Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Whenever Ike was tasked with rescuing the prince or princess of the day in one of his and Mist’s games of pretend, he would picture himself being as calm and collected as his father. A warrior who could stand tall in the face of danger and always knew just the right thing to do.

He wasn’t the best with words – as Mist had made sure to tell him so multiple times – but as a warrior standing tall he wouldn’t need them. You don’t have to worry anymore, because I’m here, his presence would say.

Faced now with the raven-haired boy lying limply on the ground in front of him, he couldn’t feel further from that image.

He'd gone to the forest looking for a stick to play with, hoping to quell some of his boredom while Mist was shopping with their mother. He went, thinking that maybe if he found something as weighty as the wooden sword Father had shown him the other day he'd be able to sneak in some training while playing. 

Ike had almost thought his eyes were playing tricks on him when he’d caught sight of the boy, half hidden as he was by the roots of the huge oak tree behind him. 

He wasn’t even sure the boy was alive. It was hard to tell from what little he could see of him. 

Ike was only five years old, he had no idea what to do to help.

He took a step closer all the same. 

They seemed to be about the same age. The boy was perhaps a little younger? Small and skinny as he is, Ike couldn't quite tell. The rags he was wearing didn't help either. He was swallowed by what seemed to be the remnants of a cloak, and most of his face was obscured by his long hair. 

Ike knelt in front of him carefully, trying to mimic the gentle stance his mother would adopt to comfort him when he was upset. He wasn’t sure it would help, but it couldn’t hurt. 

He could see from up close that the boy is still breathing; it's a relief. 

What to do next was… difficult to decide. The boy's sleep didn't seem very restful, but Ike didn't want to wake him. He looked like he needed it. 

He looked like he needed a lot of things, really. Sitting with his legs crossed before the sleeping boy, Ike took a moment to study him a little more, as though he might somehow have the answer to Ike's questions. 

Nothing new jumped out to him; there isn't much Ike can see of him altogether. What could he do for this boy? If leaving without speaking to the boy and making sure he would stay where he is didn’t feel so wrong, he would run back to his parents and ask them what to do. They would surely know better than Ike.

But Ike was all this boy had right now, so he’d have to make do.

Somehow Ike’s gaze landed on the hand the boy was clutching to his chest. It was a small and bony thing, littered with small cuts and bruises. Ike wanted to take it in his own and clean the cuts, like he would have done for Mist. From the look of him, he didn’t think this boy had had anyone to care for him in that way.

He must be hungry, Ike thought. It wasn’t quite a realization, but something that’d been bothering him for a while now put to words. 

It brought with it a strange wave of relief. That was something Ike could help with. Finally, there was something he could do.

Always one for action, Ike was quick to grab the sandwich his mother had packed for his lunch. A moment of contemplation was enough for him to decide to place it on the grass by the boy’s hand. The sandwich was wrapped, so it should have been fine, and that way the boy would find it even if Ike had to leave before he woke. 

However, just as he was placing it on the ground, the boy twitched.  At first he stirred slowly, blinking the sleep out of his eyes, then, as soon as he noticed Ike, he sat up and scrambled away with a squeak. It happened so fast Ike barely had time to react,  dropping the sandwich with a startled yelp of his own.

The fear in his eyes was hard to swallow and left Ike’s chest feeling tight and uncomfortable. Before this moment, he couldn’t imagine his presence making anyone so afraid. Yet, seeing the fresh bruise on the boy’s cheek, made clear now that they’re face to face, and the myriad of similar cuts and purple spots in his arms, Ike understood.

At least they seemed to be only bruises, he told himself. He bet mother could heal that with one wave of her staff. 

It was odd. Ike had never dealt with fear as real as this, but looking into the boy’s wide eyes – they were red as the flowers Father sometimes brought home for Mother, he noted distantly – Ike felt calm. 

Unlike the frightening scenario that finding a boy too hurt for him to help had been, this was something he was able to help – or at least to try to help .  

He adopted the same even tones he’d learned to have with Mist when she snuck into his bed after a nightmare, and said, “Hello!” 

The boy flinched at his voice, but Ike pretended not to see it. “I’m Ike,” he continued, picking up the fallen sandwich and offering it to him. “What’s your name?”

It was hard to tell if the boy was vehemently shaking his head to refuse the sandwich, or because he didn't want to reply at all. Ike felt something twist in his gut. He ignored that, too, focusing instead on explaining patiently that he’d been meaning to give the boy the lunch his mother had made him, because he looked like he needed it, and urging him to pick it up.

When he kept refusing, Ike decided to place it on the ground between them again, pushing it towards the boy. That way the boy could take it whenever he wanted. It was easier than Ike waiting around with it in his hands.

Still, Ike didn’t stop talking, keeping his voice soft. Sometimes, with Mist, speaking about inane things helped the fear go away, so he hoped it would here too. He didn't think this boy would enjoy Ike's shabby stories about magical quests, so he said… whatever came to mind. 

He rambles about his earlier quest for a good stick, how excited he was to begin sword training, stray thoughts about how his mother and Mist’s day in the market must be going. The boy never responded, which made him feel a little self-conscious, yet Ike didn’t stop. He talked and talked and talked. Until the tension began to drop from the boy’s shoulders and he started eyeing the sandwich as though he might actually reach for it. 

Something complicated bubbled in his chest at the sight of that fragile hope. It lit up the boy’s face, softening his features. Ike found himself drawn to it in a way he couldn’t explain. Fascinated by the careful expression on the boy’s face, all clever eyes and puffed up cheeks; by the way his hair, even uncared for and overgrown, fell delicately on his shoulders.

Ike had never been able to put a face to the princes in his mother’s bedtime stories, but he thought they might look a little like this. 

Eventually, the hope in the boy’s gaze turned to hesitant bravery, and he reached for the sandwich. Slowly, watching Ike for any signs of protest, but he did. Ike beamed at him – which, more than anything Ike had said, seemed to reassure him. 

The boy ate with a desperate haste, munching on big bites as though the sandwich would be taken from his hands at any moment. It’s a kind of hunger Ike had never seen before; it brought back that uncomfortable feeling in his gut. 

No one was meant to be this hungry, especially not a kid. 

When he’s done, the boy turned to Ike again, shoulders drawn back sheepishly. He still didn’t say anything. Ike was starting to wonder if it’s a matter of ability rather than want.

Either way, it fell on Ike to continue the conversation. He didn't mind, even if he was running out of things to talk about. “Sorry, I wish I had more to give you, but that was all Mother packed for me,” he said. 

The boy shrugged, as if to say, it’s okay.  

Ike sat with that answer for a minute, tilting his head backwards to look at the sky. He couldn’t think properly while staring at those red eyes. Bright blue had started to turn to a cloudy gray. He hoped it wouldn't rain; it would be rough for this boy, with only the shelter of trees and his torn clothes.

“What… What do you think of going back with me?” he suggested, grabbing at the grass to dry his clammy hands. “Mother and Father wouldn’t mind me bringing a friend over. You could stay for a bit, maybe have dinner.”

It wasn’t a surprise when he turned back to see the boy shaking his head no again and again, the fear Ike had tried so hard to assuage back in his eyes. It still made Ike sad, however. 

He tried his best to make his fear go away again, talking about his home, his parents, his sister, even Titania, who he doesn’t know how to define but is family in her own right. Ike wanted so badly to make him feel safe enough to come with him, but unlike with the sandwich, nothing he said now seemed to make the boy relax.

With the evidence of all he’s been through so clear in the boy’s skin, Ike couldn’t blame him for his wariness. He couldn’t imagine how scared he’d feel in his place, hurt and all alone, without Father and Mother and Mist to rely on.

“... What if I came back tomorrow?” he tried, hoping that the boy would at least trust him if no one else. ”Would you meet me here?”

Slowly, hesitantly, the boy nodded. 

Ike wants to cheer, though he had a feeling that wouldn’t help the situation. He smiled, and the boy smiled back, and he finally felt like he was doing something right. 

He stayed a while longer to plan their next meeting, testing the waters of the boy’s comfort. Ike promised him he’ll ask his mother to make lunch for both of them so that they could eat together next time – privately planning to ask her if they can maybe give him an extra sandwich for dinner too.

Within the limited bounds of yes or no questions, so that the boy could answer by shaking his head, he learned a few things about his new friend, too. There were few things he liked, though Ike got the feeling it’s because he hadn’t had many things in life to like in the first place. Ike vowed to introduce him to more in the future.

The only thing he didn’t manage to ask about was his name, but he planned to ask it as soon as they saw each other again. Maybe the boy could write it down if Ike found a good stick.

When he left, happiness was bubbling just beneath Ike’s skin. Although it was slow and tentative, they’re getting somewhere. It felt special.

He thought – he hoped  - that the boy was happy too.

In the end, Ike is unable to keep all but one of those promises. When they meet again years later, Ike’s side of this first meeting forgotten, he does ask for the boy’s name, just as captivated by him as he’d been when they first met.

It takes Ike and Soren many years and two wars between them to learn the truth of why this was, yet Soren remains steadfast by his side from the moment they are reunited all the same – just as Ike does for him. 

Ike’s father told him once that there are things the heart knows long before the mind does. After regaining his memories, Ike couldn’t help but wonder if this is one of them. 

It feels like it should be. Since for all he’d come to hold Soren even more dear upon remembering, he’d long before given him his heart.

Ike hadn’t expected the descent from the Tower of Guidance to be much different from the journey to the top. In some ways, he’d been right; the twisting staircases and hallways that made up most of the tower made their path seem infinite, and their progress inconsequential. If not for Soren and Ena announcing their progress every so often, he wouldn’t have known they had made any at all.

Sweat and dried blood clings to Ike's body, the armor Yune had given him has definitely seen better days, though its state is far better than the body beneath it. His every muscle is aching and fatigue has become his new best friend. He doesn't need help to walk, but Soren's arm around his waist is a welcome comfort.  

It's a testament to Soren's own sorry state, too. He's so reserved, Ike is certain he wouldn't have spent so long leaning on him where others can see if the circumstances hadn't pushed him beyond caring. As it is, he's been enduring Ike's arm looped around his shoulder for hours now without complaint. 

At least no one is paying the two of them any mind, all being in similar states of disarray. They are more than weary after battling their way to the top, not to mention fighting against the goddess Ashera herself. There are no serious injuries to speak of among the group after the healers in their party were done with them. Still, the relentless pace with which they're persisting onwards has left them little room for most trivial concerns. 

They are fueled by their eagerness to leave more than anything. The Tower of Guidance is a difficult place to be in without Yune’s presence to shield them from its overwhelming order. Even Reyson, who’d thrived in Ashera’s order, seems bothered by it. 

To Ike, who’d already been left in a stupor by the goddess’ stone world, the tower’s twisting halls were downright oppressive. No longer were his instincts merely dulled around the edges by a false sense of peace, but caged away. Here, Ike is a predator with his fangs ripped out. 

He’s not the only one. Soren’s been scowling to himself about it, Tibarn and Naesala’s feathers are quite literally ruffled, and Nailah and Skrimir’s fists clench tightly sometimes. They are all trying to hold onto that bite, he guessed, that wish to push forward, the same as he is. 

Some of them have been faring better, or at least keeping their discomfort better hidden. Titania and Ena are facing this trial with admirable tenacity. Mist and Micaiah are still positive, if not cheerful, despite having definitely noticed the tower’s effects. Boyd and Sothe’s moods are in tandem with theirs, which, while not a surprise, is something Ike will have to ask his sister about later. Most others are somewhere in between.

Kurthnaga has been… trying. Ike can’t help but remember just how young he is every time he looks at him, small and twitchy and uncertain. He’s done a good job of hiding it, but Ike’s been where he is before, with a freshly dead father and the weight of the world on his shoulders. He knows all too well that there’s no way the young dragon is okay.

He’ll have to talk to him later, he thinks, after they’ve gotten some real rest. There’s little anyone can say to help, but Kurthnaga might appreciate a shoulder to lean on. Ike knows he did.

It’s another thing to add to the list of reasons why the bottom of the tower can’t come fast enough. 

His only comfort is that the further they descend, the easier it is to breathe. Life is returning to them in small doses, like tender rays of sunshine slipping through the mountains at dawn. 

Ike quietly keeps track, taking note of the time’s passing in his own way. It may not be as efficient as whatever magic allows the Soren, Ena and Micaiah to actually have an idea of where they’re going, but it keeps him grounded. A tangible reminder that they are getting closer and closer to the end of the journey

And it’s thanks to it that Ike knows as soon as they reach the Tower of Guidance’s first floor – and hopefully the very last they’ll have to see of it. 

The change is obvious. Ike finds himself standing taller, easier. Some of the sense of wrongness that’s accompanied them through their journey remains, yet, so close to the entrance, Ike can almost feel just how loud the world outside is. 

Soren shares a look with him, scarlet eyes bright and filled with relief, and it’s all the confirmation Ike needs to know that he’s right. A heartbeat later the others feel it too. Mist sighs, and he thinks Micaiah does too. Tibarn and Naesala’s wings visibly twitch. 

The last few moments that follow pass Ike by in a blur.  

His heart is pounding in his chest, his fatigue forgotten, all in favor of chasing the soft sunlight coming from the end of the hall. There’s a faint bustle coming from it, low and distant. Ike’s breath catches in his throat at the sound. 

Standing at the rear of their group, Ike and Soren are the last to step outside.  When they do, Ike’s shoulders sag in relief. His instincts are too well honed for him to completely topple over so soon after stepping out of danger, but it’s a near thing. 

Soren is just the same. He sighs, all but melting against Ike, who’s happy to take some of his weight. Soren is too light to be a strain on him, even as tired as he is. If anything it’s a comfort having him so close, solid and warm in Ike’s arms. 

A few steps ahead of them he spots Mist grinning, her face turned toward the sun. Ike feels much the same. The morning light on his skin, the chill breeze not yet gone from winter, the unfamiliar smell of Begnion’s dry winter changing into spring, Ike welcomes it all.

Gone is the eerily still place that’d been left in the wake of Ashera’s Judgment. Even in the quiet of the early morning, with only a few guards about the place, everything feels louder, more vibrant, more alive. 

This might be the first time Ike is truly realizing just how much Ashera’s Judgment had taken from them. 

Yune’s introduction came to mind. Freedom, chaos, transformation, hope. That had been what Ashera tried to squander. 

Ike feels light, all of a sudden. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and smiles to himself. Because they've done it. They've fought a goddess and they won.

He's not one to boast about his victories, but it's hard not to feel triumphant in the wake of that.

Distantly, he registers one of the people who'd been standing post nearby addressing Micaiah and Sanaki, and another running the opposite way, likely to share the news of their return with whoever had taken over in Sanaki’s absence. 

He's more interested in watching Mist and Boyd squabble over something or other, while Titania smiles indulgently at them. 

When she notices his gaze, Mist turns to beam at him. “Come on, you two!” she calls. “Join us!”

“In a minute,” Ike says, not bothering to yell back. Mist should understand either way.

She shrugs and turns to Boyd again. Ike really will have to ask her about how that ordeal is going – he isn’t blind, he knows there’s something, even if his sister hasn’t bothered to tell him yet. Not that he can blame her, he didn’t exactly tell her when he and Soren got together either. They’d just naturally fallen into it, no explanations required. 

Despite what he’d just said, Ike ends up sitting on the Tower’s steps after a light tug from Soren, neither of them ready to go with the others just yet. They’ll join Mist, Titania and Boyd when the others arrive, Ike thinks. Their family won’t begrudge them a moment to breathe.

He’s glad to sit down, after the days of pushing themselves. He’s much less happy to let go of Soren, so he holds his hand and sticks close. Soren lays his head on his shoulder. Ike leans his head on top of his.

“It’s finally over, isn’t it?” he murmurs.

“I hope so,” Soren grumbles. “If any of them still wishes to be at war, I’ll call on that promise you made me about us going home if I felt the need.”

Ike can't help laughing. He'd been wanting to protect Soren in case his heritage posed a problem for the laguz army when he'd made that promise, not thinking of how tired they'd be after fighting a goddess. It's Soren, so the promise counts anyway. 

“Don't worry, I don't want to get involved in another war any more than you do.”

“Good,” Soren nods resolutely. Ike's head moves with his, still leaning against him; he doesn't mind. 

He looks at the people around them. At Micaiah and Sothe, who have claimed a secluded corner against a wall to sit against. At Nailah who's turned into a wolf and laid on the ground at Micaiah’s feet. At Sanaki standing just to the side, closer to where Tibarn, Naesala and Reyson are having a surprisingly friendly conversation, who keeps sneaking glances back at the Daeins. 

None of them look very inclined to fight. Well, Tibarn has a look that, as a big brother, Ike knows all too well. He might start a fight with the raven king any minute now, though it'd be the petty kind, rather than any danger.

The dragons stand further away, Pelleas awkwardly hovering next to them. Ike thinks they just want to go home; they were never meant for this war to begin with. 

Skrimir is yelling something at Stefan, though it doesn't seem to be related to him. He looks like he wouldn't mind a fight, but then, he always looks like that. 

Stefan is wearing an expression eerily similar to Soren's whenever he's at the end of Skrimir's rambling. Neither of them would like to have that pointed out, so he disregards all that in favor of asking Soren, “Will you save me if anyone else tries to make me general?”

Soren snorts. Ike feels the rumble of it beneath his cheek. “I'll set them on fire for you if they do,” he agrees. “Though the bills we'll send them for this whole ordeal might scare them off for good.”

“I damn well hope they do.” He sighs. “The compensation will be worth it if anything.”

“Mhmm. I suppose having a world to live in is nice too. We have to enjoy our new riches somehow.”

“Ah, that's the only reason to fight, of course.”

“Of course,” Soren says, so serious Ike might've been convinced if he didn't know better. He's such a good actor when he puts his mind to it. 

As it is, Ike laughs it off. “What should we do with all our riches then?”

Truth be told, Ike only likes money as far as it pays for him and his family to live comfortably. He enjoys buying the odd gift for Soren, but with his companion’s lack of interest in material goods, he only does so sparingly. 

Soren hums in consideration. “What do you want to do?”

Unsurprised that Soren doesn’t know either, Ike takes a moment to think. “I’d replace the bunk bed in our room,” he says. “It won’t be much use now.” 

“Ike.”  

He doesn’t have to look to know that Soren is blushing; he looks anyway. Pink looks lovely on Soren’s fair skin. 

If they’d been in private, he would have teased more, trying to deepen that blush. They aren’t in private, however, and Ike doesn’t want to say anything too personal where they are most certainly being overheard. “I want to sleep for a year,” Ike says, changing the subject slightly.

Soren accepts it with only a little grumbling. “A whole year?” 

“I'm certainly tired enough.” Ike’s shrug is gentle, careful not to jostle Soren too much.

“I won’t allow it.” Soren’s tone is at once teasing and final. Ike’s lips curl up at it.

“No?”

“No.”

Ike squeezes the hand still in his, trying to choose his words carefully. “Not even if I keep you with me?”

“No.”

“Would you miss me that much?” was what he’d first thought of saying, but he knows the answer to that question already, and it’s more honest than either of them want to be right at this moment. 

The two of them keep bickering. It’s easy to argue with Soren about inane things, regardless of the fatigue steadily creeping over him. They’ve done it so often over the years that it’s second nature by now, to tease Soren just so, while never pushing too far. 

This is real peace, he thinks. Sitting beside the man he loves, watching their friends and family have fun while the morning comes to life around them. The past month and a half they’d spent on Ashera’s world had been quiet, void of chaos and the pain it brought. But it’d also been void of easy laughter and hope, tentative as is the one they hold now.

Boyd’s voice cuts through his thoughts, louder than Mist’s in spite of the distance between them remaining the same. “What are you two waiting around for, Boss? They’re almost here!” 

Ike glances over to see that indeed there are people approaching from the direction in which that stray soldier had run earlier. He can spot the familiar green of Oscar’s armor between them, and the blue of Gatrie’s. 

“We’re coming, we’re coming!” he calls back with a huff.

“Do we really have to?” Soren mumbles,  reluctantly gathering his things to leave.

Under Mist and Boyd’s watchful eyes Ike gets up, pulling Soren with him by the hand. He doesn’t move immediately, squeezing his hand and looking at him as though to ask “Is this okay?”

Soren’s scowl softens as he squeezes back. “ Yes, Ike,” his gaze says. Ike can almost hear it. 

Hand in hand, they leave the Tower of Guidance behind. 

Oscar is not ashamed to admit that his knees nearly buckle under the relief of seeing the other half of the Greil Mercenaries standing in front of him, alive and unharmed.

When Ashera’s soldiers had stopped attacking and the world awoke from its slumber, Oscar had half expected to see the group that entered the Tower of Guidance marching victorious through its doors. They hadn’t, but it’d made sense with a tower so grand. That knowledge hadn’t made the wait any easier. 

While he and the others had refused to acknowledge the possibility that they might have been anything other than alright, the possibility had been there, lurking in the back of his mind. And no doubt in the minds of his companions, too. 

Rolf had been sticking close to him, sharing in his quiet concern, and he’d seen the way Janaff and Ulki kept getting distracted, their attention elsewhere, waiting for their king. The heron siblings were always close by them, waiting for news just the same. He hadn’t spent long with the other laguz, and Tanith and Sigrun had hid their worry admirably when caring for state matters, though Oscar didn’t doubt it was there.

Ashera was a goddess after all. Although their group had Yune on their side, it wasn’t inconceivable that there would have been losses in the battle against her.

There had been losses in the battle against her, from the sight of the dragon tribe. Oscar is selfishly glad that his side hasn’t suffered the same. 

“Oscar! Rolf!” Boyd says– yells, really. “Took you guys long enough! We were–”

Oscar doesn’t wait to hear the rest. The moment he’s within range he surprises even himself by pulling his brother into a tight hug.

Often, Boyd is the one to initiate that kind of affection between them. Oscar prefers a quieter sort of affection – a ruffle of the hair, a hand on the shoulder – meanwhile his brother’s love has always been as loud as he is. It comes easily to him here, after having to push away the thought he could be short one brother after this fight. 

Rolf is soon to follow, squirming his head beneath his arm and throwing his arms around them both. He’s less successful at it than when he was smaller and fit neatly between his older brothers, but they make space for him. “You did it!” he says, with joy enough for all of them.

They pull away to find Boyd grinning at them. “Doubted us, did you?” He ruffles Rolf’s hair. “I’m hurt.”

It’s telling that Rolf doesn’t even complain.

Before he can add any of his own thoughts, Mia cuts in with her own yell of congratulations and bounces from where she’d been chatting to Ike and Soren to jump at Boyd’s back. “Never!” she replies.

“It’s good to see you all well,” Oscar says. “We all trusted you, but...”

Ike snorts. “Don’t mind Boyd, we get it.”

“We were fighting a goddess, after all,” Titania says, a smile dancing on her lips. “I can hardly believe in our success myself.”

Soren nods, serious as ever, though it’s clear he’s in a good mood too. “We were quite lucky.”

Much like Mia, Oscar makes his rounds through the group. He gets a hug from Mist and Titania, then bumps fists with Ike – who’s much too busy for a hug, with one of his hands firmly on Soren’s grasp. He doesn’t try with Soren, he’s never been much for that sort of thing; greeting him is enough. 

Honestly, he has no idea when those two’s relationship changed for something more than friends. Their lives had been entwined for so long it was hard to tell. The only surprise is that they’d be so open about it in front of himself and the others, particularly Shinon and Gatrie. He supposes they’ve been compelled by their situation much like he’d just been. 

Oscar gives them his silent congratulations. It’s good to see a little happiness in the wake of the months they’ve had. 

As though they’d just reunited after an average mission, the Greil Mercenaries move on from their greetings straight into tales of their recent battles, catching up the members who weren’t there in what they’d missed. 

Even with the rushed version of events his tired friends tell him, Oscar can feel the magnitude of what they’ve accomplished. There clearly aren’t enough words to describe the inside of Ashera’s tower, and to think they had faced the goddess’ soldiers, the dragons, and Ashera’s closest champion who just so happened to be Begnion’s former prime minister… Soren says they’d rested in between battles, but Oscar still has a hard time believing they had the energy for the final battle.

Theirs had also been a challenge of endurance, outside the tower. The army of undead reformed over and over again, no matter how much damage they were dealt. 

They had worked in shifts as much as they'd been able. Queen Elincia and King Caineghis alternating as the generals in that battlefield just as they'd been taking turns as soldiers. Any true rest had been difficult to come by, though they'd tried their best. 

Oscar had been more than run raggard by the time the undead began crumbling to dust. They’d gotten slower, before that point. Easier to fight. Oscar had been breezing through the battlefield when it happened, in the middle of blocking a blow, Kieran by his side yelling something about perseverance as he launched an attack, when the enemy soldiers faltered, then one by one they’d fallen apart before their eyes. 

Grueling as it’d been, he can’t help feeling it pales in comparison to what his friends had gone through in the tower. Mia manages to make it sound exciting, though. She’s more than carrying the conversation with her exuberance, Rolf, Rhys and Gatrie piping in occasionally. 

At first, it’d surprised Oscar that she’d stayed behind with them. For someone in such a constant quest for improvement, he'd expected her to protest when Ike asked her to stay behind — there would be no more opportunities to fight a goddess, after all. But she'd surprised him with easy acceptance, saying she doubted the goddess Ashera was her sworn rival anyway.

The only mention of it Oscar caught her making was when she'd asked Soren: “So, was she wearing white?”

To which he'd shook his head and said, “No, her dress was black,” making her grin. 

Talk gradually strays from their recent victories to other things. What's been happening outside since everyone has woken up, how much their companions are looking forward to sleeping, their collective eagerness to go home. It’s a good distraction as they finally start making their way back to where their half of the Greil Mercenaries have been staying. Sigrun had assured them there would be rooms ready by the time the others were back – which is a good thing as the returning crew all look dead on their feet. 

Oscar will have to cook them all a hearty meal later. He’s sure the servants would be glad to do it themselves, but he’s been told by Ike that someone else’s food wouldn’t be the same enough times now to feel confident in his hope that doing it himself will be more comforting.

He and the others summarize as much as they can when explaining what's been going on in Begnion as they walk. While there's only so much of it that pertains to them, with Crimea being their homeland, he figures it’s a good distraction. Soren will likely find out the rest later; he and Titania are the ones from the group that care most for politics. In the meantime a shallow understanding of the passing few days will be enough for most.

They cover how Sigrun and Tanith, with the help of Elincia and, to everyone's surprise, the former Duke Tanas, took control of the capital in Empress Sanaki’s absence and started putting an end to the unrest. The rest of them had been glad to offer manpower to help with the rebelling citizens, which is what they'd been doing for the most part of the last three days. 

Or at least, the Greil Mercenaries had. From what Oscar had heard, King Caineghis and Prince Rafiel had taken control of the laguz alliance, and together with the remaining Dawn Brigade, had decided to call for a cease-fire. Janaff, a few of his fellow hawks, Edward and Leonardo had been sent to inform the army still at Nox of this development, and to direct Daein’s forces into helping Daein recover from the stoning instead. 

He hoped they were right about it being what their king and general would want. Oscar had no wish to go back to war. 

Then again, one look at King Pelleas and the maiden of dawn made one wonder how they'd gotten into this war in the first place. Neither  looked like the sort of person who'd support the Begnion senate. 

“Desperation can drive even the most unwilling to war,” is all Soren says on the matter. “They shouldn't bother us now.”

Ike, Titania, Boyd and Mist nod knowingly. Oscar doesn't ask for the story, but he expects to hear it someday. 

There’s only a small diversion when they arrive at the villa they’d been staying at with their fellow Crimeans as part of Queen Elincia’s entourage, where Elincia herself makes a brief appearance to welcome them back. 

She doesn’t stay for long, only enough to give her own assurances that everything’s been handled and wish them a good rest. Oscar and Rolf hide matching snickers at the visible relief on their friends’ faces when that turns out to be the extent of it. Anyone can see there’s nothing they want more by that point than their beds. 

Still somewhat shaken by all the time it took to see his family reunited and safe, Oscar ends up sticking around until everyone is done choosing their rooms. It’s a quiet affair. With arrangements so similar to what they’d had during the Mad King’s War, the choices are easy to make. He finds himself unsurprised to see Ike and Soren get into the same room, and taken aback by his younger brother and Mist not doing the same.

Early as it is, Shinon, Gatire and Rolf take the excuse to go back into their own quarters, either to sleep or pass the time. Mia leaves them no doubt in search of new opponents to test herself against and Rhys follows gingerly after her, anticipating the injuries she’ll take. 

Oscar… doesn’t know what to do with himself at that moment. Too restless for sleep; too contemplative for something as exuberant as Mia’s plans. There’s little work at this time that’d need him looking over it, unlike at home where he could’ve busied himself with chores.

It’s a glance at his lance that gives him an idea.

While challenging a dozen random soldiers – or more, knowing their resident sword enthusiast –  doesn’t sit well with him, challenging a singular knight does sound appealing when he thinks about it. And as he’d recently found out, there’s little Kieran won’t do if issued as a challenge by his eternal rival. 

His mind made, Oscar sets out on a search of his own. There’s little more effective in taking one’s mind off of worries than training with a good friend.

By the time they made camp and Ike finally had some time to sit down and think about all that had happened, he felt as though he’d been holding tension enough for a year, rather than just a day. Ike hadn’t felt that tired since Volke first told his father’s story. From everyone being turned to stone, to meeting the goddess in the medallion and finding she was not as dark as he’d expected, to then being told the identity of the Black Knight…

It was a lot for a day. 

He’d forced himself to put it all away, to keep moving, carving out a path for his group in the eerily quiet Daein border. They needed to move quickly if they were going to right this wrong. Yune hadn’t explained in much detail, but if her sister was able to do this in a single move, he didn’t want to give her time to make another. 

Having his companions to look after had helped keep his thoughts from straying, and every person they passed by, frozen in the middle of battle, only furthered his resolve. However, in the dark of night, alone inside his tent, Ike could no longer run away from his concerns.

Ike laid awake for a long time, aware that he should be saving up his strength for the battles to come yet unable to rest. He thought of his mother’s death at his father’s hand; wondered what it meant to be overwhelmed by chaos, when its goddess Yune was so… sweet wasn’t the right word. Innocent, perhaps. 

He thought about Zelgius, the Black Knight , a man he once thought so honorable, who’d looked him in the eye, smiled at him, assured him of his willingness to aid them in their quest to return Crimea to its rightful Queen. How could anyone be able to do that? To extend a helpful hand in  the same breath they offered threats and scornful words.

What he hated the most was his own heart’s refusal to be upset about facing that man again.

It was a secret he’d only dared share with Soren, in a mess of hushed words that’d spilled from his mouth without his permission: Ike was glad the Black Knight wasn’t dead. Overjoyed, even, that an opponent worth fighting had appeared.

He tried not to think about it too much, lest the guilt he felt over that eat him from inside out for good. Ike had never stopped grieving his father. Sometimes, he thought there wouldn’t be a day in his life he wouldn’t miss him. The hole he left behind when he died was ever present, no matter how much smaller it had over the years, and nothing would ever fill it. How then could he be happy that the man who took Greil from his children had lived?

Ike had yet to find an answer; Soren hadn’t been able to offer one either, only the comfort of slender arms wrapped around Ike’s neck. 

No happiness awaited him at the end of that train of thought, so he tried his best to step away from it, hoping that answers would come to him once he and Zelgius were able to cross blades. Except there was nothing else for Ike’s mind to grasp onto, no silver lining in this terrible situation they were all in.

It was no wonder that he gave up entirely in the end. Too restless to even pretend he would get any sleep´that night, Ike got up and out of his bed, not bothering to put on warmer clothes other than his cloak. The fire had been banked hours ago when he’d gone to bed, so he’d only had to make sure to secure the tent flap so the cold wouldn’t seep in.

Ideally, he shouldn’t be gone for long. He hoped acting on that belief would force him to follow through.

A short walk would do him well, he thought, as stepped into the cold winter night. Daein’s snow seemed to have only grown harsher in his absence, but Ike welcomed it then. The painful breeze in his face, the bright shine of the moon in the snow white landscape, the slippery ice that called for careful steps, they all made the world around him impossible to ignore.

Staying away from where Shinon and Gatrie should be keeping guard, Ike wandered around the camp, idly covering his tracks as he went. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be found, rather, he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he were. 

Once his feet adjusted to the terrain, Ike allowed long honed instincts to take over carrying his feet forward and looked up at the stars. Familiar constellations stared back at him, unobstructed by clouds. He murmured their names in greeting, basking in this piece of home away from home.

He didn’t remember learning them from his mother, but knew from his father that he had. It was one of the few tangible pieces of her that Greil had given Ike over the years: her love for the night sky, the comforting company of the stars. 

Ike would often seek them out when he couldn’t sleep. Sometimes his father would sit by his side and tell him the stories behind constellation names – and if he were lucky, a few stories about his mother would be sneaked between. 

As time went, however, Soren’s company slowly became a more expected sight. To the surprise of no one, Ike thought. They were never too far apart, the two of them. With Soren, Ike became the storyteller, passing on all the knowledge his parents had given him. They would lay together in the grass, Ike’s cape an improvised blanket under them, and watch the night sky. More than once they’d fallen asleep right then and there, or, on the occasion Soren had fallen first, switched beds so that Ike wouldn’t have to carry him to the top bunk.

He missed the simplicity of those nights. The bright-eyed boy he’d been seemed so far away from what he had become… Ike remembered, faintly, how his chest had been full of hope for the years to come. His longing to become a mercenary, to battle at his family’s side, to see the world beyond the keep.

After traveling through Tellius twice over, he’d lost that excitement somewhere along the way. 

Sometimes he wondered what his younger self would have done in his shoes. Would he be proud of what he became? Would he have been able to see something the current Ike couldn’t see? A brighter future, perhaps.

Ike brought his walk to a halt in front of an oak tree. He didn’t know why the old, large trunk brought a pang to his chest, but it felt right to rest under the shade of that tree, even if his vision was obscured by its crown full of snow. 

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, growing progressively cold. At some point, he closed his eyes. While he'd worried for a moment that his thoughts would spiral again, they'd stayed blessedly quiet. It didn't quite surprise him. Something about being in nature always calmed him down. 

Ike was careful to stay alert, however. It'd be too dangerous to sleep outside in that weather, and Ike didn't fancy dying because of the cold of all things. 

The sound of soft footsteps coming in his direction didn't startle him. Neither did the soft, familiar tone calling, “Ike?”

Perhaps it should have, yet this was too familiar a routine for them for Ike to be surprised, no matter how far from home they were. 

He opened his eyes to Soren standing in front of him, his hair, face flushed, lips curled into a frown, bundled up under a heavy cloak. Ike's breath caught in his throat. Suddenly, the cold view this Daein forest had to offer had become that much more beautiful. 

“How come you always end up finding me?” He huffed, hoping Soren wouldn't notice the reaction he'd just brought out of him.

Soren shrugged, moving to stand beside him, shoulders brushing against Ike’s. 

“No, really,” Ike insisted. “Here you are, even in the middle of an unfamiliar forest… I'd find it eerie, if it wasn’t you.”

“What do you make of it then, since it's me?” The teasing in his tone hid just enough of a hint of insecurity for Ike to be quick to come up with a reply, not wanting Soren to misunderstand. 

“I like it,” he said. Plain and straightforward. “It’s nice. I can always count on you to be there for me.”

He felt more than he saw Soren soften as he leant some of his weight on Ike upon relaxing. “I don’t know if I can explain it,” Soren said. “It’s an instinct, almost. Like my heart knows where to go.” 

Ike gave himself a moment to take that in. It felt fitting, somehow, that Soren would know the way toward him the same way he never seemed to get lost, no matter where he was. “Your heart, huh?” He couldn’t deny that particular phrasing had made him feel warm. “I guess that makes sense.”

Soren snorted. “How did that make any sense, Ike?”

It was Ike’s turn to shrug. “I don’t know, but if anyone’s heart was going to be so connected to mine, it could only be yours.”  

Only when Soren stiffened, utterly silent, that Ike realized what he'd said. He thought for a second if he should take them back, or say something to soften the weight, then decided against it. He had meant what he said, so he'd stand by it. 

He'd given his heart to Soren so long ago — far before than he himself realized he had. There was little use hiding it. 

Ike didn’t let himself get too nervous when the silence lingered between them. All it took was one look at Soren biting his bottom lip, face flushed and brows furrowed, to know it wasn’t rejection, though he needed the space. 

“Me too,” he mumbled some seconds later. “I can’t imagine it being anyone else but you.”

There was no answer Ike could think to that, at least none that wouldn’t be far too revealing – if that was even possible, so he allowed the silence to linger again, leaning closer to Soren in lieu of a response. Those silences had become part of the norm as of late, holding in them all the weight  of the words Ike and Soren left unsaid.

“What kept you awake?” he wound up asking, leaving Soren’s comment unaddressed. 

Sometimes Ike wondered when he’d become such a coward, that he could not even speak his heart.

“What didn’t?” Soren snorted. 

And wasn’t that something he could relate to. “Tell me about it anyway.”

Soren kicked the snow at his feet aimlessly, one of those restless little habits he did when thinking that Ike was one of the few privileged to see. “It’s too… quiet,” he mumbled. “I thought I’d enjoy it, but I don’t.”

“Ah.” While he could see how Soren would have assumed he wouldn’t care about the current stillness their world had been forced in; how he’d expect to enjoy it even, Ike wasn’t surprised that he didn’t. For all of his grouchiness, Soren liked people in his own way. He was often awkward around laguz and beorc both – a remnant of all the hurt he’d been through – but he wasn’t cruel. “I don’t like it either. It feels wrong.”

“... But that’s not the only reason for you, is it?”

Despite bringing back the thoughts he’d been trying to avoid, the question brought a smile to Ike’s lips. He could always count on Soren to know him all too well. “No, it isn’t.”

“What is it?” He placed a hand on Ike’s arm, almost looping it around him, and laid his head on his shoulder. 

Ike took the offered comfort gladly, hiding his face on Soren’s hair as he spoke. “The dark god in the medallion my parents risked everything to guard has been woken and is… not what anyone expected, for one,” he said. Soren’s hand tightened on Ike’s arm. Just a bit, just enough to remind him of his support. It was the encouragement he needed to say the next part. “And… and General Zelgius is the Black Knight.”

He raised his head right on time to see Soren’s eyes widen, clearly not having expected that revelation any more than Ike had. “Begnion’s noblest general?” The question didn’t need an answer, Ike nodded anyway. Soren’s eyes darkened. “He must be a remarkably cold man, to shoulder such distinct lives.”

Watching Soren’s fury had Ike somewhere between fondness and guilt. He wished he could bring himself to feel the same, however, since he couldn’t, he was glad someone was feeling it. That Soren would continue to care for the hurt that’d driven Ike to fight the Black Knight in the first place.

As he’d already proven, Soren wouldn’t begrudge him those feelings. But Ike didn’t want to get into that conversation again, so he didn’t share his thoughts. Instead he rested his head on top of Soren’s once more, and said, “You see now why I can’t get any sleep.”

“I do.”

There wasn’t anything more to be said, so they didn’t say anything. It wasn’t uncomfortable; they were too familiar with each other for that. Ike appreciated Soren’s warmth at his side, the steady rhythm of his breathing. That, too, was a home away from home.

Ike’s eyes turned toward the stars again, the memories of those nights spent telling Soren about them at his fingertips. 

Soren must have been thinking along the same lines, since he asked, “Tell me about them?”  sounding as curious as he had every time before. 

Fully aware Soren ought to have all the information memorized after years and years of hearing it, Ike did. 

He’d never held any notions that Soren listening to him ramble about stars was anything other than an indulgence. The information may have been new to him once, but there was no way that Soren, ever the studious one between them, didn’t remember all he’d been told after the first few times. 

Because he trusted Soren to be honest if there was something else he’d rather talk about, he’d never stopped himself either. Neither of them were the kind of men to mince words. Now, though… 

Standing so close to him, Soren’s face resting on his shoulder, their arms intertwined… It was hard to convince himself Soren’s motives were nothing more than a fond indulgence of Ike’s ramblings. There was some of that there, of that Ike didn’t doubt. 

There was so much more, too.

It was hard to miss the way Soren’s eyes lingered on him, the way he flushed when Ike was close, how he always allowed Ike closer than anyone else. He could always be wrong. It was possible that he was merely seeing what he wanted in years of friendship and trust. 

But if he were to be honest… Ike didn’t think he was wrong. 

Because Soren’s tells were not unlike Ike’s own, and he definitely knew what his feelings meant. 

He didn’t keep track of how long the two of them stood there talking into the night. Ike hadn’t taken stock of how late it’d been when he got out of bed, but by the time Soren’s yawns were too close for comfort, and Ike’s own rhythm had slowed down to match, it was closer to dawn than he was comfortable with. 

“We should go to bed,” Soren said, though his regret was clear in his voice. “Your eye won't stop twitching.” 

Ike snorted at the addition, as if he needed a reminder of his own exhaustion. He knew better than to argue with Soren, yet the thought of coming back to his empty tent held no appeal to him. He couldn’t deny that the privacy, which was a courtesy of his commander position, was welcomed most of the time. In times like these, however, he’d much prefer the comforting presence of someone nearby. 

Well, he thought to himself, there was an easy enough solution to that.

“Spend the night with me?” he asked Soren. “I don't think I'll get any sleep if I’m alone with my thoughts.”

“Of course, Ike.” Soren softened, smiling in that way he reserved just for Ike.  

That was all they needed to say. It was not the first time Ike had made such a request and he doubted it'd be the last. Soren, too, had sought his comfort in the same way, though he tended to be less blunt in his approach. 

Returning to camp took little time. They’d never gone far, and with Soren’s sense of direction, the path back was clear. After a brief pause to ask Soren if he needed to retrieve anything from his quarters – he didn’t – they were welcomed by the warmth of Ike’s tent. 

Soren breathed out a sigh of relief as he tucked his cloak and boots along with Ike’s. The ice hadn’t been too bothersome with how distracted they’d been, but Ike felt similarly grateful to be away from it. 

With them both being dressed for sleep before going outside, there wasn’t much to do but get in bed. For all that the idea of curling up under the covers beside Soren was an appealing one, Ike.. didn’t feel ready just yet. 

He added a log into the fire, building it back up for some light. Then he grabbed some spare clothes to fold into something that might pass for a pillow for himself and took a seat in his bedroll. Soren's eyes followed him all the way through, curious and patient. 

“You can take the pillow,” he said, laying his makeshift one by its side. His body might end up halfway on the floor, but so long as the blankets covered him and Soren was comfortable he didn't care. 

Soren, however, very much did. “Not if you won't leave any space for yourself, I won't.”

Ike snorted, entirely unsurprised when Soren came to kneel by his side and took over arranging the bed to his liking. He made no effort to contain his smile, nor did he avert his gaze. 

Something light fluttered in his chest at the image of Soren, hair falling loose over his shoulders and face scrunched up in concentration, making up their bed for the night. He looked soft and approachable, there was nothing Ike wanted more in that moment than to pull him into an embrace. 

I'm a remarkable show of self restraint, he refrained. “Do you want help with your hair?” he asked instead. 

Soren's gaze was piercing. Ike wondered how much of his feelings were clear in his face, all there for Soren to read. He never wanted him to look away. “Alright.”

“I'll braid it for you.”

It only took a moment to find a spare hairband before settling back behind Soren. He always kept a couple on his things in case Soren needed an extra. It wasn't often that an occasion called for it, but moments like that we made it more than worth it. 

“We'll be so exhausted tomorrow,” Soren yawned, leaning his head back as Ike combed his fingers through his hair. 

He didn't need to aww it to know Soren's eyes must be closed. Ike wouldn't be surprised if he fell asleep. 

“I can try to buy you some extra time to sleep.”

“As if you'll wake up earlier than me.” Soren huffed, teasing.

Ike had to concede to that, he quite liked his sleep. “Fair enough.”

Still, he would try to wake earlier and make sure Soren wasn't bothered. It was the last he could do when Soren had been indulging him with his company the whole night. 

There wasn’t anything to talk about, so they didn’t. Although Soren started humming quietly to himself, filling the silence with a tune Ike thought he’d heard sung recently in a market they’d visited for supplies. It was one of those little habits of his that made Ike’s heart swell with what felt like liquid sunshine. He knew it was a privilege to witness Soren this at ease – one that perhaps only he was able to get to this extent. Soren had been living with the Greil Mercenaries long enough that he didn’t keep much from them, yet even then there were some things only Ike got to see. 

He hadn’t realized when he was younger just how much Soren held back, it was only after Ike had noticed just how many details about him Soren knew that he’d made sure to repay his attention to detail with stubborn dedication. He’d made it his mission to learn just as much about Soren in return and been more than rewarded for it. Not only had Ike collected many fond memories, but he’d grown to treasure these little things with which Soren trusted him and him alone.

It made the sight of Soren swaying slowly from side to side, tired yet content while Ike braided his hair all the more sweeter. He was almost sad to be done, though the reminder that they were now supposed to get into bed together was quick to vanquish that feeling. 

By habit, he tied the ends of the braid in the same intricate way Soren liked to do his hair during the day. “There, all done,” he said.

Soren turned around with a small smile, running a hand through his hair. “How do I look?”

Gorgeous. 

Ike’s voice caught in his throat. He knew he should reply, that his lack of response was bound to quell Soren's easy cheer, yet he couldn't bring himself to form words. 

Soren was so very close. Enough that Ike couldn't believe he hadn't realized how close they were until Soren looked at him. His red eyes were warm as the setting sun in the dim light. Everything about him was soft and open, entirely at ease. 

It would be so easy to touch him; to pull Soren closer and capture his lips. All Ike needed was the courage to lean in. 

He could think of too many moments where he hadn't. Times where he'd given himself excuse after excuse to step away, waiting for a better moment to arrive. For a heartbeat, he contemplated doing just that once again. 

Except, it turned out that Ike was quite tired of waiting. 

He leant in, stopping just shy of brushing his face against Soren's. “You’re very handsome.”

“Ike…” Soren's face flushed a lovely pink. His eyes only left Ike's to glance down at his lips. It was the answer Ike needed for the silent question he had posed. 

At last, Ike placed a hand on the small of Soren's back, pulled him closer and kissed him. 

He hadn’t known what to expect of a kiss. Ike had heard more than enough from others, of course, about the butterflies and so on.  It’d been long since anyone had qualms when talking about such things near him. Yet, despite having wanted to kiss Soren for longer than he could remember, he hadn’t ever been able to truly picture what would be so special about a touch of the lips.

Rather than a swarm of butterflies, kissing Soren felt like being caught in one of his windstorms. He had too much trust in Soren to feel fear, so he was left only with the thrill of being swallowed by the wind. The hairs in his arms stood on end, a pleasant shiver ran down his spine, he could hear nothing but the sound of his heart beating wildly in his ears. It was a dangerous game to play alone, but never with Soren there to catch him. That was how it felt like, getting lost on Soren’s lips. 

Ike was breathless once they separated and somehow still yearning for more. He rested his forehead against Soren’s, drinking in the sight of him taking short breaths from kiss-swollen lips. He was the most beautiful thing Ike had ever seen.

“I love you.”

The words slipped out without his permission. It was, perhaps, not the kind of declaration one should make after their first kiss, but this was Soren. What else could Ike say to encompass just what he felt for him but this?

Soren stumbled back, opening his eyes wide in surprise. His face went the reddest Ike had ever seen it in a brave attempt to match his eyes. He went through what felt like a myriad of expressions before settling into something between sullen and happy. It was such a Soren thing to do, being put out by an unexpected confession, Ike couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips.

It was the right thing to do it seemed, because, slowly but surely, Soren softened, a matching smile blooming on his lips. Although his face was still quite flushed, Soren dared to come even closer to Ike than he’d been before, nearly sitting on Ike’s lap as he hid his face in the crook of his neck. Ike looped his arms around him as if that’d always been where they belonged. 

“Ike, you really…” Soren sighed, exasperation and fondness warring in his tone. 

Grinning, Ike kissed the top of Soren’s head, giddy that he now had the freedom to do that. “I really…?”

Soren laughed, a breathless, joyful thing. “I love you too.”

They stayed like that for a moment, allowing their confessions to sink in.  

Somehow, it felt right that their first kiss would be like this. Sitting comfortably inside Ike's tent, rather than some big romantic scene. It suited them to comfortably walk together into the next step of their relationship. A quiet and intimate memory for them to treasure. 

It reminded Ike of another night that'd similarly changed their relationship. They'd been in Soren's quarters rather than his when Ike had urged him to speak about what had been bothering him during the Mad King’s War, but the result had been much the same. The two of them had ended up squeezing together on Soren's bedroll, all the more closer for the feelings they'd shared. 

Ike supposed it was only fair that this had been his turn to take a leap of faith; trusting Soren with his heart like Soren had trusted him with his, with all the power to break it or hold it dear. 

It felt natural when they came together again. With their first kiss  fresh on their lips, their second was smoother, more confident. By the third no hint of awkwardness remained. 

They kissed and kissed even as they stumbled in bed, never parting for too long. It was a tight squeeze despite Soren's best efforts, but with Ike laying on top of him, they'd managed to fit.

Fatigue kept them from any further explorations, but Ike didn't mind. When sleep finally came for them, he let himself fall into it feeling lighter than he had in what felt like years, warm and safe in Soren's embrace. 

Ike loved Soren, and Soren loved him. In that moment, that was all that mattered. 

Titania takes a swing of the axe, committing the feeling of it to mind now that she has the time to notice.  Urvan’s weight is still unfamiliar despite her having used it through the last floors of the Tower of Guidance. Titania… doesn’t know that she can get used to it. 

She’s careful to keep her training light as she runs through a few standard forms. As well as she’d slept, it hadn’t yet been a full day since they’d left the tower and she knew better than to tempt her tired muscles into an injury. Truth be told, Titania knows she shouldn’t be training at all. Her restless heart had been the one to disagree. 

Thus she stands there, in the villa’s foreign training space, brandishing an axe that holds way too many memories for her own good under the watchful gaze of the setting sun. 

There are points when she’s able to get lost in the motion, focusing only on the feeling of it. Urvan is a great weapon, that’s a fact, and now that it’s been blessed by a goddess even more so. She enjoys herself then, however, there would always come a moment where she would glance at Urvan a second too long and remember the man who should have been wielding it. 

It doesn’t fail to catch her off guard how even four years after his death, Greil’s absence can still leave her feeling so raw. 

So much so that Titania doesn’t register she’s acquired some company until she’s startled by Shinon’s taunting, “Training already? You’ll work yourself haggard, Titania.” 

It’s so startling that she turns to him with Urvan at the ready, years of instinct winning over reason. Yet all he does is raise an eyebrow at her, wholly unimpressed. Titania can see some surprise on the edge of his eyes, but Shinon has long since mastered the art of looking annoyingly detached from the consequences of his sharp tongue. 

Not that it’d been all that sharp then; his tone just beckons memories. 

“Oh, it’s only you,” she sighs, relaxing her posture. “Nothing of the sort, I just wanted to…”

“To…?” he prods, although with the way his eyes are drawn to the weapon in her hands, she thinks he may have an inkling. 

Whatever he’s feeling about it, she can’t blame him. Titania suspects the effect Urvan has on him may be all too similar to the reason why she’d come outside, unable to bear looking at the axe resting in the corner of her room.

Urvan is a sight to behold; it’s also haunted by too many memories to count – especially for the members of the Greil Mercenaries who’d fought alongside its master the longest. When she looks at it propped up and away from her, she can almost see the man who should’ve been holding it on the other end.

“To think, I suppose,” she says belatedly. 

Shinon scoffs at her. Titania doesn’t bother challenging the derision in his gaze, it’s such a standard of his that she’s long grown desensitized. 

He moves to settle on a nearby spot in the grass, close enough that Titania can hear him well, though carefully out of range of her axe. “Dangerous activity, that.” 

Titania doesn’t try to conceal the way she rolls her eyes.

Shinon has a crude bow in hand, ready to be refined into something far higher in quality than they could have otherwise afforded. He must have come outside to make use of the remaining sunlight while he had the chance, she realizes. She’s seen him work by candlelight before, but daylight is an undeniably superior alternative. 

She contemplates going back to her training without comment. It isn't as though she's received an invitation to talk, though from Shinon, the teasing comment might as well be. 

And while Shinon wouldn't be her first choice of confidant in most cases, her current dilemma is one with which he's… uniquely positioned to understand. The question is if he will be willing to have an open conversation about it or hide from it behind a wall of cutting remarks. It's hard to tell with him. 

Titania shifts her weight from foot to foot, takes a light swing of the axe, stops herself and sighs. “King Caineghis brought Urvan with him from Gallia and Ike took it to the tower. He used it in his battle against the Black Knight; told me the man had made a remark about Greil's choice of weapon when they fought.” While Shinon doesn't look up, she can tell from the stiff line of his shoulders that he's listening. She kept going, emboldened. “He won without reaching for his sword even a single time, and though he didn't say it in so many words, I could tell it meant a lot to him.“

Titania finds herself looking at the sky for the next part, averting her gaze from any reaction. “He passed it onto me afterward, when Yune offered to bless our weapons. He already had Rsgnell, he'd said, and Mist took the Black Knights Alondite. They both said I could keep it, before we left.”

Even thinking of that conversation made her eyes water a little. She couldn't remember exactly how it'd started, something about returning Urvan to Greil's grave. Ike and Mist had given each other knowing looks before Ike asked her if she'd like to keep it. To carry on Greil’s will with her. 

Titania had been so surprised she couldn’t help but ask if they shouldn’t be the ones to do that, to which Mist had admitted to having no use for it, though she wouldn’t be opposed to passing the weapon down the family one day, and Ike said he was content with Ragnell – apparently the apostle had told him he could keep it. 

She’d been about to ask another question, wanting to make sure the two of them weren’t suggesting something they would later regret, when Ike said the words that suppressed any argument she may have come up with. 

“You loved him too.”

He’d sounded so gentle, yet so firm. He was right, too. It was not something Titania would deny. 

“I take it you’re not sure about it?” Shinon’s voice cut through her thoughts as fiercely as one of his arrows, but it was a remarkably tame question, all things considered. 

Titania closes her eyes, willing them to settle. “... Everytime I look at it, all I see it’s him,” she confesses.

When she glances back at Shinon, she can see the understanding in his gaze. His face is contorted into something unpleasant, but his eyes reflect the same sentiment she knows hers do. 

It’s no wonder he’s quick to look away.

Neither of them seems ready to broach that topic, so when the silence stretches, Titania returns to her training. Better than standing awkwardly, waiting for a reply that might never come. 

At least Shinon doesn’t leave. She can’t say she doesn’t welcome his quiet presence right then. It’s good to have the soft sounds of another person working beside her as she practices her forms, keeping her grounded in the present.

As she moves with Urvan, Titania tries to wrap her mind around the possibility of using it as her main weapon. Physically, she could do it, the only problem is that it might break her heart.

Half of her likes the idea of having something of Greil’s with her; of carrying on his legacy not only through the company but also through the weapon that’d accompanied him for years. The other half is all too aware of his loss, and wary at this tangible reminder of the man who’d meant so much to her.

She’s content with looking after Ike, Mist and the company. They are, after all, a living, breathing continuation of Greil’s legacy. One that never ceases moving forward, yet has never left his memory behind. Does she need more? No, Titania doesn’t think so. But does she want it?

Her training comes to an end before she finds an answer. Although Titania would have rather liked to keep going and unleash all her feelings through the axe, she knows better than to push herself more so soon after the exhausting ordeal they’d all been through. 

It’s while she’s cooling down from the exercise that Shinon speaks again. 

“I would have thought you’d have jumped at the opportunity to have something of his,”  he says. “Some of us weren’t so lucky.”

The bitterness in his tone gives her pause. “I am glad,” she defends, “it’s merely…”

 “Complicated,” he finished for her.

Titania nods in agreement.

There’s a question at the tip of her tongue, but Titania waits patiently until the end of her stretches to approach it. Taking a seat next to Shinon in the grass, Urvan laid carefully next to her – within sight of them both – she took the plunge.

“What would you do?”

The man looks at her as though she’s grown two heads. “Why are you asking me?”  

What a difficult and easy question to answer, Titania thought. Because while obvious, it wasn’t truly… something they’d ever spoken about. An open secret they’d both carried for years, until there was little reason for it to surface at all. 

The words Ike told her came to mind. It feels fitting that Titania would echoe them now.  “Because you loved him too,” she says, hopefully just as kind as Ike had been. In the same way I did, she doesn’t add, but she’s certain he understood.

Shinon’s reaction is immediate. 

“Fuck, no,” he barks. “I’m too sober for this.”

Titania can't help the laugh that's startled out of her.

“I’m being serious, Deputy Commander.” There’s a threat in his tone, Titania isn’t fazed.

“Oh I know,” Titania says, voice still laced with laughter. “I think I might even agree.”

Shinon is visibly taken aback; Titania doesn’t blame him. It’s not as though she never goes out drinking, but it is rare. In contrast to his frequent outings with Gatrie even more so. 

“So you’re that affected, huh.” He snorts. It's a rather poor cover for his earlier outburst. 

Titania shrugs. She isn't ashamed of it, or as avert to speaking about this as he is. 

But she also has enough experience to know not to poke a rattled tiger, so she lets the matter lie. Instead, she settles in to observe Shinon working on his bow as though it's grievously offended him, not willing to get up just yet. 

Eventually, Shinon sighs. “I think you should keep it, if you’re asking me.”

That's… not the answer she'd expected, if Titania is being honest. She hadn't had many expectations when she asked the question, but now that she had an answer, Titania realized she'd been ready for him to tell her to return the axe to Greil's grave. 

It was merely a given with Shinon, that he'd err on the side of bitterness.

“You don't have to look that surprised,” he grumbles. 

“I disagree.” Titania says bluntly. “But why do you think so?”

Shinon glares at her with the same force he would an enemy across the battlefield. “We're going for a drink after this and you'll be the one paying for it.”

“Alright,” Titania agrees easily, amused. 

“He would have liked it, I think,” he says. Simple and direct, perhaps the most honest Titania has ever heard of him. “The commander trusted you.”

For once, Shinon's words had been gentle, yet they hurt him more than any snide remark ever had. It was only that thinking of what Greil would have liked brought forth the familiar pain of him not being there. 

Looking at Urvan again, she's barely conscious of the whisper that leaves her lips. “He would have, wouldn't he?” 

“Besides, you can always pass it back to the brats if you regret it,” he adds as an afterthought. “Or to some of the brats’ brats in the future. I've no doubt they'll replicate.” He shudders.

Titania snorts, loud and inelegant. Leave it to Shinon to slip in an acid comment toward Greil's kids after being heartfelt. 

It's one thing about him she'll never understand. Her love of Greil had translated so smoothly into affection for Ike and Mist. Not to mention the both of them had grown into lovely young adults who earned her admiration and respect every day all by themselves, much like their father had. Shinon, however, had always had… complicated feelings, when it came to them.

Because he's been helpful, she allows it to slide with only a reproachful look. Shinon knows her thoughts on the matter already, it's enough. 

Then, because he's been unexpectedly kind to her, she urges him to stand up. Pursuing the topic further is bound to lead them into yet more uneasy territory, given their current state of mind.

It's about time the two of them got those drinks. 

It’s not often that Soren dreams these days – at least not that he remembers. He can never seem to sleep comfortably enough for it while on the road, especially with as alert as they had to be for Ashera’s disciples of order.  He’s surprised then, when he wakes up feeling light, with fading glimpses of the sun rising from the sea as seen from far above. 

Warm and comfortable as he is, Soren needs a few moments to realize he's woken up at all. After the days they’ve had, being sprawled over Ike, limbs tangled in his, surrounded by the softness of blankets and a real mattress, while gentle fingers comb through his hair… It all feels like another pleasant dream. 

Once he does realize it, memories or the past day return to him all at once; of leaving the godforsaken tower, celebrating at its steps, being led to the villa the Crimean soldiers had been staying in. They'd barely had it in them to eat a hasty breakfast and dress down to their linens before crawling in bed, too exhausted to think of anything else. 

Some of that fatigue still lingers, making his body feel heavy despite the rest. That, along with Ike’s gentle combing of his hair, is tempting Soren to go back to sleep. Contradictingly, Ike is what stops him from that, just as he prompts him to sink further into his arms and back into sleep. If his sleepyhead of a partner is awake, then it must have been quite some time since they’ve fallen asleep. 

“Mornin’,” he yawns. Although the moment he opens his eyes Soren is quite sure it is not, in fact, the morning. The light isn’t right. The evening, perhaps? Either way, he’s grateful that the gaps in the curtains provide enough sunlight, however faded, for him to see the blue of Ike’s eyes as he gazes fondly upon him. 

“Good morning,” Ike says. 

“You’re up…” Soren searches for the right word, mindful that it is not morning now; he doesn’t find it. “Early. Have you been awake for long?”

“No, I just woke up.” He paces a kiss on Soren’s forehead that makes him sigh and close his eyes again. It is not helping him stay conscious in the least. “It’s rare that you’re up later than I am.”

“Mhmm.” Soren supposes there’s some logic in that, in this particular instance. For all that Ike loves his sleep, his overall stamina surpasses Soren’s, it stands to reason that he would recover faster from the trials they were put through.

Not yet ready to face the day, Soren decides to hide his face in the crook of Ike’s neck. Soren can feel the thrum of Ike’s ensuing laugh in his cheek, and light scratches in his temple as it brushes against stubble. 

“Do you want to go back to sleep?” Ike asks. 

“No, I'm already too awake.” Soren ignores the snort he receives at that. “And I'd like to be able to sleep later, at a more reasonable time. The sooner we correct the lapse of perception the tower caused the better.” Soren hadn’t realized how much his sense of time had slipped from him until they’d left those damned halls and were faced with the dawning sky. It brought a sour taste to his mouth. “Unless you..?”

There’s a brief pause in the conversation as he considers it. Soren smiles, it’s just like Ike to take the matter of sleeping in so seriously. “I guess I could stay awake too. You make a good point.” He shrugs. “Besides, I overheard Oscar telling Boyd he’d make dinner for us mercenaries, I don’t want to miss it.”

“That does sound nice,“ Soren says, and is surprised by how much he means it.

The meal they’d had before had been prepared by the villa’s staff. It had been… acceptable. Soren hadn’t cared much either way; he rarely did. This time, though, he’s finding himself unexpectedly glad for Oscar’s cooking, if not for its taste, for its familiarity. 

They’ve spent far longer away from home than he would like, between this war – could it even be called one war? – and Bastian’s job, he’s more ready to return to their usual routines. It will be nice to have something that tastes like home.

He guesses some of that sentiment must’ve shown in his voice, as Ike lets out a curious, “Oh?”

“It will be… nice to have something familiar,” he mumbles. “Better.”

Soren can’t see it, but he can feel Ike’s smile. He scowls at it on principle given the current subject. 

“You should tell Oscar that,” Ike says. “I think he’ll weep with joy if you give his food anything resembling a compliment.”

“Sure.” He rolls his eyes. But… he does file the information away for later consideration. Ike sounded earnest despite his teasing.

Although they’d agreed to get up for dinner, the two of them stay in bed talking for a while longer. It’s nice, Soren thinks, not having anywhere urgent to be. He can hardly remember the last time they had the opportunity to be like this. 

As if the Laguz Alliance War hadn't been hectic enough, the past month and a half was spent hurrying from one place to another, always on the alert for another attack to the best of their abilities. Letting his guard down feels like a luxury after so long, having so much of Ike's undivided attention even more so. It's no wonder he indulges in it. 

He drinks in the soothing tones of Ike’s voice, his laughter – a little more easily coaxed now, after their win – the warmth of his touch. They don’t do more than share a few kisses, still exhausted enough to drown the appeal of anything else, but Soren is content. No time spent alone with Ike is ever wasted in his opinion, regardless of what they’re up to.

Eventually, they do make their way out of bed, though not to leave their room. Ike would have put food as the first priority, if he’d gotten his way. Soren made sure to inform him that stripping out of his armor did not clear the scent of sweat and blood, and he wasn’t getting out of the room without a bath. 

“You always say the sweetest things,” Ike told him in return, grinning against his lips. Soren snorted as he sent him on his way to request a bath.

He might not have cared if they’d been back at the keep, where gathering and heating the water would’ve been done by their hands, however, with serving staff ready and willing to assist, he feels they have little excuse not to clean up. Even if it means enduring an uncomfortable few minutes as the servants set up the bath and privacy screen. It’s not too bad, they aren’t there for long; Soren loathes the intrusion all the same.

Once they’re gone, Ike all but throws himself back on the bed. “You can go first if you’d like.”

“I could,” he says, making no move to leave the bed. 

Soren considers this carefully. It would no doubt be easier if he did, as he tended to take less time with such things than Ike did – ever the pragmatic one, Ike would say. But Soren isn't much in the mood for practicality. If he’s honest with himself, what he wants right now is Ike. To keep him all to himself for a little while longer.

… Can he have that? He’s certain Ike wouldn’t mind the question, even if he were to refuse. He kept telling Soren as much, these days, with a stubbornness that made Soren fondly roll his eyes despite the warmth in his skin. 

Soren isn’t shy, per se. Since that fateful conversation three – or rather, four now – years ago, there’s little of himself he won’t share with Ike. There was no reason to hold back when his deepest fears had already been assuaged after all. 

However, since they’d become lovers, Soren has found himself unwittingly going against that. Intimacy doesn’t come easy to him – something Ike must understand better now than ever, having remembered him. He’s as wary of it as he hungers for it, and this uncharted territory often leaves him shying away from Ike's knowing eyes. 

Whatever you want to tell me, I want to listen. No matter what it is, Ike would tell him.

With that in mind, and his face partially obscured by the covers, he continues, “Or… you could always join me.”

He's rewarded with a soft, mischievous smile that reaches Ike's eyes. “You always have the best plans,” he says. 

His chest is tight, yet he feels enveloped by warmth. Leave it to Ike, to reassure and fluster him all at once.

With their minds made, there's little reason to dawdle. Or so Soren tells himself to justify standing up before Ike could get a good look at his face. Can it be called running away, if he'll soon be even closer  to Ike than before? 

Ike is soon to follow, undressing carelessly along the way. Soren huffs at his antics, though he's happy to see he's at least taking them with him, rather than leaving them on the floor.

He has little qualms about undressing himself. While they haven't been having sex for long at all, what with them having chosen to get together at the busiest time possible, they've shared a room for years. There'd been little of his body Ike hadn't seen before he'd gotten to know it up and close. 

What is a little awkward is getting into the bath together. They have no practice in this casual naked intimacy, and they're both clumsy at it in their own ways. Ike faces it head on, much as he does everything else, while Soren struggles to relax into it. 

He suspects that, if anything, his nervousness serves to bolster Ike's confidence. 

Ike proves him right as he says, “Come here,” and pulls Soren to lay his back against his chest. For Soren, who knows Ike's tells like the back of his hand, it's amusing to see him relax as he does it, somehow deriving as much comfort from Soren as Soren does from him. 

Soren smiles despite himself. If it were anyone else, this gentleness might have annoyed him. Ike's never been Just anyone to him, however. 

Besides, had Ike been the nervous one, Soren knows he would have acted just the same. 

“What are you smiling about?” Ike asks, resting his chin on Soren's shoulder. 

“You,” he replies honestly. 

The hands which had been resting at his waist embrace him fully, Soren doesn’t have to look to know there’s a glimmer in Ike’s eye. “And here I thought you finally found something you approved of in our accommodations.”

Soren rolls his eyes, though his smile doesn’t falter all that much. “I haven’t been that critical.”

“No, you haven’t,” Ike agrees. “Just… homesick.”

“That can't be right.” He frowns. 

Homesick. Soren runs the word over in his mind. It's not a feeling he would ever have associated with himself, or at least not in a long while. 

His frown deepens when Ike’s right embrace gets in the way of him reaching for the soap. “We're meant to be cleaning up,” he chastises, but doesn’t make much effort to leave. 

“That doesn't stop us from enjoying the warm water for a bit.” Ike shrugs, unrepentant. “And aren't you missing home? You've brought up going back quite a few times now, and even complimented Oscar's cooking.”

Soren sighs as he leans back against Ike. He can admit that the warm water feels nice on his sore muscles. He can't accept Ike's assessment of his feelings that easily, however. “I do want to go back, but I see nothing special to finding that preferable to a war campaign,” he says, unsure of why he feels so ruffled over this. “Calling that homesickness seems like too much.”

“If you say so.” Ike plants a kiss on the base of his neck, a quick, affectionate thing. It's unfairly successful in smoothing down his feathers. “But there's nothing wrong with missing home. I think we all are.”

But home has always been wherever you are, Soren thinks sullenly. Ah, and there’s the sticking point.  

He's always loathed anything that diminishes his feelings for Ike, this is no different. 

Instead of replying, Soren opts to sink lower into the water, watching his hair float around him in the process. It's a poor attempt at reflection, but Ike lets him get away with it. 

The thing is: he does like the keep, more than he's liked anywhere else he lived in. He's lived there the longest, enough for its walls to hold many fond memories, and to have become a fixture in his life. It has been long since he's feared having to find another home, since Ike's acceptance of his heritage there has been no room for doubt. Because the keep is in Ike's care, and Soren belongs by his side. 

He can't deny that he's comfortable around the Greil Mercenaries either, even the most unpleasant. Soren does not care for them as much as he does Ike, though he doubts that will ever apply to anyone, yet he wouldn’t say he doesn’t care at all. They’re… comfortable constants. People who have seen him at his best and at his worst, even if they were not privy to the details. He has seen them much the same, and he's learnt to work with them and accept, to an extent, that they will stand by him. 

So yes, he cares for some of them, tolerates the rest better than most people, but he wouldn't call the keep or the Greil Mercenaries home . To Soren, home is a person, rather than a place, and that is Ike and Ike alone. 

Although Ike's definition is likely not so strict, and homesickness would convey the feeling of missing his life outside of the war. Soren still wishes there was a better word for it.

“I guess you could call it that,” he concedes at last. Then he changes the subject, more than done with investigating his feelings for the evening. “Do you think we'll get to properly step foot into the fort before being hired again?”

Ike's tired huff tells him all he needs to know even before his answering, “We better, else I'm rejecting them.”

“I'll see to it that they understand the rejection if you need,” Soren offers. For all his intimidating build, Ike tends to be quite polite with their clients, if blunt and to the point. Soren has no such qualms. 

Ike snorts. “I'll take you up to it.”

Grinning back, Soren deems that they’ve done enough lying around for the moment and wiggles out of Ike’s grasp to reach for the soap. Moving around is even more awkward than settling down had been, and Soren would be lying if he didn’t acknowledge how easy it would be to turn this into… something more. But he staunchly pushes those thoughts away. It isn’t the time for such desires. They want to get out of this room sometime in the evening, after all. 

The amused glint in Ike’s eyes when Soren turns around to face him does nothing to help matters. Soren ignores him, intent on blaming any ensuing redness on the warmth.

“Let me wash your hair,” he says. Commands, rather. 

“Sure. I’ll do yours after.” 

“Very well.”

Ike doesn’t have that much hair compared to Soren, but it’s more than one would think at first glance, especially since he hasn’t been as careful with cutting it as of late. Soren takes great care to untangle every strand as he runs his hands through it, enjoying the repetitive motions.

Their earlier conversation is still in his mind. Not because of himself this time, but for Ike. It’s no secret for Soren that he’d been feeling increasingly out of sorts since the end of the Mad King’s War, though that was something not even Ike himself had understood. They’d once thought returning to mercenary life was the answer. Alas, Soren still remembers the tired curve of his shoulder when they'd returned from Melior, as though the weight of the world rested in it.

How ironic, that in the end it truly did.

Something seems to have changed since then. Perhaps somewhere within the tower of guidance, between his returned memories, conversations with the goddess of chaos, and the defeat of the Black Knight. They haven’t had a chance to truly speak about any of it outside of Ike’s reveal that he remembered their first meetin g; Soren wants to check on him.

Even thinking back to that conversation still fills him with warmth. Yet he's doubts all of Ike's memories make him feel so light 

“Hey, Ike…” He waits until he hears a hum of assent, using the time to choose his words. “How are you, now that our part in this is over?”

Ike huffs in amusement. “Always asking the difficult questions, aren’t you?” He pauses, considering the question. Soren takes advantage of this moment to rinse the soap from Ike’s hair, careful not to get any water on Ike’s eyes as he pours it over his hair. “I’m not sure. Would it be strange to say that I feel lighter and heavier at the same time?”

“Not at all.” Done with his task, Soren moves at Ike’s silent urging so that he is once more sat with his back toward him. After going uncared for through consecutive battles, the ends of Soren’s hair have gotten quite tangled. Ike has his work cut out for him. “A lot happened; conflicting feelings are natural in the wake of so much.”

“I suppose,” Ike says. “Do you have conflicting feelings?”

For a moment, Soren’s mind travels to the moment before their last battle, when Yune had attempted to convince Ashera to yield peacefully. Then he pushes the memory away, preferring to focus on the ghost of Ike’s fingers brushing against his back. 

“... Some,” he concedes. “Still, I’m happy, for the most part. It all ended well, and,” he looks down, shadowing his face further from Ike’s view, “I think it'd take a lot to bring down my spirits after our conversation at Ashera’s door."

Ike trades Soren’s hair for his shoulder, resting a hand there and running soothing circles against his skin. “It's the same for me.” Soren doesn’t need to look at him to feel the fondness radiating through Ike’s voice. “I… don't know how to feel about my other memories yet, but I’m happy I remembered you.”

Soren’s heart echoes that sentiment, fluttering at the reminder that he is as dear to Ike as Ike is to him; that he’d mattered from the very start. Years ago, he’d come to terms with the fact that he seemingly hadn’t. Ike had welcomed him into his life so warmly, that Soren let it go. Being remembered now is a gift he’ll always cherish.

After a moment of deliberation, he acknowledges Ike’s words with a gentle squeeze to the hand on his shoulder. He hasn’t forgotten his mission to check in on Ike’s wellbeing, so he chooses to reply to the solemn part of his sentence. “I can only imagine how difficult it must be to parse through such a memory onslaught.”

Likewise, Ike resumes carefully untangling Soren’s hair. “They still don't feel quite real,” he admits. “They're not all bad, I don't think, which might be worse. I hate that I forgot so much for so long.”

"It was wrong that they were taking from you, regardless of intentions." This time, Soren angles himself so that Ike can see the gravity in his expression. If the people responsible hadn’t been taken care of already, he’d have much to say to them. Besides, it’s nice to meet Ike’s gaze. "Making your peace with them will take time. If it helps, I’ll be here to listen."

“I know.” Ike smiles. “I can always count on you.”

“ Always, ” Soren promises. “Though you might also consider talking to your sister. Mist has been worried.”

Ike blinks at him in surprise. “Has she?”

“Yes.”

He raises an eyebrow at Soren's matter of fact tone. “Have you two been gossiping about me behind my back again?”

“Again? I wouldn't say we'd stopped,” Soren teases. 

“Of course.” Ike rewards him with a laugh, sweet and bright. “I’ll talk to her. You’re right that it might help.”

It still puzzles Soren how happy Ike gets at these reminders of his relationships with others. He might never understand. 

“I’m always right,” Soren he retorts jokingly. “Isn’t that what you pay me for?’

“Ah yes, however could I forget?”

Ike pulls him in for a quick kiss, which turns into a succession of small kisses when Soren returns it. There's no direction these touches are leading to that Soren can feel, but he enjoys them all the same. It's pleasant to simply be close to Ike; to feel the curl of his smile against his own lips. 

They manage to separate before it gets too far, but only barely. 

This time, when Soren looks away, it's all he can do to help ensure they'll stay on task. 

Ike moves to spread soap on his hair with a gentleness he reserves for Soren and Soren alone. It's soothing. Soren allows his eyes to close and lets the touch lull him back into a sense of calm. 

He feels more settled now that they've spoken. Too much had happened in the past few months, and as Ike had put it, he'd been left feeling lighter and heavier for it. Yet, here in Ike's arms, all he feels is a certainty that they will be okay. 

The war has come to a close, now it's time to recover.