Fire Emblem Fan Fiction ❯ Fire Emblem Tellius Saga: Book 3 ❯ CHAPTER 78: ZARZI ( Chapter 12 )

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

When they reached Zarzi, Caineghis greeted the army from atop the castle steps. “Welcome home, brave warriors of Gallia!” he bellowed, “A long way you have come, and now you shall rest! A feast is being prepared in the great hall! Make ready yourselves at the barracks, and dine with me this evening!” A cheer met his words, and the army dispersed, filing into the city to be boarded at their assigned quarters. Soren knew those too injured to continue serving in the army would be discharged tomorrow, but for now they were still treated like warriors.

While the beast and hawk soldiers marched proudly away, Skrimir, Tibarn, and Ranulf mounted the steps to castle. The Greil Mercenaries followed at a respectful distance, but Ike was not far behind Ranulf. When they reached the palace gate, Caineghis dropped his hands onto his nephew’s shoulders and whispered something Soren couldn’t hear. He couldn’t see the young lion’s face either, but he knew him well enough to know he must be wallowing in shame. Caineghis’s eyes were tender, but Soren had no doubt this only made Skrimir feel worse.

When they parted, Caineghis and Tibarn shook hands, and Caineghis told Ranulf (who had dropped to one knee) to rise. He shook his hand as well, and then turned to Ike (who was—true to form—not kneeling). “Welcome back to Gallia, Ike,” he said, shaking his hand now. “You and your mercenaries may make yourselves at home in the palace.”

“We’d appreciate a couple rooms—” Ike spoke as easily with King Gallia as he would any friend “—and the merchants traveling with us will need a place to stay too.”

“Of course,” Caineghis replied. “Everything has been prepared. Please come inside.” With that, he swept his arm wide and gestured that everyone should follow him into the palace’s interior. It was only then that Soren realized Giffca was there too, standing by the door. Even though he understood now that the black lion’s ability to mask his presence was a laguz skill, he still couldn’t get used to it.

 

The mercenaries settled into the same suite of rooms they were given every time they visited Zarzi, and Ike once again moved into quarters that had once belonged to Greil and Elena. Soren’s room, although more modest, was next door.

It appeared Caineghis truly had prepared everything ahead of time, because Soren found spell books set out on the desk and freshly tailored robes hanging in the wardrobe. From the jabbering he heard in the hall, he deduced that the other mercenaries had found similar gifts and were excitedly showing each other their new clothes, weapons, books, tools, armor, and even jewelry.

He would sort through the spells later and take whatever was still usable, but for now he wanted to bathe before the feast. When he stepped into the corridor, he realized the rest of the mercenaries must be thinking the same thing. Shinon and Gatrie were already shirtless and racing toward the baths. Boyd chucked his shoes back into his room before starting to run, and when he passed, Ilyana and Aimee pressed themselves against the wall to get out of the way. Each woman was wrapped in the plush towels Gallian servants had placed in their rooms. And as soon as Boyd had gone, they skipped down the hall, chattering excitedly. Aimee seemed enamored with the promise of a good bath, but Ilyana was talking about the coming feast as if she couldn’t hear a word Aimee was saying.

 

At the feast, Caineghis once again praised his troops’ bravery, Skirmir’s leadership, and Ranulf’s wisdom. He also thanked the Greil Mercenaries for their continued friendship with Gallia, and they were all given special seats at the front of the hall, near the king’s table. When announcements were concluded and everyone applied themselves to the food and conversation, Soren was glad to find he could hear Caineghis easily from his position. This was important, not because he wanted to chat with the Beast King, but because he wanted to hear what he and the other royals would say. While the soldiers celebrated, their leaders would talk business—or so Soren hoped.

On Caineghis’s right sat Skrimir, beside whom sat Ranulf. Other important beast lords were seated down from him, and Giffca was sitting at the end. Tibarn was on Caineghis’s right, and beside him sat a woman Soren had to assume was Queen Nailah of Hatari. White wolf’s ears poked out of her purple-gray hair, and she wore a cloth headdress that draped across her right eye in a way that made Soren wonder if she’d somehow lost it in battle. Next to her sat the heron Rafiel, who looked like an older, weaker, and far tamer version of his brother. In fact, compared to Rafiel, Reyson looked more like a hawk than a heron, and the comparison was easy to make because Reyson was sitting right next to him. Leanne sat on his other side, looking as cheerful and serene as ever. Their father, King Lorazieh was nowhere to be seen, and Soren hoped that meant at least one heron was still standing guard over Lehran’s Medallion somewhere deeper in the castle.

While everyone dug into the feast’s first course, Caineghis began the conversation by telling his nephew and everyone else how glad he was that they’d returned safely and how worried he’d been these past couple months. “To me it was as if Begnion had swallowed up the Laguz Alliance in a single gulp,” he said, raising his palm. “How relieved I am that that was not the case.”

For the next two courses, Skirmir, Ranulf, and Tibarn worked together to tell Caineghis everything that had transpired since contact had been lost three months ago—back when they’d been crossing Seliora for the first time.

When they came to the part about encountering the Daein Army, Caineghis was clearly disturbed, and Nailah and Rafiel traded perplexed glances. When asked for their interpretation of Daein’s decision to assist Begnion, neither the Wolf Queen nor heron prince could offer an explanation. But both claimed Pelleas and Micaiah must have been doing what they judged to be right.

When the story was over, Caineghis moved the conversation onto his own actions here in Gallia. Apparently he’d raised an additional ten thousand troops, who were now guarding Gallia’s eastern border. Susa and the surrounding lands were well-fortified, and Caineghis even floated the idea of finding a way to block the pass entirely. “However, I want to believe peace will one day be possible with Begnion, and for that to happen, we must keep a road open between us…” he said, countering his own proposal, “For now, let us watch Begnion closely and see how they proceed.”

During the fifth and six courses, Caineghis and Tibarn traded intelligence brought in by their scouts, but neither knew what was actually happening within Begnion’s theocracy. No one knew what Sanaki was doing (if anything), if Sephiran had truly been jailed, and if so, what for. No one knew anything at all. Soren found this disturbing, but he was at least glad these two kings were comfortable speaking openly about their intelligence here at the dinner table. It saved him from having to find out what they knew later.

On that note, Caineghis finally turned the conversation directly to Ike and the mercenaries, whose table was perpendicular to his own. “Commander Ike,” he called, and Ike looked over in a way that showed he’d been listening the whole time. “I would like to know what you and the Greil Mercenaries intend to do now that your contract with the Laguz Alliance is complete.”

Ike leaned away from the table and shrugged. “I guess we’ll go back to Crimea…unless the Laguz Alliance is not quite finished yet. If that were the case-” He glanced at Soren and Titania to be certain neither disagreed with him. Titania was smiling, and Soren gave a small nod. “-the Greil Mercenaries would be interested in negotiating another contract. If you’ll have us.”

Caineghis grinned widely. “That is what I was hoping to hear.”

“But Uncle, er, My King,” Skrimir interjected, “Do you still believe there is hope for the Laguz Alliance?”

“Perhaps,” he answered reservedly, “but it will depend on what Begnion does next. If the Greil Mercenaries are willing to live here in Gallia for the summer months, we may have need of your beorc insight.”

“You’ll have our insight,” Ike replied, “and our arms if you call upon them.”

Caineghis inclined his head gratefully before turning to Tibarn. “King Tibarn,” he said. “Would you, too, be willing to combine our efforts and continue to oppose Begnion?” 

“Nothing would make me happier than to make those murderous senators pay for what they’ve done,” Tibarn replied with fire in his eyes. “Phoenicis is with you.”

While Soren poked his spoon into the feast’s desert course, he contemplated the mercenaries’ nebulous new position. They didn’t have a particular job, but they would stay in Gallia’s pocket, ready for whatever came next. He considered the possibilities:

If Begnion withdrew into itself and became consumed by infighting, the Laguz Alliance could strike in the middle of that chaos. Furthermore, if two distinct factions arose in Begnion, the Alliance could support whichever was more likely to treat the laguz with respect. This would probably be Empress Sanaki, if her past actions were any indication.

If Begnion bolstered its defenses and stabilized without falling into political turmoil, the Laguz Alliance would have to gain new allies in order to launch a second invasion. Goldoa was out of the question, and Kilvas could never be trusted again. That left Crimea as the most likely candidate, and Daein was a possibility if the laguz could offer something better than whatever Begnion was currently promising.

The final possibility, however, was the most problematic. If Begnion remained stable and grew ambitious enough to invade Gallia in retaliation, the Laguz Alliance would be in trouble. Gallia prided itself on its ability to defend its own borders, but holding out indefinitely against Begnion would be nearly impossible. Not to mention, they had Lehran’s Medallion to worry about. Their only chance might be to fend off Begnion’s initial thrust and counterattack with greater numbers than their original invasion. If they could secure Begnion’s surrender and the promise of peace talks, both laguz and beorc could come to the table with an investment in their people’s self-preservation.

“Oh would you look at that,” Titania’s voice brought Soren back to himself. “Soren’s thinking again.” She laughed, leaning on her arm.

“He doesn’t waste any time, does he?” Ike chucked from the other side.

Soren realized he hadn’t moved in several minutes, and his spoon was still sticking out of the chocolate pudding in front of him. He wasn’t hungry anymore and probably wouldn’t eat it. Everyone else’s plates were being cleared away, and servants were replacing the final course with casks of dark Gallian ale, golden fermented cider, and creamy fermented milk. Cauldrons of mulled tea were also being brought out, and Soren reached for the ladle when he finally responded to their accusations:

“I was considering potential courses of action Begnion may take, and how we could make use of the situation,” he explained. “For example, the most obvi-”

“Shh!” Ike cut him off, “Stop right there.”

“Do you not wish to hear-”

“Shhh!” he hushed him again and took the mug of tea out of Soren’s hand before he could even take a sip.

Soren kept his mouth shut this time, but he tried to express his annoyance with his eyes.

“I have a proposition,” Ike began, pouring himself a drink from the nearest barrel of ale. “You can tell me all of your thoughts and plans, but every time you mention a way we might lose or die, you have to drink. For every way we can survive or gain victory, I’ll take a drink—fair?” While he spoke, he filled a second tankard.

“Why in Tellius would I do that?” Soren replied, unamused. “You pay me for my analyses; why make me jump through hoops to deliver them?”

Titania laughed. “Really, Ike, I don’t think you’re winning this one.”

Ike, however, was untroubled by her doubt. “The reason, since you’re asking,” he explained, “is because I don’t think you’ve ever had a lick of alcohol in your life, and you should be open to new experiences.”

“Where did you get a fool idea like that?”

“Back in Goldoa,” Ike answered, unoffended. “We were talking about King Dheginsea and Titania said it reminded her of the first time she’d ever been drunk.”

Titania blushed. “I suppose I did say that. I’m afraid the effects must have been hanging about me still.”

Ike nodded. “And you said you agreed, even though you’d never had the same experience.” He pushed the second tankard toward Soren as if that little story made his game worthwhile.

Soren crossed his arms, ignoring the mug. “I meant, where did you get the idea that one needs to collect such useless experiences?” 

“You can’t tell me you’re not curious,” Ike pressed.

“I can, and I am not,” Soren replied firmly.

“What’re you doing, Boss?” Shinon sneered from the other side of the table. “You know it ain’t good for kids to drink. It’ll mess up his brain. Oh wait, his is pretty messed up already, ain’t it?”

Neither Ike nor Soren gave Shinon the attention he wanted, but Titania gave him a sharp glare. “Really, Shinon,” she reprimanded, “Don’t you ever get tired of saying the same old thing?”

While she and Shinon argued, Ike goaded Soren softly: “Prove him wrong.”

“I will not be pressured by the likes of Shinon,” Soren scoffed.

Ike sighed but didn’t lose his lighthearted tone. “C’mon, Soren. We all deserve a break. Let’s just play a game. I know you like games.”

This argument had gone on so long that Ike’s ridiculous idea of a drinking game did sound like a more enjoyable use of his time than allowing it to continue. “Fine,” he gave in, moving his fingertips to the base of the tankard.

“Really?” Ike seemed honestly surprised he’d won, but a smile spread across his lips.

“Daunted by the progress the Laguz Alliance made in its initial invasion, Begnion could come forward with a peace treaty any day now,” Soren began in a pleasant tone.

Ike looked affronted. “There’s no way they’d-”

“Drink.” Soren narrowed his eyes.

With a sigh, Ike took his first long draught.

Soren continued: “Sanaki could reclaim control of the senate and come forward with an apology and promise of reparations.”

“Wait, you really think she’d-”

“No,” Soren cut him off, “But drink.”

Ike did, but when he put his mug down, he frowned. “I’m starting to rethink the rules of this game. Maybe we should take turns.”

Just then, Boyd leaned over. “I’m with Ike,” he said. “You’ve got to take turns. And I’ll be the judge deciding what counts!” Without waiting for a reply, he skootched his chair closer and gripped his own mug between excited hands.

“Fair enough?” Ike asked Soren.

In reply, Soren just gestured that Ike should proceed.

“Hmm…” he thought, rubbing his chin. “I suppose the worst thing would be for Begnion, Kilvas, and Daein to unite and attack Gallia all at once.”

Titania leaned in with her face pinched. “Really, Ike! You’ve been spending too much time with Soren; his negativity is rubbing off on you.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty awful,” Boyd agreed. “Soren! You have to drink three times—one for each nation coming to kill us!”

Soren glared back at him. “That has nothing to do with the rules of the game.”

“I’m the judge, so I get to decide the rules,” Boyd returned confidently, “and no tiny sips, either.”

Shaking his head, Soren raised the cup and subjected himself to the foul liquid. The initial flavor was bitter like medicinal herbs, followed by the taste of rotten meat, and finally a lingering earwax-like bouquet. Apparently his displeasure showed on his face, because Ike, Boyd, and Titania all laughed.

“Two more,” Boyd reminded, and he drank obediently, finding he could ignore the flavor for the most part. “Soren’s turn!” Boyd declared.

“An army of Hatari warriors could pour across Death Desert and attack Begnion from the rear, seizing the rich lands of Culbert and freezing the Imperial Bank,” Soren proposed this time.

Ike laughed and took a drink. “We’ll have to ask Queen Nailah about that one.”

Just then, Skrimir approached them, having descended from the king’s table. He placed a hand on both Ike’s and Soren’s shoulders. “This game sounds fun!” he declared. “Let me join!”

“No can do, big guy,” Boyd replied, raising both hands as if he had no power in this situation. “This is a game of wits between Ike and Soren.”

“But my beorc strategy has much improved!” Skrimir lamented.

“You can play in the next game,” Ike promised.

“And your strategizing has not improved at all,” Soren added under his breath.

Unfortunately, this only charmed Skrimir. “Then I will watch until the winner is decided,” he said.

At this, Mist yawned and got up. “You can take my seat, Skrimir.”

He sat victoriously while everyone wished Mist a good night.  “Whose turn is it?” he demanded when she was gone.

“Mine,” Ike said, rubbing his chin. “Begnion could invade Gallia through Ranulf’s secret passage,” he said, with a wicked gleam in his eye.

“What!” Skirmir cried in astonishment. “I do not like this game after all! How dare you suggest such a thing?”

This only made everyone laugh. “It’s just part of the game,” Titania consoled. “We’re thinking of worst-case scenarios.”

“Beorc games are terrible,” Skrimir said with a shake of his head.

“Anyway, that is a good one,” Boyd cut in (and his lack of surprise showed that the supposedly ‘secret’ passage had been no secret to him). “Soren, one drink for Begnion invading and another for how sad Ranulf would be about it.”

Soren glared at him, but no one came to his defense, so he played along. He wasn’t concerned for his health. He knew from experience that it took the others several cups to be affected by alcohol (except for Rhys who had a weak constitution). Soren was confident he would be fine.

“Daein and Kilvas could double-cross Begnion and unite with us,” Soren proposed. He felt foolish saying such impossible things, but he did want to try to win this game.

“Goldoa could unite with Begnion,” Ike countered.

“We could bring an army through the Kauku Caves and build a base in Serenes.”   

“Begnion could attack through Mugill Pass by dressing up in cat ears and putting all of the laguz in Susa to sleep with poisoned food,” Ike proposed, his voice cracking with laughter.

“We could dress you up in cat ears and ship you to senate as peace offering,” Soren growled back.

This made Ike laugh, and he topped off both of their drinks. “Let’s see,” he mused, “Zelgius and the Imperial Army could fly over the Erzt mountains on the backs of ravens.”

“We could fly to Sienne on the backs of hawks,” Soren parried.

“Begnion could attack by sea!” Ike said suddenly, as if proud of the idea.

“We could always just give up and sign an unconditional surrender.” Soren crossed his arms.

Boyd actually gasped at this. Then he grew indignant. “Boo!” he shouted. “Soren has to finish his drink for being such a party pooper!”

Soren glared at him, but neither Ike, Skrimir, nor anyone else was arguing against Boyd’s arbitrary rule-making. He finished his drink while Ike only took one sip, and this time Ike refilled Soren’s cup with cider instead of ale.

“Alright, let me think…” Ike began again, “Ah, here’s a bad one.” He made another dark smile. “Crimea could side with Begnion and attack us from the north!”

“Now look who’s being a party pooper,” Boyd pouted. “I should make you finish your drink for that, but I won’t. Soren, that’s too sips for you because I think you just broke Ike’s heart making him say such a terrible thing.” He shook his head. “I mean, what would Elincia think?”

Ike laughed. “Sorry, Elincia,” he said, glancing at the ceiling as if she could somehow hear him, “but I need to win this game.”

Soren shook his head, and for the first time, the room didn’t seem to settle quite right. Bunching his shoulders, he willed himself to be fine, and his vision cleared again. His cheeks felt hot, but he reasoned this could be from the temperature in the room, which was rising as everyone moved around, drank, and cajoled one another. He prepared his next statement: “We could send Reyson to the senators as a false gift of peace. Then he could murder them all at a dinner party.”

Skrimir guffawed as if it were the most hilarious thing he’d heard all evening. “Reyson would make a lovely assassin!” he boomed. “He is a very fierce fellow, you know.”

Ike shook his head and took a drink. “What if Begnion blew a tunnel through the mountains using thunder and fire mages?” he suggested.

“What if Rafiel’s message was a lie, there was no secret plot to destroy the Serenes, no messengers were actually being killed, and this is all a ploy to get a revenge for Begnion’s history of slavery?” Soren proposed next.

This made Skrimir clench his fists and glare with such fury that Soren realized he may have said the wrong thing. Everyone was silent until Boyd finally said: “Uh, that doesn’t help us win or anything. So it doesn’t count. Finish your drink as punishment.”

Soren obeyed, but Boyd flaunting his power didn’t make anyone laugh this time.

Fortunately, Ike seemed determined to get the game back on track. “How about…” he thought aloud as he refilled Soren’s drink. “Begnion finds a way through the Kauku Caves, but they do a better job than us and actually find the Gallian exit?”

“Let’s say Begnion invades Gallia,” Soren began, making everyone stare at him suspiciously, “but the Greil Mercenaries use the chaos to escape to Crimea and live out the rest of our lives peacefully.”

“That would not win us the war!” Skrimir argued.

“We would never do that,” Titania assured.

“That’s not the point of the game,” Ike countered.

“You said you would drink when I proposed a way ‘we’ could survive. Naturally, I consider ‘we’ to be the Greil Mercenaries,” Soren replied coolly.

“No,” Boyd replied firmly. “‘We’ means the Laguz Alliance—that’s what I decide. You need to finish your drink again for not coming up with a good result.”

Soren sighed and did as he was bid. The cider was at least smoother and easier to drink quickly than the ale. Ike wasted no time refilling the tankard to the top.

Then he took his turn: “Begnion could send an army of highly skilled, secret assassins right here to Zarzi.” He wiggled his fingers mysteriously.

“Begnion could fall into a civil war,” Soren began, deciding to use one of his actual plans. “The senate could lead one faction, and the apostle another. We could side with Sanaki, destroy half of Begnion, and leave it weakened for decades to come.”

“Ooh, I like that one!” Skrimir nodded approvingly.

“It is a good one,” Boyd declared. “Drink up, Ike.”

Ike sipped and ran his finger over the rim of his mug. “What if we side with Sanaki and the senate still beats us. Then we’re already drawn into Begnion and stuck with no way out this time.”

Skrimir shivered visibly. “I do not like that one,” he mumbled.

“And what if a civil war in Begnion—with the addition of our involvement—tips the scales in favor of global chaos?” Soren said, hoping this would be the end of the game. He was starting to feel tired. “The dark god escapes the medallion, and the herons can do nothing to control it because—let’s face it—they do not have that power. The dark god destroys Tellius, and we all die: the Laguz Alliance, the Begnion senate, the apostle, any supposed secret assassins, Daein, Kilvas, Crimea, and the Greil Mercenaries.”

Silence hung in the air following his words, but Soren refused to retract or mitigate his statement.

“Uh, Ike’s got to drink,” Boyd finally said, “but Soren too, because, in that situation, no one wins…”

Soren did as he was told. In fact, he finished the drink to the bottom and placed it on the table with more force than intended. “If this game is over, I think I will go to bed. Skrimir can take my place.” Standing up, Soren was surprised by the sudden dizziness that washed over him. The room spun, and he realized he hadn’t been feeling the alcohol’s full effect because he hadn’t been moving. He felt foolish for not noticing his own senses becoming confounded.

He tried to step away, but his foot accidentally hooked itself on Titania’s chair leg and he stumbled. Fortunately, both Ike and Titania still had swift reflexes despite sipping their tankards throughout the meal. “Whoopsie-daisy,” Titania said, seizing one arm.

“Careful,” Ike added, taking the other.

Soren was embarrassed, and now that he was standing, he felt better. He pulled his arms away, saying firmly: “I’m fine.”

“Ike, in retrospect, I’m not sure this idea of yours was thought through,” Titania mused. “What if he’s sick and never speaks to us again?”

“I’m not going to be sick,” Soren returned, hoping he didn’t sound petulant.

“It’s Boyd who took it too far,” Ike grumbled, perhaps a little guiltily.

“Hey, you guys didn’t stop me,” Boyd laughed, leaning back in his chair.

“But he hardly drank anything,” Skrimir asked, tilting his head. “Are beorc livers so weak?”

Soren could feel himself blushing even harder at all the attention, but he also knew it was in part due to the alcohol. “I’m fine,” he repeated.

“Look, I’ll make sure he gets to bed,” Ike sighed, “And when I get back, Skrimir, I’ll show you just how strong beorc livers can be.”

Skrimir laughed. “Indeed, I will be waiting! But we will have to play a different game. That one was not very fun at all.”

“You and Boyd put your heads together,” Ike returned. “I’ll play whatever you come up with.” With that, he wrapped an arm around Soren’s back and started leading him out of the great hall.

Soren didn’t think he needed the help, but it would have been far more embarrassing to trip again. (And he couldn’t deny he appreciated Ike’s touch or the protective way he parted the crowd.)

“How are you feeling?” he asked when they reached the relatively cool and quiet corridor.

“As I have said, I am quite fine.”

“I’m sure you are,” Ike chuckled, “That’s how booze is supposed to make you feel.”

“I do not see the point in all of this,” Soren returned, but he wasn’t as annoyed as he pretended. If he was honest with himself, he’d had fun. And now that the embarrassment was behind him, he did feel remarkably relaxed.

Ike shrugged. “Everyone needs to let their guard down every once in a while,” he said, “and after the campaign we just had, I thought you deserved a break.”

“How considerate of you,” Soren returned primly. “Here I thought you were just manipulating me for your own entertainment.”

Ike chuckled again. “Alright, that might have been part of it.” They walked in easy silence until he said, “There’s a latrine up ahead; I’ve got to piss.”

“Me too,” Soren admitted, and they took a detour from the normal route to their rooms. Tucked into the communal water closet, he was surprised to find his fingers were clumsy as they tried to untie the knot cinching his trousers. And if he admitted it to himself, his peripheral vision had been becoming distorted since leaving the great hall. In theory, he knew the effects of drunkenness took time to present themselves, and he wondered which of his cups he was feeling now. He hoped it wouldn’t get much worse.

His peripheral vision being what it was, he was surprised when Ike leaned over. “Can you seriously not get that?” he chuckled. “You really are drunk. Here.” Bending over even farther, he pulled the knot with capable fingers, and Soren felt a clenching his in gut.

He pushed Ike’s arm away. “Please. I am not drunk,” he assured. “And even if I were, I wouldn’t be that drunk.”

“Fine.” Ike chuckled, straightened, and attended his own business.

Focusing on emptying his bladder, Soren managed to bypass the surprise arousal, and he hoped he wasn’t blushing too obviously.

“Still feeling okay?” Ike asked when they returned to the corridor. 

“…Yes, fine,” Soren replied, but he wasn’t being honest this time.

Ike grinned as if he knew he was lying. They proceeded down the hall, and Soren focused intently on walking in a straight line because he feared Ike’s ridicule if he swayed. The task had grown harder by the time they finally neared their rooms.

“Is your head spinning yet?” Ike asked, holding the door open.

“No,” Soren answered, walking past. He was eager to get into bed and put this whole ordeal behind him.

“You sure?” Ike asked, and he reached out for Soren’s shoulder, stopping him in the center of the room. “Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

Soren sighed and obeyed. The second his eyes were closed, he realized what Ike meant about the spinning. He raised his chin slightly for balance and tried to feel his feet on the floor. But a second later he started leaning, and he jolted at the sensation of falling. His eyes shot open, and he regained his balance. But Ike had his hands out on either side, ready to catch him whichever way he fell.

“I thought so.” Ike backed up, and there was a laugh in his voice. “You’re drunk.”

“Am not.”

“I’m impressed you’re not slurring your words though,” Ike mused, rubbing his chin. “How hard are you concentrating on it?”

“Oh, shut up,” Soren spat, because it was true he was focusing on his words to be certain his voice and speech weren’t affected.

Ike laughed again. “Don’t worry,” he said. “No one’s here but me, and I won’t tell anyone you’re a fallible mortal just like the rest of us.”

In response Soren just sat down at the desk and started trying to untie his shoes—but ‘try’ was the key word here.

“Let me,” Ike said, kneeling to untie his boots. Feeling like a child, Soren huffed in annoyance. But it wasn’t all bad, and he became mesmerized by the top of Ike’s head while he worked. His whole hand twitched as he fought the urge to touch it. “There,” Ike said, when he was finished. He even pulled Soren’s feet out, and the grip of his hand on his ankle send a quiver up Soren’s entire body. Standing, Ike smiled. “Get yourself ready for bed, if you can,” he teased. “I’ll fetch you some water. You’re probably not going to throw up because it’s the first time, but I’ll bring a bucket just in case.”

“I hope you’re right,” Soren found himself agreeing.

Ike grinned comfortingly. “Do you feel nauseous?”

Soren shook his head, but even that slight movement made the room spin. He didn’t need to close his eyes to feel it now.

“You’re young and this is your first time drinking, so you probably won’t get sick. You probably won’t even be hungover tomorrow, honestly.”

“I’m older than you,” Soren returned in a lowered voice. He couldn’t stand for Ike to see him as a child, just like everyone else.

“I’m young too,” Ike replied, rubbing the back of his head. “But don’t tell anyone. They think I’m a mercenary commander.”

Soren looked up at him, and for the first time in a long time, he saw the twenty-three-year-old boy behind the scarred, musclebound exterior. He supposed it was unfair to never let Ike be an innocent young man. Perhaps that was why he liked to drink with the others and let himself act foolishly every once in a while.

When he was gone, Soren set about figuring out his trousers again. After overcoming this challenge, the inner and outer layers of his robes suddenly became confusing. He got stuck in his sleeves when trying to pull his tunic over his head and then tripped over one of the boots Ike had left next to the desk chair. Leaning against the desk for support, Soren tried to control his breathing and extract himself from the clothing. Luckily Ike wasn’t back yet—that would have been too embarrassing. Taking more conscious control of his every action, Soren managed to dress himself in a pair of under-trousers and a loose shirt he found in the bottom of the wardrobe.

He was sitting on the bed, feeling the room spin with his eyes closed, when Ike finally returned with one full bucket and one empty one. “Here you go!” he said cheerily, scooping Soren a cup. “Water will make you feel better. Well, eventually.”

Soren sipped contritely. “Thank you,” he said, but instead of leaving, Ike sat backward at the desk chair. “I’ll be fine. You can return to Skrimir and the others.”

Ike shook his head. “Ah, they’re probably having plenty of fun even without me. I’d rather make sure you’re okay. I mean, this was my idea.”

Soren continued to sip the water. He felt his head was swaying on his shoulders now, even though he knew it wasn’t. He wondered why anyone would voluntarily subject themselves to this experience. But the longer he looked at Ike, the more his tongue seemed to become unknotted. It wanted to speak—to say things that shouldn’t be said. He supposed this feeling could be freeing if it weren’t so dangerous. He kept his mouth firmly closed.

“You should try to go to sleep,” Ike recommended. “It might be hard because of the spinning, but I’ll be right here if you throw up or if you need anything.”

Soren nodded, placed the now-empty cup on the bedside table, and moved himself under the blanket. He stared at the ceiling, no longer able to look at Ike without his heart hurting. The sharp twist away from happiness had come fast and unexpectedly. He wondered if this had something to do with the alcohol too. Perhaps it was making his mind fickle.

Ike repositioned the two buckets on the floor and refilled the cup. Then he shuttered the lantern until the room was barely lit.

“There is no reason for you to stay,” Soren told the dark.

Ike pushed the desk chair closer and sat down again. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll just stay until you fall asleep.”

Soren did feel tired, but with his eyes closed, the room spun faster. He felt he wasn’t in a bed but on a raft in the tumultuous ocean. He sank deeper and deeper, until the darkness enveloping him didn’t move as much. He floated in and out of hazy dreams and half-consciousness. In some of the dreams, he heard Ike’s voice singing Elena’s galdr lullabies, but that was impossible. Ike didn’t sing, and even if he did, surely his voice could never have been as gentle as this.

In other dreams, Soren saw Dheginsea transform into a terrible dragon even larger and more fearsome than Rajaion’s twisted form. He was on a rampage, trampling, slaughtering, and burning innocents and soldiers in every battlefield Soren had ever fought on. In Begnion, in Daein, even outside Fort Alpea in Crimea—the Dragon King crushed the gibbet and roasted friend and foe alike with blue fire.

Soren tried to escape, but no matter where he ran, he always arrived at another battlefield. In the Kauku Caves, the dragon’s massive head appeared amidst the smoke and radiating heat. With lava at his back, there was nowhere Soren could run. Slowly, the dragon opened its terrifying maw.

But then Ike was there. He stabbed the dragon through its mouth, piercing the fire glowing in the back of its throat. The beast shrieked the same terrible roar Soren had heard that day in the Melior Royal Library. Then it collapsed, turning back into a man. But it was no longer Dheginsea. It was his son: Kurthnaga, the boy he’d seen on the Goldoan coast all those years ago. But the dragon prince’s features were blurry and starting to run like wet paint.

Bile and abject terror rose in Soren’s throat, despite the fact that the boy dragon had been defeated. Looking around, he saw that Ike was gone. The lava, too, was gone. Everything was disappearing.

Soren awoke to find his skin and scalp damp with sweat. Breathing hard, he bent over his bedside, wondering if he was about to be sick. It was only then that he realized Ike was still there, snoring soundly in the chair, with his feet kicked up on the desk. The lantern was still burning at a low glow, and Soren had no idea how much time had passed. Deciding he wasn’t going to throw up, he drank the cup of water and refilled it. Drinking again, he willed his heart to slow, his mind to clear, and his dream to leave him.

He rarely had nightmares anymore, but this one reminded him of a time when he’d had them too often. Just as Greil had recalled in his note, Soren had struggled with his dreams every night after moving in with the family. Back then, Ike had spoken to him, comforted him, stayed awake with him, and held his hand until he fell asleep.

Staring at Ike’s hand dangling over the chair’s arm, Soren wondered if he remembered that time. Perhaps that was why he’d felt compelled to stay with him tonight. Whatever the reason, Soren was grateful.