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Literature Text
Once again, shadows seemed to shear away to reveal another Soren. Yet, this was not Soren as a small boy, but as he had been much more recently. He faced Ike, who stood in stoic, respectful silence as the small mage revealed his darkest secret and then burst into rare tears of despair. His tirade was brought to an abrupt halt, however, when Ike clapped a reassuring hand on Soren's shoulder and vowed that the small mage, who'd lived his life as an outcast, would not be turned away again.
Through eyes still glassy, one Soren regarded Ike with amazement while, away from the spectacle, another regarded his mirror image unblinkingly. Though no tears yet escaped the latter pair of crimson orbs, Greil noted that, once again, arduously hidden emotion shone in Soren's gaze.
Once again, the outcast saw a glimpse of what had so long eluded him in his long and painful life of exile.
A sense that, at long last, he'd found a place he could call home.
And, this was accentuated when the image rippled again, and Elincia joined the duo on the unseen stage. Like her fiancé, the queen's expression showed no hint of reproach as she gazed upon Soren. In fact, when Ike voiced the idea of Soren being part of the groom's procession at the wedding, his royal bride-to-be seemed delighted at the idea. As the spectacle played out of Soren being ennobled - with a staff, of all things - the Soren who sat at Greil's side looked on, the barest hint of amusement playing upon his features.
"Are you as alone as you think?" Greil asked, though it sounded less a question than a statement.
The small mage at his side, however, offered no reply. Instead, his crimson gaze found that of his counterpart upon the abyssal stage. The small mage's mirror image gazed upon the staff, with which a noble title had been conferred upon him, studying his reflection in the staff's orb.
The oddity caused the features of Soren's mirror image to curve into the ghost of an amused grin. When the image of Ike and Elincia's discussion of the former's garb for the wedding commenced, and then degenerated into a pillow fight, both small mages rolled their eyes in equal parts amusement and exasperation.
Yet, as the image rippled away, Soren's expression of rare humor faded and once more became one of resignation.
"Ike really is one of a kind," he remarked, his tone, for once, showing none of his customary tartness. "Not so long ago, I had not believed that people like him even existed. Someone who always put others before himself, who had the courage of his convictions, and who would..."
Soren trailed off, his crimson irises misting once more.
"Who would accept you, without reservation," Greil finished, more than a hint of approval in his tone.
Soren nodded, though he somehow suspected that the confirmation was hardly needed. In life, Greil had always seemed a man who knew far more than he revealed. And, he seemed no less so after having shrugged off the mortal coil. Yet, strangely, though the imposing former commander of the Greil Mercenaries had been known to exude a forbidding air that chilled foes and dissuaded signs of weakness among his subordinates, Soren somehow felt at liberty to allow rare tears to escape his crimson orbs.
And, though the mage hardly noticed, his former commander's expression held no hint of rebuke.
Just the opposite, in fact. For the tall warrior's gaze had found the patch of gloom where his son had stood moments ago, and a hint of moisture gathered in his eyes as well.
Seeming to regain his composure a moment later, Greil's hand found Soren's shoulder once more. And yet, despite seemingly being able to snap the sobbing mage in two, the only impression left upon Soren by the powerful fist was a strange, reassuring warmth. The mage tilted his gaze to meet that of Greil and, for the first time since making his acquaintance, the former commander saw the mage smile.
It was a strange sight, not only because of how uncommon such an expression was on Soren's features, but also for just how much that simple curve of the lips conveyed.
Happiness and regret, arced to intertwine with contentment and longing, which wound onward to coil about gratitude and resignation.
"I just wish I'd told him how much it, all of it, meant to me," Soren admitted, gesturing at the empty expanse where, moments before, the few happy moments of his life had been reenacted.
"I know what you mean," Greil admitted, a long sigh parting his lips. "One of my greatest regrets is that I never told Ike how proud I was of him. And, how proud I am of him."
Soren had to admit, he was struck by the admission. Granted, he had no reason to doubt that Greil would have been swelling with pride at Ike's accomplishments, but he had never expected to hear such confirmation...
...not even under such...unusual circumstances.
But, more than that, Greil had always been a guarded man, keeping that which whirled through his heart and mind a mystery even to those closest to him. Soren recalled all too clearly how he'd gotten this impression when he'd first clapped eyes on the former commander so long ago. With little more than a glance, and despite his youth, the young mage had determined that Greil was a man who would take his secrets to his grave...
...which, in fact, he had.
Yet, it would seem that death had loosened Greil's tongue and eased the wariness and severity he'd long possessed in life.
But still, a hint of regret nonetheless tinged his features.
Soren could not be certain how or why he was affected by this minute hint of sadness. And, not so long ago, it would have affected him very little.
Granted, he'd always been conscious of the importance of the company's morale, and ever on the alert for any hint of discontentment or insubordination in the ranks. But, his typical response to discovering such ill spirits was to tartly bring the matter to Ike's attention, and to punctuate the message with a friendly barb about the future king's attentiveness to his responsibilities.
Of course, if Soren had properly discharged his final duty, then Ike was well aware that he had far more pressing concerns to attend to.
Despite this, Soren felt an odd stirring in his core, riveting his attention upon that barely visible hint of melancholy and prodding him to do something to wipe it away.
"Ike and King Caineghis are good friends nowadays," Soren remarked, almost offhandedly. "Ike is well liked amongst the laguz, particularly the Gallians and Phoenicians."
The corners of Greil's lips curved upwards slightly.
"That is good," the former commander replied, a hint of nostalgia seeping into his tone. "Caineghis is one of the best men I've ever met, and I've met quite a few."
A chuckle passed the former commander's lips as his thoughts drifted to years gone by.
"I doubt you had time to hear many anecdotes, but Canieghis was like an uncle to Ike and Mist while we lived in Gallia. One day, back when Ike was still a babe in arms, Caineghis was rocking him and, beginning a lifelong trend, Ike grabbed a fistful of red mane and tore it free."
Inevitably, Soren recalled Ike's spectacular near-misses in Begnion, and he remarked "Incredibly, he's since done worse."
Obvious interest flickered in Greil's eyes, and Soren began to relate anecdotes of Ike's exploits during the war and, by the time Soren was done, both of the old comrades found themselves marveling at Ike's sheer jaw-dropping luck.
Ike was, they agreed, very much one of a kind...
...he had to be in order to have done all the absurd things he'd done and unfailingly live to tell about it.
"You say Ike is going to marry Princess...I mean, Queen Elincia?" Greil asked with obvious interest.
"Yes...," Soren replied, though his words trailed off as he suddenly recalled his final act during his time amongst the living.
His warning had been given, but had it made a difference?
He shook off the thought, recalling the earlier sounds of Ike tearing down the corridor to rescue his bride-to-be and to make certain that the assassin would rue the day he drew his first breath.
Soren had no doubt that the future king would be victorious, for what other outcome could there be?
Ike was one of, if not the, finest swordsmen on the continent. His strength was unmatched, his courage was second-to-none. And, there was also his numberless victories in battle...
...all of which had been orchestrated through Soren's tactical acumen.
With Ike's arsenal now lacking that particular weapon, how would he fare?
Again, Soren forced away the grim line of silent inquiry. Ike was facing a single adversary, not a small army. The future king had made a point of personally dueling the many enemy commanders who'd sought his death, not the least of which being the infamous Black Knight of Daein and Mad King Ashnard himself. And, not one of the lot had ever bested Ike.
Besides which, despite his claims to the contrary, Ike was intelligent and a fast learner.
Whatever services Soren had given him, Ike would surely be able to learn how to provide for himself...
...he would...
...he had to...
...because, what was the alternative?
Some of Soren's inner conflict must've shown through, for he realized that Greil was eying him inquisitively.
"Sorry about that," Soren replied, improvising his way around the truth. "I was just remembering how flabbergasted I was when I'd heard the news that he'd proposed."
"Oh?" Greil inquired, though his attentive gaze made Soren feel oddly exposed.
Soren then relayed how Ike had, with his customary impulsiveness, asked for Elincia's hand in the middle of attempting to console her after the first assassination attempt on the young queen...
...and, he suddenly stiffened as his thoughts inevitably strayed towards the would-be assassin.
That leering, monstrous face, that terrible voice, and the sensation of that envenomed dagger being rammed through his flesh...
Again, Soren inwardly reiterated his affirmation that Ike would swiftly and utterly crush that half-crazed branded...
...except, that cold echo of the assassin's laughter refused to fade away.
"How'd you take the news?" Greil asked, his words punctuated by a deep chuckle.
"Just when I thought Ike couldn't surprise me anymore, he tells me he's going to be the next king," Soren replied, somehow grateful for the interruption. "I, of course, mentioned that this made even less sense than some of his other exploits. And, of course, he didn't listen."
"He has my mule-headed stubbornness. By the sound of things, he needed it. The way he seems to judge what the right thing is, and to just do it before thinking it through? He got from his mother."
Again, a hint of melancholy tinged Greil's features. Yet, a smile nonetheless curved his lips at the thought of his late wife.
"In a manner of speaking, I did too."
This time, it was Greil who seemed to follow some recollection that wended its way beyond the black horizon which encompassed the seated mercenaries. Almost habitually, Soren found himself probing the commander's expression, a sudden curiosity flaring within his mind at what might escape while Greil's customary secretiveness had fallen away.
In truth, Soren saw little more than what he had expected. Grief mingled with gratitude, mourning intertwined with closure, and regret coiled with...
...expectation?
Of what?
Before Soren could make sense of this oddity, Greil spoke once more.
"I think Elincia is a good match for him," he opined, his eyes oddly misted. "She's a very sweet girl."
Considering that Greil had known Elincia for only a few days prior to his death, and barely spoke more than two score of words to the then-princess of Crimea, Soren found himself perplexed by this pronouncement. Greil seemed to notice Soren's confusion and elaborated.
"I never knew her parents or her uncle," he began, a smirk crossing his lips. "Sorry to disappoint, but one can only meet so many monarchs. Still, I knew of King Ramon and Duke Renning's work to bring about a peace between the beorc and the laguz. I'll admit, I was skeptical about their chances. But, as the stories trickled in, I found myself respecting their determination. When I first spoke with Elincia, I could sense there was more to her than met the eye. After all, if she was just a pretty face, would she have caught Ike's attention?"
"'Caught Ike's attention?'" Soren repeated, punctuating the sentence with a gagging sound. "That's putting it mildly! The way those two have been gallivanting about together, practically joined at the hip, all through the engagement? Ugh!"
"Too sweet for your palette?"
"I felt like I was getting cavities just watching them."
Greil pressed for details and, idly wondering if dying had done something undesirable to his mental faculties, Soren obliged. He described, in less-than-flattering tones, how Ike had made a point to never let a distance greater than half a dozen paces separate him from his bride-to-be and how nearly everything they did somehow degenerated into affectionate shenanigans. In particular, the ever frugal Soren described his horror when he'd learned that an attempt to improve Ike's grasp of the written word had instead seen the couple throwing several wells of ink in each other's faces.
If Soren had expected Greil to share his incredulity over such childishness, he was sorely disappointed.
"Let me guess," he remarked, somewhat petulantly. "You and Elena were no different at that age?"
"Well," Greil remarked, squeezing the words in between deep belly laughs, "in our defense, we didn't fight with pillows...often."
"Whoever said "chivalry is dead" must've gotten it mixed up with dignity."
"I'd threaten to dock your salary but, in light of our present situation, what's the point?"
Again, the deep belly laugh erupted from Greil's weathered features and, before Soren could even make sense of the ludicrous notion, he found himself joining in.
And, just as the laughter shattered the once pervasive silence, it also seemed to send cracks webbing through Soren's thoughts. Somehow, as though the laughter had caused some foul abbess within him to run dry, he found himself reflecting on his years with the Greil Mercenaries...
...except, the memories were not the same.
Oh, the nature and the chronology of the events hadn't changed, but it was as though he were seeing them with a different pair of eyes or tasting them with a different tongue.
Such errant images as the chaotic bustle of the fort's mess hall, of Rhys fussing over the most trivial of wounds, of Boyd and Mist's endless verbal sparring, of Gatrie's mutton-headed womanizing and Rolf's grating habit of spontaneously giving hugs and bursting into tears fluttered across his mind's eye.
Yet, somehow, not one was as irritating as he'd recalled.
No less perplexing, he almost found himself thinking he'd miss the eclectic circus of mismatched adventure seekers who'd taken him in.
He shook his head though, almost falling back into his earlier state of resigned acceptance of his passing...
...almost.
"Besides, if you think it's bad now, just wait until they start having kids," Greil spoke up, shaking Soren back to attention.
This pronouncement made Soren shudder as he envisioned what a babe in arms would add to the already gaggingly sweet picture of prenuptial infatuation he'd seen in Ike and Elincia. Yet, when he reminded himself that he would not be there to endure such a stomach turning display, he felt an odd pang of sympathy for the child.
He, or she, was unlikely to learn much wisdom without such a level-headed influence as Soren around.
But, of course, there was nothing to be done about it...
...so, why did Soren, who never agonized over what was beyond his control, find that notion distasteful?
"I can picture Ike and Elincia being good parents," Greil remarked, once more shaking a silently grateful Soren from his reverie. "He can teach a child how to stand up for him or herself, how to fight, how to be respectful to others and how look past appearances. She can teach him, or her, to be patient and courteous, how to behave in the castle and how to be a good diplomat. Not bad..."
He trailed off, suddenly fixing Soren with a friendly but penetrating glance.
"...though, not perfect either."
His brow furrowing, Soren tilted his gaze to meet Greil's. As he sometimes had in life, the former commander's eyes held a knowing gleam that birthed in Soren's normally rational mind the senseless feeling that Greil could read minds.
"After all," Greil continued, "who could teach the little prince, or princess, how to be aware of the subtleties of life? Or, for that matter, how to read hidden signs and to discern other's motives?"
Who indeed? Soren could not help but wonder.
Not either of the child's parents, that was certain. Ike was a simple man with a simple code of conduct and honor...which too often caused him to be tone deaf to the darker undercurrents that so pervaded the political arena. And, Elincia was much too attached to the notion of decency and altruism being a prevalent trait amongst thinking beings.
Soren knew better, for he'd learned that lesson the hard way.
"And, most importantly," Greil continued, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, "who will teach the lesson to never, ever use magic tomes as coloring books."
Hearing this, the already pale mage blanched like a sick heron.
"By the Goddess, don't remind me!" Soren swore, using an idiom known to send Rhys into convulsions.
"Oh? And, why not? I distinctly remember you making an excellent tutor for Ike and Mist when you first joined our little company."
Soren remembered it as well...though, not nearly as fondly as Greil. Like all small children, Ike and Mist had made difficult pupils. Ike's grasp of letters and numbers had taken much painstaking effort to expand to a proficiency that was even vaguely satisfactory, and Mist bored much too easily of the indoors to pay attention to her would-be tutor.
"I still wonder if that assignment was some sort of punishment for something I did wrong," Soren grumbled.
"Don't tell me your still mad about those pictures Mist drew in your wind tome," Greil remarked, snickering at the memory.
Again, the mage's recollection of that event was distinctly unpleasant. After managing to convince Titania to take over his tutoring duties for a day, he'd been quite eager to practice his spells. Yet, when he opened the strangely moist tome, rather than the arcane runes denoting the incantations and gestures necessary to cast the spells, he was greeted by a collection of smeared caricatures of the Greil Mercenaries. Mist, who had done the deed out of thorough ignorance of the severity of her actions, seemed quite distressed that Soren hadn't liked the picture she'd painted of him...
...which, since it had been a stick figure with an open book for a head, was far less enigmatic to Ike, who had laughed himself near to fainting.
"Your children were most troublesome," Soren muttered, obliquely answering Greil's question.
"Oh, I don't know," Greil said with strange air intruding upon his humorous tone. "You didn't turn out so bad."
That shocked Soren's incredulity right out of him, leaving behind only a sense of profound astonishment and...
...and, what?
Gratification, at this backhanded show of approval?
Honor, at the obvious respect and acceptance in the statement?
Maybe something more; as though he, numbered among the Parentless, had discovered someone who would gladly call him "son"?
Soren could not say. And yet, somehow, this strange, cryptic show of uncommon respect caused the grim jadedness that had been so customary on Soren's features to diminish still further. More remarkable still, a hint of a rare smile crossed his pale countenance.
"I...," he stammered, sniffling slightly, "I really don't know what to say."
"I do," Greil said succinctly. "Thank you. My son could not have had a better advisor, nor a better friend, than you."
"You give me too much credit. Ike has always been a fine warrior and leader. And, I'm sure he'll be an exceptional king."
No sooner had the sentence passed his lips, then Soren's train of thought once more took a dark turn. Again, he heard the voice of his slayer, taunting his efforts to safeguard his best friend's bride-to-be, and the mage once more found himself shuddering.
Again, he forced away the memory, reaffirming his confidence that Ike would prevail...
...wouldn't he?
"Of course," he continued, his words degenerating into somewhat forced laughter partway through the sentence, "it would be quite a spectacle telling him that."
That image coaxed a laugh from both men as they pictured Ike; the indelibly modest mercenary who had been practically catapulted into the lime-light and was now perhaps the most celebrated hero of his generation. The two old comrades began bandying back and forth over Ike's customary reactions to such accolades, which mostly consisted of blushing and blubbering denials and trying to redirect the praise to someone - anyone - beside himself. These musings soon had the two mercenaries guffawing raucously.
"And, to think," Greil remarked, wiping at tears that looked to be caused by more than simple mirth, "we knew him back when he was still cleaning swords and always showing up late for duty."
"They way he ate at least as much as Gatrie and Boyd put together, but couldn't so much as touch a dish afterwards without breaking it," Soren chuckled, remembering Mist's rather impressive screeching following such incidents.
"That time he was instructed to take care of the horses, and he put all their shoes on backwards."
"Titania mounted just after he was done, but the horse's stride was all askew and sent her face first into the dirt before she even got out of the fort. When she found out Ike was the culprit, she kicked him in the arse so hard that he was still walking funny the next morning."
"And, I'm not even going to mention what he did to my battleaxe when I told him to sharpen it."
"What did he do?"
"I just said I wasn't going to mention it."
Despite the mild idiosyncrasy, more peals of laughter echoes cacophonously over the endless gloom, roiling outward and vanishing into infinity, until the two men were spent. The mage made a few attempts to loosen Greil's tongue on that last hither-to unknown anecdote of Ike's less-than-auspicious beginnings, but it seemed that this particular secret was one that the former commander was determined to keep.
The mage was hardly put off, however.
After all, he had all the time in the afterlife to interrogate his former commander for this assuredly juicy tidbit.
Yet, despite the hilarity, Soren discovered an odd prickling at the back of his mind. Like the whispering of a long forgotten memory, suddenly returned from the mists of years long passed. Now, however, it rose to the forefront of his thoughts with jolting suddenness.
During all the years in which Soren had known Greil, there had been a question lingering in the back of the mage's mind. Amidst the always hectic life of a mercenary company's principle tactician, it had been buried under countless daily concerns which the mage had tended to day in and day out until...
...well, until now.
And yet, now it refused to be ignored any longer.
"There's one thing I'd wanted to ask you for a long time," Soren spoke up, once more feeling that penetrating gaze alight upon him. "Why did you take me in?"
One of Greil's graying eyebrows arched at this inquiry and, idly wondering if it Ike's tendency to stick his foot in his mouth was contagious, Soren tried to rectify this seeming affront.
"I...I mean... I'm sorry, that came out wrong. What I mean is...up until the war, I never felt I had been of much use to the company. And...well, by now, you must know what I am."
"I suspected, yes," Greil said without reproach. "To answer your question, I took you in because I saw something of myself in you."
Again, wondering if dying had undone his wits, Soren found himself making a jesting retort.
"Excluding that nonsensically large battle axe of yours, I hope?"
"Very funny. But, seriously. I saw a young boy with a great deal of potential...and, one who was as I had been when I first fled Daein."
Greil's gaze drifted away from Soren, alighting upon something beyond the small mage's sight.
"Someone who couldn't go back, and who had no idea how to go forward," Greil finished, a sigh escaping his massive chest.
Suddenly regretting his jibe, Soren clapped one hand upon Greil's shoulder, trying to repay the most recent gesture offered by his benefactor. Greil didn't turn back in his direction, but one massive fist rose to engulf Soren's comparatively tiny hand. And, where once he would've counted the action as bereft of significance, Soren could not help but feel he'd accomplished something in this small offering to the man he had to thank for his life.
"I also saw someone who could accomplish quite a lot, if given a second chance...," Greil finished, suddenly trailing off as he turned to meet Soren's gaze, "...and, I still do."
Soren suddenly felt as though he'd inexplicably tried to casting a bolting spell, but that the energy had failed to escape his tiny frame. Chaining up his bones and then through his veins, it sent his heart thudding furiously in his chest as his blithe acceptance of his death suddenly shriveled and fell away.
Suddenly revived, the odd dread which refused to let him find eternity's rest in this dark abyss hurtled itself to the forefront and caught fire from the unseen lighting channeling through Soren's furiously pumping veins...
...and, it suddenly dawned on Soren that pounding heart and those straining veins were his own...
...yet, how could this be, if he had already passed beyond the mortal realm?
Unless...
"What do you mean?" he asked, in a voice that was choked to an anxious whisper as he met Greil's eyes.
He beheld that familiar visage which conveyed that Greil knew far more than he chose to reveal.
Death had done nothing to diminish the shrewdness in that gaze.
"To put it bluntly, Soren, you're not dead."
Through eyes still glassy, one Soren regarded Ike with amazement while, away from the spectacle, another regarded his mirror image unblinkingly. Though no tears yet escaped the latter pair of crimson orbs, Greil noted that, once again, arduously hidden emotion shone in Soren's gaze.
Once again, the outcast saw a glimpse of what had so long eluded him in his long and painful life of exile.
A sense that, at long last, he'd found a place he could call home.
And, this was accentuated when the image rippled again, and Elincia joined the duo on the unseen stage. Like her fiancé, the queen's expression showed no hint of reproach as she gazed upon Soren. In fact, when Ike voiced the idea of Soren being part of the groom's procession at the wedding, his royal bride-to-be seemed delighted at the idea. As the spectacle played out of Soren being ennobled - with a staff, of all things - the Soren who sat at Greil's side looked on, the barest hint of amusement playing upon his features.
"Are you as alone as you think?" Greil asked, though it sounded less a question than a statement.
The small mage at his side, however, offered no reply. Instead, his crimson gaze found that of his counterpart upon the abyssal stage. The small mage's mirror image gazed upon the staff, with which a noble title had been conferred upon him, studying his reflection in the staff's orb.
The oddity caused the features of Soren's mirror image to curve into the ghost of an amused grin. When the image of Ike and Elincia's discussion of the former's garb for the wedding commenced, and then degenerated into a pillow fight, both small mages rolled their eyes in equal parts amusement and exasperation.
Yet, as the image rippled away, Soren's expression of rare humor faded and once more became one of resignation.
"Ike really is one of a kind," he remarked, his tone, for once, showing none of his customary tartness. "Not so long ago, I had not believed that people like him even existed. Someone who always put others before himself, who had the courage of his convictions, and who would..."
Soren trailed off, his crimson irises misting once more.
"Who would accept you, without reservation," Greil finished, more than a hint of approval in his tone.
Soren nodded, though he somehow suspected that the confirmation was hardly needed. In life, Greil had always seemed a man who knew far more than he revealed. And, he seemed no less so after having shrugged off the mortal coil. Yet, strangely, though the imposing former commander of the Greil Mercenaries had been known to exude a forbidding air that chilled foes and dissuaded signs of weakness among his subordinates, Soren somehow felt at liberty to allow rare tears to escape his crimson orbs.
And, though the mage hardly noticed, his former commander's expression held no hint of rebuke.
Just the opposite, in fact. For the tall warrior's gaze had found the patch of gloom where his son had stood moments ago, and a hint of moisture gathered in his eyes as well.
Seeming to regain his composure a moment later, Greil's hand found Soren's shoulder once more. And yet, despite seemingly being able to snap the sobbing mage in two, the only impression left upon Soren by the powerful fist was a strange, reassuring warmth. The mage tilted his gaze to meet that of Greil and, for the first time since making his acquaintance, the former commander saw the mage smile.
It was a strange sight, not only because of how uncommon such an expression was on Soren's features, but also for just how much that simple curve of the lips conveyed.
Happiness and regret, arced to intertwine with contentment and longing, which wound onward to coil about gratitude and resignation.
"I just wish I'd told him how much it, all of it, meant to me," Soren admitted, gesturing at the empty expanse where, moments before, the few happy moments of his life had been reenacted.
"I know what you mean," Greil admitted, a long sigh parting his lips. "One of my greatest regrets is that I never told Ike how proud I was of him. And, how proud I am of him."
Soren had to admit, he was struck by the admission. Granted, he had no reason to doubt that Greil would have been swelling with pride at Ike's accomplishments, but he had never expected to hear such confirmation...
...not even under such...unusual circumstances.
But, more than that, Greil had always been a guarded man, keeping that which whirled through his heart and mind a mystery even to those closest to him. Soren recalled all too clearly how he'd gotten this impression when he'd first clapped eyes on the former commander so long ago. With little more than a glance, and despite his youth, the young mage had determined that Greil was a man who would take his secrets to his grave...
...which, in fact, he had.
Yet, it would seem that death had loosened Greil's tongue and eased the wariness and severity he'd long possessed in life.
But still, a hint of regret nonetheless tinged his features.
Soren could not be certain how or why he was affected by this minute hint of sadness. And, not so long ago, it would have affected him very little.
Granted, he'd always been conscious of the importance of the company's morale, and ever on the alert for any hint of discontentment or insubordination in the ranks. But, his typical response to discovering such ill spirits was to tartly bring the matter to Ike's attention, and to punctuate the message with a friendly barb about the future king's attentiveness to his responsibilities.
Of course, if Soren had properly discharged his final duty, then Ike was well aware that he had far more pressing concerns to attend to.
Despite this, Soren felt an odd stirring in his core, riveting his attention upon that barely visible hint of melancholy and prodding him to do something to wipe it away.
"Ike and King Caineghis are good friends nowadays," Soren remarked, almost offhandedly. "Ike is well liked amongst the laguz, particularly the Gallians and Phoenicians."
The corners of Greil's lips curved upwards slightly.
"That is good," the former commander replied, a hint of nostalgia seeping into his tone. "Caineghis is one of the best men I've ever met, and I've met quite a few."
A chuckle passed the former commander's lips as his thoughts drifted to years gone by.
"I doubt you had time to hear many anecdotes, but Canieghis was like an uncle to Ike and Mist while we lived in Gallia. One day, back when Ike was still a babe in arms, Caineghis was rocking him and, beginning a lifelong trend, Ike grabbed a fistful of red mane and tore it free."
Inevitably, Soren recalled Ike's spectacular near-misses in Begnion, and he remarked "Incredibly, he's since done worse."
Obvious interest flickered in Greil's eyes, and Soren began to relate anecdotes of Ike's exploits during the war and, by the time Soren was done, both of the old comrades found themselves marveling at Ike's sheer jaw-dropping luck.
Ike was, they agreed, very much one of a kind...
...he had to be in order to have done all the absurd things he'd done and unfailingly live to tell about it.
"You say Ike is going to marry Princess...I mean, Queen Elincia?" Greil asked with obvious interest.
"Yes...," Soren replied, though his words trailed off as he suddenly recalled his final act during his time amongst the living.
His warning had been given, but had it made a difference?
He shook off the thought, recalling the earlier sounds of Ike tearing down the corridor to rescue his bride-to-be and to make certain that the assassin would rue the day he drew his first breath.
Soren had no doubt that the future king would be victorious, for what other outcome could there be?
Ike was one of, if not the, finest swordsmen on the continent. His strength was unmatched, his courage was second-to-none. And, there was also his numberless victories in battle...
...all of which had been orchestrated through Soren's tactical acumen.
With Ike's arsenal now lacking that particular weapon, how would he fare?
Again, Soren forced away the grim line of silent inquiry. Ike was facing a single adversary, not a small army. The future king had made a point of personally dueling the many enemy commanders who'd sought his death, not the least of which being the infamous Black Knight of Daein and Mad King Ashnard himself. And, not one of the lot had ever bested Ike.
Besides which, despite his claims to the contrary, Ike was intelligent and a fast learner.
Whatever services Soren had given him, Ike would surely be able to learn how to provide for himself...
...he would...
...he had to...
...because, what was the alternative?
Some of Soren's inner conflict must've shown through, for he realized that Greil was eying him inquisitively.
"Sorry about that," Soren replied, improvising his way around the truth. "I was just remembering how flabbergasted I was when I'd heard the news that he'd proposed."
"Oh?" Greil inquired, though his attentive gaze made Soren feel oddly exposed.
Soren then relayed how Ike had, with his customary impulsiveness, asked for Elincia's hand in the middle of attempting to console her after the first assassination attempt on the young queen...
...and, he suddenly stiffened as his thoughts inevitably strayed towards the would-be assassin.
That leering, monstrous face, that terrible voice, and the sensation of that envenomed dagger being rammed through his flesh...
Again, Soren inwardly reiterated his affirmation that Ike would swiftly and utterly crush that half-crazed branded...
...except, that cold echo of the assassin's laughter refused to fade away.
"How'd you take the news?" Greil asked, his words punctuated by a deep chuckle.
"Just when I thought Ike couldn't surprise me anymore, he tells me he's going to be the next king," Soren replied, somehow grateful for the interruption. "I, of course, mentioned that this made even less sense than some of his other exploits. And, of course, he didn't listen."
"He has my mule-headed stubbornness. By the sound of things, he needed it. The way he seems to judge what the right thing is, and to just do it before thinking it through? He got from his mother."
Again, a hint of melancholy tinged Greil's features. Yet, a smile nonetheless curved his lips at the thought of his late wife.
"In a manner of speaking, I did too."
This time, it was Greil who seemed to follow some recollection that wended its way beyond the black horizon which encompassed the seated mercenaries. Almost habitually, Soren found himself probing the commander's expression, a sudden curiosity flaring within his mind at what might escape while Greil's customary secretiveness had fallen away.
In truth, Soren saw little more than what he had expected. Grief mingled with gratitude, mourning intertwined with closure, and regret coiled with...
...expectation?
Of what?
Before Soren could make sense of this oddity, Greil spoke once more.
"I think Elincia is a good match for him," he opined, his eyes oddly misted. "She's a very sweet girl."
Considering that Greil had known Elincia for only a few days prior to his death, and barely spoke more than two score of words to the then-princess of Crimea, Soren found himself perplexed by this pronouncement. Greil seemed to notice Soren's confusion and elaborated.
"I never knew her parents or her uncle," he began, a smirk crossing his lips. "Sorry to disappoint, but one can only meet so many monarchs. Still, I knew of King Ramon and Duke Renning's work to bring about a peace between the beorc and the laguz. I'll admit, I was skeptical about their chances. But, as the stories trickled in, I found myself respecting their determination. When I first spoke with Elincia, I could sense there was more to her than met the eye. After all, if she was just a pretty face, would she have caught Ike's attention?"
"'Caught Ike's attention?'" Soren repeated, punctuating the sentence with a gagging sound. "That's putting it mildly! The way those two have been gallivanting about together, practically joined at the hip, all through the engagement? Ugh!"
"Too sweet for your palette?"
"I felt like I was getting cavities just watching them."
Greil pressed for details and, idly wondering if dying had done something undesirable to his mental faculties, Soren obliged. He described, in less-than-flattering tones, how Ike had made a point to never let a distance greater than half a dozen paces separate him from his bride-to-be and how nearly everything they did somehow degenerated into affectionate shenanigans. In particular, the ever frugal Soren described his horror when he'd learned that an attempt to improve Ike's grasp of the written word had instead seen the couple throwing several wells of ink in each other's faces.
If Soren had expected Greil to share his incredulity over such childishness, he was sorely disappointed.
"Let me guess," he remarked, somewhat petulantly. "You and Elena were no different at that age?"
"Well," Greil remarked, squeezing the words in between deep belly laughs, "in our defense, we didn't fight with pillows...often."
"Whoever said "chivalry is dead" must've gotten it mixed up with dignity."
"I'd threaten to dock your salary but, in light of our present situation, what's the point?"
Again, the deep belly laugh erupted from Greil's weathered features and, before Soren could even make sense of the ludicrous notion, he found himself joining in.
And, just as the laughter shattered the once pervasive silence, it also seemed to send cracks webbing through Soren's thoughts. Somehow, as though the laughter had caused some foul abbess within him to run dry, he found himself reflecting on his years with the Greil Mercenaries...
...except, the memories were not the same.
Oh, the nature and the chronology of the events hadn't changed, but it was as though he were seeing them with a different pair of eyes or tasting them with a different tongue.
Such errant images as the chaotic bustle of the fort's mess hall, of Rhys fussing over the most trivial of wounds, of Boyd and Mist's endless verbal sparring, of Gatrie's mutton-headed womanizing and Rolf's grating habit of spontaneously giving hugs and bursting into tears fluttered across his mind's eye.
Yet, somehow, not one was as irritating as he'd recalled.
No less perplexing, he almost found himself thinking he'd miss the eclectic circus of mismatched adventure seekers who'd taken him in.
He shook his head though, almost falling back into his earlier state of resigned acceptance of his passing...
...almost.
"Besides, if you think it's bad now, just wait until they start having kids," Greil spoke up, shaking Soren back to attention.
This pronouncement made Soren shudder as he envisioned what a babe in arms would add to the already gaggingly sweet picture of prenuptial infatuation he'd seen in Ike and Elincia. Yet, when he reminded himself that he would not be there to endure such a stomach turning display, he felt an odd pang of sympathy for the child.
He, or she, was unlikely to learn much wisdom without such a level-headed influence as Soren around.
But, of course, there was nothing to be done about it...
...so, why did Soren, who never agonized over what was beyond his control, find that notion distasteful?
"I can picture Ike and Elincia being good parents," Greil remarked, once more shaking a silently grateful Soren from his reverie. "He can teach a child how to stand up for him or herself, how to fight, how to be respectful to others and how look past appearances. She can teach him, or her, to be patient and courteous, how to behave in the castle and how to be a good diplomat. Not bad..."
He trailed off, suddenly fixing Soren with a friendly but penetrating glance.
"...though, not perfect either."
His brow furrowing, Soren tilted his gaze to meet Greil's. As he sometimes had in life, the former commander's eyes held a knowing gleam that birthed in Soren's normally rational mind the senseless feeling that Greil could read minds.
"After all," Greil continued, "who could teach the little prince, or princess, how to be aware of the subtleties of life? Or, for that matter, how to read hidden signs and to discern other's motives?"
Who indeed? Soren could not help but wonder.
Not either of the child's parents, that was certain. Ike was a simple man with a simple code of conduct and honor...which too often caused him to be tone deaf to the darker undercurrents that so pervaded the political arena. And, Elincia was much too attached to the notion of decency and altruism being a prevalent trait amongst thinking beings.
Soren knew better, for he'd learned that lesson the hard way.
"And, most importantly," Greil continued, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, "who will teach the lesson to never, ever use magic tomes as coloring books."
Hearing this, the already pale mage blanched like a sick heron.
"By the Goddess, don't remind me!" Soren swore, using an idiom known to send Rhys into convulsions.
"Oh? And, why not? I distinctly remember you making an excellent tutor for Ike and Mist when you first joined our little company."
Soren remembered it as well...though, not nearly as fondly as Greil. Like all small children, Ike and Mist had made difficult pupils. Ike's grasp of letters and numbers had taken much painstaking effort to expand to a proficiency that was even vaguely satisfactory, and Mist bored much too easily of the indoors to pay attention to her would-be tutor.
"I still wonder if that assignment was some sort of punishment for something I did wrong," Soren grumbled.
"Don't tell me your still mad about those pictures Mist drew in your wind tome," Greil remarked, snickering at the memory.
Again, the mage's recollection of that event was distinctly unpleasant. After managing to convince Titania to take over his tutoring duties for a day, he'd been quite eager to practice his spells. Yet, when he opened the strangely moist tome, rather than the arcane runes denoting the incantations and gestures necessary to cast the spells, he was greeted by a collection of smeared caricatures of the Greil Mercenaries. Mist, who had done the deed out of thorough ignorance of the severity of her actions, seemed quite distressed that Soren hadn't liked the picture she'd painted of him...
...which, since it had been a stick figure with an open book for a head, was far less enigmatic to Ike, who had laughed himself near to fainting.
"Your children were most troublesome," Soren muttered, obliquely answering Greil's question.
"Oh, I don't know," Greil said with strange air intruding upon his humorous tone. "You didn't turn out so bad."
That shocked Soren's incredulity right out of him, leaving behind only a sense of profound astonishment and...
...and, what?
Gratification, at this backhanded show of approval?
Honor, at the obvious respect and acceptance in the statement?
Maybe something more; as though he, numbered among the Parentless, had discovered someone who would gladly call him "son"?
Soren could not say. And yet, somehow, this strange, cryptic show of uncommon respect caused the grim jadedness that had been so customary on Soren's features to diminish still further. More remarkable still, a hint of a rare smile crossed his pale countenance.
"I...," he stammered, sniffling slightly, "I really don't know what to say."
"I do," Greil said succinctly. "Thank you. My son could not have had a better advisor, nor a better friend, than you."
"You give me too much credit. Ike has always been a fine warrior and leader. And, I'm sure he'll be an exceptional king."
No sooner had the sentence passed his lips, then Soren's train of thought once more took a dark turn. Again, he heard the voice of his slayer, taunting his efforts to safeguard his best friend's bride-to-be, and the mage once more found himself shuddering.
Again, he forced away the memory, reaffirming his confidence that Ike would prevail...
...wouldn't he?
"Of course," he continued, his words degenerating into somewhat forced laughter partway through the sentence, "it would be quite a spectacle telling him that."
That image coaxed a laugh from both men as they pictured Ike; the indelibly modest mercenary who had been practically catapulted into the lime-light and was now perhaps the most celebrated hero of his generation. The two old comrades began bandying back and forth over Ike's customary reactions to such accolades, which mostly consisted of blushing and blubbering denials and trying to redirect the praise to someone - anyone - beside himself. These musings soon had the two mercenaries guffawing raucously.
"And, to think," Greil remarked, wiping at tears that looked to be caused by more than simple mirth, "we knew him back when he was still cleaning swords and always showing up late for duty."
"They way he ate at least as much as Gatrie and Boyd put together, but couldn't so much as touch a dish afterwards without breaking it," Soren chuckled, remembering Mist's rather impressive screeching following such incidents.
"That time he was instructed to take care of the horses, and he put all their shoes on backwards."
"Titania mounted just after he was done, but the horse's stride was all askew and sent her face first into the dirt before she even got out of the fort. When she found out Ike was the culprit, she kicked him in the arse so hard that he was still walking funny the next morning."
"And, I'm not even going to mention what he did to my battleaxe when I told him to sharpen it."
"What did he do?"
"I just said I wasn't going to mention it."
Despite the mild idiosyncrasy, more peals of laughter echoes cacophonously over the endless gloom, roiling outward and vanishing into infinity, until the two men were spent. The mage made a few attempts to loosen Greil's tongue on that last hither-to unknown anecdote of Ike's less-than-auspicious beginnings, but it seemed that this particular secret was one that the former commander was determined to keep.
The mage was hardly put off, however.
After all, he had all the time in the afterlife to interrogate his former commander for this assuredly juicy tidbit.
Yet, despite the hilarity, Soren discovered an odd prickling at the back of his mind. Like the whispering of a long forgotten memory, suddenly returned from the mists of years long passed. Now, however, it rose to the forefront of his thoughts with jolting suddenness.
During all the years in which Soren had known Greil, there had been a question lingering in the back of the mage's mind. Amidst the always hectic life of a mercenary company's principle tactician, it had been buried under countless daily concerns which the mage had tended to day in and day out until...
...well, until now.
And yet, now it refused to be ignored any longer.
"There's one thing I'd wanted to ask you for a long time," Soren spoke up, once more feeling that penetrating gaze alight upon him. "Why did you take me in?"
One of Greil's graying eyebrows arched at this inquiry and, idly wondering if it Ike's tendency to stick his foot in his mouth was contagious, Soren tried to rectify this seeming affront.
"I...I mean... I'm sorry, that came out wrong. What I mean is...up until the war, I never felt I had been of much use to the company. And...well, by now, you must know what I am."
"I suspected, yes," Greil said without reproach. "To answer your question, I took you in because I saw something of myself in you."
Again, wondering if dying had undone his wits, Soren found himself making a jesting retort.
"Excluding that nonsensically large battle axe of yours, I hope?"
"Very funny. But, seriously. I saw a young boy with a great deal of potential...and, one who was as I had been when I first fled Daein."
Greil's gaze drifted away from Soren, alighting upon something beyond the small mage's sight.
"Someone who couldn't go back, and who had no idea how to go forward," Greil finished, a sigh escaping his massive chest.
Suddenly regretting his jibe, Soren clapped one hand upon Greil's shoulder, trying to repay the most recent gesture offered by his benefactor. Greil didn't turn back in his direction, but one massive fist rose to engulf Soren's comparatively tiny hand. And, where once he would've counted the action as bereft of significance, Soren could not help but feel he'd accomplished something in this small offering to the man he had to thank for his life.
"I also saw someone who could accomplish quite a lot, if given a second chance...," Greil finished, suddenly trailing off as he turned to meet Soren's gaze, "...and, I still do."
Soren suddenly felt as though he'd inexplicably tried to casting a bolting spell, but that the energy had failed to escape his tiny frame. Chaining up his bones and then through his veins, it sent his heart thudding furiously in his chest as his blithe acceptance of his death suddenly shriveled and fell away.
Suddenly revived, the odd dread which refused to let him find eternity's rest in this dark abyss hurtled itself to the forefront and caught fire from the unseen lighting channeling through Soren's furiously pumping veins...
...and, it suddenly dawned on Soren that pounding heart and those straining veins were his own...
...yet, how could this be, if he had already passed beyond the mortal realm?
Unless...
"What do you mean?" he asked, in a voice that was choked to an anxious whisper as he met Greil's eyes.
He beheld that familiar visage which conveyed that Greil knew far more than he chose to reveal.
Death had done nothing to diminish the shrewdness in that gaze.
"To put it bluntly, Soren, you're not dead."
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Many thanks to my wonderful co-writer, *Falchion1984, for penning this! So amazing....
...I don't really have much to say other than that, other than I hope you all are happy with that last sentence.
Many thanks to my wonderful co-writer, *Falchion1984, for penning this! So amazing....
...I don't really have much to say other than that, other than I hope you all are happy with that last sentence.
© 2013 - 2024 hannahbbug3
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Yay, I liked having Commander Greil and Soren talk in this chapter! Can't wait to find out what happens next!