for their hands now “—I value your lives more than even my own. But it is my duty to protect this country, even if that means losing you. I’ve learned a lot from all of this. I hope to keep you out of harm’s way, and I’ll never make the same mistakes again.” Lucia stood to embrace her, and Geoffrey leapt from his seat to kneel with his head bowed. For a few seconds, their voices overlapped as each assured the others that they were going to protect one another, that they all felt the same way, and so on.

When this episode was over and Geoffrey was helping Lucia sit back down, Ike spoke again. “Good to hear,” he said, clapping his hands together. “So…what are you going to do about all of the escaped rebel soldiers?”

Elincia straightened her spine and grew serious. “The rebel army will be eradicated. We cannot allow them to sow the seeds of discontent among the people of Crimea.”

“That sounds like the right choice.” Ike nodded his approval. (And although Soren disagreed, he said nothing about the fact that discontent was already widespread, seeds or no seeds.) “Would you consider contracting my company for the job?” Ike gestured at the sitting mercenaries, who immediately tried to look strong and confident. Mist and Rhys stopped what they were doing to stand at attention.

Elincia ran her eyes over them with a wane smile. “…No, Sir Ike,” she finally said. “I’ll leave that up to the Royal Knights.” She glanced at Geoffrey and gave the barest nod, which he returned solemnly. “I’m certain this task will create anger among the people, and the Royal Knights may be resented for their role in it… But my duty as queen demands that it be done. The people will have to learn to accept that.”

Soren could tell Ike was surprised by her response, despite the fact that he quickly stifled his reaction. “I respect your devotion to duty,” he said, then pausing awkwardly. “So, you don’t need me then?”

Elincia turned to face him fully, and although her expression was kind, Soren thought for a moment that she was being extremely cruel. “That’s right,” she replied in an even tone. “I’m going to move on, together with my vassals and the people of this country.”

After a slight hesitation, Ike nodded with a soft smile. “I know you’ll do an amazing job,” he said, and Soren wondered how he could appear so calm. Elincia had effectively rejected him, here in front of everyone. Soren was indignant on Ike’s behalf, even though he knew the emotion didn’t make any sense.

He stewed in his confusion while the others conversed easily. Elincia’s status as queen didn’t stop them from speaking freely about how they’d been spending the past few years. And the fact that Elincia had just rebuffed him didn’t seem to make Ike behave differently at all.

When a Crimean soldier appeared, announcing that preparations were complete for the return to Melior, Elincia invited the Greil Mercenaries to march alongside her and spend the evening at the castle. “I’m afraid I will be quite busy as soon as we arrive,” she admitted, “But it would be my honor to see you fed and lodged in comfort.”

Ike looked at his mercenaries uncertainly, as if gauging what they wanted to do, but Titania accepted for them: “We’d love to!” she beamed.

“We just have to collect our pay from a friend of Bastian’s,” Ike added, “We’ll catch up.”

Elincia nodded, and Lucia and Geoffrey stood to accompany her. When they were gone, Ike turned to the mercenaries. “Everyone ready to move out?” To which they saluted, chirped, grunted, or otherwise signaled their agreement.

Ike led the way, with Titania beside him (her ankle healed to a degree that she walked with a slight limp). Soren was next, but after taking only a few steps, he realized his right arm was limp and heavy at his side. Suddenly remembering the wound he’d gotten at the end of the battle, he wondered how he could have forgotten it. Lightheadedness froze him in place, and he gently moved his arm to test the cut under his shoulder blade. Whatever clotting had occurred was loosened, and he felt fresh blood ooze down his back. Luckily he wasn’t the only once to notice, and despite the other mercenaries passing without a sideways glance, Mist stopped to exclaim: “Soren, you’re hurt!”

“I realize that,” Soren shot back, testing his shoulder again. He was annoyed that everyone had stopped to look at him. Ike’s face filled with concern as he strode back to check on him. Meanwhile, Mist forced him to sit on one of the recently vacated benches and set about clearing and healing the gash. As blood vessels and nervous tissue were repaired, sensation gradually came back to his arm and side.

There was a bit of blood on the floor where he’d been standing, and as he stared at it now, he realized he’d been so captivated by the exchange between Ike and Elincia that he hadn’t even felt any pain. Now he stared at Ike’s boots, standing beside him, and wondered why he couldn’t meet his eye.

 

Back in the barn where’d they left Calgary, the mercenaries found one of her spies and a chest full of gold. But the woman was nowhere to be found. “Here is your payment,” the spy explained as soon as they arrived, “Calgary said she would convey your success to Lord Bastian. This concludes your contract.”

“If either of them ever want to hire us again,” Ike replied, “they know where to find us.”

While the mercenaries strapped the box behind Titania’s saddle, Soren considered Ike’s words. On the short walk from Alpea to this village, the company had already started talking about how life was going to be different now, and the same chatter continued now. They weren’t going to hide anymore, they wouldn’t avoid Elincia or high-profile jobs, they could visit all their old friends, and they could return to the old base and stay as long as they wanted.

Soren tried to recall the feeling he’d had when Ike had shaken hands with Geoffrey only an hour ago. At the time, he had felt he’d missed an opportunity; he’d felt a window was closing. But now Elincia had refused further aid from the mercenaries. She was inviting Ike to stay in Melior for an evening, and only an evening. The Greil Mercenaries would never be tied to the crown, and Ike would never be bound to Elincia. Life would go on as usual. Soren hadn’t lost an anything, and yet, now that he tried to pin it down, he couldn’t articulate what exactly he’d wanted to do.

 

Elincia was occupied the rest of the afternoon giving sober yet inspiring speeches—saying she was glad Crimea was whole again but claiming she could not celebrate when the blood of her countrymen had been spilled so needlessly. She gave orders left and right, putting Felirae under the crown’s control, investigating anyone suspected of supporting the rebellion, and arresting any participants or instigators before they could flee. (As the escapees were rounded up, Melior’s jails and dungeons were filled to bursting.) Elincia was also busy long into the night with back-to-back private meetings, in which Soren had no doubt she was scheming with her allies and striking new deals with nobles who had thus far remained neutral.

From the moment the mercenaries entered Melior Castle to the time they went to sleep that night, they were merely spectators to all this activity. They hardly saw the queen, except in passing, and she didn’t have time to sit down with them again. However, Nephenee, Brom, and their other friends joined them for a dinner in one of the palace’s more modest halls—after which Calill and Largo hosted them for drinks and games at their tavern. When they returned to the suite Elincia had prepared for them in the palace, the mercenaries whiled away the evening hours at the fireside.

Soren had been stealing glances at Ike all evening, and he was overwhelmed by how happy and relaxed he seemed. It was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and Soren imagined the same lightness was filling him with every glance.

He remained with the group, listening but saying little, until his exhaustion drew him away to the luxurious beds Elincia’s servants had made up for them. Ike and the others had decided they would head out for their old base tomorrow, which meant several long days of riding ahead. He would enjoy the down pillows and soft blankets while he could.

However, no sooner had he adjourned to the hall did Ike rise from his chair, saying, “Oh wait, Soren.”

He hesitated, holding the door, and Ike joined him a moment later, letting the door close, muffling the sound of the others in the parlor.

“You’re going to bed?”

“It is late,” Soren replied.

Ike yawned as if he agreed but then shook his head as if to rouse himself. “Before you go, there’s something I wanted to say.”

“Very well.” Soren waited.

“I’m…sorry,” Ike explained slowly, “for getting mad. About that business with Bastian. It turned out to be a good thing.”

“No matter the outcome,” Soren replied evenly, “I neglected your trust. For that, I suppose I should apologize.” He knew he was still no good at apologies, but this made Ike’s eyes soften a moment before he frowned.

“The truth is… I think I was running away from Crimea this whole time.”

“Crimea?” Soren repeated doubtfully, thinking ‘Elincia’ would be more appropriate.

Ike sighed. “I want to help people, I really do. And I’m not an idiot—I know money and peerage can do a lot more for people than swinging a sword around… If I’d stepped into the role everyone wanted me to. If I’d become one of Elincia’s vassals…” He shook his head. “But that just wasn’t me.”

“…I think I understand now,” Soren replied, wondering how his jealousy could have blinded him to something so simple, something that, perhaps, should have been obvious.

Ike sighed again, and when he did, the levity that had had filled him earlier seemed to return. “But it’s not like it was back then. The pressure’s gone. I’m glad we came back here. I’m glad I could help Crimea…”

“By swinging a sword around?” Soren supplied with an unbidden smile.

This made Ike grin. “Yeah.”

Soren nodded and turned to go. Unable to control his face and voice right now, he didn’t trust himself not to say something he would regret.

“Good night, Soren,” Ike said softly behind him.

“Good night, Ike,” he managed to say without turning around.

He heard the door handle click and the voices of the other mercenaries grow louder for a moment as Ike returned to the parlor. Soren allowed himself to smile softly into the shadows of the hallway until he found his room.

Under the coverlet, he closed his eyes and dreamt of sound and motion: the looseness of Ike’s shoulders, the rocking bounce in his step, the way his weight had settled into chairs all evening, the relaxed, low note of his voice, which came easily from the back of his throat. This—this was peace. This was relief. Soren imagined the lightness was carrying him away and he would float right off the bed.

 

Due to the queen’s busy schedule, Soren didn’t expect to see her again before they departed (and he was perfectly fine with that). But while everyone was sluggishly preparing to leave, she appeared in their suite’s parlor asking for Ike. Mist retrieved him, and the pair went into the hall to speak privately. Soren resisted the urge to eavesdrop at the door, and considering how Mist was hovering nearby, he wondered if she had the same temptation. 

It was not a long conversation, and when Ike came back, Elincia was gone. He seemed distracted and was attempting to attach his scabbard to his back before first donning his leather jerkin. Soren walked over and pulled the straps away from his fumbling hands. Only then did Ike’s eyes widen and his expression clear.

“Troubling news?” Soren asked coolly, handing him the appropriate piece of armor.

Ike shook his head. “Nothing we didn’t already suspect. I shouldn’t let it get to me…”

“Are you being intentionally vague?” Soren stepped back.

Mist took his place, helping Ike tie the straps he couldn’t easily reach. “What’s wrong?” she asked sympathetically.

Ike shook his head as he tied on his cape. “It’s the Black Knight. Bastian had Nados searched after the war and never found his body. He really is alive, and more likely than not, that really was him fighting in the Daein Revolution.”

Soren hesitated to reply, knowing Ike had forbidden him from nagging about the Black Knight anymore. “You’re right—it’s nothing we didn’t already suspect.”

“Right.” Ike pulled on his gauntlets. “There’s nothing we can do now but wait for our paths to cross again.”

“Right…” Soren agreed reluctantly.

“We’ll beat him this time,” Mist assured, pulling her staff away from the wall. Like Soren, she was already ready to leave.

 

The mercenaries still had the horses they’d acquired in Begnion, and they hooked the two sturdiest up to a wagon they purchased with their fresh gold. This meant Gatrie and Boyd were without steeds, but Boyd traded with Mia and Mia, in turn, traded with Soren. This left Soren and Gatrie driving the cart. He was not the best company (Soren didn’t find a single one of his jokes or observations entertaining), but at least it was more comfortable than riding.

The cart allowed them to load up on supplies, and eight days later, they arrived in Arbor ready to reclaim their old base. Here they were notified that brigands had once again taken up residence inside the fort, from which they were raiding the local villages mercilessly. Several young women had been raped and murdered, and as their first new contract, the local constable asked them to kill the bandits instead of merely chasing them off.

Leaving the cart and horses in town, the mercenaries marched up the woodland path to take back what was theirs and see justice done. They took the squatters by surprise and were able to kill half by the time the rest barricaded themselves in the keep. The barricade was useless, however, and it didn’t take the mercenaries long to bash in the old doors.

Once the mercenaries were inside, the remaining bandits either died in the entrance hall, fled deeper into the fort (where they died), or tried to escape through the back entrance (where they were cut off by Titania, and died).

Looking at the wreckage, corpses, and general filthiness around him, Soren realized cleaning was going to be quite a chore this time. This was confirmed when Mia exploded out of the mess hall, saying, “There’s a live pig in here!” Everyone rushed in and found not only the pig but also two chickens and a young goat with a broken leg bleating grumpily from where is was tied in the corner.

“What the hell?” Boyd exclaimed.

“There’s shit everywhere,” Shinon observed. “No way am I-”

He was cut off by Ike shoving a mop into his chest. “Yes, you are,” he said firmly. “Titania, Gatrie, Mist, go back into town for the wagon. Oscar, see if those thugs left anything edible behind.” An angry bleat from the goat seemed to give him pause. “Anything not currently breathing,” he amended. “Rhys, take the animals outside. Everyone else, pick a corner and start cleaning!”

Leaving their weapons and armor in a relatively clean spot the entrance hall, the mercenaries covered their mouths and noses with rags and set to work. In addition to sanitizing the kitchen and mess hall, one of the essential first tasks was dragging the bandits’ bodies outside and burying them (but not before Shinon had his way with their pockets). Mia quickly discovered that the bandits had been riddled with lice, so all of the mattresses, furs, and blankets inside the fort were burned. When Titania and the others returned, Mist set about planning what should be done with the fresh lumber they’d purchased.

  

After four days, Soren felt as if only an hour had passed. But when he looked around, he did see a marked improvement in the fort’s appearance. Today they’d stuffed enough mattresses for everyone to return to their own rooms tonight, rather than camping under the stars like they had been.

Back in his old room, Soren touched the scratches on the wall behind the door with practiced familiarity. His arm reached out of its own accord, just to acknowledge their presence and perhaps signal his return. The last time he’d been here had been one and a half years ago. His height hadn’t changed in that time, and he no longer expected it to (at least, not any time soon).

Tracking his growth suddenly felt so foolish that Soren found himself pushing and pulling the room’s wardrobe against that wall. This meant rotating the bed, and for a moment, the room was quite cramped.

The grating of furniture drew Mia, who watched him give the bedframe a final shove. “What the hell are you doing in here?” she asked with an eyebrow raised.

“Moving things,” he replied, “clearly.”

Mia pushed a hand against the door until it banged against the side of the wardrobe. “Your door doesn’t open all the way,” she noted.

Soren glared at her. “It will suffice.”

Turning her gaze over the room, she nodded and grinned. “You know, it actually looks bigger in here now, more open in the middle.”

Soren crossed his arms. “Your design expertise is appreciated.”

Mia tossed a shoulder and moved away from the door. “C’mon, we’re playing charades in the mess hall, and you’re on my team.”

With a last look at his handiwork, Soren followed her out.

 

Once their base was in order, the Greil Mercenaries were eager to get back to work. Aside from rescuing Lucia and ousting the bandits from the fort, they hadn’t had a good fight since Daein. And even back then, most of their final jobs had passed without a hitch as the number of refugees had dwindled.

Luckily, unrest in Crimea was good for business, and after treading the line between full-blown civil war and a brief, squashed rebellion, the nation was certainly in a state of unrest. The mercenaries didn’t have to travel far to acquire jobs defending the poor and downtrodden, just as Greil had always done.

Soren had determined many years ago that, as long as wealth and power was strictly isolated to a single class of nobles, droves of commoners would continue to resort to crime and form coalitions of violence in an attempt to carve out better lives for themselves. As long as the vast majority of people in Crimea were poor and the rich controlled the military, the bandit clans would never be fully eradicated and Crimea’s seedy underbelly would continue to flourish. Therefore, the Greil Mercenaries would always find work protecting the ‘honest, hardworking poor’.

Soren knew who the real villains were and saw the flaws inherent in Crimea’s governing; but it was no different than the way Begnion or Daein functioned (or indeed Gallia, from what he could tell about it). Things were not going to change any time soon, and Soren didn’t especially care as long as he continued to earn coin on the blood of others.

 

Five months after returning to the base, life had become routine again: the same simple work, the same low wages, the same roads and villages, the same antics around the fort. In some ways, Soren’s life was just as it had been before the Mad King’s War, but in other ways it was undeniably different. Soren was an officer now, and Ike was the commander. Soren knew he was a Branded now, and he had accepted that fact. Ike knew what he was too, and he was even more accepting of it. Soren had learned he was capable of loving someone, and that person was Ike. Life wasn’t as wearisome or frightening as it had been seven years ago. And perhaps, Soren thought, that was proof he was growing up even if he wasn’t growing any older.

These thoughts and others flitted through his mind as he stood at the open door to Greil’s old study (which was now Ike’s study). He had come to give Ike the most recent battle report, but now he was rooted to the spot, watching his friend sort through documents at his desk.

Soren was struck by how content he looked; he hated reading reports, and yet he looked satisfied. During the war, his resting face had always been rather grim, but that had eased now. Like Greil, he looked too big for the desk—a gentle giant making the conscious effort to nestle down, perhaps in an attempt to teach his rough hands the softness of paper.

The day was sunny but cold, and a breath of winter air was coming through the window. Outside, Mist, Boyd, and Rolf were laughing riotously in the yard, and their voices drifted up to him, catching his attention. Ike smiled slightly at their mirth and then looked at the sky, scratching one hand behind his ear. The side of his forearm was littered with goosebumps, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Ike hadn’t yet noticed Soren watching him, and Soren didn’t want to announce himself. He needed this moment to stretch on and on, so he could finally understand what he wanted from it. This moment was sublime, but it wasn’t enough. He had time, so what did he want to do with it?

Right now, he wanted to walk into Ike’s study and touch those rough hands. He wanted to touch his cheeks and his hair and warm up his cool skin. He wanted to look at the sky where he was looking and see what he saw. He wanted to know what Ike was thinking, and he wanted to hear his voice: the one he used when he wasn’t being the commander, when he was just talking to a friend one-on-one.

But Soren couldn’t do these things now, and he never would. So what was the next best thing? The answer came just as Ike finally turned to him. “Oh,” he said, his eyes widening in surprise, “Soren, did you want something?”

He wanted to tell Ike the truth. He wanted Ike to know how he felt. He wanted Ike to know all the other things he wanted, even if he could never have them. The realization tangled his tongue. He couldn’t speak. “I, um, er…”

“Soren, are you alright?” He pushed back his chair to stand.

With a firm shake of his head that nearly made him dizzy, Soren forced himself to walk forward. He set the report on Ike’s desk with rigid arms. “I am fine,” he said, finally finding his voice. His heart was beating fast.

Ike leaned across the desk and peered skeptically into Soren’s eyes. “You don’t look fine…” he observed.

“I must be catching cold,” Soren lied, backing away. “By your leave.” He gave a stiff bow that was entirely unlike him and left the study before Ike could point out his suspicious behavior.

He promptly left the fort, passing Mist and the others in the yard and Shinon on watch. He walked until he reached the edge of the woods, and there he stopped. He realized he didn’t know where he was going and that he didn’t actually want to run away. The cool air invigorated his lungs and quickened his blood. He realized he’d come to a decision somewhere between here and the door of Ike’s study: he would tell him the truth.

Soren didn’t expect Ike to return his affection; he had every expectation that Ike would become awkward and then try to let him down gently. Neither did Soren expect his feelings to go away or for them to become easier to ignore. But he still wanted to do it, because not doing it would always feel like living a lie. Soren already had to do that for the rest of the world—but not for Ike. Not anymore.

As for what would happen after his confession, Soren was optimistic that Ike would accept him no matter what he said, did, or admitted to. Ike would forgive him and help him move on, because he was a hero—and more than Soren ever deserved.

Perhaps their friendship and their working relationship would be uncomfortable for a while. But Soren was confident he could act professionally and function normally as the company’s strategist. As he pivoted on the spot and set his eyes on the study window, he found himself wondering if Titania had ever told Greil how she’d felt. Perhaps she had, just as Soren was about to now, and although Greil must have rejected her, she’d continued serving as his loyal deputy. Soren’s heart was harder than Titania’s. If she could do it, then surely he could. He just had to take the plunge—now, while the sun was shining and the mercenaries had their whole lives ahead of them. Because every day living a lie was liked living under a shadow.

Soren had taken four steps back toward the fort—and what felt like the rest of his life—when an intrusive scent caught his nose. A laguz was coming.

He didn’t want to tear his eyes away from Ike’s window, but he did. He didn’t want to turn back to the woods, but he did. He waited, and a couple seconds later, Ranulf appeared. The sky-blue cat was bounding along the trail on all fours, and the urgency in his gait caused a sinking feeling in Soren’s stomach. He wondered if this could be coincidence, or if the universe was conspiring against him. Perhaps there really was a goddess, and perhaps she really did hate him.

“Soren!” Ranulf skidded to a stop beside him and looked up at the fort with his mismatched eyes. An expression of relief split his feline features. “I was hoping you’d all be here.” An instant later, he reverted to his human shape. He looked tired, and Soren wondered how long he’d been travelling. He wasn’t wearing a disguise and was quite coated in dirt, which suggested he’d stayed in his cat form much of the way from Gallia.

“Why have you come?” Soren replied, not hiding his displeasure at seeing him again.

“I should probably explain that to Ike first,” he replied, shaking his head. “Can you take me to him?”

“Is it war again?” Soren asked plainly.

Ranulf seemed surprised by this prediction. His ears flicked forward and then back, where they remained bent, almost trembling. His eyes were sad as he gazed down at him. “Yes,” he admitted.

Soren closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Ike is this way,” he said when he opened them again. He strode briskly toward the fort, and Ranulf walked beside him. With each step, Soren took a piece of his happiness and folded it up. He tucked it all away in the recesses of his heart, and he took his plans and stored them in the back of his mind.

  

As they passed through the yard, the others stopped what they were doing to stare at Ranulf. Mist was gone, and Rolf and Boyd were sparring alone. Boyd had Rolf in a headlock, and there his head hung while both pairs of eyes followed them.

   When they neared Ike’s study, Soren discovered where Mist had disappeared to. Both she and Titania were here, chatting with Ike. He gestured for Ranulf to wait in the hall.

“Who wants to live like some overstuffed noble, anyway?” Mist was saying. “Definitely not me!” she laughed, “We have Father’s legacy to look after as well: the Greil Mercenaries!” She lifted her cup in a toast just as Soren strode in.

Mist was at the window, Ike leaning against the desk, and Titania sitting in one of the corner chairs. All three turned their gaze to Soren, and Titania was already opening her mouth to greet him when he cut her off: “Ike, a visitor to see you.”

“A visitor? Who is it?”

Before Soren could explain, Ranulf let himself in. “Long time no see, Ike!” he beamed, passing Soren on his way to grasp Ike’s arms. “I’ve been looking all over Crimea for you. I didn’t expect you to be home!”

“Ranulf!” Ike laughed. “How are you? How’s everyone in Gallia? Is King Caineghis alright?”

Mist squealed and gave Ranulf a hug, and Titania jostled his shoulder affectionately.

“Everyone is doing great,” Ranulf replied, and all of the urgency Soren had seen in him had disappeared. Perhaps he was really elated to see old friends, or more likely, he was just trying to ease them into the news. “We laguz don’t take ill too easily, so it’s hard not to be ‘well’,” he joked.

“Seeing you again brings back memories,” Ike sighed nostalgically, “We couldn’t have won the war without Gallia’s aid—and yours especially”

“Well, same goes for you.” Ranulf rubbed the back of his head. “Who knows where Gallia would be if not for Ike and the Greil Mercenaries!”

“Speaking of old friends…” Ike took a step back, and the gaze he ran over Ranulf was more analytical this time. He was looking for something. “I saw Princess Leanne in the Crimean court a while back. Apparently, she’d been looking for me too.”

Soren stared at Ike in surprise. He had shared his conversation with Elincia about the Black Knight, but he hadn’t mentioned talking with Leanne. Soren wondered what they could have discussed, given the princess’s difficulty using the common tongue.

Ranulf seemed to wince at Ike’s words, but he didn’t immediately offer an explanation.

Ike continued: “She said, ‘Please save my brothers.’ Do you know what she was talking about?”

All eyes were on Ranulf now, including Soren’s. “So she’s heard…” Ranulf shook his head. “Let me get straight to the point, Ike. I have some bad news: war has come to us once again.”

“What!” Ike and Titania demanded. Mist just gasped.

“The Laguz Alliance,” Ranulf explained, “comprised of Gallia, Phoenicis, and Kilvas, is setting out against Begnion. The situation has escalated rather quickly.”

Soren could hardly believe what he was hearing. When Ranulf had said ‘war,’ Soren hadn’t suspected anything of this magnitude. What he described was more than half of Tellius.

“‘Escalated’ seems a bit soft,” Ike scoffed, clearly unable to believe it either. “I know there are problems between the laguz and Begnion, but I thought things were getting better.” Surely he was recalling the trade agreement they’d safely transported last year.

Ranulf released a long sigh. “Rafiel, the eldest of the Serenes royal family, brought back some disturbing news from Daein. He’s learned that Begnion senators ordered the herons’ extermination. This has spurred the laguz to strike against the empire.” Silence stretched as everyone tried to understand what Ranulf’s claim. “That’s why I came looking for you, Ike,” he turned to face him fully. “We need your help.”

Again, no one said anything. Ike was staring at the floor. “Let’s just- Let’s just take a seat. Walk me through this again.”

He, Titania, and Mist led Ranulf to the briefing room. Soren trailed after, his mind already buzzing with the ramifications of Ranulf’s story and the many questions its spawned. When they arrived, Titania closed the door to stop the other mercenaries from snooping. (Rolf was already in the hall, and Soren had no doubt he would be pressing his ear to the crack in a moment.) Then Titania poured Ranulf some water and sat down.

“So you’re saying another royal survived the Serenes Massacre?” Ike began.

Ranulf nodded. “As the eldest, Rafiel is the crown prince.”

“And you said he was in Daein? Was he imprisoned as Lillia was?” Titania asked, her voice heavy with concern.

Ranulf shook his head. “No, he’s actually been in Death Desert for the past twenty-six years. Or rather, in a place isolated by the desert called Hatari. He only arrived in Daein at the beginning of their revolution. He claims a voice guided him across the sands.”

“Wait, please slow down—Hatari?” Titania repeated incredulously.

“But-” Mist cocked her head. “I thought there was nothing beyond Death Desert? I thought everything else was flooded. It’s all ocean, isn’t it?”

“Apparently not.” Ranulf raised both his palms. “Rafiel found other laguz there: the lost wolf tribe. He lived among them, and their Queen even came back with him as proof.”

“Wait, there are wolf laguz?” Ike repeated. “That’s amazing!”

Ranulf gave a small smile. “It is truly incredible they survived the Dark God’s wrath. It makes you wonder what else may still exist beyond that impassable desert.”

Ike’s eyes were filled with childlike awe. “I wonder…” he began, but Titania’s lament cut him off:

“Impassible or not, how did Rafiel survive? How could he fly all the way from Serenes to this ‘Hatari’ in the first place?”

Ranulf hesitated before answering. “I still don’t understand it myself. He claims a voice told him to return to Tellius and led him on a safe path across the desert. At the end of that path, he met Daein’s Maiden of Dawn, who roped him into fighting in her war.”

“I thought herons hated fighting,” Mist pouted sympathetically. “Why would he-”

Ranulf raised a hand to stop her. “He must have had his reasons. As for how he got to Hatari in the first place, he claims not to remember. But couldn’t have flown there—he can’t fly at all. His wings were broken during the massacre.”

Mist covered her mouth. “Oh, that’s so sad!”

Ranulf nodded in agreement. “He is quite frail, and the Wolf Queen who guards him carries him on her back. It was a sight to behold when they arrived in Gallia. They came as soon as the Daein Revolution was over—to tell us laguz the truth about what Begnion did to his people.”

For a few moments everyone contemplated this story, and it was Ike who spoke first. “Soren,” he said, turning to him, “You’ve been awfully quiet. What do you make of this?”

Soren answered slowly: “What do I make of an injured heron who has memory lapses and follows disembodied voices?” He turned his skepticism on Ranulf. “I am waiting to hear why Caineghis—or any of the laguz kings for that matter—would believe anything this Rafiel character has to say, let alone go to war for it.”

Ranulf was clearly annoyed by his tone. “Despite what you may think, we laguz do not go to war lightly!” he hissed. “My King sent a messenger straight to Sienne asking for a meeting to discuss Rafiel’s information. Not only did the senate refuse, they blatantly murdered him! No messengers have come back since, and no one in the Laguz Alliance has been able to contact our ambassadors in Begnion. We assume the worst.”

Ike, Titania, and Mist were clearly appalled, and Soren couldn’t pretend he wasn’t shocked too. Killing even a single laguz messenger was a grave mistake. Either Begnion was overconfident in their ability to intimidate the laguz nations into backing down, or they didn’t care if they started a war. He supposed there was another possibility: they might just be afraid. It was possible just one senator had made a mistake and killed the messenger without thinking, and now the other senators were rising up to defend the blunder. Whatever the case, he needed more information.

“What does Rafiel mean when he says Begnion’s senators ordered the Serenes attack?” he asked next.

“He claims to have overheard the senators planning to exterminate the herons and burn the forest even before the apostle was assassinated.”

Soren glared to communicate his dissatisfaction with this answer. “If that is true, then why did he do nothing to prevent it and allow himself to be caught in the attack?”

Ranulf looked uneasy as he answered. “Well, the way I understand it, Rafiel wasn’t in Serenes when it happened.”

“Then how were his wings broken?” Soren asked pointedly.

“Slavers I think; he doesn’t seem to want to talk about it… But I trust him. Besides, why would the senators be acting the way they are if they weren’t guilty?”

Soren glared back. “Have you considered the ramifications of that fool bird’s claim? Five years ago, at Palmeni Temple, we determined that Ashnard orchestrated the attack on the Serenes by assassinating Begnion’s apostle and staging it to blame the herons. We concluded Ashnard had done this, because he successfully used the ensuing chaos to kidnap Princess Lillia and steal Lehran’s Medallion. Such a thing could only have been premediated.”

“That’s true but-”

“But you would rather believe Ashnard and the Begnion senate were working in tandem?” Soren asked coldly.

Ranulf raised his hands in defeat and leaned back in his chair. “Honestly, I’m just a captain in the Gallian Army. That’s above my paygrade. But whether the Mad King of Daein was manipulating the senate or just taking advantage of their ambitions for his own gain—it doesn’t matter, does it? Begnion still murdered our messenger in cold blood. The Laguz Alliance is going to war. I’m just here to ask the Greil Mercenaries for help.”

Although Ranulf had given up the debate, Soren felt like he was the one who’d lost. He didn’t have any more answers than Ranulf, and he couldn’t deny the cat’s pragmatism was correct. This war was going to happen no matter if it was justified by history or the actions of present day.

“Ranulf makes a good point,” Ike said, reclaiming the proceedings. “But,” he turned to his friend, “I still don’t understand what you need us for.”

Ranulf seemed happier to answer Ike than withstand Soren’s line of questioning. “The armies of Gallia, Phoenicis, and Kilvas are strong, but my King knows brute force cannot win this fight. We have no experience invading another country, and we’ll need someone who understands beorc tactics.”

“That makes sense…” Ike nodded.

“Having a dozen of the world’s best beorc warriors wouldn’t hurt our chances either,” Ranulf added with a smile. “Gallia knows the Greil Mercenaries are reliable in a pinch.”

“I don’t know how much of a fight a handful of sell-swords can give Begnion, but…” Titania trailed off into a smile, apparently warming to this plan. 

Ike cleared his throat. “Ranulf, if that’s the whole story…why don’t you go explain the situation to the others while we discuss your offer? Mist, would you bring Ranulf to the mess hall? Maybe get him some food too.”

“Of course!” Mist pushed back her chair, and Soren heard Rolf scurry away from the door where he’d been spying this whole time.

Ranulf stood as well, but before he left, he ran his gaze from Ike to Titania, and then to Soren, where it lingered. “The rate is six-thousand gold per month, starting now,” he told him, “and a ten-thousand gold bonus if we’re successful in acquiring a surrender and reparations from Begnion.” He turned his gaze back to Ike, “But even more than that…the theocracy has shown that it never had any interest in treating laguz as equals. We won’t stand for it any longer—not when we were finally making some progress. You’re one of the few beorc who care about laguz, and you might be the only hope the Laguz Alliance has of actually winning this war.”

Ike nodded solemnly. “I understand that… Just let me discuss it with my officers. Then we’ll bring it to a vote.”

Ranulf nodded and followed Mist out of the briefing room. When he was gone, Ike turned to Soren. “Well?”

Soren steepled his fingers. “Ranulf is correct in his assessment. A laguz army is poorly suited for siege.”

“I mean, will you do it?” Ike clarified.

Soren realized Titania was staring at him too, biting her lip as if dreading his answer. “I thought we were having a discussion,” he countered.

“I want to do it. Titania?” Ike turned to her expectantly.

“I… I do not want to abandon our laguz allies,” Titania declared.

“Then I am outvoted,” Soren returned in annoyance “What need is there for discussion?”

“Because I won’t make you do this,” Ike explained, his voice suddenly gentler. “Not if you don’t want to, and not if you think you can’t do it.”

“What are you blathering about?” Soren shot back more sharply than intended. He didn’t want to be mad at Ike right now, but he was frustrated at the entire situation.

“It’s your brain the Laguz Alliance needs,” Ike pressed, “more than a bunch of mercenaries.”

Soren hesitated before replying, suddenly wondering if Ike vastly overestimated his abilities. “You have proven yourself a capable general,” he returned, “You have a wealth of experience and the right instincts. Ranulf came all of this way to ask you, not me.”

“Ranulf didn’t come looking for a general,” Ike argued, “He came for a tactician. That’s you.”

Soren knew Ike was right, and his palms grew clammy when he realized this decision really was his alone. “I need a moment to think…” he admitted.

“I know you’re not fond of laguz, but-” Titania began, but Soren cut her off:

“I need to think,” he repeated more firmly. Titania didn’t try to speak again. Soren stared past his hands at the tabletop. “Begnion has the largest army in Tellius…” he began, voicing his thoughts for Ike’s sake. “They have more resources, more funds, and although they have not had to defend themselves from a serious invasion since the first years of Daein’s secession, they are extremely well-fortified…” Neither Ike nor Titania interrupted, so he continued: “But they are still recovering from a difficult loss in Daein, and Tellius has never seen a full Gallian Army leave its borders, nor the Phoenician Armada its island. I would be curious what Kilvas can bring to bear as well—I wonder if they were giving their true might to Daein in the Mad King’s War or if they kept their strength in reserve…” 

“That sounds promising,” Ike noted optimistically.

Soren shook his head. “It doesn’t change the fact that the laguz will have no siege engineers nor even any ranged units in their entire army. Traditional warfare will be forfeit.”

“But there are many things the bird- and beast-men are capable of that mere beorc are not,” Titania offered.

Soren sighed into the silence that followed. “It may be possible,” he finally said. “But if I’m wrong, we will all die in Begnion.”

Neither Ike nor Titania responded at first, but then Ike asked again: “So will you do it?”

Soren took a long breath. “Yes. But it will cost you. I’m renegotiating my contract for this.”

Ike grinned widely. “You can have the whole ten-thousand bonus if you want!” he laughed, “As far as I’m concerned, you’re priceless.”

  

Once everyone had heard Ranulf’s story, Ike called the mercenaries together for a vote. Shinon voiced his contempt for siding with the laguz, claiming it would ruin his whole career. But Ike convinced him otherwise by pointing out that, if they were successful, they would be the first people in thousands of years to force Begnion into submission on their own lands. They would go down in history—and they stood to make a lot of money. No one asked what would happen if they failed.

In the end, the decision to support the Laguz Alliance was unanimous. Mist prepared a place for Ranulf to sleep (seeing as he would now be their guide to the muster point), and Titania began preparations to move out the day after next. Meanwhile, Ike pulled Soren aside. “I appreciate this,” he said again. “We’ll be counting on you.”

Soren thought of all the things he’d wanted to say to Ike earlier, but they seemed like foolish, faraway dreams now. “My first word of advice,” Soren replied, getting straight to the point, “we will need to arrange a supply of weapons, armor, and other items a laguz army will not carry with them.”

“We need sutlers,” Ike agreed. “I was thinking of Muston and Aimee’s crew.”

Soren nodded. “I believe Brom mentioned they were in Daein during the revolution.”

“Get letters out before the end of the day. Ask them to meet us in Flaguerre or Mugill in six weeks’ time. We’ll make it worth their while.”

“Right away, Ike.”

“If Ilyana is still among them, give her an invitation to rejoin the Greil Mercenaries: a limited contract for the campaign.”

“You want to grow our numbers for this?”

“As a fighting force, eleven mercenaries won’t make much of a difference,” Ike admitted with a shake of his head. “With what Gallia’s paying us, we can afford to take on more arms.”

“I agree…” Soren tried to call to mind anyone not currently bound by other vows and contracts. “With your permission, I will also reach out to Brom, Nephenee, Haar, and Calill.”

“Ask Haar what Jill’s up to, and see if Nephenee will bring that girl Heather along.”

Soren frowned to show his doubt. “Jill would be a worthwhile addition, but we do not know anything about this Heather person. Didn’t Nephenee admit she was a simple thief when they first met?”

Ike smiled as if to show he didn’t care. “Yeah, she mentioned something like that. But beggars can’t be choosers, and if she’s good enough for Queen Elincia, she’s good enough for me.”

“Fine,” Soren conceded, “I will offer her a contract.” He tried to think of anyone else who might be available. “I can try to find Volke, but I wouldn’t count on him. Brom mentioned that Zihark was in Daein as well… Everyone else seems to be a knight in the Crimean military or doing who-knows-what in Daein. I think that may be the extent of the friends you have to call upon.”

“Even one of them would make a difference,” Ike declared confidently.  

 

Later that night, Soren, Ike, Titania, and Ranulf drew up an official contract, and Soren noted a strange condition, written in Ike’s hand, in one of the final clauses. The paragraph was dedicated to spoils of war, and in it, the Laguz Alliance vowed to procure for Ike of the Greil Mercenaries the holy sword Ragnell from Begnion in the event that negotiations or plundering of Sienne accommodated the transfer of such property.

Soren knew why Ike wanted the sword back; he needed it to defeat the Black Knight. But the idea that Ike saw this war as just another step toward getting revenge was unsettling to say the least. Soren didn’t comment on the clause, however, and in the end, he signed the contract as it was.

When the deed was done, Titania watched the drying ink with a grave expression. “I remembered just now, something Prince Reyson said to me in Phoenicis. He had discovered the true wording of the Dragon King’s prophecy, and I never could forget it: ‘War breeds the strife from which Chaos is born. Let the land be not covered in war, else the Dark God shall be freed of the medallion and the world destroyed.’” She paused to let the warning ring throughout the room. “I do not doubt that the Laguz Alliance is in the right, but I do hope this is a conflict we can resolve quickly.”

“Hear hear,” Ranulf agreed, but his attempt at lightheartedness fell flat, so he added, “Look, we have four herons safeguarding the medallion now. Tellius will be fine.”

 

End of Book II

The adventure continues in Book III