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The whole thing had been Boyd’s idea, mostly.
The final battle with Ashera had ended in victory, Yune’s chosen soldiers trudging back from the Tower of Guidance with worn smiles and drooping shoulders. But war, Ranulf found, was a much greater beast than history ever claimed it to be, the long tendrils of hardship sinking in far after the fighting had ceased.
The weeks that followed were filled with a seemingly endless stream of responsibilities. Tents overflowed with the sick and wounded, beorc and laguz alike confined to their beds while Rhys and Mist scurried about with odd-smelling tonics. Others found themselves tasked with caring for the dead, adding marks to an ever-growing list of which soldier hailed from which village and which door would soon have to be met with untimely news. Ranulf himself busied with errands from King Caineghis, relaying messages and inventory counts and watching as Ike and Queen Elincia were called away for days on end to meet with the Empress.
All in all, it wasn’t exactly what he had expected “victory” to look like, at least not from the glorified picture that legends made it out to be.
Which, in retrospect, was probably why the declaration had been made that “enough was enough” and a proper night of rest was to be had before everyone finally keeled over.
It had started as nothing more than an honest suggestion, Boyd going on about some famous tavern in the next village over as he waved his fork around at mealtime. A suggestion that was quickly taken up by others in attendance, tired soldiers latching on to the promise of some much-needed downtime (or a chance to “admire the local beauties” if you happened to be Gatrie). Ike didn’t seem to mind the idea either way, and the proposal was ultimately granted on the condition that things wouldn’t get too far out of hand. Ranulf, for his part, wasn’t particularly interested in the beorc custom of drinking, but the idea of good company and a card game brought along by Soren was too much of an opportunity to pass up. And so, with a newly-knitted scarf thrust upon him by Mist (who insisted that he was going to freeze to death otherwise), he had joined the little pleasure-seeking crew in their trek to the tavern, the winter sky clouding their way overheard as the smell of incoming snow lingered on the horizon.
It was almost beginning to feel like the world had returned to normal, the loud chaos of battle fading off into the distance, replaced by soft crunches underfoot and bubbling laughter that overflowed amidst the candlelight.
“So this is where you ran off to. And here I always thought cats were supposed to hate the cold.”
A new voice drew Ranulf out of his thoughts, his eyes readjusting to the glow of a single lamp overhead, its flickering light casting small shadows along the tavern’s front stoop.
“Everything alright?” he asked, watching with amusement as Ike attempted to pull his cape back around his shoulders.
Ike nodded. “Boyd’s probably had one too many cups of ale, but I think Soren has everything under control. At least he did last time I checked.” He paused to give a small glance through the open doorway, the warm glow from inside spilling over his tired but contented features. Seeming satisfied, he closed the door with a heavy click and shuffled over to join Ranulf underneath the lamplight.
“I never understood what you beorc got out of drowning yourselves with alcohol,” Ranulf pointed out, scooting over to give Ike some room in the meager patch of warmth. “I’ve listened to far too many soldiers complain of headaches and nausea to think it was anything but a bad idea.”
“Don’t ask me,” Ike replied with a shrug. “I’ve never been very fond of it.”
“Oh? Trying to set an example for the younger members are we?”
Ike gave a low hum as he stopped to lean Ragnell against the tavern wall. Ranulf still couldn’t fathom why beorc insisted on lugging around such huge weaponry everywhere they went, but he’d long since decided not to question it.
“I think Boyd got me to try some cider a couple years back,” Ike finally replied. “I ended up taking two sips before I spit it back into my cup.”
Ranulf let out a snort, trying with little success to hold down his laughter. “I’m no expert on fancy beorc drinks, but isn’t cider supposed to be on the weaker end of the spectrum?”
Ike huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t want to hear that from someone who ordered warm milk at a tavern.”
“I’m a cat, Ike. What else did you expect? Besides, I had to keep a clear head if I wanted to stand a chance at our card game.”
“You still lost, if I remember correctly.”
“At least I managed to get past the first three rounds.”
“It wasn’t... Ok, maybe it was three,” Ike conceded, letting his arms fall back against his sides. “But you can’t really call it fair when I’m up against you and Soren.”
“I’ll agree to that much,” Ranulf said with a nod. “Soren has a surprising amount of cunning packed into that tiny body of his.”
“He makes a good tactician for a reason.”
“More like a scary one if you ask me.”
“Isn’t that basically the same thing?”
Ranulf chuckled, tugging at his scarf as his eyes drifted back to the still-falling snow. The group had hardly been in the village for a few minutes when the sky had opened up, releasing a soft barrage of ice that had sent them running for cover, a loud mixture of laughter and unintelligible directions until Soren had finally decided to take ownership of the map. In all honesty, it probably hadn’t been as bad as they’d made it out to be, especially if the gentle snowfall beyond the tavern’s awning was anything to go by.
It was peaceful, the quiet hush of the night mingling with faint chatter from inside, like white noise that might have lulled Ranulf into drowsiness if not for the cold that nipped at his fingertips. Perhaps it would be good, he thought, to take a break like this... at least while he still had the chance.
As the silence stretched between them, Ranulf heard Ike shift in place, the tattered ends of his cape fluttering against Ranulf’s tail.
“You know, you’ve been kind of quiet all evening.”
“Hm. You think so?” Ranulf rubbed his fingers together, earning little for the effort beside the scratch of his gloves against his skin. Mist was right. He definitely should have worn something warmer.
“I’m not saying you can’t be. It’s just...” Ike trailed off and when Ranulf turned to look at him, there was a serious expression on his face, far more so than Ranulf had been expecting. “I was wondering if something’s bothering you.”
Ranulf hummed, his gaze drifting away to the tufts of snow that had begun to pile at the tavern door. “Is this you asking out of common courtesy? Or did you somehow manage to develop laguz senses while I wasn’t looking?”
Ike’s cape rustled again when he shrugged. “Neither? I’m just used to you acting upbeat most of the time. Whenever you get all spacey and quiet it’s kind of weird.”
“Being called weird by someone like you doesn’t really make me feel any better.”
“I can leave you alone if you want,” Ike replied, already leaning over to pick up Ragnell.
“No, no, it’s fine. You can stay.”
“You sure?”
Ranulf nodded, already cursing at his growing inability to avoid Ike’s bluntness. When Ike didn’t push any further, he sighed, picking at the edge of his gloves as he tried to line up the thoughts floating around in his head.
“Skrimir intends to keep me on as second-in-command once he ascends the throne,” he said finally, doing his best to keep his voice even. “It’s not something that will happen tomorrow, or even within the course of the year. But when it does, it would essentially make me the royal adviser. A high honor, to put it in so little words.”
Ike’s brow furrowed as he seemed to process the new information. “Has he told anyone else about this?”
Ranulf shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of. It’s a complicated process, or so I’ve heard. But you know how Skrimir likes to get ahead of himself on everything.”
“Are you going to accept?”
Am I?
“It makes the most sense, doesn’t it?” Ranulf’s eyes drifted toward the snowy village, silent now save for an odd straggler shuffling along beneath the moonlight. So peaceful, and yet so very different from the hustle and bustle that had become his everyday life. “I’m probably the one person most qualified to act as his adviser, other than his own father. And besides, I know he’ll make a fine ruler. He might be a little impulsive, but he has potential... and the people seem to love him... so...” Ranulf felt his voice trail off like smoke into the night air, his thoughts freezing on his tongue until he could no longer remember what he was trying to say.
Ike gave him a moment to continue and then frowned when he didn’t, his face soft despite the shadows cast by the flickering light above them.
“That’s not really a yes or a no.”
Ranulf sighed, crossing his arms in a poor attempt to hide his exhaustion. “I guess that means I don’t have a yes or no answer then.”
Ike seemed to consider this before replying. “Well... what do you want to do?”
“You know it’s not that simple, Ike.”
“Then pretend it is.”
Ranulf raised an eyebrow, searching Ike’s expression for some indication that he was being toyed with (although he wasn’t entirely sure if Ike was capable of such a thing). When he found himself met with nothing but open honesty, he let out another sigh, deciding that he might as well give the suggestion some thought. It was better than thinking himself into circles anyways.
“It’s just... sometimes I wonder if there might be more to all of this than sitting around behind some castle walls. More to this world, I mean.” Ranulf kicked his heel against the ground, scattering dirt and ice as if that would do something to help his jumbled thoughts. “There’s still so much out there that I haven’t seen, even in the time that I’ve spent relaying messages for Caineghis. Gallia, Begnion... even beyond the furthest borders of Tellius. I just... I don’t know if I could live my life knowing that I’ll never get the chance to see it.”
“...But?” Ike’s voice was soft when he spoke. Knowing even. Ranulf huffed, wondering when Ike had gotten observant enough to start reading his mind.
“But... I know this peace isn’t going to last forever.” He quickly put up a hand when Ike opened his mouth to protest. “Don’t try to tell me that it will, Ike. You know how these things go just as well as I do. It doesn’t matter how many kings or goddesses we defeat... differences between the laguz and beorc won’t disappear overnight and sooner or later there’ll come a time when my experience is going be needed.” Ranulf paused, lowering his eyes. “To be honest, there’s no way of saying that such a time will even be very far off.”
Ike remained silent, his fingers tapping against the cobblestone wall as he no doubt tried to search for a response. Behind them, the soft sounds of muffled laughter drifted from the tavern; a small bubble of warmth that would inevitably fade away with the rising of the sun.
“And that’s why you’re thinking of accepting, isn’t it?”
Ranulf shrugged, too exhausted by now to skirt around the question. “Like I said, it makes sense, doesn’t it? There’s always going to be a time when people will need my particular set of skills. Just like they’re always going to need a headstrong hero to lead them into victory.” Ranulf turned his head to look at Ike. Under the soft candlelight, he could make out all of the faint lines that had slowly built their way onto Ike’s face. He looked tired. In a good way for now. But it wouldn’t be long until those lines turned into weariness, just like Ranulf had seen plenty of times before. “What else are people like you and I supposed to do, knowing exactly the sort of things the future is going to hold?”
Ike was quiet again, so much this time that Ranulf began to wonder if he’d managed to fall asleep standing up. But eventually he shifted in place, his low voice filling the space between them.
“You know... I once challenged my father to a duel when I was younger.”
Ranulf paused, about to question where the sudden change in subject had come from. But the oddly serious look in Ike’s eyes was enough to convince him otherwise.
“I must have been around seven or eight. Just old enough to start learning how to swing a sword around.” A fond smile made its way onto Ike’s face as he chuckled softly. “I guess I must have been pretty naive, even for a child. Thinking I could take him on after I’d barely started practicing.” He shook his head, the look on his face softening further. “I was knocked on my backside in less than a minute. He didn’t even stop to go easy on me. Just struck my tiny excuse for a sword right out of my hands.”
An image of a much tinier Ike drifted into Ranulf’s mind, all full of bruises and fire in his eyes as he glared up at a young Greil, a small wooden practice sword tossed roughly to the side. It almost made him feel guilty, being privy to such a memory. Yet he couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips all the same.
“Looking back on it now, I can probably say I deserved it for being stubborn. But it’s not the defeat itself that’s stuck with me for all these years.” Ike paused, fiddling with the edge of his cape as if the thought of continuing made him falter. “‘You aren’t ready to be a mercenary, Ike.’ That’s what he told me. At the time, I assumed he meant I wasn’t strong enough. Or that I just didn’t have enough experience under my belt. So I trained every day, hoping I’d eventually reach that point where I was ‘ready,’ just like he said.”
Ike paused again, a far-off look in his eyes. Something about it spurred Ranulf into speaking before he could manage to stop himself. “And did you reach it?”
Ike shook his head. “No. At first I thought something would click the first time my father put me in charge of a mission. And then again when he...” Ike trailed off, his hand moving to linger on Ragnell’s hilt. “Even after I took charge of the Greil Mercenaries, or after we defeated the Mad King. It always seemed like there was something I was missing. Eventually I thought if I could defeat the Black Knight... if I avenged my father’s death... maybe then I’d be ready to stand in the place where he’d once stood.”
There was a silence that followed, but that in itself told Ranulf everything he needed to know.
“It didn’t work, did it?”
Ike shook his head again. “There was relief maybe. Or a sense that my father could finally rest in peace. But it wasn’t as if I’d reached a point that I’d been working toward all along.” His gaze drifted away, off to some invisible place and time that Ranulf knew he’d never be able to see. “Even after all these years... I think I’m still just that reckless child, lying with my back on ground and wondering if I’ll ever measure up to what my father left behind.”
When Ike fell silent, Ranulf leaned back against the tavern wall, the stone cold yet grounding against the tips of his fingers. From somewhere inside, the sound of clanking mugs told him that someone had made a toast, the muffled chatter soothing over his senses.
“You know, I wonder what people would think if they could hear you talk like that.”
Ike turned with a puzzled expression on his face, but Ranulf was already smiling.
“I mean, you’re supposed to be a hero, aren’t you? The warrior of legend who brought beorc and laguz together to calm an angry goddess.” He chuckled as Ike’s mouth pulled into a frown. “If only people knew that their hero was just a simple, headstrong child all along.”
Ike huffed, pointedly rolling his eyes. “I never asked to be a hero.”
“And yet here you are with more achievements under your belt than little you could ever have dreamed of.”
“It doesn’t matter what people call me. It still doesn’t sit right. Being treated like some kind of noble.”
“I suppose you have talked back to the Empress, if you wanted to get into details.”
Ike groaned. “Please don’t remind me.”
Ranulf chuckled again, continuing to tease until Ike finally elbowed him in the ribs.
Somehow, it seemed like the tension from earlier had dissipated, if only by a little.
“To be honest, I don’t think I’ll ever reach that point where it feels like I’m ‘ready.’”
Ranulf looked up from massaging his rib cage and found Ike with that far-away expression again.
“People can call me a hero or a legend or any other title they want. I’m never going to be the same man that my father once was.” Ike turned to look at him, and for a brief moment Ranulf thought he could see all of the stress and pain that Ike had carried with him over the last three years. And yet underneath it all, the fire that he’d seen in the eyes of that young mercenary so long ago continued to burn on just as strong. “I’m not my father. But that just means I have to do things my own way. And no amount of praise or adoration is going to change that.”
Ranulf smiled despite himself, watching as his breath faded away like smoke in the growing darkness.
“Your own way, huh? Even if history would have a say otherwise?”
“History doesn’t get to decide what my life ends up being worth.”
Ranulf laughed fully this time, earning himself a frown that seemed just as full of amusement as it was confusion.
“What?”
“You really are something, Ike.”
“That seems suspicious, coming from you.”
Laughter still filling his chest, Ranulf felt the heavy sensation that had been gathering there all evening begin to dissipate, his doubts and second thoughts melting away under the fire of a weathered mercenary, unafraid to tread his own path.
“Yeah... I think I could probably live with that.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing, Ike. Don’t worry about it.”
Ike looked like he was about to argue when they were interrupted by a loud thud from the tavern door being pushed open. Ranulf looked over to find a slightly disheveled and very displeased Soren standing in the doorway.
“Ike, I think I need your assistance.”
Ike frowned, already reaching over to secure Ragnell to his belt. “Boyd?”
Soren made a noise that sounded like he was at the edge of his patience. “Someone thought a contest of strength would be a great idea after four cups of ale. He and Gatrie already overturned a couple of chairs.” He glanced briefly back inside. “And one of the tables.”
Ike shook his head, though there was barely any heat beneath it. “I’ll go deal with them.”
Soren grumbled something under his breath before nodding and disappearing back into the tavern.
With a light sigh, Ike secured Ragnell to his belt and started after him.
“Hey, Ike?”
Ike paused to throw Ranulf a questioning glance, his hand already halfway to the door handle.
Ranulf grinned. “Thanks.”
The smile Ike gave back was strong but warm. “Don’t mention it.”
Then without another word, Ranulf was left in silence, the hurried chatter from the tavern fading to the background once again as he focused his thoughts toward the falling snow. Perhaps things truly wouldn’t change so easily. Perhaps peace would crumble and fall away one day, leaving him with nothing but hopes and selfish dreams of skies that neither eye nor tale had ever seen.
But for the first time in longer than he could remember, Ranulf decided that maybe that would be ok.