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When Soren first arrives and joins the company, none of them are really sure what to make of him. He seems pretty unassuming, though there’s an element of mystery to him that gets tongues wagging among the company. He’s quiet, doesn’t go out of his way to be social, and there’s not really anything to be known about his origins or just why he’s here. Others are suspicious, but Ike finds himself a little intrigued by the boy. He can’t be much older than Ike himself, and he wonders how someone his age came to be here, what brought him into this life and line of work.
There is some suspicion among some of the others, but Ike, who has always been practical, doesn’t buy into the small talk, into the whispering that occasionally gets around. He’s never been one for gossip, anyway- it hardly ever turns out to be useful, so therefore, he has no interest in it. And to him, Soren, though mysterious, hasn’t proven himself to be suspicious. He’s just quiet, which Ike can also appreciate, because he’s never been too social himself.
As it turns out, Soren is kind of sort of definitely Ike’s best friend.
Time goes, things change, and Ike finds himself at the head of the Greil Mercenaries. More change sweeps through, and Elincia falls in with them, and well, history is certainly being made. Soren, Ike discovered long ago, helps keep him in line, reminds him of the important things. It’s easy for him to lose sight of the bigger picture, because it never really mattered to him before. It was much easier to ignore the intricacies of politics and power struggles when he was simply working under his father and worried about the surrounding villages.
There are many things that Ike grows to appreciate about Soren, but perhaps his best quality is how blunt he is. Other people are put off by it, but Ike’s a man who appreciates honesty and doesn’t care for all the gory details of things, so the simple way Soren talks about things is more preferred to him. Really, he likes talking to Soren in general, which in itself is somewhat of a small miracle, since he’s never been fond of talking. He can speak better with a sword in his hand then he can over a dinner table, but when it comes to Soren, he finds himself having a much better time with conversation.
Soren makes him laugh. Soren does a lot of things, not all of them good or perfect, but Ike still finds himself terribly attached to the man anyway. Where others are annoyed with him, angry, or dismissive, Ike is always there to receive him. In the same vein, Soren is always there to receive Ike, always willing to listen when he’s frustrated, to explain things to him when he’s tired and can’t grasp the conversations at the war table, to aid him when he needs to make a decision. Beyond that, he’s just… there. They talk of little things, they joke and tell stories; Ike listens and comments as Soren tells him about an interesting book he read the other day, Soren dutifully lends his ear when Ike waxes poetic about how he wants to change this or that in his fighting technique.
Ike tells Soren about a disastrous attempt to cook dinner with Mist once, back home, and Soren snorts with laughter. Ike feels a stirring in his chest, something sharp and subtle all at once, and when Soren finally settles down, his giggles fading, Ike finds himself thinking that he could spend the rest of his life just like this.
In the way that Ike always keeps his sword with him, Soren remains at his side. One is hardly ever seen without the other, and when they’re apart, it’s enough for others to question it. “Where’s Ike?” and “Oh, Soren isn’t with you?” are common enough questions. Soren gripes about it, and Ike pretends not to notice the tiny, fond smile threatening to curl the edges of his mouth.
Things remain difficult. They are, no matter how relaxed they become, in the middle of a war. Battles are fought, injuries sustained, strain spreads and ebbs through the group. Ike is trying his damndest to keep things together, to remain a good leader and a capable fighter. Every day the memory of his father’s death sits on his shoulders, and with each battle fought, each small victory claimed, he feels the burden become lighter, though he vows to himself not to forget his roots. Being surrounded by his company helps keep him grounded, and he thanks his lucky stars to be fortunate enough to be surrounded by such good people.
As the days grow darker, Ike and Soren grow closer. He spends much more time with his tactician for the purpose of war, and though he is tired, he’s still thankful for the time they get together, even if it is spent bent over maps and discussing strategy and going over supply itinerary. He remains a steady presence, nearly unshakeable, and Ike is grateful.
The first time he takes Soren’s hand, he doesn’t even think about it. They’re sitting alone together in Ike’s tent, which they take to sharing more often than not anyway, and Soren is… stressed is perhaps a light word. Things have been tight- supplies have been limited and the last few battles particularly taxing. They’re just trying to move, but as always, it hasn’t been easy. He’s been rubbing his temples and talking himself hoarse for over an hour, and Ike can see the tension eating at the smaller man’s frame. Ike has never been a particularly affectionate person, but it’s distressing to see Soren to tense and stressed, and he’d like to ease him.
So, without preamble or even a word, Ike lightly takes Soren’s hand in his own. It’s smaller than his, warm. Softer, even, compared to Ike’s hands, though that must be the benefit of wielding magic instead of swords. Soren stops in the middle of his sentence, and looks down at their hands, brows drawn.
“I-”
“Sorry,” Ike says, going to pull his hand away, “I should have asked, I-”
“No,” Soren says. “I. Um. Leave it there.”
They look at each other for a moment. Ike feels a fluttering of nerves in his chest, but he nods minutely, and leaves his hand wrapped around Soren’s. The mage takes a deep, slightly shuddering breath, and Ike watches in rapt fascination as Soren slides his fingers between his own, interlocking their hands more thoroughly. He looks at their hands, casually twined together, and feels that stirring in his chest again. It aches a little and he isn’t sure why. He wouldn’t call it bad, though, he thinks. Soren gives the smallest, most minimal of smiles, and Ike softens at the edges.
Soren continues to finish what he was saying, an Ike doesn’t let go of him while he speaks.
+
It’s flustering to hold Soren’s hand, even if the contact is welcomed by the other man, who always gives him the smallest, sweetest smiles whenever Ike takes his hand. He’s never done anything like this before- the last time he held hands with anyone was with Mist when they were children and he was helping her toddle around when she was still very small. Maybe he held his mother’s hand when he was much smaller, too, but he doesn’t remember that- and besides, something tells him this is not quite the same as holding his mother or sister’s hand.
Still, it’s… nice, even if it makes his cheeks flame like an embarrassed child. He feels better about that part, though, because Soren also always flushes whenever they hold hands, so at least he’s not alone in his flustered and slightly embarrassed state. They don’t do it all the time, and always do it in the privacy of one of their tents, but Ike finds the little gesture soothing. He’s suspecting that it’s also soothing to Soren, though he knows he would never admit it if he were asked.
The months go by, and their journey continues. They spend time in Begnion, and though Ike loathes just about everything about the place, he picks up on a lot of things. He learns that he doesn’t like Begnion, for certain, but sometimes the people amuse him. He knows they’re not all terrible, but he can’t forgive them as a whole after finding out their nobles still keep secret laguz slaves, and if he hears someone say the word “sub-human” one more time he’s liable to lose his temper.
He tries his best to keep his head about him and stay patient. His friends are helpful, and even some of the people themselves, like Sigrun, who is endlessly helpful and kind. It helps that Soren shares his disdain for the way of life here, and they often discuss it when they’re free to return to their quarters for the evening. They share meaningful looks over dinner, and in the privacy of Ike’s chambers, they lay out their frustrations of the day.
Here, they have their own rooms. It’s… strange. Ike is used to being in close quarters with his entire company, and the fact that they gave him his own room is something he’s not used to. It uneases him a little, being separated by many rooms and stone walls, but he tries his best to relax. As much as he dislikes it here, he knows that at the least, the palace is well defended, and should something happen, everyone would be safe, even if they’re not mere paces away from each other.
When Soren goes to bid him goodnight after another late-running discussion, Ike hesitates at the door. He takes Soren’s hand in his own, and the mage gives him a soft, fond smile.
His face goes beet red, however, as Ike brings Soren’s hand up and quickly and gently places his lips to the back of it, brushing his knuckles. His eyes go wide.
“W-what is that for?” He asks, startled.
Ike is also blushing deeply, he finds, and sheepishly drops Soren’s hand.
“I, uh, I’ve seen some other people doing it, as a gesture. It looked like something you might like, but, er, perhaps I guessed wrong.”
Soren blinks, and Ike looks to the floor, sheepish. How is it that Soren is the only one who can really cow him this way?
“Ike.”
He looks up, and Soren’s face has gone soft, though his cheeks are still flushed, even if it’s fainter.
“That was… very nice,” he says, obviously trying to compose himself. “It was… it was a very sweet gesture.”
Ike breaks into a small, shy smile. “Well, I’m glad I didn’t make an error with it, then.”
“You are just full of surprises, you know,” Soren says, smirking a little. “You’ve grown bold.”
He runs a hand over his hair. “Ah, well.” He’s not sure what to add to that, so he leaves it hang.
Soren smiles. “Goodnight, Ike.”
“Goodnight, Soren.”
+
He can’t pinpoint when he realizes that he loves Soren. It’s just sitting there in his head one day, and it feels like it’s always been there. He realizes, perhaps belatedly, that this is the name for the things that Soren makes him feel. He looks at him across the dinner table one night and wonders if Soren feels the same, wonders what he would say if Ike told him these things out loud.
He doesn’t say anything. Not for now, anyway. They have much more to worry about than something so silly as that, and they’re both under enough stress that a conversation like that is just an unnecessary burden. Ike holds onto the feeling, though, turns the word over in his head, and even if he hasn’t shared it with Soren yet, he gets warmth from it, a sense of comfort.
Time drags on. They fight, and they fight, and they fight- every step forward is a battle, it seems. Putting Elincia to the Crimean throne is an endeavor that none of them could have anticipated the difficulty of, though Ike doesn’t regret the fight, for the most part. There is regret for losses suffered, for the hardships they’ve had to face, but Ike doesn’t regret fighting the good fight, in the end. They’re working towards something worthy, and that’s worth it, really.
Even when things get unbearably difficult, Soren remains a constant. They hold hands, Ike presses kisses into Soren’s knuckles like a secret before they go to bed, and they fight on. And one night, after a particularly rough battle, Soren stays up with Ike late into the night, re-checking his healed wounds and talking him down from the adrenalin. He’s tired, and sore, down to his bones, but Soren is a soothing presence. He quietly finishes his inspection, and pats Ike’s bicep.
“Sleep now,” he says softly. “You’ve more than earned your rest.”
Ike nods and pushes his hair out of his face, standing and stretching. It aches a little, but he knows he’ll feel better in the morning. Soren stands, as well, and Ike gives him a small, gracious smile.
Quietly, Soren stretches up on his toes and brushes his lips against Ike’s forehead. His cheeks heat, and he looks to see Soren’s own face is flushed, but he keeps his hand where he placed it on Ike’s shoulder for balance.
“Rest well,” he says, gentle. “Goodnight, Ike.”
Ike brings a hand to Soren’s face, and gently cups his cheek. The smaller man looks up at him with imploring eyes, and they just stand that way for a moment. Ike sighs, softly, and removes his hand, brushing Soren’s cheekbone with his knuckles as he moves it.
“Rest well.”
+
When the war is won, Ike is drained.
When the war is won, Elincia is on the throne where she belongs, and things are shifting to where they should be. He has no doubt that she’ll make a fine queen, as she’s a good person and has good people to help her. However, Ike is very, very tired.
Soren’s gaze feels more weighted these days, and Ike constantly searches for him. They spend as much time together as possible, which is, unfortunately, limited since Ike is (and truly, he dreads to even think about this) a noble. Their time is short, but treasured.
The days grow long, and Ike grows restless. Being contained here, being made to adhere to all these little rules, all of these people calling him “sir” and bowing and just… sort of groveling to him, it doesn’t suit him, and he grows increasingly uncomfortable. His time away from all of the posing and talking and general nonsense is spent in the company of his friends, though he seeks Soren out more than the others to ease his frustrations. They are both tired. Soren hates being here more than he does, really, and they share their free time and occasional nights together to ease the irritation they suffer at their situation.
It’s easy to be this way, laughing and talking with Soren into the night, sharing their time away from the others. Despite all they’ve been through and all the changes they’ve endured, there’s still no one on this earth that understand Ike the way that Soren does. Maybe it’s the stuff they write epic songs and poems about, and Ike likes that Soren can make him feel something like that.
He thinks back to when this all began- when a boy showed up to his father’s office and asked for a job. They’re both men now, hardened by war and hardship and time, but Ike is still soft for the small mage, who’s managed to hold his attention for years.
He remembers thinking he could live the rest of his life like this- laughing with Soren, talking to him, just… being near him. It’s in this moment, now, Soren’s features softened by the light from the fireplace and the lingering smile from a laugh on his mouth, that Ike knows, for certain, that this is what he wants.
They’re holding hands again, as they’ve been doing for so long now. Ike looks to Soren, and he notices, turning to face him with a question in his eyes. Ike lifts the mage’s hand to his mouth and presses a lingering kiss to the smooth skin there, their eyes meeting. Soren’s face softens again, relaxing at the familiar gesture.
“Mind if I try something?” Ike asks.
“Of course.” Unwavering, as always- Soren always seems to have his mind made up.
Ike doesn’t respond- he just leans forward. He drops their hands, still twined together, and slowly, carefully, presses his lips to Soren’s. The kiss is soft and very chaste, more a brush of lips than anything else, but its intent is clear. Soren gasps softly against Ike’s mouth, and there’s a breath where Ike feels like this was the wrong idea before Soren sighs softly and leans into the contact.
Neither of them really have experience with this, but they give it their best, and the emotions behind the kiss are enough to satisfy the both of them. Ike lets go of Soren’s hand and brings both his hands to his face, cradling it. Soren’s hair brushes his fingertips, tickling it, and when they part, his eyes are wide and bright, cheeks flushed.
“Ike,” Soren says, and he nearly croons his name, like a lament, drawn out and slow and a touch breathless.
“I know,” he says. His hands are still on his face. “I… Oh, Soren.”
The other man’s smile is perhaps the softest one Ike has ever seen on his face. “I know,” he says softly.
They stay there for a long time, exchanging tender and tentative kisses, and if Soren doesn’t make it back to his own room that night, no one seems to notice.
+
They leave in the night. It’s quick work for the two of them to sneak around, avoiding prying eyes of guards and servants still up or attending to their night duties. They’ve packed light, mapping out when and where they can stock up on more supplies, but for now, they have what they need.
Soren looks almost ethereal in the moonlight, and Ike watches him as he moves. They mount their horses and are off, and both of them sigh with relief as they reach the palace borders. They can be out of the capital before morning, and none will be the wiser.
Ike feels bad about leaving his friends behind, but he can’t do this anymore. He’s tired, unbelievably tired, and he just wants some peace. He can’t live the noble life, he can’t be someone he’s not, and if that’s selfish… well, he’ll be selfish for once. When he voiced his fears to Soren, he told him, in his blunt and practical manner, that after everything he had done and been through, Ike was allowed to do something for himself for once.
Coming from Soren, he can’t really argue with his logic.
So, now they’re here. Late the next afternoon, they’re in a tiny village outside the capital, watering their horses and resting. They set off again, and the world, for the first time in a long time, feels totally open to Ike. Soren looks at him as they ride, a healthy breeze blowing his hair back, and Ike’s heart stutters.
“Have I ever told you,” Ike says as they tread, “that I love you?”
Soren blinks at him, startling and nearly spooking his horse. “I. Well. No, I can’t say you have.”
“I just thought I’d say it, then, since we’re doing this,” Ike says, grinning. “In case you didn’t already know.”
Soren smiles- no, he downright beams- and just laughs. Full-throated, deep, bright laughter, his thin shoulders shaking.
“Now you tell me?”
They laugh and laugh and laugh as they ride.