fic: Endings and Beginnings
Oct. 14th, 2015 10:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisTitle: Endings and Beginnings
Series: Fire Emblem: Radiant Dawn
Character/pairing: IkeSoren, ensemble, bit of Mist/Boyd
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 2426
Summary: Change happens slowly.
Author's note: A sequel to The House Where We Grew Up. Some inspiration comes from this. Cottoncandybingo: lead/follow. Betaed by Amiiti.
Happy birthday, Chizlemons.
Ike left his title as a lord and returned to the ruins of his childhood. No one stayed in the capitol, not even Shinon, though he muttered the whole way back.
The space of his world had seemed so much larger three years ago. Just like the shirts Mist had to let in, mend the holes and scrubbed at the bloodstains. No longer was his world something he would grow into. The collapsing walls and old dreams.
He'd wanted to be a hero, and he'd gotten his wish. He just hadn't listened every time Soren talked of the dark sides of fairy tales, of women who danced themselves to death, and of birthright curses. Those had just been stories.
But as Soren always said, myths and stories were just history that people added to, until they, men, became gods.
*
New shops had sprung up and others had closed in those three years. Every memory he had of the surrounding towns had bent in some way. The fountain in the square was cracked from when war had touched their country, the forests had become overrun with thick-thorned bushes, when so many of the men left their woodcutting jobs for mercenary work. Peace and rebuilding came slowly.
Ike counted out the coins in his pocket. Too little for both weapons and food supplies. They'd have to choose. He pulled his cloak tighter over his shoulders to push back the autumn chill, despite the deceptively sunny day.
Shinon and Rolf could always go hunting again. They could live on short rations.
A voice came up behind him. He turned to see a young shop girl, though not Aimee, leaning down from her station. She openly gaped, raising her gloved hand to point his way. Three gold bangles clattered at her wrist, a small bit of decoration on an otherwise plain brown dress. He could only see part of her through the low-slung once-red cloth to keep out the elements. Time had faded that as well.
"Could it be the Hero of Blue Flames is here among us?"
"They said he settled here and left his title at the queen's feet."
"What kind of man gives up a title? You must be mistaken."
"No, I heard it from my cousin who works as a maid in the capitol! I tell you, that's the Hero of Blue Flames!"
The people in the cobblestone square turned, looking past him, to someone who did not exist. A hero of their own imagination.
"You're mistaken, I'm just a mercenary," Ike said. He turned his back upon the crowd. He'd had enough of hero worship for a lifetime.
"But I'm telling you, that had to be him," said another voice among the crowd. Ike kept walking, and soon, Soren fell in step beside him. They'd parted at the outset, meant for different shops. Soren always finished his purchases first. He calculated prices quickly, and could haggle them with a ruthlessness Ike had rarely seen outside the battlefield. His braided ponytail had grown loose and windswept from the autumn breeze. Dust had turned his black robes a murky shade of a stormy night. He slung a light bag over his shoulder. Something inside smelled faintly spicy.
"We'll have to smuggle you out in hooded cloaks at this rate," Soren said dryly. "Though, this fame could have its own rewards. We could make a business of it. Sell your signature, give speeches. Aimee alone would pay for an entire winter's rations."
"It's a good thing you're on our side," Ike said.
Soren smiled wryly and pulled out several gold coins.
"Go on, I've no need for new books. I haven't seen battle against anything but dust motes in months," Soren said.
Ike clutched the gold in his palm.
"You've been docking your pay again," Ike said.
"It's what I want," Soren said.
He pocketed the coins. A gift from Soren was a truly rare occurrence, at least to anyone but himself.
*
Mist's dress was a criss-cross of mending, faded like dull sunlight. Her ball gowns had been sold at the capitol, for just enough to cover the trip back. She stood on tip-toe, reaching as much of the wall as she could. Beside her, Boyd worked, reaching just above her. He looked to her, and then smirked, as he flicked soapy, herb-filled water across. She flinched as the suds hit her, making whitish wet dots over her dress and face.
"Boyd, you're so immature!" she said. She stuck her tongue out, and lifted up the bucket above her head. Before he could even respond, she dumped the water over his head. Water rushed over him, pooling at their boots. His clothes were tight and sticky now. He lumbered forward, like a monster, with his hands stretched out.
"I'm going to hit you with my staff," Mist said.
Boyd pushed the bucket up, until it looked more like a helmet than a testament to Mist's wrath. "Looks like you're pretty immature, too," Boyd said, with a grin.
"I'm just fighting back at your stupid game," Mist said.
"I'd rather you two not kill each other," Ike said.
Mist pushed her wet strands of brown hair out of her face. "No promises there, brother," she said.
"I'm so dead," Boyd said, and broke out laughing as he ducked another drip droplets flung his way by Mist.
Ike moved on, stepping over puddles. Inside, Mia wielded her broom like a weapon, precariously balanced on Gatrie's shoulders. Shinon watched them from a corner wall he'd leaned upon. Though he'd sat out every cleaning session, he had a scent of acrid chemicals and trees upon him. There were two bows slung over his shoulder, not merely one. At the same time, gifts of food started appearing at the doors, left without a tag.
He'd die before he ever admitted such a thing.
"Be careful, or little commander Ikey might put you in a corner," Shinon said.
From behind him, Soren peered in from the front door.
"Mia, now is a good time to practice your battle cry," Soren said.
"All right!" Mia said. She leapt from Gatrie's shoulders, and landed in a feat of grace. She spread her arms as she let out a throaty battle cry. Shinon, hunched down, reaching to cover his ears from the noise. He was in a perpetual state of being hungover between each of his tavern trips.
Ike walked on, towards the outside again. Mist and Boyd had moved on, while Soren reached towards something near the wall. Leaves were caught in his hair, with white blossoms which could cause a headache so severe as to leave even the greatest warriors bedridden. The bush gave off no berries, and couldn't be given as gifts, unless to try and poison the person into slow agony.
Soren reached up again to displace something from a cracked window. The motes of dust and debris were just out of reach between the large tangle of flowering bushes that had grown up between that time.
Ike reached up just behind him, fingers grazing the back of his hand as he pulled out a rusted key.
"Was this what you wanted? I doubt it will even turn anymore," Ike said.
"The door this belonged to was torn down," Soren said. He pulled at the twigs that had caught on his sleeve. "I'm going to burn that bush, and salt the earth."
Soren combed the leaves out of his hair. Words were muttered that Ike couldn't hear. He pulled at a knot in his thick hair.
"Let me," Ike said.
He leaned in and pulled out the last of the petals. They left an almost filmy, oily sensation across his fingertips. Despite the flowers, he could smell the undertones of the oil Soren used to keep his skin from drying out, of paper and soap and spice. Soren's hair was soft, caught between his fingers as he worked the tangles. There was a warmth there in his skin, in his chest. One that hadn't been there before.
Comfort once, but not anticipation, or the bridge between knowing someone, and closing a distance he hadn't even realized was there. Something was different. Years had spread to the breadth between fingers. Soren looked back at him. Ike couldn't say what he had stumbled into.
"Thank you," Soren said soft, his voice tiny and almost apologetic.
Laughter made him break his gaze away, as Mia wiped the cobwebs from Gatrie's hair. When he looked back, Soren had already moved on.
He caught sight of Soren under a faraway tree, a piece of dried meat held tight between his fingers. Whenever he'd gotten nervous, he'd reach for his dried meat, and sometimes just hold it. A reminder. Since Soren had come, he'd saved him part of his food every meal, and each time, Soren gave him such a look, a mix of hope and loneliness, all in one.
It wasn't until now that Ike wanted to know the depths of this question.
*
Soren had disappeared by twilight. Ike searched the rooms, through the bare library, to each of their rooms, and the study. He found Soren in the corner room, one that his father had once favored as a retreat. Now it was mostly empty, save for water-damaged books, rusted weapons, and a fireplace. A large wool blanket hung about Soren's shoulders to stave off the drafts. Mold and rot had formed between the stones; even several washings hadn't completely rid the structure of decay. Ike had begun to think that like a ghost of those he'd lost, this would stay.
Soren pulled his knees to his chest, his book left untouched beside him. It was a telling sign; Soren only took this pose when something was bothering him. Though with Soren, storm clouds rolled in easily.
The firelight was too low to read, which could only mean Soren was overthinking things again.
"What is it this time?" Ike asked.
Soren looked above his blanket. He was always unaffected by Ike's clumsy, and blunt choices of words.
" In peace, people have little use for guardians. Wars have been started by merchants just to make profit off of weapons," Soren said. He curled the blanket around himself a little more. His face was obscured by the rolling shadows in the dim light.
"You don't have to worry. We'll make it through. We fought Daein and won; a few lean years is nothing compared to that," Ike said.
"Just because we bested impossible odds once doesn't mean we won't starve in ignominy later on," Soren said.
Soren's hand curled up towards a pouch at his side. Ike knew from experience that it contained dried food. Ever since the day he'd shown up on their doorstep, drawn and lean, like a feral animal, Soren had worried about food. He always kept stores close by, and every winter he would stay up, working his fingers to blisters.
"I hardly think some fewer weapons is a disaster. The ground should be fine here, we could grow crops to cover what we cannot buy or trade for," Ike said.
"Not this late in the year," Soren said. He released the pouch, with seeming reluctance. "I could take up some jobs. The local brewery has called out for someone to manage their ledgers after firing the last."
"Don't overexert yourself, and don't go too far this time," Ike said.
He sat beside Soren on the floor, eschewing comfort for closeness. For so many years, telling Soren everything that came to mind was like breathing. In the months Soren had studied at another mercenary group, he'd found himself staring at blank pages in an attempt to find that place again. Tied tight, a sense of home that never came without Soren there.
"It wouldn't be far. Not even an hour's journey. I wouldn't even have to room," Soren said.
"When do you start?" Ike said.
"I haven't talked to the brewers yet," Soren said.
"But once you do, you'll get the job for certain. Only a fool wouldn't hire you," Ike said. “When you do, I'll walk you there and back. There's still some brigands about."
"But who will protect you from the shop girls?" Soren said. Whenever he told a joke, his voice would always go so comically flat, and his expression matching his tone. But Ike could always see the curl at the edge of his lips, the hint of a smile.
"I think I can survive for a few hours until you return," Ike said.
Soren picked up his book, a history of the lands of Tellius. On the inner cover of the tome was an etched black map. At the outset of the lands was the words unknown.
A thought he'd had in many a palace gala came again. This time, he spoke the words which had been on his mind for months.
"I've been thinking of a land that doesn't know my name," Ike said.
Soren closed the cover of the book, and pulled it under his blanket. "The goddess sank the world. There would be nothing but endless stormy seas. None have survived trips into the far oceans," Soren said.
"The laguz talked of it. I think there's worlds beyond our reach," Ike said.
"It's possible, but...You'd leave everything?" Soren twisted his fingers tight about the cloth. He looked down, away, anywhere to hide the grief spilling through.
"Just for a while. Until people forget about this hero nonsense," Ike said.
"I..." Soren paused, unable to continue. "I would...search out maps for you, and would keep the fort ready for your return," Soren said.
"Don't be silly, you'd be right there beside me," Ike said.
"I will stay beside you?" Soren said, his voice low, almost lost in the crackling fire.
"That's a question you shouldn't even have to ask," Ike said, always rougher than intentioned. He slowly lifted up the blanket and rested it around his back. Side to side, knuckles brushing, he sat in silence. Soren leaned into him, a response in its own right. Ike reached out to touch him, to feel that hint of something new between them. Another country he had always known, yet never truly discovered, until now.
Series: Fire Emblem: Radiant Dawn
Character/pairing: IkeSoren, ensemble, bit of Mist/Boyd
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 2426
Summary: Change happens slowly.
Author's note: A sequel to The House Where We Grew Up. Some inspiration comes from this. Cottoncandybingo: lead/follow. Betaed by Amiiti.
Happy birthday, Chizlemons.
Ike left his title as a lord and returned to the ruins of his childhood. No one stayed in the capitol, not even Shinon, though he muttered the whole way back.
The space of his world had seemed so much larger three years ago. Just like the shirts Mist had to let in, mend the holes and scrubbed at the bloodstains. No longer was his world something he would grow into. The collapsing walls and old dreams.
He'd wanted to be a hero, and he'd gotten his wish. He just hadn't listened every time Soren talked of the dark sides of fairy tales, of women who danced themselves to death, and of birthright curses. Those had just been stories.
But as Soren always said, myths and stories were just history that people added to, until they, men, became gods.
*
New shops had sprung up and others had closed in those three years. Every memory he had of the surrounding towns had bent in some way. The fountain in the square was cracked from when war had touched their country, the forests had become overrun with thick-thorned bushes, when so many of the men left their woodcutting jobs for mercenary work. Peace and rebuilding came slowly.
Ike counted out the coins in his pocket. Too little for both weapons and food supplies. They'd have to choose. He pulled his cloak tighter over his shoulders to push back the autumn chill, despite the deceptively sunny day.
Shinon and Rolf could always go hunting again. They could live on short rations.
A voice came up behind him. He turned to see a young shop girl, though not Aimee, leaning down from her station. She openly gaped, raising her gloved hand to point his way. Three gold bangles clattered at her wrist, a small bit of decoration on an otherwise plain brown dress. He could only see part of her through the low-slung once-red cloth to keep out the elements. Time had faded that as well.
"Could it be the Hero of Blue Flames is here among us?"
"They said he settled here and left his title at the queen's feet."
"What kind of man gives up a title? You must be mistaken."
"No, I heard it from my cousin who works as a maid in the capitol! I tell you, that's the Hero of Blue Flames!"
The people in the cobblestone square turned, looking past him, to someone who did not exist. A hero of their own imagination.
"You're mistaken, I'm just a mercenary," Ike said. He turned his back upon the crowd. He'd had enough of hero worship for a lifetime.
"But I'm telling you, that had to be him," said another voice among the crowd. Ike kept walking, and soon, Soren fell in step beside him. They'd parted at the outset, meant for different shops. Soren always finished his purchases first. He calculated prices quickly, and could haggle them with a ruthlessness Ike had rarely seen outside the battlefield. His braided ponytail had grown loose and windswept from the autumn breeze. Dust had turned his black robes a murky shade of a stormy night. He slung a light bag over his shoulder. Something inside smelled faintly spicy.
"We'll have to smuggle you out in hooded cloaks at this rate," Soren said dryly. "Though, this fame could have its own rewards. We could make a business of it. Sell your signature, give speeches. Aimee alone would pay for an entire winter's rations."
"It's a good thing you're on our side," Ike said.
Soren smiled wryly and pulled out several gold coins.
"Go on, I've no need for new books. I haven't seen battle against anything but dust motes in months," Soren said.
Ike clutched the gold in his palm.
"You've been docking your pay again," Ike said.
"It's what I want," Soren said.
He pocketed the coins. A gift from Soren was a truly rare occurrence, at least to anyone but himself.
*
Mist's dress was a criss-cross of mending, faded like dull sunlight. Her ball gowns had been sold at the capitol, for just enough to cover the trip back. She stood on tip-toe, reaching as much of the wall as she could. Beside her, Boyd worked, reaching just above her. He looked to her, and then smirked, as he flicked soapy, herb-filled water across. She flinched as the suds hit her, making whitish wet dots over her dress and face.
"Boyd, you're so immature!" she said. She stuck her tongue out, and lifted up the bucket above her head. Before he could even respond, she dumped the water over his head. Water rushed over him, pooling at their boots. His clothes were tight and sticky now. He lumbered forward, like a monster, with his hands stretched out.
"I'm going to hit you with my staff," Mist said.
Boyd pushed the bucket up, until it looked more like a helmet than a testament to Mist's wrath. "Looks like you're pretty immature, too," Boyd said, with a grin.
"I'm just fighting back at your stupid game," Mist said.
"I'd rather you two not kill each other," Ike said.
Mist pushed her wet strands of brown hair out of her face. "No promises there, brother," she said.
"I'm so dead," Boyd said, and broke out laughing as he ducked another drip droplets flung his way by Mist.
Ike moved on, stepping over puddles. Inside, Mia wielded her broom like a weapon, precariously balanced on Gatrie's shoulders. Shinon watched them from a corner wall he'd leaned upon. Though he'd sat out every cleaning session, he had a scent of acrid chemicals and trees upon him. There were two bows slung over his shoulder, not merely one. At the same time, gifts of food started appearing at the doors, left without a tag.
He'd die before he ever admitted such a thing.
"Be careful, or little commander Ikey might put you in a corner," Shinon said.
From behind him, Soren peered in from the front door.
"Mia, now is a good time to practice your battle cry," Soren said.
"All right!" Mia said. She leapt from Gatrie's shoulders, and landed in a feat of grace. She spread her arms as she let out a throaty battle cry. Shinon, hunched down, reaching to cover his ears from the noise. He was in a perpetual state of being hungover between each of his tavern trips.
Ike walked on, towards the outside again. Mist and Boyd had moved on, while Soren reached towards something near the wall. Leaves were caught in his hair, with white blossoms which could cause a headache so severe as to leave even the greatest warriors bedridden. The bush gave off no berries, and couldn't be given as gifts, unless to try and poison the person into slow agony.
Soren reached up again to displace something from a cracked window. The motes of dust and debris were just out of reach between the large tangle of flowering bushes that had grown up between that time.
Ike reached up just behind him, fingers grazing the back of his hand as he pulled out a rusted key.
"Was this what you wanted? I doubt it will even turn anymore," Ike said.
"The door this belonged to was torn down," Soren said. He pulled at the twigs that had caught on his sleeve. "I'm going to burn that bush, and salt the earth."
Soren combed the leaves out of his hair. Words were muttered that Ike couldn't hear. He pulled at a knot in his thick hair.
"Let me," Ike said.
He leaned in and pulled out the last of the petals. They left an almost filmy, oily sensation across his fingertips. Despite the flowers, he could smell the undertones of the oil Soren used to keep his skin from drying out, of paper and soap and spice. Soren's hair was soft, caught between his fingers as he worked the tangles. There was a warmth there in his skin, in his chest. One that hadn't been there before.
Comfort once, but not anticipation, or the bridge between knowing someone, and closing a distance he hadn't even realized was there. Something was different. Years had spread to the breadth between fingers. Soren looked back at him. Ike couldn't say what he had stumbled into.
"Thank you," Soren said soft, his voice tiny and almost apologetic.
Laughter made him break his gaze away, as Mia wiped the cobwebs from Gatrie's hair. When he looked back, Soren had already moved on.
He caught sight of Soren under a faraway tree, a piece of dried meat held tight between his fingers. Whenever he'd gotten nervous, he'd reach for his dried meat, and sometimes just hold it. A reminder. Since Soren had come, he'd saved him part of his food every meal, and each time, Soren gave him such a look, a mix of hope and loneliness, all in one.
It wasn't until now that Ike wanted to know the depths of this question.
*
Soren had disappeared by twilight. Ike searched the rooms, through the bare library, to each of their rooms, and the study. He found Soren in the corner room, one that his father had once favored as a retreat. Now it was mostly empty, save for water-damaged books, rusted weapons, and a fireplace. A large wool blanket hung about Soren's shoulders to stave off the drafts. Mold and rot had formed between the stones; even several washings hadn't completely rid the structure of decay. Ike had begun to think that like a ghost of those he'd lost, this would stay.
Soren pulled his knees to his chest, his book left untouched beside him. It was a telling sign; Soren only took this pose when something was bothering him. Though with Soren, storm clouds rolled in easily.
The firelight was too low to read, which could only mean Soren was overthinking things again.
"What is it this time?" Ike asked.
Soren looked above his blanket. He was always unaffected by Ike's clumsy, and blunt choices of words.
" In peace, people have little use for guardians. Wars have been started by merchants just to make profit off of weapons," Soren said. He curled the blanket around himself a little more. His face was obscured by the rolling shadows in the dim light.
"You don't have to worry. We'll make it through. We fought Daein and won; a few lean years is nothing compared to that," Ike said.
"Just because we bested impossible odds once doesn't mean we won't starve in ignominy later on," Soren said.
Soren's hand curled up towards a pouch at his side. Ike knew from experience that it contained dried food. Ever since the day he'd shown up on their doorstep, drawn and lean, like a feral animal, Soren had worried about food. He always kept stores close by, and every winter he would stay up, working his fingers to blisters.
"I hardly think some fewer weapons is a disaster. The ground should be fine here, we could grow crops to cover what we cannot buy or trade for," Ike said.
"Not this late in the year," Soren said. He released the pouch, with seeming reluctance. "I could take up some jobs. The local brewery has called out for someone to manage their ledgers after firing the last."
"Don't overexert yourself, and don't go too far this time," Ike said.
He sat beside Soren on the floor, eschewing comfort for closeness. For so many years, telling Soren everything that came to mind was like breathing. In the months Soren had studied at another mercenary group, he'd found himself staring at blank pages in an attempt to find that place again. Tied tight, a sense of home that never came without Soren there.
"It wouldn't be far. Not even an hour's journey. I wouldn't even have to room," Soren said.
"When do you start?" Ike said.
"I haven't talked to the brewers yet," Soren said.
"But once you do, you'll get the job for certain. Only a fool wouldn't hire you," Ike said. “When you do, I'll walk you there and back. There's still some brigands about."
"But who will protect you from the shop girls?" Soren said. Whenever he told a joke, his voice would always go so comically flat, and his expression matching his tone. But Ike could always see the curl at the edge of his lips, the hint of a smile.
"I think I can survive for a few hours until you return," Ike said.
Soren picked up his book, a history of the lands of Tellius. On the inner cover of the tome was an etched black map. At the outset of the lands was the words unknown.
A thought he'd had in many a palace gala came again. This time, he spoke the words which had been on his mind for months.
"I've been thinking of a land that doesn't know my name," Ike said.
Soren closed the cover of the book, and pulled it under his blanket. "The goddess sank the world. There would be nothing but endless stormy seas. None have survived trips into the far oceans," Soren said.
"The laguz talked of it. I think there's worlds beyond our reach," Ike said.
"It's possible, but...You'd leave everything?" Soren twisted his fingers tight about the cloth. He looked down, away, anywhere to hide the grief spilling through.
"Just for a while. Until people forget about this hero nonsense," Ike said.
"I..." Soren paused, unable to continue. "I would...search out maps for you, and would keep the fort ready for your return," Soren said.
"Don't be silly, you'd be right there beside me," Ike said.
"I will stay beside you?" Soren said, his voice low, almost lost in the crackling fire.
"That's a question you shouldn't even have to ask," Ike said, always rougher than intentioned. He slowly lifted up the blanket and rested it around his back. Side to side, knuckles brushing, he sat in silence. Soren leaned into him, a response in its own right. Ike reached out to touch him, to feel that hint of something new between them. Another country he had always known, yet never truly discovered, until now.
