Chapter Text
“I would love to show you around the place, but I don’t have the time,” Greil mumbled into his leathery knuckles.
“I’ll do it.”
Soren turned around in surprise, although he had no right to be. Ike stood in the doorway of the tent, flap caught on his boyishly spiky hair. The pose was likely as the same as when Soren had overheard Ike convincing his father to take Soren in.
It was not the first time. Ike did not seem to remember that.
“Ah. Thank you, Ike.” Hands falling to his axe belt, Greil grinned. “Although, I’m not quite sure that your interests align. Make sure that you show the boy more than the training grounds.”
“Yeah, Dad.” Ike whipped around. Feeling Greil’s eyes boring holes into his back, he mumbled, “Yes, Father.”
The weather outside sparkled mockingly sunny. On days like these, Soren stayed inside or perched between the roots of a tree as if the shadows could melt his very frame. Reading at night by candlelight alone at the church caused Soren to squint often. Perhaps his strange eye color also had something to do with his sensitivity.
But Ike looked as if the clear sapphire skies were made for him, so Soren had no choice but to follow. His curiosity spurred him on in equal parts. Ike mentioned nothing of remembering Soren, but they had only made idle conversation in public so far.
“...We are going to the training grounds first, but that’s only because they’re the closest,” Ike prefaced, casting a nervous glance over his shoulder.
Soren was almost tempted to smile as they left Greil’s makeshift office and quarters behind. He gripped his tome to his chest instead. “That’s fine.”
“Great.” The other boy regained his confident stride. “This way, then.”
Climbing the dirt path, Soren scrambled up in many steps for just one of Ike’s leaps. Since he had already survived the church’s many stairs, the pair rose to the clearing together.
Pine trees encircled the grounds, naked and dusty from years of playing at war. Wooden dummies with killing blows from all of the weapon types stood in a silent vigil. To one side, the pines yielded to a field of flowers.
A tawny-haired girl sat in the middle, plucking at whatever blossom caught her fancy. When she noticed their approach, Soren watched her scurry over like a struggling fawn.
“Ike!” There was an obvious picture of familiarity, although Soren did not remember her from the village. “Are you scaring the new boy?”
“What? No, Mist.” Ike turned to Soren and blinked. “Am I?”
“No.” Soren almost smiled.
Mist hummed, seeming to believe him. “Just making sure. You can be serious like Father sometimes.” She snatched a flower from her own bouquet and turned her delicate features to Soren. “Would you like one? For your eyes.”
Soren stared at the offending red poppy, mouth held open and hackles raised. He scanned the immediate area. Red showed quite rarely in the patch of meadow, so he was surprised Mist would relent this one, but nothing else seemed to be amiss.
“Now who’s scaring him?” Ike huffed.
“...No, I’ll take it,” Soren muttered. “Thank you.”
“Father was looking for you, Mist,” her brother scolded as Soren finally gripped the stem between his fingertips as if it would break. A very giving family, Soren thought.
Mist rolled her eyes. “Of course. Well, see you guys at dinner!”
As she jaunted down the hill, Soren pressed the poppy between the covers of his tome. Mist had not been present for Soren’s acceptance, but apparently she had already made up her own mind.
“Anyway,” Ike chuckled to himself. “This is where I spend most of my time. You can use it as much or as little as you want. If you injure yourself in practice, you can see Rhys, our healer.”
“For what? Paper cuts?” For the banter, Soren softened the normally sharp edge of his tongue.
“I don’t know. We’ve never had a mage before.” Chuckling, Ike scratched at the back of his neck. “But if you ever want to train together, I’d be more than happy to.”
Soren could have jested about what could a mage and swordsman possibly have to teach each other. He could have even pointed out how Ike did not look the type to read. Instead, Soren said, “I will keep that in mind.”
The descent was quiet, as the pine needles muffled even Ike’s footsteps. After such an extended interaction, Soren expected to hear the beating of his heart against his ribs and anxiety his brain, but both were strangely silent.
Next, they came upon a squat stone building, hastily erected in the Crimean countryside.
“Speaking of dinner,” Ike continued, “that’s the mess hall. Every meal is on the house. But if you want to bring in outside food, that’s okay, too. Oscar just might get offended.”
“...I usually just have a light sandwich.” Soren squirmed in place.
Ike’s brows knit in a look of consternation. “You sure?”
“I’m sure,” Soren responded quickly—too quickly. He crushed his tome to his chest like dead weight. Remembering the poor poppy between the pages, the mage loosened his grip.
“Well, you can ask Oscar for the ingredients.” As the look melted away, Ike’s mouth twitched up into a grin. “But if you’re ever hungrier than that, I always have at least three extra helpings on my plate.”
“...Alright.” Soren cleared his throat. As a limp apology for driving the conversation south, he jested, “But you look like you need them.”
When Ike guffawed, Soren’s mouth finally formed the vestiges of a smile, as if he had ever learned how in the first place.
Finally, they passed Greil’s tent to approach the second cluster of buildings. All were set in the same stone, begging for another fulfilled job. Not even gold could save the lopsided and littered armory. Soren would have no use for it, anyway. If he decided to stay.
But where else would he go?
“You were in the meeting room already,” Ike pointed to the round hovel across from them. “Boring bossy stuff.”
“I believe the word that you are looking for is administration,” Soren could not help but shoot back.
Instead of taking offense, Ike raised his brows pleasantly and said, “Your sentences are getting longer.”
“...As is this tour,” Soren huffed before saying something incriminating. The clergy did not teach Soren how to speak only to have his words be used against his heart.
“Don’t worry. Last stop,” Ike promised as he swung open the heavy, oaken door.
Midday left the barracks barren, much to Soren’s delight. He dreaded interacting with the company members that were not Ike’s family.
“Mist and Titania have their own room.” While explaining, Ike motioned to the row of empty bunks. Some sat pristine while others looked like a war had torn through their sheets. Soren surmised that Ike’s was one of the latter. “The rest of us guys sleep here. I hope that’s okay.”
Soren gave a perfunctory nod. “That’s fine.”
After all, he had slept in much worse.
“Once you pick a bed, you can store your stuff under it. We also have a few chests. Just make sure to label it as yours,” the other boy offered.
“That won’t be necessary.”
It felt like an off-hand comment to Soren, but Ike’s eyes blew wide. “You don’t have anything?”
“The church wasn’t quite fond of worldly possessions,” the mage equivocated. He pictured the neurotic food scraps and extra tomes in his pack. If he had anything else from the church, he would have lost it in his years wandering alone. Soren left that part out, as well as anything before the church, sensing it would upset Ike, the boy he knew everything and nothing about.
“Which bunks are free?” he asked when Ike stayed silent in abject horror.
“There are three empty doubles in the back.” Ike made a motion behind him. After, his hand came to rest awkwardly on the back of his neck again. He looked to the side. “And… the bed above me is free. We could share.”
Soren willed his expression to freeze, but ice was easily cracked. “...You would offer such a thing?”
“Why not?” Shrugging, Ike tried to lean on a bedpost and misjudged the distance to the oak. Soren graciously ignored his small tumble. “No one else in the company is my age. I thought we could be friends.”
“Why, indeed,” Soren mumbled to himself. Louder and sharper, he continued, “What about that axe fellow? Boyd, was it?”
“Boyd’s cool! But he’s out of training already, so we can’t hang out all the time,” Ike explained.
The other nodded, wishing his bangs would swallow his face. “What makes you so sure that we are? Everyone says I look young for my age.” It was a discrepancy that he planned on looking into.
“But you act older, so I figured the truth was somewhere in the middle. Suddenly, Ike looked grief-stricken. “Was I wrong?”
“No. We are,” Soren relented, letting the tension out of his grip on the tome, “around the same age, I mean. But we can also share.”
The grief disappeared in a flash of radiance. “Great! Oh, uh, the others tell me I snore. Is that okay?”
“...That’s fine, Ike.” An undignified, fond snort bubbled its way up at the image of Ike sprawled out and snoring. Ike blinked before finding something special in Soren’s mirth and began to laugh with him.
Nothing could change Soren’s decision now, not even if Ike had forgotten.
Not even when Shinon yelled at them to stop whispering on their very first night together, sharing gossip and secrets as children do. Now, Soren would blame his sanguine cheeks on the blood rushing to his head from looking down at Ike.
Later, it would not be so easy to pretend.