Fire Emblem Fan Fiction ❯ Fire Emblem Tellius Saga: Book 3 ❯ CHAPTER 87: REUNION ( Chapter 21 )

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

The next morning, Mist and Titania took charge of packing while Ike and Nailah spoke with Rafiel about his breakdown yesterday. Soren did his part to ensure necessary items were being checked off the list and that they were taking everything they could from the mansion. Ike must have wheedled Aimee into giving Tormod a sheaf of Rexflame spells just as she’d given Soren the Rexcalibur pages, because he caught sight of her handing them to the excited boy as if it pained her.

“Just take it, just take it!” she moaned, “What matter is money any longer? Apparently this is just what I do now…”

“Thanks, lady,” Tormod said, pulling gently on the brittle paper, “But you have to, uh, let go.” Soren walked away, not wanting to see the priceless pages damaged but also unwilling to intervene.

He circled back to where Mist and Titania were assessing the ancient Physic and Mend staves they’d found on display in one of Oliver’s parlors. “Look, Soren, we found a Hammerne!” Mist called.

“Yes, that may be helpful as we prepare for the final battle,” Soren replied objectively, not sharing her excitement.

Mist gingerly laid it among the others in the back of the wagon, and Titania tucked a tarp around them. “Have you seen Ike?”

Soren shook his head. “He was still with Nailah and Rafiel last I knew.”

Mist seemed suddenly saddened. “Oh, poor Rafiel.”

“Yes,” Titania agreed, “It must be quite hard to see someone like that again under such circumstances.”

“What are you talking about?” Soren asked, wondering if they had intelligence he wasn’t party to.

Mist glanced uncertainly at him. “Oh, I don’t know if you’d understand…”

“Try me.” Soren crossed his arms.

“Well, it’s obvious isn’t it?” Titania answered, seeming suddenly bashful. “Rafiel was in love with Hetzel.”

“What?”

Mist giggled nervously. “I mean, that’s what Titania and I think.”

“That is ridiculous.”

Titania sighed and leaned against the wagon. “Don’t be so narrowminded. You saw the way they reacted when they saw each other. I’m sure Hetzel felt the same way.”

“Duke Hetzel of Asmin was one of the senators responsible for the Serenes Massacre.”

“I know…” Titania sighed. “That’s why Rafiel is so hurt now.”

“Still, it makes you wonder,” Mist added sadly, “if you can still have feelings for someone who turned out to be such a bad person. I’m sure it can’t be easy.”

Soren shook his head firmly. “You were right. I do not understand.” He turned his attention to the rest of the crates and loosely strewn weapons. “See that these supplies are accounted for. I will make sure Ena and Kurthnaga are moving.” With that, he left abruptly.

 

When they were back on the road again, Rafiel was even quieter than usual, and Nailah did everything in her power to cheer him up. Soren considered Mist and Titania’s theory and determined they were probably correct. But that didn’t make Rafiel and Hetzel’s affair touching.

Any union between laguz and beorc was wrong, twisted, and destined for disaster. Long ago, Apostle Darma, Third Empress of the Altina Dynasty, had declared interracial coupling a violation of Ashera’s will and codified it into law throughout the empire. Soren now knew that neither Darma nor any other apostle had ever known Ashera’s will, but the taboo had existed long before Begnion had written it down—and for good reason. As far as Soren was concerned, Hetzel’s betrayal of Rafiel was evidence of that. End of story. No need to discuss it further. No need to hear Ike’s opinion on the matter.

  

Over the following days, Rafiel slowly overcame his gloom while continuing to share his reports from Leanne and Reyson. In this way, they discovered that the Silver Army had successfully exited the desert and was nearing Sienne. As an added note, Leanne claimed they’d picked up another ally in the Grann: the hermit Stefan. Soren wondered if Yune had sent him a dream similar to Tormod and Muarim, but he didn’t ask.

A couple days later, Reyson reported that the Hawk Army had also picked up new recruits: Geoffrey, Bastian, and Volke. Apparently Geoffrey had received Yune’s dream the night after Ashera’s judgement. Heeding the call, he’d made the long journey from Melior to Salmo. Soren couldn’t believe he’d made such quick time, but Rafiel explained that the rockslide blocking Flaguerre Pass had apparently disappeared. Accepting that Yune was working arbitrary miracles to bring her champions together, it was still an impressive feat for Geoffrey to have crossed such a distance in less than two months.

As for Bastian, he had also heard Yune’s message in a dream. Apparently, he’d been in the process of transporting two prisoners here in Begnion when Ashera’s judgment had struck. Just as Yune had diverted Tormod, Muarim, and Vika to aid the Greil Army in Tanas, it seemed she’d diverted Geoffrey to aid Bastian and, in turn, unite with the Hawk Army.

“According to Reyson,” Rafiel explained slowly, “The peculiar man named Bastian was spared Ashera’s judgement along with just one of his guards: an assassin named Volke. Reyson said you would know him…”

“Volke?” Ike grinned. “We haven’t seen him since the end of the Mad King’s War! Of course he’d be palling around with Bastian. He loves money, Bastian has money—it’s a perfect match.” The mercenaries chuckled in agreement.

“If I may continue…” Rafiel said, and everyone settled down. “Unfortunately, Bastian’s two prisoners were also spared Ashera’s judgement, and they became difficult to guard. One was a deranged beorc man whom Bastian and Volke struggled to prevent from killing himself. His name is Renning. Reyson said that would have meaning to you as well.”

“Lord- Lord Renning?” Titania repeated in disbelief. “But, he died in Ashnard’s first attack. Years ago!”

Rafiel shook his head to indicate her protests were meaningless to him. “Reyson said the man had been poisoned by the same toxin that twists the minds and bodies of feral laguz. However, he was able to heal him with the galdr of rebirth. This ‘Renning’ man is alive and whole once more according to Reyson’s description.”

“It’s a miracle!” Titania rejoiced.

“How did he survive this long?” Ike asked in disbelief.

“You mentioned he was suicidal?” Soren asked next, “Did Reyson associate any other name with this man?”

“Yes actually… He said Ike may also know Renning by the name Bertram. Is that the case?” He turned to Ike although it was clear none of this actually mattered to Rafiel.

Ike’s eyes widened in amazement. “The man I fought at Pinell…”

Soren nodded curtly. “It is as I suspected. Bastian staged Betram’s death and abducted him. He must have been looking for a way to heal Renning this entire time.” He rounded on Rafiel. “Who was the other prisoner?”

The heron answered solemnly: “It was none other than King Pelleas’s advisor, Izuka.”

This was followed by a collective gasp. “Speak of the devil,” Tormod growled. He and Muarim pushed closer to the front. “What happened to him? Where is he now?”

Rafiel raised both hands weakly, as if trying to restrain the rising tensions. “According to Reyson, Izuka escaped when the two men were dealing with one of Renning’s fits. They were trying to track him down when they united with the man named Geoffrey. The three had located Izuka’s position by the time the Hawk Army found them, and together everyone defeated Izuka. He is dead now. You may be at peace,” he finished gently, addressing Tormod and Muarim.

But it was Ena who seemed most relieved. “He is…truly…”

“I should hope so,” Ike said, folding his arms as if satisfied. “He was just one man against all of the Hawk Army, plus Bastian, Volke, and Geoffrey? No one could survive that!”

Rafiel nodded uncertainly. “While what you say is true, it appears Izuka had been aided in his escape by the senate and Disciples of Order. He had a Rewarp staff in his possession and was able to transport dozens of feral laguz at a time. According to Reyson…it was a heartbreaking battle.”

Ike dropped his arms, obviously regretting his joke. “Is everyone okay?”

“More or less. Reyson believes all of the feral ones Izuka had been keeping died on the battlefield. I know not if they found peace, but at least their pain has now ended.”

“…Thank you for telling us,” Ike said after a long pause. “That was a good report. I’m glad we know.” Silence followed his words until he broke the tension: “Let’s get moving. Just a few more days, and we’ll be in Sienne.”

Tormod and Muarim were the first to walk numbly from the group, and Vika trailed after them. Nailah led Rafiel away, and Kurthnaga came to touch Ena’s shoulder. “Are you okay?” he asked, and it was the first time Soren had heard the Dragon Prince initiate a conversation.

As he walked away, Soren considered how he’d disregarded Izuka as a nonissue back in Tanas. Now the poisoner was dead, justice had been served, and mysteries were being solved left and right. According to Shinon’s scorecard, only three of the chief senators were still alive. There would be no more Begnion Civil War after this. Everything was ending.

This thought was somehow more unnerving than the idea that monsters like Izuka could still be on the loose. It no longer behooved Soren to imagine a world when all of this was over, a world where loose ends would have to be tied up. His heart felt heavy and slow-beating. Everything is ending, he thought again, Everything is ending.

 

After hearing Reyson’s report about defeating the feral laguz in the swamp near Salmo, Rafiel received no further transmissions via the sending stone. They were close to Sienne now, and this lack of contact made everyone nervous.

“It may be Ashera’s influence,” Ena proposed, when Ike asked her. “Her power is thick here, dampening the herons’ telesthesia.” Ike accepted this explanation, and no one dared suggest something might have happened to the other two teams.

Although they expected the Disciples of Order to have formed defenses close to the city, the Greil Army met no resistance on their approach. The city of spires came into view, and at the center was the Tower of Guidance. The golden tower was radiating a white light that burned away the clouds in a halo. The impossible height was dizzying, and Soren felt unbalanced and confused if he gazed up at it.

“That must be…” Ike breathed.

“…The Tower of Guidance,” Titania finished. “It’s so bright I can hardly look! What’s happening in there?”

“Let’s hurry, Ike,” Soren said, trying to keep from his voice the awe that filled theirs. “I can’t imagine that glowing is a good omen. We’re running out of time.”

  

Passing through the outer districts, the Greil Army still found no Disciples lying in wait, but when they reached the wall surrounding the city’s heart, the grand doors were closed. “The city gate is shut.” Ike observed with his hands on his hips. “I guess we’ll have to force it open to get to the tower and-” His words were silenced as a massive red shape started bounding toward him.

Soren had felt Skrimir’s approach, so he wasn’t as startled as the others. But soon everyone was laughing and smiling as they recognized the prince jaunting toward them like a giant, playful kitten. “Skrimir!” Ike greeted him.

The lion reverted his form and wrapped Ike in a hug, lifting him onto his tiptoes. “Ahh! You guys made it!”

“I didn’t realize your group had already arrived,” Ike chuckled as Skrimir released him. Soren turned his attention to where Micaiah, Sothe, Sanaki, Sigrun, Naesala, and the rest of the Silver Army were approaching them from an adjacent road.

“Yes, we’ve been here for quite some time,” Skrimir sighed, “I’ve been itching to go inside and see what the bad guys have waiting for us!” He gave the closed gate the grin of an easily tempted man.

“Skrimir listened to reason, however,” Sanaki spoke up, giving him a pointed but familiar glare, “and agreed to wait here with us. We know nothing about the numbers or strength of the enemy.”

Micaiah nodded. “It seemed safest to wait here for the rest of you to you show up. So we pitched tents outside the gate.” She gestured back the way they’d come.

“Hello, Micaiah.” Ike walked toward her, but his bearing was uncertain. “Any word from Yune?”

“She came back to me a number of times during our trip,” she answered, “But nothing for the past few days.”

“I see.” Ike glanced around as if looking for someone. “Do we know where Tibarn and Elincia’s group is?”

“No word yet, no,” Skrimir answered, but he didn’t seem particularly concerned. He threw an arm around Ike’s shoulders. “Ike, it’s a waste for us to just sit around waiting! Why don’t you and I have a look inside?” Ike seemed about to refuse, when the creaking of the gate pulled everyone’s attention back toward it. “Wait! What’s happening?” Skrimir demanded (apparently offended that his enemies were coming to him instead of the other way around).

“Get ready for an attack, people!” Naesala ordered, putting himself in front of Leanne.

“Wait, it’s not the enemy!” Micaiah called, running forward and raising both her hands.

The laguz who’d transformed lowered their hackles, and Naesala palmed himself in the forehead as if regretting his hasty declaration. A moment later, the gate was open enough for them to see none other than Tibarn and Caineghis standing in the entrance.

Tibarn had his arms crossed stoically, but then his chest quivered into laughter. “You should see your faces!” he called, bending over.

Janaff and Ulki flapped to his side, and Ulki shook his head, grumbling, “I told you I heard something.”

Elincia, Giffca, Ranulf, Reyson, Lucia, and the rest of the Hawk Army were assembled behind them, and Elincia walked to the front. “Really, Tibarn,” she scolded as she passed. “If you knew they were out here…” Everyone else came pouring through the gate to greet the new arrivals.

“Caineghis?” Ike approached King Gallia (and Soren stayed close). “What are you doing here?”

“In an occurrence I’m told is increasingly common, we heard a voice in our dreams and followed it here,” Caineghis explained, gesturing from Giffca to himself.

“And Tibarn!” Ike rounded on him, “I should have guessed your group would beat everyone here.”

In response, Tibarn cuffed the side of his head affectionately. “You’d be right about that,” he laughed. “We joined up with King Caineghis and mopped up the Disciples around the capital. You’re welcome.”

Elincia approached, shaking her head at his arrogance. “The only people left within the city now are those who have been petrified,” she added. “We’ve been camped out at the base of the tower waiting for everyone.”

Just then, Micaiah skipped into the center of their discussion, and judging by her red eyes, Yune had once again taken over her body. “Good!” she called happily, “I like air-breathers with initiative!”

“Yune!” Ike greeted her. “Here to give us instructions?”

“Good guess!” Yune affirmed, and Soren couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic. She reached up to pat the top of Ike’s head (to his obvious embarrassment). “Everyone, gather around!” she announced. “You’ll all need to hear this.”

Everyone had fallen silent, and now they made a semicircle around Yune, who was standing in the center of the open gate. Kings and queens, laguz and beorc, soldiers and mercenaries—they all waited to hear what the Goddess of Chaos was about to say.

“Good job, everyone!” she began. “All three teams got here, and a little faster than I thought you would, honestly. While you were traveling, I went around recruiting more help, including Mister Caineghis here.” She gestured at the Lion King, who inclined his head respectfully. “Unfortunately, it looks like Ashera had the same idea. By the time I made my way to Goldoa, there was no one there.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” Kurthnaga stepped forward, and those in the front made way for him. “Where were they?”

“If you’re saying what I think you’re saying, then we could have a very big problem.” Tibarn ran his hands down either side of his face. “Lots of very big problems.”

“I don’t know for sure Tibarn,” Yune admitted. “There aren’t a whole lot of dragons altogether, but… It looked like everyone in Argos joined Ashera. No one was left in the city.”

“How…how could this be?” Kurthnaga asked. Although he’d finally been regaining his strength these past few days, it all seemed to leave him now.

“I haven’t seen them anywhere else in Tellius so they must already be inside the tower,” Yune continued. “Let’s camp for the night before walking into Ashera’s own home.” With that, she released Micaiah, who staggered and held her head. Sothe was at her side in an instant.

Greetings and welcomes resumed, but they were more subdued now. The Silver Army went to pack up their camp, and the Hawk Army led the Greil Army to the tower.

 

That afternoon, Ike had tea with Elincia outside her tent, while Geoffrey and Renning sparred in a contest that was supposedly meant to decide which one would serve as her Commander of the Royal Knights. Bastian played the part of judge and announcer, giving humorous commentary and drawing a crowd.

Soren didn’t care about the fight (which was a farce anyway), but he was confused by the presence of the Branded child Amy, who was sitting in Calill’s lap watching the fight with wide eyes. So he lingered until the fight was over and introductions could be made.

Eventually Geoffrey won, and Renning conceded the fight. “But stay your pride, Lord Geoffrey,” Bastian warned, “for no bards will sing of this victory! What honor is there in defeating an ol’ codger for whom eight years have passed and never a day of it could he wipe his own arse?”

“Oh, come off it, Bastian,” Renning complained. He swung an arm over the Count of Fayre’s shoulders as if they were old friends (which, Soren supposed, they were).

 Elincia clapped politely. “A good show,” she declared. “Uncle, if you’d come here a moment, there’s someone I want you to meet.” Renning, a man whose face was lined with scars and small wrinkles and whose dark green hair was shocked with bursts of gray, walked proudly to his queen, where he bowed formally.

“Really, Uncle,” Elincia huffed and gestured for him to rise. “This is General Ike...” Soren tuned out their mutual greetings and decided to approach Calill himself.

“Ah, Soren,” she greeted him. “I hope your journey was not too difficult.” Amy was staring at him again, and a moment later, she hopped off her mother’s lap and hugged his legs. Soren was taken aback by her forwardness and froze. “Oh, I’m sorry!” Calill hissed. “Amy can be quite friendly when she’s not being shy.”

“It’s fine,” Soren said simply. Amy smiled up at him.

“This is Soren, Amy,” Calill cooed. “Do you remember him? Can you say hello?”

“Hello,” Amy mumbled. But then her face broke into a smile, showing off a couple missing teeth. She still didn’t release his legs.

“Why is your daughter here?” Soren asked, getting straight to the point.

“Geoffrey found her in Melior after it happened,” Calill answered sadly. “It seems they were the only two people in the entire city to survive…”

“Then Largo…”

Calill nodded. “My big lump,” she said with moisture collecting in her eyes, “I guess he’s more lump-like than ever right now.” She made a sound in her throat as if trying to clear it. “But that’s why we’re here, isn’t it?” She glanced at the tower rising above their heads. “We are going to save Largo and everyone else.” Forcing a smile, she turned back to Amy and held out her hands. “Aren’t we, honey? We’re going to save Daddy and everyone else.”

“Save Daddy!” Amy repeated. She finally let go of Soren to jump into Calill’s arms.

“Do you know why Amy was not turned to stone?” Soren asked simply.

Calill pressed her face into her daughter’s hair and gave a gentle shake of her head. “No…but I’m glad she’s with me.” Soren didn’t want to press further, so he excused himself and left the cluster of tents that comprised miniature Crimea.

  

He wandered until he found Stefan, and the swordsman smiled when their eyes met. He looked exactly the same, but that was to be expected. “It has been some time,” Stefan greeted him, coming closer. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Soren answered reflexively. “Or, as fine as I can be given the circumstances.”

“Still traveling with the same mercenaries, I see,” Stefan observed. “How long do you plan to stay among them?”

Soren narrowed his eyes. “Plans are a bit pointless now, aren’t they?”

Stefan shrugged. “I suppose time will tell.”

“Only if someone is left alive to tell it.”

“Ah, I see your personality hasn’t improved at all,” he joked.

“On the contrary.” Soren crossed his arms. “I’ve been told I have become quite approachable since the Mad King’s War. Even Skrimir likes me. In fact, a little girl just hugged me, so at least I don’t scare away young children.”

Stefan laughed (which was the intended effect). “I see. How wrong I was.”

“If you have a moment, there is something I would like to talk to you about,” Soren continued, expending with the small talk.

“Has it to do with the little girl you mentioned?” Stefan asked in return, gesturing for Soren to lead.

“You’ve met Amy?” Soren asked, walking away from camp.

“I haven’t had the pleasure,” Stefan explained, “But I sensed her as soon as we arrived.”

“Strange that she survived, isn’t it?”

“No, I do not believe it is,” he replied contemplatively. “On the contrary, I believe our kind was completely spared a stony fate.”

“Why would Ashera do that?” Soren asked, although he’d suspected the same thing after seeing Amy.

“I had an interesting conversation with Yune just now that may shed some light on the subject,” Stefan answered. They were still in the camp, but there were fewer people here.

“What do you mean ‘just now’?”

“She returned to Micaiah’s body for a short while,” Stefan answered, “and I was able to catch a word with her before she left again. She is quite fascinated by us, you know.”

“Why?” Soren asked. They were now far enough from the last tent that he considered it safe to talk about the Branded freely.

“Well, it seems Yune had no idea that we even existed, so it stands to reason Ashera did not know either. That may be why she passed us by in her first extermination.”

“Lucky us,” Soren grumbled. “So the rest of the colony…”

“Living, breathing, moving,” Stefan reported, “But unwilling to join me. I set out to find other survivors and eventually met Yune’s Silver Army.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Soren muttered. “So, what did you tell her?”

“Everything I know,” Stefan answered brightly. “She seemed quite eager to learn. She claims she and Ashera did not create beorc or laguz but that she developed alongside them, from the time when beorc and laguz ancestors were one and the same. She claims we remind her of those ancestors and that we give her hope for what the world could become.”

“Did you tell her the Branded are considered crimes against the goddess?” Soren dared ask, curious to know what the answer would be.

Stefan chuckled. “I did, and she said such an idea was—and I quote—‘silly’.” He laughed again. “It was quite refreshing to hear.”

Soren shook his head. “How can she not know…” he growled, “She’s living in the body of one.”

“Yes, I noticed the same thing,” Stefan agreed. “Yune claims she did not realize what Micaiah was when she made her home in the girl’s body. She merely sensed that Micaiah was the only person who could sing the galdr of release and serve as her vessel. She did not learn until after the fact that the body she’d adopted was neither laguz or beorc.”

Soren shook his head in confusion. “Why was Micaiah able to sing the galdr anyway? Who exactly is she?”

“I haven’t a clue,” he replied simply, “and neither does she, according to what Yune said.”

“That’s unhelpful.”

After a moment, Stefan sighed, “I do wish my friends in the desert had come to see her. I think it would do them good to see a Branded at the center of everything.”

Soren gave Stefan a curious glance. “If you don’t agree with their isolationism, why do you live there?”

Stefan tossed his head. “It is good to have friends.”

“Well, your friends might as well be statues if they’re not going to help us,” Soren shot back. “I wouldn’t count on Ashera passing over them a second time.”

“I agree,” Stefan said softly. “Let us both fight to ensure that does not happen.” With that, he led the way back to camp, and Soren went with him. He had gotten all of the information he wanted—not that there was much to be had.

  

When night fell, the Tower of Guidance didn’t dim at all. “Yeah…” Tibarn said, when faced with everyone’s glares, “Maybe not the best place for camp, but at least the location’s convenient.”

Soren was scoping out the shadowiest places, wondering if he would be able to sleep better if he moved his tent into one of them, when a familiar presence tickled the farthest reach of his senses. Rather than disregard it as a byproduct of his tired mind, Soren pursued. Whoever they were, they must have known they were being followed, because they ran. Soren started running too. He recognized this presence now—and he didn’t like it.

Since Soren assumed his prey would be circling back to the Tower of Guidance, he raced to cut him off. “Nasir!” Soren hissed when the man appeared in the tower’s light. They were currently in the back of the building, where there shouldn’t have been an entrance, but a rope dangled from a high window.

Nasir froze and raised his hands in surrender, but his face didn’t appear remotely concerned. “Ah, Soren.”

Soren didn’t know why he’d smothered his own voice instead of crying out. He should be trying to subdue Nasir and alert everyone to his presence. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, still not raising his voice. He had his tome in hand, but he wasn’t confident he’d be a match for the dragon if he transformed.

“Simply visiting family,” he said, with hands still raised. “We are on the eve of battle. What kind of grandfather would I be if I did not try to discourage Ena from fighting?”

“And how did she reply?” Soren asked through gritted teeth.

“She and Prince Kurthnaga insist on opposing King Dheginsea,” Nasir sighed. “So I am returning, my mission failed.”

“Why return?” Soren asked incredulously. “Ike forgave you, trusted you. How can you betray him again?”

Nasir’s hands fell, apparently giving up the charade of surrender. “My place is at my King’s side. I cannot defy him any more than I could defy Ashera herself.”

“Exactly,” Soren returned. “You can. We’re all doing it. Join us instead.”

Nasir shook his head, and although his face was cast in shadow by the glowing tower, he looked terribly sad. “I could, but it would be pointless,” he said. “We survived the first judgement, but we will not survive the second. With the time we have been given, we should be choosing who to die beside and go bravely and peacefully from this life. Our wars, our mortal flaws, and all of our poor choices that have led us to this end… My own included.”

“How can you give up?” Soren demanded, surprised by his own anger.

“My King and my people shall die, but we shall be beside our goddess when it happens,” Nasir replied. “Die in whatever way you find comfort, Soren.” With that, he turned and continued walking to the tower.

Soren considered attacking Nasir from behind, but what then? If he didn’t kill him with the first hit, Nasir could transform, crush him, and escape before anyone came to see what the commotion was about. “Ike is entering that tower tomorrow,” Soren finally said, and although his voice was low, he knew Nasir could hear him. “And it’s going to hurt him to see you.”

He didn’t reply.

“I’m going with him,” Soren added, “And if I see you on the field of battle, I will kill you myself.”

Still Nasir said nothing; he’d reached the rope. Soren considered cutting it with wind magic, but he couldn’t bring himself to try. He’d always hated Nasir, but Ike had always liked him. For that, he would let the old sea captain go.

  

Soren ate dinner with the rest of the mercenaries, and during the meal Ike told him how Volke had returned the fifty thousand gold from the Mad King’s War.

“That’s uncharacteristically generous of him,” Soren noted.

“Well, actually it was twenty thousand,” Ike amended. “He said he spent some of it.”

Titania laughed. “Now that makes more sense. But it is still a great boon to our preparations. Now we can pay Aimee and the others for supplies rather than convincing them to help us on credit.”

Soren decided not to point out the fact that money had little to no value anymore. They were surrounded by the wealthiest houses in all of Tellius, all empty now, but they were camping out in tents on the street instead. If they failed to defeat Ashera tomorrow, they would die. If they succeeded, the world would still be facing a great loss of life, mass confusion and hysteria, and a famine in the middle of winter. Money would do little to alleviate the coming disaster.

Just then, Caineghis approached their campfire, and conversation quieted. “Your Majesty,” Titania greeted him.

“What can we do for you?” Ike asked, setting down his plate.

“Ike, I have something to give to you,” Caineghis replied. Giffca materialized behind him, holding a poleax. He proffered the handle.

“Hey, this is…” Ike got to his feet. Titania gasped and covered her mouth.

“It’s called Urvan, if I remember correctly,” Caineghis explained. “I borrowed it from your father’s grave.”

“Why?” Ike asked, obviously mystified.

“Honestly? I have no idea,” Caineghis admitted, lifting and lowering his massive shoulders. “But I felt a sudden urge to visit Greil’s grave before embarking on our journey. When I told Giffca my idea for a little side trip, he said he thought the same thing.”

“I believe we were guided to your father’s grave by a divine message,” Giffca added.

“When I saw Greil’s axe, I was convinced I had to take it to you. I felt that’s what he would have wanted,” Caineghis concluded.

After hesitating a moment, Ike wrapped his fingers around the shaft, pulling it out of Giffca’s hands. “…Maybe he and my mother are looking over us from somewhere else,” Ike proposed in a soft voice. Mist stood up and leaned against his arm. Reaching out, she touched the axe head, which was pitted and worn with age.

“I can fix it with the Hammerne staff,” she promised. “I’ll make it just like it was.”

“Alright,” Ike said decidedly, raising his eyes to Caineghis’s. “It’s my father’s, so it’s only right that I take it.” Caineghis nodded and stepped back. “But that makes it mine to give to whom I see fit.” The king cocked his head in surprise. “Titania,” Ike turned to her, “Would you wield this in my father’s name? I think he would want you to have it. I think he’d know you’d take good care of it.”

Titania stood on what were suddenly shaky legs, while the rest of the mercenaries watched. Ike dropped the shaft into her hands, and her face contorted into a happy grimace as she seemed to hold back tears. “I will carry it with honor,” she finally managed to say. “Thank you.”

Caineghis squeezed Ike’s and Titania’s shoulders with either hand. “An excellent choice, Ike,” he purred. “Captain Titania, you are truly a remarkable beorc and a true friend. Greil valued you dearly; I know that. And you achieved much in bridging the divide between the people of Gallia and Crimea. I do not believe I ever thanked you for that.”

“No, sir, please.” Titania shook her head. “I was but one of many knights in the exchange program.”

“You made King Ramon’s ideals your own,” Caineghis pressed. “You have done much for the people of Tellius.”

“It’s true, Titania, you have!” Mist chirruped, giving her a hug.

“To Captain Titania!” Boyd cheered, raising his drink.

“To Captain Titania!” everyone echoed. Even Soren raised his cup, because if he was honest, he never would have been able to do his job without Titania doing hers.

“We will leave you to your meal,” Caineghis dismissed himself, and he and Giffca returned to the cluster of tents that comprised miniature Gallia.

Ike and Titania sat back down, and Gatrie moved so she would have enough room to cradle the axe head in her lap. Mist ran off to get the Hammerne staff, and Rhys started the group in a round of storytelling about Titania’s most daring exploits. When it was Ike’s turn, he told the story of his first mission and how Titania had guided him while also letting him take command. Soren had been with the Mercenaries of Fayre back then, but he’d heard the story so many times, he felt like he’d been there.

 

After dinner, each section of the camp broke up and mingled among the rest. There were games, stories, sparring, jokes, and songs both joyous and solemn. But even when people were laughing, it didn’t seem like they were lying to themselves. They all knew what was coming, and they were an excited for it and as proud of their progress as they were scared of what was to come. They were among friends, and they were content. Those who were lucky enough to be among family and loved ones kept them close as the evening hours ticked by.

Soren may not have had many friends, but the unusual atmosphere wasn’t lost on him. He stayed near the mercenaries’ campsite, listening to the conversations and participating in the games that passed through. After a couple hours, however, Pelleas came over, and his expression was dour. “You are Sir Soren, correct?” the young king asked. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

Soren assessed him and didn’t immediately reply.

“I wanted to apologize for any injury I may have caused you in our battle,” Pelleas continued, seeming flustered. “I am glad you appear well now. I am glad we are all on the same side.”

Soren doubted Pelleas had come over just to convey these pleasantries, so he got to his feet. “Fine, we can talk,” he said, walking away from the fire where everyone was gathered. When he judged he was a safe distance away, he stopped. “What is it?”

“Well, actually, I was just hoping,” he stumbled to say, “Just hoping I could get to know you better…”

“Why would you want to do that?” (He, for one, had no interest in getting to know Pelleas better.)

“So, you’re not a Spirit Charmer?” Pelleas stated suddenly.

“We have already had this conversation.”

“It wasn’t much of a conversation,” King Daein replied, trying to make his voice light with a laugh. “We were in the middle of a battle.”

“No, I am not a Spirit Charmer,” Soren sighed.

“No, I didn’t think so.” Pelleas shook his head. “But I wanted to make sure… I entered my pact when I was thirteen,” he said suddenly, “I was living in an orphanage, and all the other children had been cruel to me for so long. I thought having power would help, but then they were just afraid of me.” He gave an awkward, self-deprecating chuckle. “I taught myself magic, and eventually Izuka found and trained me. He was the one who told me…who I was.”

Soren stared at Pelleas, trying to communicate his disinterest. “Fascinating,” he finally said.

“So, what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Well, I was just wondering if you’d experienced something similar.” He lifted his bangs again, to show off his mark of Spirit’s Protection. “Were you bullied?”

Soren released a bark of laughter. “What?”

“Were you an orphan too? Where did you grow up? How old are you?” Pelleas asked in a rush.

Soren took a step back, suddenly uncomfortable by this line of questioning. “Say what you mean to say.”

Pelleas shook his head and seemed to recede into himself. “I’m sorry. I am sure I’m being terribly rude.”

“You’re a king,” Soren replied, “You can afford to be rude.”

Pelleas took a long, steadying breath. “Let me try again… After I made a pact with the spirits of darkness, many people distrusted and abused me because they thought my mark was something else. They mistook it for something called a Brand, which appears on the flesh of children born of laguz and beorc… Is that what you are?”

Soren’s skin felt suddenly cold and clammy, and he wondered if Pelleas’s barrage of random questions had been less painful than this. But then he took a deep breath and reminded himself that nothing mattered anymore. So what if Pelleas knew the truth? Either one or both of them could be dead after tomorrow, so what did it matter? “…Yes,” Soren finally answered. “Yes, I am, and yes, I was mistreated. Yes, I was an orphan, but no, I was not raised in an orphanage like you. They wouldn’t accept someone like me there.”

Pelleas sucked in his lips and stared as if mesmerized by Soren’s every word. His reaction was disturbing, but now that Soren had begun, he decided to keep going:

“I grew up in Crimea. Before that I was in Gallia. Before that, Daein. I am twenty-five years old, or at least, I should be soon.” He shrugged slightly as if to say it didn’t matter. “If you’re also an orphan, you should know birthdays are arbitrary. I’ve always thought of myself being born around this time, when one year turns to the next… This is stupid. Why do you care?”  

“No, please- I mean, thank you. Thank you for telling me,” Pelleas hurried to say. His strange entranced expression now turned into an easy smile. “You know, we’re the same age,” he laughed, “I wouldn’t have guess by looking at you.”

Soren scowled. “If you’ve researched the Branded, you should know why.”

“Yes, of course,” Pelleas rushed to say, “I’ve heard rumors, and I’ve tried to learn everything I could recently. Did you know there is a great collection of books here in Sienne?” He gestured in the direction of the Mainal Cathedral. “I’ve been studying while we awaited the Silver and Greil Armies to arrive.”

“Fascinating,” Soren said again, trying to distance himself from Pelleas’s fanaticism. He took a step back. “If that’s all you wanted to know, I’ll be going.”

“Right, right,” Pelleas bobbed his head. “Thank you.”

Soren hesitated again, taken aback by his strange behavior. “I trust you won’t go telling anyone about this,” he said suddenly. “It is a private matter.”

“Right, of course,” Pelleas promised. “Thank you again.”

Shaking his head, Soren decided to cut his losses and take his leave of King Daein. Walking back to the campfire, he tried to pretend the conversation had never happened. He wondered if insanity could be inherited after all, because although this kid was nothing like Ashnard, he seemed to have some sort of madness in him.

 

After staying at the campfire a while longer, Soren retreated to his private tent (which he’d successfully kicked Gatrie out of back in Tanas, when they’d acquired more). He had pitched it in the shadow of a nearby building to avoid the tower’s glow without being too far from everyone else in case of emergency. He wasn’t the only one to lay claim to this particular shadowy courtyard, but his senses told him the other tents were empty now. Everyone else was still enjoying themselves (or at least the company of their friends) around the fires. It was relatively cold over here, but Soren didn’t mind. He was just tired. The activity of so many people was exhausting after spending weeks with the Greil Army alone. No matter the challenges tomorrow would bring, for now, Soren would rest.

 

He was awoken sometime later (although he could not tell how long), and he immediately realized he wasn’t alone. Someone was sitting just outside the entrance to his tent, and that someone was Ike. Crawling forward, Soren pushed the tent flap aside and yawned. “Ike, what is it?” He glanced around. “…It doesn’t seem we are being attacked.”

Ike shook himself into wakefulness and yawned too. “Yeah, no, we’re not being attacked.”

“What’s wrong then?”

“Oh, nothing’s wrong,” Ike was quick to deny.

“Why are you sitting out here?”

“I just finished talking to Micaiah—Micaiah, not Yune. I think it was the first real conversation I’ve ever had with her,” Ike explained, although it wasn’t quite an answer.

“You can come in,” Soren decided, scooching back into the dark. He found a lantern and lit it with a quick fire spell while Ike pulled himself inside. “Well, what did Micaiah have to say?” he asked when the glow illuminated them both.

Ike wrapped his arms around his knees. “I told you that I would tell you if anyone ever ask me about you, so I am.”

“Micaiah asked about me?” Soren repeated. “She asked if I was Branded?”

Ike frowned. “Do you like that word?” he asked suddenly. “Isn’t there another word I can use?”

Soren stared at him in confusion. “There is… But ‘Parentless’ is even worse, if you ask me, so let us continue with ‘Branded’ for efficiency’s sake. Now what were you saying?”

“Yeah, sorry.” Ike shook his head. “Well, I think she already knew; and she knew I knew what she was, because she’d guessed that you would’ve told me. I just confirmed what she was saying. I hope that’s okay.”

“Denying would have been pointless,” Soren said simply, then adding: “And I wouldn’t want to make you a liar. It is fine.”

Ike seemed satisfied with this and smiled.

“So what did you and Micaiah talk about?” Soren asked, because he was genuinely curious.

“Well, Sothe was there when I walked in on them, but he disappeared fast. I think he was embarrassed,” Ike breathed a small laugh. “Then Micaiah told me how they met, how they used to live, and how they came to be where they are now.”

“Sounds riveting,” Soren returned.

“Remember when we met Sothe?” Ike asked, “He was stowing away on our ship because he was looking for someone and wanted to go to Begnion. Well, Micaiah was the person he was looking for. And she was looking for him too. It sounds like they’d already been together a while at that point.”

“How poignant,” Soren said, not wanting to be too scathing with his disinterest since it was Ike.

“She’s older than him, even though they look like they’re the same age now,” Ike continued. “I could tell that by the way she was talking. And when I walked in, they had their hands together like this.” He reached out for Soren’s hand, and he let him have it. Ike lifted it, and they each splayed their fingers until they were lined up (more or less), despite the difference in size. “Like this…”

Soren didn’t pull away, because the pressure of Ike’s fingers and palm against his own felt warm, solid, and comforting. If they were turned to stone right now, Soren wouldn’t mind, and for a moment, he understood what Nasir had been saying about using the time left to decide whom to die with.

But then Ike dropped his hand, and the thought disappeared. It was better to live and fight beside Ike than to die beside him. It was better to face the end of the world together.

“Micaiah tried to leave Sothe,” Ike finally broke the silence with a quiet voice. “That’s why they were separated. She didn’t want him to realize how slowly she aged. She didn’t want him to know what she was, so she abandoned him in Crimea… You would never do that, would you?”

Soren didn’t answer immediately, and he couldn’t meet Ike’s eye. But he knew he had to be honest. “That used to be my plan,” he admitted. “But after you accepted me, I thought I would stay after all, no matter what the others thought. But, deep down, I know that it can’t last forever. The Greil Mercenaries can’t last forever. Not for me.”

Ike’s hand found his again—this time gently grasping his wrist, where his hand rested on the blanket. Soren’s eyes shot to his in surprise, but Ike wasn’t looking at him. His gaze was fixed on the ground, and he looked sad. “Micaiah said she was thinking of going to some far-off place after all of this is over. But after we’d finished talking, she decided to stay in Daein after all. She decided to stay with Sothe and help make Daein better.”

Soren said nothing, waiting for Ike to continue. He still hadn’t let go.

“But, I can’t get the idea of that far-off place out of my mind,” he finally said, looking up as if he could see the sky—or something else—beyond the tent canvas. “When all of this is over…” A tear collecting in his eye spilled over, and Soren couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Ike didn’t cry.

And apparently Ike didn’t think so either. Releasing Soren’s wrist, he wiped his face and grunted to clear his throat. “Never mind,” he said. “I have the Greil Mercenaries. That’s all I need. And the Greil Mercenaries will always have you—as long as you want to be a part of it. Please don’t slip away and try to spare us. We don’t want to be spared. We’re your friends, and we want you.” With that, Ike stood as far as the tent would allow (which wasn’t much) and left. “Good night, Soren,” he bid him before disappearing, but Soren remained awake, playing the conversation through his mind, long after Ike had gone.