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It was a new start, a new lease on life. It was just you and Ike, and the rest of Greil’s mercenaries. You stayed with them, traveled with them, and even though you weren’t a warrior, you had other practical skills. You could cook and clean, and polish armor and weapons. You dressed minor wounds while Mist and Rhys took care of the more serious ones. Although your felt your contributions were small, they were fair. You weren’t just another mouth to feed.
No one but Ike knew about your career as a dancer — you dressed in standard garb around them, not in one of your intricate dance outfits. No one asked about your history. All they knew was that Ike saved you from a man you refused to marry.
Most of them were very kind. Shinon and Soren were polite enough, though they rarely engaged with you. The rest of them were friendly and welcomed you into their odd family. You learned about Titania’s and Oscar’s histories as knights, Rhys’s work as a local priest, and Boyd’s passion for adventure.
You and Ike were together, you supposed. You had not spoken about your first kiss as if it hadn’t happened , but you recognized that tender look in his eyes whenever he exchanged glances with you — it was as if he wanted to say more but couldn’t find his words.
But that was fine. You were patient, understanding of his circumstance. He was not a man of romance and phrase — he was a man of action.
One evening as you were doing laundry, Gatrie approached. “Hey, _____,” he said. “How are you doing?”
“I’m doing well. Can I help you?”
“Oh, just wanted to return this.” He handed you one of your scarves, something you’d used for an emergency bandage when he came back with a cut on his hand.
You accepted it, noting just how perfectly clean it was. “You got the blood out, I see. Thank you.”
“I recognize scarves like that, that silky cloth that is semi-transparent.”
“Do you?”
“It’s material that dancers wear.”
“And how do you know that, Gatrie?” you said, deciding to poke a little fun at him. “You seem to know a lot about a dancer’s outfit.”
He tilted his head to the side, a smile on his face. “Oh, I’ve been around. You’re a dancer, aren’t you? I thought there was something about the way you moved. I’ve seen you humming to yourself as do chores around here — it’s like you’ve got that natural rhythm.”
“That’s right. I was a dancer before I joined up with you.”
“I knew it!” He snapped his fingers. “How come you didn’t say anything? We could really use you on the battlefield.”
“What?”
“A dancer — they’re rare in skirmishes, but soldiers find them so refreshing that they’re able to fight better, recover faster, you know. Besides, it goes without saying, but sometimes a pretty face can get us further than a lance and shield can.”
“While I don’t disagree, I feel like I’d just be a liability on the battlefield,” you said. “I guess I’ll have to talk to Ike about it.”
Gatrie shrugged. “Do what you want, but how about you dance for us tonight?”
“Oh, I don’t know if the group is even interested in that sort of entertainment.”
“Wouldn’t hurt to try, and it sure might lift our spirits before our mission tomorrow.”
He had a point — and, truth be told, you were so grateful for Ike and his band of mercenaries for taking you in. You wouldn’t know what else to do, especially after your terrible experience with the man who pursued you. If a dance would help boost morale and allow your newfound friends to focus, it was the least you could do.
That night, you and Mist served dinner. You wondered how you’d breach the topic with Greil’s Mercenaries, but as Gatrie sat down next to Shinon for his meal, he waved everyone over. “So apparently, _____’s been keeping a secret from us. Did you all know she’s a professional dancer?”
The small crowd erupted in a variety of reactions. Some of them seemed surprised, asking you to show them; others were neutral, continuing their dinner. Ike seemed curious, giving a silent glance in your direction — he had never seen you dance, either, surprisingly enough.
“After dinner,” you said, glad that this group was receptive. “I can give you a little show.”
“Oh, that’s perfect!” Mist said. “I have a wooden flute I can play, if that would help.”
“That’d be wonderful. I was just wondering how I was going to dance without music.” While Mist went to grab her flute, you returned to your tent and looked through your outfits. True to form and purpose, dancers outfits were all decorative and sheer in many places. They were mostly revealing — nothing unreasonable, though — and you were comfortable in your body, so it never bothered you. You had a collection of them, each accompanied with sets of scarves and jewelry, jingles and fans. You selected your favorites among them and exited to the campfire.
As if on cue, Mist began a song. You felt the rhythm of the familiar tune, and you danced, each note coaxing movement from your arms and legs. It was not just entertainment — it was a lifestyle, a love for art and music and expression. Your dancing gave you a sense of liberation and release, and you found yourself feeling refreshed after a good performance, the positive feedback of your audience a sure contribution.
You danced alongside the fire as if the very flames were your partner. It was nice returning to your craft for the first time in weeks, and you were reinvigorated. There was a spring in each step, a fleeting flick in your wrist. As you moved, you saw Ike from the corner of your eye. He was staring — not just watching, but staring, lips parted in utter amazement. This pleased you, and continued until Mist was finished with her song, earning a round of applause from your small crowd of onlookers.
You were given compliments, your friends surprised that you had such talent. You thanked them warmly, of course, and the conversation then simmered to simple fireside chats before bed.
Eventually, everyone began to retire, leaving you and Ike, who was going to take the first shift of the watch.
“So I didn’t know you could dance so well,” he said.
“You knew I was a dancer, didn’t you?” you said, smoothing out the skirt you had changed back into. “Why would I dance if I wasn’t at least good at it?”
“Good point. I guess I’d just never seen you do it, so I never thought about it before.”
“Huh. We met because I dance. If it weren’t for that, you wouldn’t have had the chance to rescue me, remember?”
“Mm.” Ike tilted his head over toward you, the light of the fire gleaming against his skin. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“Did you like it?”
“The dance?”
“Mmhmm.”
He looked away. “Yeah. You’re... well, you’re incredible. I’ve never paid much attention to dancers before tonight. Not that I’ve spent a lot of time around them, but mercenaries see their fair share of taverns — I’m just impressed that you can do all that.”
“All of the dancing?”
“All of those” — he waved his arms — “moves, whatever you call them. I wouldn’t even know where to begin. I’ve never danced in my life.”
You laughed. “Two left feet, huh? Well, I can teach you, if you want.”
“I don’t know, _____. Dancing probably isn’t my thing. I’ll stick with fighting.”
“Speaking of fighting,” you started, watching the fire, “I was with Gatrie earlier. He told me about dancers on the battlefield and how they can raise morale for the soldiers. I know I haven’t been pulling my weight around here—”
“What are you talking about? You do plenty.”
“I know I do the chores, but I’d like to do more. You’re a band of mercenaries, after all, and even Rhys, who doesn’t fight, is out on the battlefield. I want to be useful.”
You thought Ike might refuse, but he crossed his arms and looked at you, eyes alight. “You really want to, huh? Well, you certainly dance well enough to raise morale. I guess if you want to be out there, I really can’t stop you.”
“Really?”
“Really. All you women are so stubborn.”
“Oh, don’t start that again,” you said, giving him a glare. “All you men are ridiculous.”
“We are not.”
“Are, too.” You resisted the urge to stick your tongue out at him; you didn’t want a petty argument, especially not on the eve of your first mission. You stood, glancing at the tent you shared with Mist. “I guess I’m off to bed, then. If I’m joining you tomorrow, I should probably get some rest—”
“Wait.” Ike caught your wrist as you stepped forward, and he stood, pulling you close by the arms.
You felt your heart thump in your chest, the closeness bringing you anticipation and joy. His skin was warm against yours, and when he leaned in for a kiss, the butterflies in your stomach fluttered wildly. No further words were exchanged, except for a tender “goodnight,” and you retired to bed.
The following day, you prepared for your first mission, selecting your outfit with care. You wanted something that would dazzle, not distract. You stretched, ensuring your muscles were relaxed and supple before your began dancing — it would do no good to pull a muscle or otherwise injure yourself.
When you stepped out of your tent, you saw a huddle around Ike, his mercenaries donned in armor, lances and swords sharpened. The magic-users had their books and scrolls, while archers held fast to their bows, quivers full of arrows.
With instructions and a heartening, but brief, announcement from Ike, you headed off. It would be a stealth mission — at least, that would be the goal, and if the enemy noticed, then you would have to fight. You performed a dance for everyone to lift their spirits, the magic in every step bringing together your love of the art with the fascination of the audience.
And when your battle began, an enemy soldier alerting his allies to your presence, you danced like you’d never danced before. You felt like you were flying, and now that your craft had purpose beyond simple entertainment and making a wage, you were more free than ever. It filled your heart, knowing you role was purposeful and helpful to Ike, who had only been kind to you.
After you took your signature bow, you heard a wolf whistle, only to notice Gatrie winking at you, clicking his tongue. You gave him a polite smile, but from the corner of your eye, you saw Ike glower in his direction. He walked toward Gatrie, shoving him in the shoulder toward the battlefield.
“Get going,” Ike said. “We have a mission to complete.”
You rolled your eyes. “All you men,” you said.