Chapter Text
Soren rose before the sun was out, as he always did. Despite the cold air and poor light of their camp, the branded mage stayed faithful to his routine and slipped silently from his companion’s side to pull on his boots and slip through the flap of their tent. The darkness was little hindrance to his sharp eyesight, and a chilly breeze greeted him as his silent companion for his daily tasks. He quietly tied his long hair back and revived the embers from last night to fight away the biting autumn cold.
The wind mage used to never feel safe sleeping. Throughout his life, he always slept as lightly and briefly as possible. Sleep meant being vulnerable and open to kicks from bitter so-called “guardians”, or attacks from the numberless enemies he had faced in his life. The past ten years had changed that. Nights spent in his lover’s arms had made sleep a cherished blessing. Safely nestled against his large chest, with callused hands tangled in his hair and a face nuzzling Soren’s neck made the night the safest place in the world. The only reason he rose so early was based purely on habit and his personal dislike for laziness.
It also encouraged Ike to rise early.
As soon as the sun began to peek over the mountains in the horizon his companion emerged, slightly groggy and disheveled. Soren didn’t look away from his vigil as Ike stumbled up behind him. Large arms of corded muscle wrapped around his waist and warm breath blew on the back of his bare neck.
“G’morning,” Ike rumbled through sleepy half lidded eyes.
Soren lifted his hands to stroke Ike’s cheek in silent answer, feeling rough early morning stubble on his square jaw. Claret eyes locked on the mountains in the horizon, taking in the ridges covered in brilliant flaming colors of orange, yellow, and deep red.
“We’ll be back soon,” he responded softly, feeling a small unspoken apprehension in the back of his mind begin to grow.
“We’ll be in Crimea today, and back home tomorrow,” Ike agreed, quietly aware of his companion’s discomfort. “It won’t be for more than the winter though,” he promised, enjoying the warmth beneath his hands.
“And then we head east?”
“So long as we don’t get caught in another war for the fate of humanity,” Ike mumbled.
Soren allowed himself a small smile, taking a final deep breath of the cold predawn air.
“Well, considering the goddess of Tellius is sleeping for another thousand years, I think we might make it to Gallia before we’re caught in something.” Soren began to pull away, only to have Ike restrain him with a tight squeeze.
“I need to warm up still. You’re terrible with those wakeup calls,” Ike grumbled, breathing in the smell of wind and forest from Soren’s hair.
“You’re always free to go back to bed,” he smirked.
“You leave the blankets turned over so the cold air gets in,” Ike muttered. “It makes me think you’ve been doing this on purpose to make me an early riser like you.”
“The earlier we rise, the more we can do,” Soren responded, turning his head and kissing Ike’s cheek. “But maybe you’ve made me soft. I didn’t used to turn in so early.”
Ike rumbled in approval and responded with a kiss to Soren’s forehead, lips covering the prominent red brand on his pale skin. “You break me of my habits, and I break you of yours,” he smiled before finally releasing him.
They both quietly returned to their morning chores. Ike broke down their tents and packed their gear while Soren doused the fire and finished pulling out their breakfast of hard biscuits, dried fruit, and leathery dried meat from the saddle bags. The daily routines of travel had become a ritual for the two that required little communication. Ike packed and lifted the heavy hardware of their camp, Soren fed and watered the small packmule, one doused the fire while the other covered any remnants of their presence with scattered leaves and twigs. Their labors were harmoniously spent in quiet companionship, as they had been for the last ten years.
Back then the battle of gods and mortals came to an end, and Ike was liberated from his duty as a hero and general of war. Tellius was in shambles from Crimea to Phoenicis, with more than enough work to demand everyone’s attention. Soren had never felt happier than the moment that Ike had asked the mage to escape it all with him, to leave behind everything that had made him bitter and so hated. He left behind a lifetime of pain and bloodstained history for something new. Something better. The moment crossed the Daein borders into the northern mountains he had felt renewed. A new life beside his friend, one where no one would ever recognize the red mark upon his brow, or curse him for his blood red eyes.
Their decade together had been spent mostly in happiness. Although it was far from common comforts, and the first few months felt eerie without the bustle of soldiers, Laguz, and Beorc, it was fulfilling. Each day was a satisfying entrée for their bottomless wanderlust. New people from different worlds gifted the pair with new insights and riveting experiences. Ike was thrilled to face new challengers with different fighting styles, and Soren struggled daily to control his urges to buy more books on the countless topics that the royal libraries of Melior could only dream of. Life was adventurous, simple, and wonderful together.
It was only a month ago that Ike had a feeling that he was supposed to return to Tellius. Soren was surprised at his sudden nostalgia for home, but on more than one evening Ike would wonder out loud about his sister and the mercenaries. It was surprisingly unlike the fighter, who was always so focused on the present. Where to go next, what to do next, who he could challenge and test his skills, and where he could grow stronger. A moment in the day was all it took for Ike to change his course towards the back of their long-trodden trail. Reluctantly, Soren had quietly offered to alter their path of travel towards the Tellius continent-- just for a short while until they could resume their exploration to the southeast, he had added.
Ike had eagerly agreed. All too soon, less time was spent enjoying the rarities of a new world and more time was spent talking of home, buying souvenirs for the family, and keeping to their invisible trail. It unsettled Soren, but he chose to hold his tongue whenever he saw a smile break across Ike’s face each time he remembered the thought of seeing his old home. Instead, the mage focused on taking them back, guided by the whispers of unseen winds.
It was an ability that Soren prided himself in after honing his magical talent after all these years. His connection with the elements were always more keen than other mages (arguably due to him being branded), but his ties to the wind were deepest of all. Even without a tome, Soren often felt a soft brush against his hair from the invisible wind spirits that danced about nearby. Ike had once commented that if the wind had a smell and a taste it would be Soren (causing the stoic mage to break out in a rare flush).
In his older age, Soren no longer needed maps and compasses to find his way. Everywhere he went, the wind sage could feel the guiding pulses of wind. Different currents of air carried scents others couldn’t catch, and the slightest shift of the breeze guided the mage’s steps towards his desired destination. All it took was a slight push of his mind to feel the course of the wind. With Soren’s attuned senses, it had been easy to pass the border into Daein, unseen by beorc or laguz since both agreed to avoid any communities until they reached the Mercenaries homestead to prevent the news of Ike’s return from spreading. A simple inhale of air told Soren of any potentially unwanted attention, and their travels had been quiet so far.
The moment they had set foot in Tellius, Soren immediately felt unsettled. He tried to dismiss it for foolish past fears. Old ghosts that tried to haunt him of battles waged, the people he had known and left behind. There was no kinship with this land or its people, his home was only at Ike’s side. It was only from his desire to be here that Soren had followed. When the warrior was ready to leave, the mage would be as well.
He reached out to the wind with eyes closed, seeking the small tendril that would bring them towards Crimea, towards the warm atmosphere of the Greil Mercenaries, filled with all-too familiars smells and sounds. The scent of Hay and Mist’s lavender garden. Rhys’ church with stuffy burning candles, and the sound of endless noise. Laughter, shouts, and jeers. The winds of an old place called home flew to him, brushing the hair from his face.
“Are we ready?” Ike asked from behind him, breaking the silent watch he kept over his companion. The mule was packed, the fire was smothered, and the sun cast it warm rays upon them.
“Let’s go,” Soren nodded before leading the way.
Mist rose to her feet, stretching out her tired limbs after bending over the last harvest of the season. She examined the collection of vegetables in her large basket and let out a satisfied breath. It was the final basket, one of many. Enough to last them the remainder of autumn, and with a bit of creativity and Oscar’s help the food would be stretched out over the long winter. Now if only she could get her husband and children to eat what she cooked. At the thought of her family, the mistress of the mercenaries looked out over the retreat. “Arin! Elena!” She called across the yard. Hearing no reply, she called again, finally hearing a response from little Elena who came running from the front gate at the border of the complex.
“Mama, mama! We have visitors!” She called, running up to Mist to latch on to her skirts.
“What were you doing at the front gate? You know you’re not supposed to leave the stead alone. Where’s your brother?” She asked as her seven-year-old daughter tried to pull her towards the southern gate.
“They were asking for you, mama. I’ve never seen anyone like them before.” Elena insisted. Mist sighed and tried to smooth down her daughter’s messy green hair, as vibrantly green as Boyd’s, and allowed herself to be pulled towards the entrance of the retreat.
“I’m sure they’re just traveling towards the town up ahead, Elena,” Mist reassured her daughter as they rounded the corner past the Mess hall. Her daughter ran ahead to join Arin leading a pair of figures down the cobblestone path.
Mist came to a stop, her eyes wide and mouth open in shock. Arin came running up to her to tell her about the strangers, but the mistress of the house didn’t’ need to hear any of it. Although they were a strange sight to see, they were far from strangers.
“Oh Ike,” she said as tears started to fill her eyes. Skirts were bundled into her hands as she ran to greet her brother and was met halfway to be scooped up into a breathless hug. Arms wrapped tightly around her waist and swung her around in a wide circle. Her older brother squeezed his laughing sister until she was gasping for air, finally setting her down with a broad smile.
“You big dummy, I never thought I would see you again!” She said with a wavering voice. “Ten years and no message or word, no way to know if you’re alive or dead. You big, selfish, jerk!” She tried to sound angry, thinking about punching him with her tough motherly arms, but instead she held tighter, never wanting to let go of the only relative she had left as she buried her face into his chest.
“Missed you too, sis,” Ike laughed with a shaking voice. He held her for a moment longer before noticing a tug on his cloak. He pulled away from Mist to look into the large brown eyes of a stout young boy, his hair the color of his mother and grandfather. “And who is this?” Ike said with mild bemusement.
Mist laughed and knelt beside her son, gesturing for her daughter to stand beside her brother. “Ike,” she began proudly, voice still slightly wavering. “This is Arin and Elena. Your eldest nephew and niece. Children, this is your uncle Ike.”
Ike stood in shock for a moment. Him? An uncle? Mist a mother? The idea shouldn’t be strange to him. He was Boyd’s best man for the wedding and was happy to leave his sister in the hands of his childhood friend. It only made sense that Mist would have children. But to see them for the first time after ten years apart, Ike was hit with a sudden pang of guilt. I wasn’t even there to see them born, he silently realized. He lowered his towering six feet by bending to one knee, looking them both in the eye with a kind smile.
“It’s nice to meet you two.” He held his hand out to Arin, who examined his callused hand with open curiosity before gingerly taking it in a light handshake. Ike watched in amazement to see the features of Commander Greil on the young boy’s face. He would be as broad shouldered as his father one day, but there was an underlying streak of seriousness that undeniably came from the boy’s grandfather. He turned to Elena and saw she was a ball of excited energy, an obvious inheritance from her mother. She grabbed his large hand with her smaller two in a lively shake. His smile broadened into a grin as he measured the siblings with his firm gaze.
“How old are you two?” The former hero asked.
“I’m nine, and Elena is seven,” Arin answered for them both. “Our little brother is only two though. Mama also says that we’ll have another baby in the spring.”
Ike’s eyes widened and he turned back to Mist. “You have more? Where are they coming from?”
Mist laughed and playfully slapped his shoulder. “There will be plenty more after number four, just you wait. You know I always wanted a big family,” she reminded him as he rose to his full height.
“I just never imagined my sister being a mother. Especially when your children are forced to eat your cooking,” Ike joked, earning him a strong elbow to the ribs.
“Oscar spoiled you,” Mist sniffed. “I give my family hearty meals and healthy lifestyles.” Arin made a face at that and Ike did his best to stifle a small chuckle. Elena peeked around his broad form to see the quiet figure behind him, holding the reigns to a small pack mule.
“Is he your son?” She asked innocently, seeing the shorter and younger looking man standing quietly aside to witness their family reunion. Soren stiffened at the harmless comment, his blank face breaking into a disapproving frown.
Ike cleared his throat to compose his sudden flush of embarrassment. “No, no, no, Elena. Come here, I want to introduce you to my closest companion. You too Arin.” He led the way to the branded mage.
“This is Soren. He may look young, but he’s actually only a year younger than I am,” Ike introduced. “He’s a very smart man, and my best friend.”
Soren didn’t quite know what to do in the presence of the children. His own experience with youths were nonexistent save in the past with subordinates that acted like children during their campaigns. Arin and Elena offered shy smiles to the petite mage.
“Er… you… look a lot like your parents when they were young,” Soren offered awkwardly, choosing not to offer his hand. The majority of his experiences in getting too close to a child resulted in being chased off with a broom and curses. Branded rarely had much contact with others, let alone children.
Elena scrutinized his face, taking in the strange appearances that she had never seen before. “What’s that on your forehead? Why are your eyes red? Why are you so short?” She asked curiously.
Soren turned his gaze away uncomfortably, remembering the real reason he didn’t like children. They asked questions he preferred not to answer. Ike made a noise to pull Elena’s attention away, feeling his lover’s distress.
“Do you both know where your father is? I would like to see him and the rest of your family,” he asked.
“Right. Elena, go and fetch your father and uncle Rolf. Tell them they should come in before supper starts. Arin, would you be a big boy and take Ike and Soren’s mule to the stable? Ask Rhys for help if none of the stable hands are there,” Mist ordered, sending the pair scampering away to their tasks. She turned back to face Soren, who had regained some of his composure after being disturbed by a seven-year-old.
“One thing is certain, Soren.” She slowly walked towards the mage. “You look like you haven’t aged a day,” she smiled sweetly at him, her girlish spirit peeking through the years that had altered her features. Motherhood had treated Mist well. No longer was she Ike’s young and naïve little sister. She was the mistress of the household, experienced with managing a homestead and supporting her husband over the years. She was wiser, calmer, and carried an air of confidence in her demeanor.
Soren started in surprise when she pulled him into a hug. “Welcome home to you both,” she said warmly. “And don’t let Elena bother you, she wouldn’t be making the same comment if she knew how small you were ten years ago. I’d say you’ve actually gotten taller,” she giggled.
“He’s the perfect height for my head rest,” Ike agreed mockingly.
Soren tsked and pulled Mist’s arms away. “You have quite the brood,” he acknowledged politely before withdrawing to Ike’s side. “I assume the rest of the mercenaries will be here,” he added.
Mist nodded, unruffled by Soren’s attitude, “You came at a convenient time, actually. Oscar usually stays with us during his winter leave. He should be here any day now. Mia also decided to board here for the winter after spending some time in Gallia. With the two of you here it will be like old times!” She said excitedly. “Titania is away for a bit to visit father but she’ll back tonight, and Shinon will be back with Gatrie before the day is over. I can’t wait for everyone to see you!”
Mist led the way through Greil’s Retreat, talking to the pair about the latest work their family had been taking on. Mercenary work was busy as always during the summer, and business ran smooth thanks to Soren’s simple and effective processes he had ingrained in their contracts and procedures. Along with mercenary work, Rhys had opened a school from the church building, which was always helpful with their relations to the town down the road and some more money. Rolf had also gained a reputation across Crimea as a master Archer, second only to Shinon (despite his lackadaisical attitude, Mist knew that Shinon was proud of his protégé and spent more than a little time crafting practice bows for his students). To make up the busy season, the mercenaries hired extra hands to maintain the retreat’s upkeep. A stable boy, a pair of farmers, and a clever stonemason who also helped maintain the ivy wrapped about the main hall.
Ike smiled through it all, taking in the past decade of missed adventures as he silently observed the changes to his old home. The compound seemed bigger than last time. The border walls were expanded to make room for a large vegetable garden on the East side, right next to a small fruit orchard, and a new wood shed stood beside the northeast building where the Mercenaries boarded. The chapel had been relocated to the west entrance, closer to the town to accommodate for the daily inflow of children to Rhys’ lessons. Behind the church was another garden for healing herbs and a small workshop for concocting the doses of vulneries for their battles. The well-trodden dirt paths had been upgraded to cobblestone with low stone walls on either side, providing an orderly framework to the retreat. Overall, everything simply looked…nicer.
The trio approached the main building at the north end, where most of the daily activities took place. In this large, three-story, stone building Ike had grown up with his friends and family. Winter studies beside Soren in the small library on the third floor, watching Oscar experiment with ingredients in the kitchen, listening to his father’s stories in the mess hall beside Boyd and Mist as children. Waves of nostalgia flooded through him as they walked through the open double doors.
“You’ve really changed the place, Mist. If I didn’t know better I’d think you were trying to build a keep,” Ike praised. The interior of the hall had been embellished with rugs and a new chandelier that casted a cheery glow throughout the hall. Fresh straw had been threshed along the floor, and the two long tables on both ends of the hall were wiped clean, save for several large baskets filled with vegetables. Despite the number of aesthetic improvements, the retreat also had sensible upgrades to prepare them for any attack. Thick wooden shutters for the southward windows, a large metal beam poised above the doors, and all furniture composed of the same thick wooden material for a swift barricade at any moment. What alterations had been made to the building was done with a stylish and practical eye.
“Titania always keep us on our guard. A lifetime of battle has made her a little paranoid, I think. But Mia and I do alright making it a home. Rhys also has quite the eye for gardening. We’re thinking about adding flowerbeds next year to liven the place up, but Titania is trying to convince Boyd and the others to build our secondary walls with stone instead of wood.” She sighed. “There’s always a project each year to keep us busy. But being Tellius’ best hired help doesn’t make it easy to finish them.” She huffed good naturedly.
“Sensible upgrades though,” Soren commented, mildly impressed. He honestly didn’t expect his comrades to have the financial sense to invest their earnings into such assets. It was reassuring to see that the Greil Mercenaries made sensible decisions to keep themselves sustained. “I doubt the retreat will suffer too much without a few dozen tulips for the season.”
“Flowerbeds are important too!” Mist insisted with a pout. Just then the door across the hall burst open to announce a new arrival.
“Ike, you devil!” Boyd boomed as he charged at his blue-haired friend.
Ike met the head of the Greil company and his childhood friend halfway, grabbing him by the shoulders as they wrestled into a manly hug. Soren winced as he heard them both pound each other’s back in what he assumed was a friendly greeting amongst fighters.
“Honestly, Ike. It’s late Autumn and you still don’t wear sleeves?” The commander joked.
Ike shrugged. “Once I hit twenty my arms couldn’t fit them anymore.”
Boyd scoffed. “You just don’t wear them to show off your muscles for all the ladies,” he jibed.
“Hardly for the ladies, Boyd,” Ike chuckled, shooting a knowing look to his companion standing behind Mist. Soren looked away to cover the red flush on his pale cheeks.
The comment was lost on Boyd, as a small weight threw itself against his legs. He looked down to see the eyes of his two children smiling up at him. With a loud laugh he scooped them both up, one in each arm. “I take it you’ve met my two hellions then?” He said as Elena tugged at his green hair.
“I did. You’ve done well for yourself, my friend.” Ike smiled. Rolf had walked in behind the children and greeted Ike with less physical enthusiasm, but the same excitement.
“You’ve grown like a weed, Rolf!” Ike exclaimed, seeing the lad looking Ike in the eye now. A body like a reed, with hair a bit longer near his shoulders, Rolf smiled under his former commander’s praise.
“I’ve had the time, sir.” He said with a smile.
“Alright everyone,” Mist interrupted, “I have stew ready for us in the kitchen. Boyd, you lead the way, Arin and Elena help your uncle set the table. Soren and Ike, I have one more member I’d like you to meet before dinner,” she smiled before turning the opposite direction of the kitchen.
She led the way towards the staircase and up to the second landing where the commander and his family lived. “You’re lucky we added more rooms, Ike. After you left I’m afraid we turned your old room into a nursery for the children,” she apologized. “Fortunately, we still have accommodations in the main house for the both of you,” she reassured them before quietly opening the door.
The small room was filled with warm light from the setting sun. Three beds were set in a row against the wall with a scattering of toys about the room. At the end of the row of beds lay a small figure tangled around a cotton blanket a messy mop of dark hair covering the child’s peaceful face. Mist gently scooped up her sleeping son, removing the blanket around his limp form before returning to her brother.
“Ike, Soren, this is Gawain, my youngest son,” she announced with warm pride. She offered him out for Ike to hold, laying the small form in his large arms. The former hero stared in wonder at the small being, examining his round features and messy blue locks.
“He has my hair,” Ike noted with awe. “Or his grandmother’s hair, I mean,” he corrected himself as he ran a finger over Gawain’s forehead, brushing aside some stray hairs from his face.
Mist gently rubbed her brothers arm. “I thought you might like to meet him. He reminded me so much of you when I first saw him. He even has the same face as you,” she giggled.
“What face?” Ike demanded with a whisper.
Mist released a breathy laugh. “He just looks so serious all the time. About everything. He’s a very solemn child.
Soren watched carefully to see his lover bent over the small child, a soft look on his face that he’d never seen given to anyone other than himself. The quiet ambience of the room partnered with the warm and welcoming sunlight, casting rays of yellow upon Commander Greil’s legacy. To the eyes of a stranger the scene could be mistaken for a father holding his son. The mage felt his chest begin to ache and turned away in dismissal, looking out the glass window to the western road and beyond. A short distance away from the gates he saw a trio of figures approaching the complex. One on horseback, the other two on foot.
“They’re here,” Soren interrupted, pulling Ike and Mist from their reverie. The warrior carefully handed the sleeping toddler back to his mother, who gently shook him awake.
“You two head back to the kitchen. This boy is as fussy as his uncle when he wakes up from a nap,” she smiled. Ike dumbly nodded before following his companion through the door.
They both walked down the dimly lit corridor in silence, quietly processing their emotions from the past five minutes.
“Were you really that pudgy when you were little?” Soren finally broke the silence.
Ike gently nudged his companion jokingly. “Of course not,” he denied. A moment later he added, “If anything I was probably pudgier.”
“I take it your arms didn’t fit any sleeves then too?” Soren added, earning him a tug on his long hair tail in response.
“I feel like this is going to be an ongoing point of teasing from you now,” Ike sighed as they descended the stairs.
“So you didn’t? No wonder you’re always cold when I come to bed,” Soren said with a smirk. “It seems you never learned how to wear clothes properly enough to withstand the cold.”
“No worries. I’ve found someone who warms me up better than any clothing could,” Ike responded with a mischievous grin.
Soren pursed his lips in embarrassment, feeling the blood rise to his cheeks as he turned his head away.
Ike let out a small, victorious laugh and kissed his lover on his forehead, right on his brand. “Let’s go see if my sister has improved her cooking in the past ten years.”