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Chapter Text

The royal palace of Daein in Nevassa was a study in harsh, cold lines.

The sharp spires and parapets were made of dark gray stone and it was cool in the summer and freezing for the entirety of the rest of the year. It was stark inside, the interiors sparsely decorated save the red and black banners of Daein, mounted weaponry, and the occasional somber portrait. It was not exactly a place to inspire music, art, or poetry but it was a fantastic fortress and attracted appropriately stark, brutal, and somber people.

Nineteen year-old Crown Prince Soren of Daein did not look up once from the slate flagstones of the palace as he silently walked the unfamiliar route to the royal audience chamber.

Despite being the only prince of Daein and one of the most powerful mages in Tellius, he was mostly ignored in his own home. The servants and courtiers ignored him as he did not have political clout, the soldiers and guards ignored him as someone weak, and his father ignored him unless he needed something.

If he was not ignored, there was some...danger. It was better to keep his eyes downcast and avoid notice.

So unlike most men in the palace who had the stature and musculature of hardened soldiers, Soren was a little under average height and painfully slight; some of the older women who worked in the palace often remarked that it was good he did not often go out as a stiff Daein wind would blow him out to sea. Even in summer he dressed in long sleeves and capes and furs, too thin to ever be truly warm in the drafty stone walls, and he had pulled out his best clothes for the occasion at hand. 

It was rare that he was called into the audience chamber and from his father as well.

Soren was past the point of hope that he and King Ashnard of Daein would ever have a close and loving relationship. 

He knew his father well enough to know that Ashnard could never be close or loving with anyone; people were only means to an end and that end was power. But there was a small, childish part of him that had swelled golden under the hard shell of cynicism when he had received the embossed invitation the previous night. Audiences with his father never went well but Soren could never quite crush that last little kernel of hope that this time might be different .

The invitation, which had been tucked safely in his sleeve, was delivered on heavy, expensive black paper with a red border, the spidery silver script providing only the bare minimum of details. 

‘ Soren, be at the audience hall at midday tomorrow. Conduct yourself accordingly .’

His father’s twin dragon seal was below the terse line, crimson as an enormous splatter of blood. Reading it over, it was somewhat misleading to refer to it as an invitation; it was an order. Soren had never even considered refusing.

He only looked up when he reached the heavy red double doors of the audience hall. Two soldiers, heavily muscled and armed to the teeth, were standing directly in front of the wrought-iron handles to prevent any uninvited interlopers from sneaking into the gathering. It did not matter if Soren was a prince of the blood, if he had not been invited then they would likely break both his arms and throw him to the side. 

However, when he flashed them the invitation, they let him through without any further incident.

The audience hall was one of the few rooms in the palace of Nevassa that was not made of uniform dark gray stone. Instead the walls were built with blocks of pitch black marble, the floors of deep crimson, a massive mosaic of the royal seal of Daein in the center of the floor. At the end of the hall was a raised dais with a handsome throne of polished black wood, the back of the throne carved into twisting thorned vines. It was Soren’s birthright but he felt no attachment to the place, no hope or pride.

The hall was currently full of courtiers and social climbers and members of the Daein military, who carried the highest clout in court. All of them ignored Soren’s presence as he wove expertly through the crowds.

The only people who seemed at ease were the Four Riders, Daein’s prized generals.

General Bryce, the eldest of the four, and General Petrine, the only woman, ignored him entirely. Bryce, resplendent in his fine armor, only gave his attention to the most skillful of warriors and cared little for magic, which he considered a weaker fighting style, so he largely forgot Soren’s existence though he was not rude when he remembered. 

Petrine could be outright hostile to anyone and showed a special disdain for those with less power than her. Soren definitely fell into that category.

General Greil simply did not see him and Soren was slightly disappointed for that.

Greil was a fearsome fighter and highly respected by everyone in Daein but he was fair and honorable at the very least. He treated all men the same, regardless of their pedigree or position of power in the court. And he was one of the very few who showed Soren even the slightest bit of respect, bowing and referring to him as ‘Your Highness’ or ‘Prince Soren’.

It was a nice change of pace from people who referred to him as ‘you’, or his father who simply called him ‘boy’. 

Sometimes if they met alone in the halls, Greil even inquired about his life and his studies, unperturbed by Soren’s severe lack of conversational skills. If there was anyone Soren truly liked in the palace, it was General Greil. 

The last Rider, General Isengrim, was the only one who saw him and showed any sort of emotion, grinning at Soren. Soren wished the man had remained as impassive as his compatriots.

Isengrim was tall and lean with dark violet eyes, shaggy blue-black hair, and a wolfish grin. His dark sword, Reinicke, was attached to his hip but Soren feared the hands that wielded it more than the blade itself. He was known amongst the slim servants as having wandering hands but...Soren knew it was worse. So much worse.

He averted his eyes the moment he saw that Isengrim was looking at him but he still felt cold sweat break out on his neck, as insidious as a feather light touch, and hoped nothing more would come from the brief interaction. To further hide from the man, Soren slipped unobtrusively to the shadows of a banner at the edge of the room and tried to observe the proceedings in relative safety.

The general murmur of conversation dulled to a reverent hush as King Ashnard  strode into the audience hall up to his throne.

Never had a son taken less after his father.

Ashnard was tall and imposing with piercing black eyes and a constant undercurrent of danger in his every move. His skin was a little darker than Soren’s from his frequent wyvern rides and he dressed constantly in fine armor and furs. He was clearly a man not to be trifled with and Soren--along with most of the court--had a healthy fear of their king. 

Once properly arrayed on his throne, Ashnard glanced over his audience, clearly finding them worthy of only a modicum of his attention. Soren did not even breathe as his father looked in his direction. 

Usually when he noticed Soren, hell was in store.

But Ashnard was efficient, not one for overt pomp and circumstance, and it did not take him long to address the crowd. “I have gathered you all here to welcome back one of our own. Commander Ike, son of General Greil, has returned from his duties at the sea border.”

There was a dull hum of excitement.

Young and powerful and handsome, Ike was very popular in Nevassa and even Soren stood up on his toes to catch a glimpse of him as he walked towards the throne. 

It had been months since he had seen Ike in person and Soren was shocked by the change in him.

He was undoubtedly a man grown, with a figure that would inspire fear and awe in the barracks of Daein, a place that only accepted the greatest of warriors. Though his cloak and armor were not new or even free of dents and tears, it suited him and showed that he was a man of action, someone not to be trifled with. His arms bulged with muscle under his armor, his chiseled jaw was set in determination, and his normally ruffled blue hair was slicked back in honor of the occasion. Soren pressed himself even further into the shadows so that no one would catch him staring unduly. 

He could not rest easy if someone dangerous thought that the commander was a weakness of his.

Ashnard looked at Ike with as much warmth and fondness as he could offer anyone, which was a thousand times more than he had ever shown to Soren, his blood son. It was definitely due to Ike’s prowess on the battlefield more than his values or personality which were also worthy of fondness.

“Commander Ike,” Ike sank to one knee, his cloak pooling on the marble floor the moment King Ashnard began to speak, “we welcome you back to Nevassa and tell you that your reputation precedes you.”

“Your Majesty.” Ike’s voice was so deep that even his murmur echoed through the hall. 

“We hear that you have secured Daein another victory at the border and have cleared the black forest to the south of no less than four tribes of bandits. This adds to your already impressive list of victories. Your men sing your praises; they would follow you through fire. General Bryce says you are a prodigy, the most skilled with a sword he has seen in his time here and your father has entrusted you with Ragnell, our great gift from the nation of Begnion.”

“It is all for the glory of Daein.” Ike responded smoothly. “I am grateful for your praise.”

“I intend to give you more than praise.” There were gasps and murmurs as Ashnard stood from his throne and stepped down from the marble dais. Ike did not move, though he lowered his eyes out of respect. “I would elevate you to the position that a man of your caliber deserves.” 

Soren was just as shocked as everyone else in attendance, though he hid it well.

That his father would name a fifth Rider? And one so young to be barely into manhood? It was unheard of. It appeared the king had not seen fit to tell his other generals of his plans either. Bryce looked thunderstruck, Petrine as though she was being forced to chew and swallow glass. Greil looked softly proud of his son while Isengrim’s wolfish smile had an edge, as though he was caught between amusement and visceral dislike. But anyone with objections wisely kept their thoughts to themselves. 

Questioning the king’s decision so publicly would not end well. 

The room was silent as King Ashnard pinned the badge of a general and a Daein Rider to the clasp of Ike’s cloak. The young man was clearly measuring his breaths; he had likely been dreaming of this moment since he was a child. 

“Your Majesty, you honor me. I-It is too much…”

“It is all for the glory of Daein.” Ashnard insisted in his steel tone. It garnered no argument. “You will accept this honor. Pledge yourself to your king and your country and rise as my fifth Rider.”

Ike’s voice was more assured and rippled through the stones of the hall and the skin of everyone present. “I accept this honor, Your Majesty. I pledge myself to you and I vow to protect Daein and her inhabitants from any threats.” He was all smooth grace as he got to his feet and looked King Ashnard in the eye. “I will become your general.” 

There was polite applause from the crowd, most of them still reeling from the announcement. 

As it tapered off, Ashnard again turned to his newest general with a look of greedy anticipation in his dark eyes. “It is customary that the king offers each general a boon upon their acceptance of the position as a rider. I would offer the same to you, General Ike. Short of my throne, our treasury, and the country of Daein itself, speak your price as a general and I will give it to you.”

Soren clutched his cape tight around his neck.

The anticipation was palpable in the room but no one seemed to sense the innate danger in the offer. Soren was cynical enough to know that the offer was a delicate trap, meant to discern the general’s greatest weakness so the king might exploit it later as necessary. Ashnard wanted to own Ike as much as his sword and skill and Soren felt the pale washes of fear like the cold touch of a powerful tide. He hoped Ike knew that he was treading on dangerous ground.

Did he crave power, like Petrine? Elevating herself so that she had the most numbers and the most powerful ranks under her command? Did he wish for money and comfort like Bryce, with his fine manse in the south of Daein and first choice of all the fine imports? Surely he would not request the same as Isengrim: to commit crimes with impunity, to steal and assault and even murder without consequence. 

Greil’s only request was permission to visit Crimea for at least two months out of the year, a price that was vastly confusing to the king. But Greil was a private man and inevitably evaded any spies that tried to see what business he had in Crimea.

“I require nothing for this honor.” Ike shook his head though it was said reluctantly. Soren could tell he had something in mind and surely his father would see that as well.

“I insist. Speak your desire and see it done.”

Ike breathed in and Soren could see it was a steadying breath. Clearly he felt that whatever he desired was beyond reach and Soren felt curious in spite of himself. His metal-clad fists clenched as he scanned the room and passed over the expectant eyes of everyone present. For a split second his indigo gaze found Soren, despite his hiding place, and Soren felt it tangibly, as if those eyes had pierced his body. He wondered which fool would ever go against the man in battle if his eyes showed such intensity.

Ike finally looked to his father, who nodded sagely, giving his son the courage he needed to push forward. 

“There is one thing I would ask you to give me.” He said, lowering his eyes.

“Speak it and see it done.” Soren was surprised that his father was not actively salivating over the thought of having General Ike under his thumb.

Ike looked up, fixing his gaze on the king. “Prince Soren. He is my price.”

Chapter Text

Like most children born and raised in Daein, Ike had always dreamed of becoming a Rider. His dream had been more intensely felt because his father held the illustrious position and, despite Greil being strict and showing no favoritism in the sparring ring, Ike idolized his father.

It was almost given that he would join the young recruits of the Daein garrison, his friend Boyd taking up his axe to join him.

He had trained daily, collapsing into his assigned cot late at night, lulled to sleep by the snores of dozens of other exhausted boys so that he could wake at sunrise and repeat the exercises. His skill with a sword was such that his first official position at fourteen was to stand guard outside the massive banquet hall for the daily lunch that was served for the nobles. It was a plum position that afforded him some rest and allowed him to see the dynamics of the court, something that would serve him well if he wished to move up through the ranks of soldiers. 

Ike was rabid to succeed and kept his back straight and eyes forward in spite of whatever chaos raged around him. 

It was outside the hall doors where he first met Prince Soren.

Greil usually did not acknowledge Ike outside of the practice grounds, not wanting to appear to favor his son. If they did speak, it was brief and usually so his father could correct him on some grievous error he was committing.

“Ike.” 

Ike had jolted, unused to being called by name, but was pleased to see his father standing just outside the banquet hall with a tiny shadow hovering behind him. Ike did not stare unduly. Some people in Daein would challenge him to a duel over less. 

“Father. I-I mean, General Greil!” Greil coughed as Ike sputtered. “Are you in need of assistance?” It was a fool question; there was little his father could not handle on his own but Ike had been trained to help his superiors with any request short of high treason. 

“The king has requested a conference with his generals and yet I have promised to escort the prince back to his rooms. Would you accompany Prince Soren in my stead? Your Highness, this is my son, Ike.” 

The shadow had peered out from behind Greil, cautious and thin as one of the city alley cats.  

Ike had been unable to keep from staring, in spite of his training; his first impression of the prince, then twelve, was that he looked as though he was made of porcelain. Prince Soren was the slimmest boy Ike had ever seen, especially in a country that valued vast strength and intimidation. His face was delicate, almost lovely, and his wide, scarlet eyes rooted Ike to the spot. Ike had never seen a boy like him before, never seen anyone so...so…

He looked away first, unable to put his finger on why those red eyes had cut him so deeply. 

“I-It would be my honor , to take you to your room, Your Highness.” 

“No one is to stop you; you will take the prince to his room and stand guard outside until someone comes to relieve you. Is that understood?” Greil had used his general’s tone, a voice that was all steel and garnered no argument. Ike knew if he fell short of his father’s expectations then he would be running drills until his arms and legs gave out.

“I understand. I won’t let you down, fath--I mean, General!” 

“Good. I knew I could rely on you. Your Highness, you are in good hands.” His father gave a short bow to the prince before walking away, leaving the two in uncomfortable silence. 

“Ike, is it?” His cultured voice was soft, all water and silk compared to the bellows and shouts Ike was used to. So struck by the attention of the son of King Ashnard, Ike felt his tongue turn to cotton in his mouth.

“Y-Yes, Your Highness. I-I am…” He could hardly admit that he didn’t know his way around the palace. “I-If you’d like to...lead the way, I’ll escort you wherever you’d like to go.” He caught the inquisitive burn of those crimson eyes and felt his ears heat, as they always did when they turned pink. 

“I suppose you are in charge of giving the army inspiring speeches?”

“E-Excuse me?”

“Nothing. Please follow me.” Ike was transfixed by the movement of the prince’s long black hair as he turned and began walking down the hall. For being so small and slight, he had a quick step and Ike jogged slightly at first in order to keep up. No one paid them any mind. 

Ike had never been very good with silence, save the tense, electric silence before a fight and he searched for something to say. 

“What are you reading,” He remembered his manners too late as Prince Soren jolted, “Y-Your Highness?” Ike hoped he had not overstepped as the prince half-hid the tome in his arms behind his sleeve. “Apologies if I overstep.”

“I didn’t know soldiers knew what a book was.” The prince said in soft amazement.

“Of course I know what they are!” Ike was shocked over the prince’s apparent ignorance until he saw the smile that was threatening the boy’s mouth. “You’re teasing me, aren’t you? Your Highness.” He kept almost forgetting the title; clearly not a promising start.

“I thought you were teasing me. Pretending to be interested in anything about me.” The prince said it so calmly, so matter of fact, that Ike felt his mouth gape open. “It’s a book on wind spells, if you must know. I’m studying to become a mage so that I am...somewhat useful. I may not have the build of a warrior but I do have the entire royal library to myself to make up for it.”

“There is nothing wrong with your build.” Ike said without thinking. “My father said a good warrior is as much in the mind and the heart as in the sharpness of his sword. And you seem very intelligent. Your Highness.”

The boy glowed at the compliment, holding the book to his thin chest. “Your father is a good man. And you do not need to call me ‘Your Highness’. No one else does.”

“What should I call you then?” Ike was panicking, wondering if his terrible habit of saying whatever came into his fool head was going to get him in trouble. He lowered his eyes but could not help stealing a glance at the delicate profile of the prince next to him, the thin gold circlet around his forehead, only to lower his eyes when he saw the prince was staring back. 

“You may call me ‘Prince Soren’, if you wish. And you can look at me, if you don’t find me too unsightly.”

Ike nodded, too delighted to actually speak the title aloud. He was still mulling over this when they arrived at the prince’s chambers and Prince Soren screeched to a halt, half falling in step behind Ike. Ike looked up to see a man of some rank standing outside the door, waiting for...something. 

Ike felt a small hand grip his cloak, as if to hold him back from going any closer. Ike was still green in many ways but he could sense danger like a current of lightning in the air. Though he had never considered drawing his sword on this simple mission, he would sure as hell consider it if his bluff did not work. 

“What does he want?”

“Nothing good, I am sure of it.” Prince Soren murmured, his mouth hardly moving as he spoke.

“My father asked me to escort you to your room, Prince Soren.” Ike responded with confidence he did not feel. “I won’t let him down.” 

Prince Soren held onto his cape as Ike edged them forward and Ike was disturbed to see that the man outside the door seemed disgusted by his presence. “I have business with the king’s son.” He said without preamble and Ike felt the prince shrink even further behind him. 

For some reason, Ike felt righteous indignation rising in his chest and he squared his shoulders, absolutely unwilling to be intimidated, even though he was young and a relatively new recruit.

Though he stumbled over words when confronted with Prince Soren’s wide red eyes and delicate features, he had no such issues when confronted with a threat. He was calm. “By the order of General Greil, I have been instructed to bring the prince to his rooms. He is not to be disturbed.” Though Ike alone was not intimidating, General Greil’s word was second only to that of the king. And the man before him was not the king.

There was a tense moment where Ike was sure the man would not move and he would fail his first mission and he forced himself not to blink. He was acutely aware of the small hand holding tightly to his clothes and he felt as though he’d rather be disgraced than have that hand torn away. His boyish body was tensed, ready to fight.

“General Greil, you said?” The man blanched at the thought of crossing the infamous general. “ Fuck .” Despite his obvious irritation, he finally moved out of the way, allowing Ike and the prince to pass but not before hissing under his breath. “This isn’t over. You can’t hide forever, boy.”

Ike was too irritated to think of decorum and pulled Soren into his chambers first, keeping him out of view. He slammed the door closed with all his strength and took a moment to catch his breath.

“Are...are you alright, Your Highness?”

“Fine.” His tone was level but he was clearly not fine. 

A shadow was still under the door, as if waiting for Ike to leave. When Ike turned, he saw that Prince Soren had pressed himself back into the furthest corner of his room, clearly having come to the same conclusion.

“Your--Prince Soren, my father instructed me not to leave until someone else has come to take up the guard. I will stay until another relieves me of duty. I will not leave you.”

The prince relaxed slightly, his eyes wary of betrayal. It would not come. 

Ike smiled at him openly, pushing his anger aside. “Will you show me your magic? I’ve never seen wind magic before.” It was a small white lie, but Ike simply wanted to get the prince’s mind off of whoever was waiting for him outside the door.

It took a moment, but Prince Soren finally smiled, the expression changing his already-lovely face in a way Ike could not even describe. He wanted to see it again.

The same day he had met the prince was the same day Ike learned about what people thought of the delicate boy. His boisterous friends in the barracks heard him speak of the encounter and scoffed at his elation. 

“He is the shame of the country!”

“That the son of the unparalleled King Ashnard should be so weak and bookish? It’s a disappointment.”

“It’s rumored that perhaps the queen withered away from the embarrassment of having such a son. It’s a wonder why the king keeps him around. Even the greenest of recruits could knock him about.” 

“He ought to be sent away; he has no power in court and I’ve heard rumor that his father might pass over him when it comes to the throne. I can hardly blame him. The ruling of Daein requires a strong hand and a stronger presence that demands respect.”

Ike listened with growing indignation.

He had found nothing weak or unworthy in the quiet, poised boy who smiled so softly at the simplest kindness. All the beloved stories of courage and bravery and defending the Daein people rushed up into Ike’s throat like liquid fire; what better way of proving that he was a worthy soldier than defending the one who needed it most?

His father was not pleased with Ike’s method of resolving the insults when he woke the next morning to find Ike and the group of cruel gossipers covered in scrapes and bruises as they mucked out the stables before dawn. Though their captain had been less than impressed by the fight, he had noticed that Ike had more than held his own against four other boys until Boyd had hauled him back. Greil had simply sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Why did you start a fight, Ike?” He asked after he had pulled Ike out to the private stables reserved for the Riders and the king. Ike kept his head bowed; there was no feeling he hated more than the feeling that he had disappointed his father. “You know as well as any other boy in this garrison that soldiers of distinction must be above reprieve.”

Ike felt his nostrils flare with the fury he had felt the night before and he clenched his fists to keep from losing his temper.

“They spoke ill of Prince Soren, father.” Greil raised one eyebrow, the look of anger fading from his features, and it gave Ike the confidence to release his emotions in a quick, heated flow. “Such insults leveled against a member of the royal family? And for something so petty; he cannot help the body that the goddesses saw fit to give him! He...he…” Ike could not explain why he was so fiercely defending a boy he had only met once but he knew in his heart that it must have taken enormous strength for Prince Soren to be considered a disappointment to Daein and yet still manage to be so kind and polite to a soldier so low in the hierarchy. Ike’s voice broke from the sheer force of his emotions, hoping that his father knew he was serious and regretted nothing. “It’s not... fair !”

Ike’s father pulled him close for an embrace, the anger gently squeezed from Ike’s body. “You...you are right, Ike. His Highness was dealt an unfair lot in life and contains a type of strength that not many in Daein can comprehend or appreciate. You were right to defend him but...you have to be careful.”

“No weaknesses.” Ike repeated the mantra that his father had instilled in him since he was young.

“No weaknesses.” Greil was no longer disappointed as he clapped Ike on the shoulder. “You have a good heart, a thing to cherish, and I also happen to have a soft spot for the prince. If it won’t arouse suspicions, I’ll try to make excuses for you to guard him. But no more brawling with the other boys. They are your comrades, not your enemies.”

“Thank you, father.” Ike rubbed his arm across his nose to hide how close he had come to angry tears. 

Greil ruffled his hair. “You’ll be the pride of Daein. I’d stake coin on it.”

Ike did not care what the other boys thought. He had the highest opinion in the world of his father and if General Greil liked Prince Soren, then Ike was inclined to like him as well. In his youth and status, he never expected much to come of it, save a lingering determination to let the prince know at least two people in Daein held him in high regard. He was nothing if not determined.

Chapter Text

Soren did not know when he went from being a useless ghost of a little boy to a somewhat useful beauty of a mage, but it happened some time around his fifteenth or sixteenth year. That was when Isengrim became a general and made his life hell in new and unusual ways.

He had never trusted the man with his wolfish smile and cruel eyes. But Isengrim seemed to know Soren had some power and that King Ashnard would let a Rider get away with murder.

Soren could do nothing but remain still and impassive as the general ran hands through his hair, before placing them very low on Soren’s waist. Soren knew his stoicism likely only made General Isengrim want to try harder but it would do him no good to fight back and embarrass himself publicly. His father’s punishment would be worse than this detestable touching.

“I heard you do marvelous things in the dungeons with these weak little hands, this mouth.” A thumb brushed the bottom of Soren’s mouth and Soren turned his head smoothly to avoid it.

“I do only as my father, the king orders.” His rote response, sure to silence most dissenters.

Isengrim was not like most. He leaned close so his words were lost in the curtains of Soren’s dark hair. “Anything he orders? Should I ask him to order you to help me with your hands and your mouth?” Soren’s facade cracked a little as he drew back, his heart racing. He doubted his father would allow such...indignities, even for the son he despised, but he also could never underestimate what his father would do for his riders.

There was no easy way out and Soren held himself taut, hoping that his tightly laced clothes would keep him from crumbling apart.

“Your Highness!”

Soren looked up in relief, knowing that only two people in all of Nevassa would deign to call him 'Your Highness'. Isengrim continued to smile, though there was disappointment deep in his dark eyes, and he pulled back from Soren so that he was at a more respectable distance. 

"General Greil." Soren sighed.

Greil was the most powerful of the Four Riders and therefore carried the most seniority; his orders were only below those of the king and would keep Isengrim at bay. Even better, Greil had brought his son, Ike, the only other who referred to Soren with any sort of respect. He called Soren ‘Your Highness’ in public, but in rare private moments he still called him ‘Prince Soren’. 

Ike was positively terrible at keeping his emotions to himself and smiled widely when Soren caught his eye. Soren nodded by way of greeting, trying to keep the corners of his mouth from turning up. 

With his rough calloused hands, wrapped in graying bandages, lean muscles straining against the worn fabric of his patched clothes, and constantly ruffled blue hair, he did not look like he belonged in a royal banquet hall. Greenness of youth and inexperience clung to his face and body language more so than dirt and blood. But--if Soren was being very honest with himself--if Ike were touch his waist and whisper into his hair...Soren wouldn't mind that quite so much. 

In fact, it gave him a warm, tingling feeling in his chest. 

“General.” Greil’s greeting to Isengrim was subdued.

“Greil. And your son? Back from station duty, I see. Ike, was it?” 

Soren gritted his jaw, disliking that Isengrim was staring at Ike. Whenever Ike was invited into the palace, he always came to talk to Soren and escort him back to his rooms, sometimes staying to talk with Soren if he was feeling bold. He was fascinated by Soren’s magic and the treasured books in Soren’s chambers and asked endless questions during their rare time spent together. What they had was still burgeoning and fragile but already Soren could not bear to lose it. The young man radiated ease and confidence that drew people to him and Soren heard he was rising easily in the ranks. Isengrim could ruin it all. 

“Yes, sir.”

Greil looked to Soren, his intelligent eyes taking in the situation at hand. Soren stared levelly at him; he refused to let his shame show when he was simply surviving. “Ike, I have business with General Isengrim. Your Highness, if you’d excuse us.” Soren nodded, secretly thankful. “Ike, escort the prince back to his room and stay there until a guard comes to relieve you.”

Soren tried not to walk too quickly past the two generals, feeling Isengrim’s gaze burning onto his lower back. 

Despite Ike’s questions, Soren remained quiet until they returned to his room and shut the door. He exhaled shakily, pressing his palms on the cold stone of his walls. He could still feel the heavy hands on him.

“Prince Soren?”

“I’m sorry.” Soren allowed himself to smile softly now that he was out of sight. “I find that...I am not feeling well at the moment.”

Unthinkingly, Ike covered the respectful distance and placed the back of his hand against Soren’s forehead. “You don’t feel feverish. In fact...your skin is quite cool.” His lovely indigo eyes grew huge. “D-Do you think you’ve been poisoned ? Should I call my father? Or a priest to come heal you?”

Soren gripped his hand, keeping Ike there to keep him from running for help. “No, no! It’s just...I--General Isengrim was...rude earlier and I found his suggestion distasteful. That’s all.”

Ike took a moment to process before his expression darkened to something that would have been terrifying on a full-grown man. “I--did he--?”

“It’s alright.” Soren squeezed Ike’s hand; it would do him no good to run out and defend Soren’s honor. “Your father excused me from the man’s presence. And...neither one of us can stop this anyway. He’s a Rider .” That stopped Ike. As a soldier and the son of a soldier, he knew better than anyone the power that a Rider wielded in Daein, though it clearly didn’t stop him from gnashing his teeth in irritation. “It’s fine. Think nothing of it.”

“It’s not fine! You should tell your father--”

Soren felt himself cool, dropping Ike’s hand. “My father will do all he can to ensure the glory of his Riders and of Daein.” He said it as evenly as he could but Ike still looked furious. It was somewhat...sweet. 

But he had to understand that they were powerless.

Ike looked as though he was breathing hot steam, his nostrils flaring wide. He closed his eyes in final comprehension and nodded his head softly. “I understand, Prince Soren. Please allow me to...step outside a moment to...compose myself.” Soren nodded softly.

He gave Ike all the time he needed to let his anger pass, even when the long orange shadows of evening gave way to the soft, violet darkness of night. He began to worry that Ike might think less of him, that he had decided not to cast his lot in with a powerless prince; it was ironic really, that he should be so worried about being isolated. He should have been used to it by this point.

Despite not knowing what he would do if he found Ike gone, Soren cracked his door open to peer out into the quiet halls. 

Ike was still there.

Clearly tired and leaning hard against the stone walls, he had one hand resting on the hilt of his sword in a clear show that he was ready to draw if the need arose. Soren was relieved though he couldn’t say why.

Ike noticed him, only jolting slightly in surprise. “Prince Soren. Is everything alright?”

“I had...wondered if you were still...lost in thought.”

Ike seemed to realize, his face flushing. “Oh! I apologize for not alerting you! I...have calmed myself, though there are many who are compromised wandering through the halls. I have not yet been relieved of duty so...I stayed outside so that no one would disturb you.” He was clearly tempering the truth and Soren wondered how many drunken scoundrels Ike had deterred while Soren was pacing about inside.

“Thank you…”

Come morning, Soren had remained forgotten and no guard had come. But Ike, half asleep, had stayed and held guard.

Ike could not always guard Soren’s chambers.

He could not prevent Soren from being called to the dungeons to use his magic for the things he hated, he could not always stop bold, drunken men from trying to pull Soren into dark corners. With his skill in the field he was more and more often being sent away but when Ike was in Nevassa, he always volunteered for guard duty inside the castle, and somehow maneuvered himself so that he was put in charge of guarding the outside of Soren’s rooms. 

As Ike rose through the ranks, Soren noticed that he took more care to hide his emotions and be careful with showing favor. He was learning that people might use it against him. At least Soren seemed to be one of the few he trusted with honesty; Ike spoke openly and informally when Soren felt safe to allow him inside his chambers, usually to patch up some heinous wound Ike had gotten during drills or missions.

When he was away on longer missions, it seemed that there was little to look forward to.

Until late in the autumn when Soren received a knock at his door. He had already dealt with so much during the week, it was a relief to find his visitor was only a lowly messenger. At worst the man would only deliver bad news and trouble Soren no further. 

“A package for you.” The messenger said in complete and utter boredom. 

Soren was on edge immediately. He could not think of someone currently in the palace from whom he’d relish receiving a gift. “From whom?”

“If the sender has named himself, it is not on the outside.” He all but forced the package into Soren’s arms and Soren saw that it was wrapped in plain brown paper, bound in twine, and stained from hard travel back to Nevassa. 

Soren took it without any further complaint and tucked it out of sight in his robes.

He did not want anyone to think he was receiving secret packages or, worse, that someone liked him enough to send him something. He did not cut through the twine and open the package until his door was locked and his windows were shuttered. Prying eyes were everywhere and he would be ruined if his father or Isengrim saw him open anything other than the barest of essentials.

In the light of the thick candle he kept on his writing desk, Soren carefully studied the contents of the grimy package.

There was a pale green book, clearly secondhand but still in good condition, and a wooden box with no lid. Soren shook it gently, hearing something rattle about on the inside and realized that the box likely had a secret compartment or way to open it that was not so obvious to anyone besides the owner. Any other Daein citizen would have sought out the closest hammer to bash it to splinters but Soren was too clever and patient to cause wanton destruction when a more elegant solution was needed. He gently edged his fingernails under each seam and wooden slat until the box gave and slid neatly into two parts in his hands.

The smell of flowers filled the room.

Inside the puzzle box was a trough of drying flower petals of every size and color, breathing the last dust of their perfume into Soren’s room. Nestled in the petals was a peony of red wood, so well carved that the individual petals were almost as fine as real flower petals. Soren marveled at the craftsmanship, the wood flower light in his hands. He set it on his desk, carefully keeping it far from the candle. Such a delicate gift.

The book gained his attention next, a small note scribbled hastily on the inside cover:

‘ At the border of Crimea, there are flower fields that seem to stretch on further than the sea. It is very beautiful. Ike .’

It was a book of the native flowers and plants of Crimea, with a detailed drawing and descriptions of each bloom along with their medicinal properties. Soren was transfixed, his chest a little in pain for how kind the gift was, how unlike other Daein gifts of armor or swords or warhorses. No one ever got him something without expecting reciprocity and he liked to think that Ike wouldn’t ask for anything in return.

Though he wanted to display the wooden flower somewhere where he could look at it, Soren knew better than to expect privacy in his rooms. He tucked it back in the box, placing the box high on his bookshelf where it would attract no attention. Sometimes when his day was particularly difficult, he would open the box to smell the petals or hold the peony and imagine the endless fields of flowers.

After one of the dinners when people mulled about drinking and talking, Soren thanked Ike who had recently returned from his mission, though the gratefulness was tempered. He didn’t want Ike to think that a few handfuls of petals and a book would allow him to take liberties in dark corners.

“Thank you for your gift, lieutenant. It is appreciated.” There was no inflection in his tone. 

Ike fixed Soren with his serious gaze, also holding himself back while in public, and his mouth quirked up only a moment. “Think nothing of it.” Their conversation moved on swiftly to Ike’s upcoming assignments and his likely promotion to captain within the near future. And when Isengrim came up behind Soren and gripped him by the back of the neck, causing Soren to break out in a cold sweat, Ike frowned outright and offered to escort Soren back to his rooms after dinner.

And more little gifts came.

Sporadically, Soren would find a package tucked into his room a day or two after Ike’s departure or receive them via courier weeks and months into his assignments. Mostly trinkets: blue sea glass on a red string, a square of white fabric embroidered with intricate patterns in crimson and indigo, an enormous dark feather, a drawstring bag filled with polished shells that smelled of sea salt and crisp air all accompanied by a line or two written in Ike’s distinctive scrawl. On occasion, there was a battered book and even a new journal with violet binding when Ike was promoted again and likely had wages to spare.

Soren treasured them all, though he kept them out of sight. He wrote Ike letters in his fine hand, explaining how he loved the feeling of the feather on his cheek after he’d been forced to torture a man or how the smell of the shells soothed him when some lord or soldier tried to slip hands under his robes. The days he received the gifts were the happiest he could remember and he read and reread Ike’s simple, heartfelt notes.

The letters remained unsent.

There was no courier in the castle Soren trusted with these dangerous admissions. That he was receiving treasured gifts, that he had a friend who thought of him, even a little, were dangerous weaknesses that no one could ever know. It would put him under someone’s thumb and potentially put Ike in danger.

Soren kept quiet and simply hoped that when Ike was at court he would notice Soren’s quiet gratitude.

A friend . He had a friend.

Chapter Text

Ike had not meant for things to turn out like this.

He had heard of the ‘gift’ offered to Riders and listened to the other soldiers wax poetic around the campfire or dinner tables about what they’d request and he had honestly never joined in after his father had given him Ragnell. The sword had been his greatest desire for ages, even though he was eighteen before he could lift it properly.

Ike was somewhat self-aware and knew that he had difficulty hiding strong emotions, like anger and desire. His father had warned him, taught him over the years of his rise to be careful of what he shared. As Ike grew, he lost his boyish illusions of grandeur and came to see his homeland for what it was: a wyvern fighting pit, where the strong were exalted, weaknesses were exploited, and no one was safe from a fall from grace. Though he still took pride in his comrades and subordinates, the list of people he truly trusted was small. 

He realized why his father kept secrets, offered no openings for his rivals, and Ike followed suit.

He did not want to become a complete pawn of the king. 

But it all changed one night his nineteenth year, when he was a captain in the army and was invited to his first prison interrogation. Naturally, it was Isengrim--the man Ike hated most in the world--who requested his presence and led him down into the freezing stone depths of the dungeons of Nevassa. Ike kept his face neutral as he followed, though he wanted to kick the man down the stairs after all that he had done. Ike had heard the horror stories, the whispers around the fire of murdering innocents, raping in plain sight, and torture for pleasure. Ike had seen the man drive his horse at people begging for bread, whip servants for minor infractions, and--most abhorrent of all to Ike--was the way he put hands on the unwilling.

He sought them out like a wolf to carrion and Ike had almost challenged him several times during public events when he...overstepped. Everyone else turned a blind eye.

Isengrim behaved when Greil was around--Ike’s father the only man that seemed to cause him any fear--but he was wild even in front of the king. That had been his ‘gift’ and Ike despised him for it. 

“Little captain, this is your first interrogation, correct?”

“It is, as I am rarely in Nevassa long. I fear I have not been trained on any techniques. You’ll forgive my inexperience.” Ike said evenly as he considered planting his foot in Isengrim’s back.

“Oh, not to worry. We’ll both be watching and I’ll be in charge of the questions. We bring in someone special to apply force.” 

Ike had shuddered at his tone, but nothing could have prepared him.

His breath caught in his throat when he saw that slight, elegant form that was so familiar and secretly cherished. Slim hands gripped his tome and wide scarlet eyes grew wider when they caught sight of Ike and Isengrim. He was still slim and pale, but Prince Soren had grown a little taller, the delicate planes of his face growing even finer as he had grown into the beginning of adulthood. 

Perhaps it was because Ike saw Soren only a few times a season, or because he was always so quietly elegant and alone--untouchable--or because Ike liked having something separate from his life in the army, but he always thought fondly of the prince in quiet moments. It didn’t seem right that he was down in the dungeons, too cold for his slim body, even with fine velvet and furs.

“Pri--Your Highness.” He caught himself, remembering not to be too informal with Isengrim present.

“Captain. General.” Soren’s voice was low and soft, somehow nicer than Ike’s memories.

Ike touched Ragnell to keep him sane as Isengrim easily covered the distance and gripped the prince low on the waist. Prince Soren did not flinch, even though he must have heard the rumors about the general. “Soren, Captain Ike has been promoted to the point where we’d like him to see how we handle our prisoners. You are the best so I expect it to be very informative.”

Prince Soren lowered his eyes. “Does...my father, the king, command it of me?”

“He ordered me to get answers,” Isengrim’s tone was more steel this time, “so now I’m ordering you. It isn’t as if you’re a virgin to this.” The choice of words had Prince Soren flushing in his cheeks but he nodded quickly. “Good boy. Now get to it.” 

Isengrim took them to a single room with a man chained to the walls, shivering and almost bare. He did not equate ‘interrogation’ with torture until he felt electricity crackling in the air, making his hair stand on end. Soren’s voice was soft, shaking and Ike recalled the awe and wonder he had felt when he had first seen Soren shred feather down in midair with his precise wind spells. Though his casting was still delicate and powerful, it was something else to see him using it on a person. It was almost frightening.

Despite the screams of the man chained to the wall, in spite of his thrashing in pain, Soren did not waver once, his voice soft and even until Isengrim bid him to stop so he could continue questioning.

Ike could scarcely focus, he was so horrified.

Though Soren was aware of his presence, he did not look up to Ike, keeping his eyes firmly on the pages of his lightning tome. The magic was still beautiful, awe-inspiring but there was something terrifying about someone having so much power. Even in his armor, with Ragnell to deflect magic, Ike wasn't sure if he would avoid pain if Soren were to attack him.

Breath came out in a hot hiss as Isengrim took hold of Soren's long black hair like it was a length of rope. His other hand cupped the prince's chin, thumb digging into the flesh.

"Isn't he amazing, captain? Such delicacy, such finesse. No other mage in Nevassa can cause such exquisite pain and still keep a man alive. Charred or paralyzed or sliced to pieces, only this beauty can keep them alive and talking. Sometimes his spells don't even leave a mark." As he withdrew his hold, Soren exhaled as if he had been holding his breath and Ike saw the red imprint of a thumb on his jaw. "It's always such a pleasure to have him down here. Chains and pain suit him, don't you agree captain?"

Ike could have broken the man's jaw, cut out his tongue and the world would be a better place for it.

If this kind of talk bothered Prince Soren, he was excellent at hiding it. He looked to Ike for the first time since he had started casting spells and his eyes had the unflinching lack of emotion that many men had after a gruesome battle. Ike knew his response could destroy the prince if he did not speak carefully.

He was learning to speak carefully.

"His highness is a testament to the power of Daein. For the sake of our people still in harm's way I can only trust that these...interrogations are not drawn out."

Isengrim did not seem pleased with his lackluster response, the ever-present smile slipping for only a moment to reveal complete and utter disdain before he remembered himself. The smile came back and he clapped Ike on the shoulder.

"All work and no play for Captain Ike! We ought to change that. Take the both of you into the city where I can show you how to have a good time." Prince Soren looked at Isengrim's hand where it rested on Ike's shoulder and snapped his tome closed. 

"Only when Daein is safe from invaders and marauders can I relax." Ike said, pleased when Isengrim threw up his hands in exasperation. "You are...kind to think of my health, General." 

It was clearly not a compliment he got often.

Isengrim was laughing even as he directed Soren to continue. 

The two of them--Ike and Soren--were not given permission to leave until late into the night, both of them smelling of charred flesh. One tome had fallen apart in Soren's hands, he had used it so often, and the man who had been tortured was little more than a blackened husk in front of them. If Prince Soren thought of these things, he kept them to himself as Ike walked behind him up the staircase and back into humanity. Ike knew, even though the torture was far behind him, that nothing would ever be the same for him again.

It was so late almost no one else roamed the halls and even though he was exhausted into his very soul, Ike kept pace with Prince Soren. 

"I...I did not mean for you to see that." 

The whisper was so soft, Ike would have missed it had he not seen the brief white flash of the prince's profile. "Had I known you were to witness I would have..."

"I am used to the violence of battle." Ike said on instinct. It was not the same. 

The prince's hair rustled as he shook his head and voice had a tone of bitter taunting. "I had hoped the illustrious soldiers of Daein would not stoop to such cruelties. I did not learn magic to...I studied it because it requires skill and delicacy and...uninterrupted concentration." Ike had never heard the prince speak so much and he was almost too caught up in the low, lovely sound of it to realize that him divulging so much was a sign of serious, boiling emotion. "I only wanted..."

Ike knew.

He only wanted to be strong and confident with a way to protect himself. He had never wanted to torture men. 

As they arrived at his chambers, Prince Soren's sure stride faltered and he leaned hard against the stone of the walls. Ike reached out to steady him, as much as he dared, his eyes flicking around for those who would watch the exchange.

"You're exhausted, Your Highness."

He could easily rest all of the prince's weight against one arm, the other opening the door to the 'royal chambers'. Soren's gloved fingertips barely brushed the skin of Ike's forearm as Ike guided him into the dark safety of his room. 

"It is detestable. I am detestable."

"You are not. You cannot help it." Ike insisted, emboldened by the familiarity of the prince's rooms.

Soren made a noise that might have been a laugh of disbelief. "You are right, captain. I cannot. My father commands it of me." His crimson eyes seemed to glow in the darkness and Ike could think of nothing further to say as he excused himself to go back to the barracks and report on what the prisoner had told the three of them.

Ike realized that night that it was not the first time that Soren had been forced to torture men against his will.

That his poise when being touched was due to either exemplary self-control or--even more infuriating--that he was used to it. Ike realized that Isengrim could have stripped Soren naked or beat him for questioning authority, commanded him to do almost anything and Ike, even as a captain, would be powerless to stop it and the hypotheticals made his jaw and chest ache with fury.

Ike could mark that night as the one where he thought of something he’d ask for if he became a rider. 

He had never expected the day to come so soon.

With his heart in his throat, he remembered how much he hated General Isengrim and the events of that night and the words spilled out the moment he had seen his father nod in approval. In front of king and country, he had asked for Prince Soren. 

He could hear the collective gasp ripple across the room but he dared someone to speak out. The king had asked and he had given his honest reply.

Ike did not look around.

King Ashnard seemed shocked by the request, looking away only briefly--perhaps to look for his son in the crowd--before he started laughing. 

It filled the silent halls in such a way that it was not a sound of mirth. Rather, it was eerie and somewhat cruel.

“Such a bold request from my newest general," he said when the laughter subsided, "and such an unworthy gift for someone of your station." Ike clenched his fist unthinkingly, hoping that no one would see. He kept his expression neutral as the king smiled in a way that might have been indulgent on a kinder man. "Tell me, what would you have with my son?"

Ike knew what everyone was thinking and he was pleased to disappoint them.

"I wish for the prince to be under my protection and mine alone. He will answer to none but me and anyone who wishes his company or services must ask my express permission, including--if I may be bold again--you, Your Majesty." He did not flounder even when Ashnard raised one eyebrow; it was not often the king had to ask permission for anything. "He is my price; I'll take him or nothing." He bowed his head, indicating he would accept the decision whatever it might be.

Ike's heartbeat was in his teeth, the silence all but unbearable as everyone waited for the king's pronouncement.

King Ashnard stepped down from the dais, setting a hand on Ike's shoulder. His voice was quiet but, if someone was listening carefully, they might have heard. "You are the son that should have been mine." Then, louder so all could hear, "I would do all I can to secure your loyalty and happiness as my general. And you need not be coy about your needs; I'll give you the boy's chambers as well. He's yours, body and soul. A bargain to secure my honored Fifth Rider." There was a smattering of confused applause, the royals and soldiers clearly having expected something flashier. "Come here, boy."

Ike knew where Prince Soren was. 

He had caught sight of him on his way to the throne, his coloring well suited to the shadow of the pillar he was leaning against. It took him a moment, but he obeyed, his step never faltering even though his face was white as death. Only when he got close and looked up, did Ike see the faint ripples in the dark silk of his hair. He could not hide that he was shaking. 

Ike kept his expression serene, though he did not like to dwell on why the prince was so terrified.

Ashnard placed one hand on his son’s dark head. “For the glory of Daein. You may not be a great warrior but...you are still useful.”

Ike’s heart clenched with fury. 

Soren nodded. “Yes father. I understand.”

Chapter Text

Soren wondered if the court mistook his silence for calm.

He did not panic like most, his body and expressions shutting down so that his mind could work faster. Only a lifetime of holding himself steady in terrible situations kept him from falling to his knees in front of everyone, the tight laces of his clothes reminding him to breathe. The faces of the court who had come to congratulate Ike swam before Soren's eyes. 

The only ones who cut through the fog of his panic were General Greil and General Isengrim. 

Isengrim had congratulated Ike on his promotion before leaning close to Soren's ear. "Congratulations to you as well. Had I known it was so easy to get hands on you, I'd have simply asked. I'd love to see Ragnell slice through those laces of yours. Seems as though I’ll have to ask our newest general to borrow you." 

Soren shrank back. 

He had known for years now that Isengrim wanted him, or at least wanted to see him stripped and helpless, but...perhaps for fear of the king's retribution over his only child, he had limited himself. But his hands still had memorized their fair share of the feeling of Soren’s body over his clothes, pushed him in hopes of seeing a reaction. 

Soren certainly hoped that Ike wouldn’t whore him out. He could have picked a better bargaining chip. 

If Ike did not hear the exchange, he certainly noticed the man coming to pay his ‘respects’ and tugged Soren a little closer. Though it startled Soren, making him want to pull away instinctively, he remained still. He supposed he would have to get used to it. 

Isengrim only stepped aside when Greil came close, Ike’s father bowing his head in respect. “Prince Soren. I…” He also seemed at a loss for words, finally breaching the gap of courtesy he had always maintained as he took Soren’s hand for a split second. “I know my son will keep you safe.” 

Soren inclined his head by way of reply. He was certainly hoping for the same thing. 

He escaped as soon as he could, asking Ike under his breath. “General, I beg permission to leave and...collect myself.” 

Ike looked down at him with those guileless indigo eyes, seemingly confused. “I--you don’t need to ask my permission, Your Highness. You can go if it pleases you.” Soren did not bother to correct him.

Though he was able to slowly slip from the audience hall without garnering much attention, he was nearly running down the halls so that he could avoid prying eyes and sharp whispers. 

Though he had been able to find some small modicum of comfort in his rooms in the past, those days were gone. Even after he had closed the door, the place felt strange, he felt strange knowing that the rooms were now gifted to General Ike and Soren was a guest--no, a decoration, like the books or the desk. 

While he was still alone, Soren took two or three of the papery petals from the puzzle box and crushed them to powder in his fists, letting the smell of flowers seep into him. Though he was not precisely fond of being outside, he would have given most of himself to be in those fields, far away from the new hell of his life.

The fragrant powder spilled from his hand as there was a soft knock at the door.

“You--” Soren assumed it was Ike and was going to say that he no longer needed to knock. “Come in, general.”

Ike ducked his head bashfully as he entered, Soren noting the single pack slung over his shoulders. “Forgive the intrusion, Your Highness. I tried to refuse but...everyone was most insistent.”

“My father has given his order. You would be a fool to refuse.”

“My father would say that would be very much in character for me.” Ike teased himself easily and Soren’s mouth quirked up before he could help himself. “Excuse me,” he rested his pack by the door and began removing some of his other effects.

Though he was alarmed at the undressing, Soren watched carefully as Ike removed his sword,  boots, ragged cape, and some of his non-essential armor.

He was surprisingly fastidious in a castle where soldiers were easily forgiven for tracking mud and sweat and gore through the halls. Ike was pleasantly clean by comparison.

“I had thought the armor was fused to you soldiers.”

Ike smiled, raising his eyebrows at the joke. “Normally it might as well be. Makes for great bedding.” He began to walk slowly through his room, taking in all the details that he had perhaps never considered before.

It was strange for Soren to see someone leisurely exploring ‘his’ room, Ike not even looking up at Soren in favor of tracing his hands along the polished wood of Soren's enormous bookshelves. Soren held his breath as Ike saw the collection of books and journals that he had sent Soren, the locked box where he kept the other little trinkets only a hairsbreadth away. The unsent letters were hidden under a loose stone of his floor so there was no danger of Ike discovering them.

"You kept them." Ike said softly. "I didn't think you would. It wasn't...it wasn't safe."

Soren breathed out, quietly pleased that they had come to similar conclusions regarding Ike's gifts. "It would be rude to decline a gift." They were so much more to him but he was still terrified, on edge as he tried to gauge what Ike wanted with him. 

“I’m glad you kept them.” 

Soren watched as he continued to walk through the room, perhaps deciding where he would keep his few possessions all the while not knowing how his ease was only increasing Soren’s panic. He did not want to make small talk; he just wanted to get it--whatever it was--over with. 

Ike stopped at the side of Soren’s bed, looking puzzled.

Thank the gods it would accommodate his height but...Ike looked up and Soren drew back a half step. “Which side would you prefer, Your Highness? It is your room after all and I...I’d not want to take up too much space.”

Soren breathed out, many of his fears realized.

It was futile to hope otherwise and even though he preferred Ike to most other people, he felt sick at the thought of being touched further than he already had been. He decided to make a gambit before the night fell and see if he could salvage anything.

“These are your rooms now, remember? I am...bound to your will, general.”

Ike looked up, startled. “You are bound to no will but your own.” He, at that moment, seemed so dreadfully naive. Soren had never been his own. 

"I am...I have no say in the matter. I am effectively your possession and I have no agency. I know I am in no position to ask anything of you but..." He steeled himself, staring Ike right in the eye. He had nothing left but his nerve. "I ask you as humbly as I am able. Send me to anyone you wish...except General Isengrim."

Ike's hand clenched to a fist on the bookshelf and Soren wondered if he had overstepped already. He was in uncharted waters. Although Ike looked calm, Soren was still new to reading him, to seeing his emotions up close. 

“I...wonder if you mistake my intentions.” Ike said and Soren wondered if his trembling was due to rage. “I’m not going to send you to anyone. Will you...will you come here, Your Highness?” 

Ike sat on Soren’s bed and Soren felt his stomach churn unpleasantly. 

This was it then. He had no choice but to walk forward and face whatever Ike wanted with him on the covers.

Instead General Ike reached out and took both of Soren’s hands before he could sit, Soren standing in front of him. Ike was so tall that he was nearly at eye-level with Soren while seated. His hands were rough, calloused, but warm, pleasantly warm in comparison to the chill of the stone palace. Soren waited for Ike’s leisure. 

“D-Do you remember that day General Isengrim made you torture that man in the dungeons?” Soren nodded; he remembered every single time he had been forced to torture men with sickening clarity but the time where Ike had been present was burned in his memory. “You looked like you hated it. I...I knew you had no choice, Your Highness, whether it be to me or the king or General Isengrim and...I thought I should give you that choice to accept or refuse.”

It took a moment for his meaning to sink in. “You...you wasted your request on this?” Of all the things in all of Daein he could have had… “You did not wish to--?” Soren’s eyes flicked to his bed before he could help himself and Ike caught it, his face turning crimson. 

“N-No! I would never ever demand that of you! I-I just--” It seemed as though the thought had never occurred to him. “And it wasn’t a waste. I just...I have achieved my lifelong dream, I have the greatest blade in all of Daein and there was nothing more I wanted other than to keep my friends safe.” Friends . Soren’s heart was elated at the word. “What I mean is, you are free to make your own choices, Your Highness. I’ll not order you to do anything, least of all let Isengrim have anything to do with you.” His look was black with distaste and Soren was sure then that Ike had likely seen firsthand how truly cruel the general was. “People must now come to me and ask to borrow your power and I’ll just ask you if you want to or not.”

“You won’t...get in trouble if I say no?” Soren asked, the idea of it still sinking in. He never in a thousand years thought he would be able to refuse orders. 

“I’m a Rider now. The only one who could overrule me in the least is the king, and he gave me his word that you would answer only to me.”

Soren knew his father’s word was a fickle thing, depending on his whims, but he did not want to crush Ike’s optimism or his own hope. The man was truly a unique specimen if not for his childlike honesty, then for the fact that he would not willingly subjugate someone under his direct control.

Soren glanced at the bed again, unable to help the shudder that went through his hands.

Ike frowned and his calloused thumbs rubbed circles over Soren’s gloves. “I won’t. I would never r--” he couldn’t even say it, shaking his head. “I’ll sleep on the floor if the thought frightens you.”

If King Ashnard were to find out that his precious general was sleeping on the cold, stone floor...it did not even bear thought and Soren shook his head quickly. “No. My father gifted you these rooms so that you would be well-rested and esteemed amongst the other soldiers. You cannot sleep on the floor.”

Soren would just have to trust that Ike would not…

Trusting someone aside from himself was a tall order.

In the end, Ike chose the side of the bed closest to the door and his armor and swords, leaving Soren on the side closest to the wall. In a way, Soren was comforted by the arrangement. 

Too many nights he had tossed and turned from fear that someone would find a way in, past the lock; he had slept with tomes under his pillows for years now. But now any trespasser would encounter Ike first. The large, solid body that dipped the mattress was basically a wall between Soren and the rest of Daein; unencumbered by all his magicked armor, his massive form gave off so much heat that Soren did not feel the need to get up and stoke the fireplace.

Ike breathed soft and even the moment his back hit the mattress and Soren wondered if he was still the stereotypical Daein soldier, so weary that he would be able to sleep on any flat surface.

“If I encroach on your territory just give me a hard kick.” He murmured, voice already thick and velvety with sleep. “I’ll roll over, I promise.”

Soren remembered when Ike had removed the last of his armor and his outer clothes, remembered the generous strip of hard stomach that was bared as his undershirt was pulled up, the bunch of the rippling muscles of his arms. “I think doing that would break my foot.”

Ike laughed quietly, the tremors shaking the bed. “I would recommend you use magic but...I’m not yet ready to die.”

“General Ike?”

“Just call me ‘Ike’.” 

“Ike, those flower fields in Crimea…”

“They’re beautiful.” Ike supplied as Soren trailed off, unsure of what it was he wanted to ask in the first place. “It’s like the sea--”

“I’ve never seen the sea.” Soren admitted.

It clearly gave Ike pause. “Someday I will escort you there, Your Highness...if you like. The sea is beautiful too. You can breathe so easily there and it seems like the entire thing is...alive. The waves are like a heartbeat.” He snorted into his pillow. “Look at me; a soldier trying to act as a poet.” Soren was quiet; he liked the way Ike talked. “Anyway...it felt wrong to be there, at the flower fields. Blood and battle and heavy armor doesn’t belong in that place. I didn’t want to crush any of the blooms. The girls that live nearby on the farms…” he was nodding off, his voice trailing off mid sentence, “they...go out and make...little arrangements, little baskets...to sell. Some of them...carve flowers from wood too...”

“And you thought them a fitting gift?” Soren made his tone as gentle as he could so that Ike would not think his gift was unwanted.

“No one...else in Daein...would understand...Only you…”

No one else in the palace would find the simple beauty in the dried petals, in the delicate carving, or the clever box. It would all just be...kindling. Only Soren would treasure them properly and he mourned the precious petals he had crushed earlier.

Though it was difficult to fall asleep with someone else in his bed, Soren managed it an hour or two after Ike had drifted off. 

Small blessings, the general did not snore or move about in his sleep as Soren imagined most soldiers were wont to do. He curled up on himself, like a child would, and breathed quietly. Soren imagined the sea--all green and gray, with flecks of blue--and the tide like Ike’s breathing.

Chapter Text

Ike had never had difficulties sleeping.

A typical soldier of Daein, pushed to his limits daily, he could usually fall asleep the moment he closed his eyes but he was finding it hard to sleep in Prince Soren’s fine bed. He had never been so aware of someone in his entire life. But when he came back from training or missions, covered in dust and blood, and Prince Soren looked up at him with those wide red eyes, his soft, cultured voice surprised as he called Ike “General Ike,” pressing his book to his slim chest…

The prince was his, all his, and Ike just wanted to walk in and out of his rooms on a loop and hear that soft gasp. “ General Ike ”. Even better would be when Prince Soren would snap his tome shut with irritation and ask Ike if he wouldn’t rather just remove the door entirely and spare himself the trouble. 

Ike couldn’t get it out of his mind. 

In the darkness, he saw the prince’s lovely face, his wide eyes, the way his name sounded on the prince’s tongue and Ike felt his legs tingle. It didn’t help that he could hear Prince Soren’s careful, measured breathing from right next to him. Despite everyone’s thinly veiled insinuations that he had gotten a leg over the prince, Ike just wanted to hear Prince Soren call his name and talk with him and stare with his perfect, wide eyes. 

Ike couldn’t sleep for thinking about it. He wanted more.

On one of his rare days free, a little more than a week after his promotion, Ike fully intended to take advantage of his new position. He was up with the sun, cleaning himself and getting dressed for the day ahead. Soren arose a little while later, eyes slitted with clear annoyance as Ike pulled the curtains open; his normally smooth, dark hair was in a tangle around his face.

“Good morning, Your Highness.” Ike grinned at him.

“ Is it? Is it a good morning, general?” Prince Soren asked, his voice chilly enough to frighten even the hardiest of Daein soldiers. Ike’s grin widened; living with the prince, even for such a short time had made him privy to the prince’s secret sharp tongue, his mouth often getting ahead of him when he was annoyed. 

Ike liked to gently irritate the prince if only to hear his honest thoughts.

“You had best get up. We want to be back before nightfall.” Shock was clear on the prince’s face as the implication cut through any residual dreams.

“W-We’re--we’re going out?”

“Unless you are previously engaged.” Ike smiled at him, knowing that he was not. The prince’s social engagements had been minimal even before Ike was given full control over them. Now Prince Soren did not even have to attend dinner, taking private meals with Ike in his rooms, if he wished. “I have somewhere I want to show you. Provided you can keep a secret.”

Soren blinked owlishly. “I cannot. Let me sleep.”

“If I order it of you?” Ike joked; he would not order Prince Soren to do anything he didn’t care to do but he still liked to see the flash of annoyance cross the prince’s face. “I won’t. But I would like very much to have your company.” He was not sure if he had ever seen the prince leave the palace.

The king rarely brought his son on royal business throughout the kingdom. The rumor was that he did not want his subjects seeing that his only son was slim and fair of face, rather than a fearsome warrior of Daein’s dreams.

The prince sighed. “If you’re going to be difficult...I might as well.”

The prince dressing was a fascinating thing to witness, it was amazing he did not need the assistance of a servant. With so many layers and laces, the gloves and boots and fur-lined cloak…he supposed it was necessary in Daein’s climate. But he was quick, choosing to braid his long hair as Ike escorted him down to the stables. Ike errantly wondered what the prince’s hair would feel like in his hands; he imagined it would feel like fine strands of silk or warm water slipping through his fingers.

Arriving at the stables, Ike was unsurprised to find the training grounds already bustling with activity, one of the young recruits bringing him his leisure horse, already groomed and saddled. Normally he rode his warhorse, but the creature was so spirited and intense that it was liable to throw a horseshoe and terrify any novice rider. The prince eyed the creature with thinly veiled suspicion, the horse shaking her glossy head at the prince as if challenging him.

“Do you have your own mount, Your Highness?” Ike used all decorum when so many people were around.

“I...do not. I am not particularly good with horses.”

“I thought not. Would you prefer to ride in front of me or pillion?” Ike would be more than happy with either option.

“I fear I’ll fall off if I sit behind.” Prince Soren frowned slightly, judging the distance between the ground and the saddle. Though she was not the warhorse Ike would ride into battle, she had still been chosen to accommodate his impressive frame. “I suppose...I should mount first.” Ike held out his hand so the prince could take it as he boosted himself up in the saddle. They both ignored the whistles of some of the bolder soldiers as Ike easily swung up behind him, the prince’s insignificant weight settling between his legs. 

It was readily apparent the prince did not often ride, pressing himself hard into Ike’s chest to stabilize himself as Ike spurred his horse into a lively canter out of the palace grounds. The citizens of Nevassa cleared the way, hailing Ike as a familiar and welcome sight.

“You are beloved, general.” Prince Soren noted, relaxing a little by the time they had cleared the main gates of the city. He yelped and tensed as Ike’s horse leapt nimbly over the final length of the cobblestone path and Ike pressed a single hand into the prince’s chest to steady him. It would take a lot more than a simple jump to unseat him though he was...a tiny bit shaky.

“I...I hadn’t noticed.” He noticed very little aside from how nice it felt to have the prince pressed up tight against him. Part of him wished that the ride would take longer.

The ruins were about two hours ride outside the city and, though they had seemed larger when he was a boy, Ike still felt the same awe he always did when he saw the noble white pillars, the half destroyed buildings choked with ivy and creeping vines that sprouted trumpet-like flowers in white and indigo. Looking to the north was the impressive panorama of Nevassa, set in the backdrop of her jagged peaks and Ike could see wyverns lazily circling the mountaintops. 

It was an inspiring, if fearsome sight. 

“This is--” Prince Soren was so busy looking around, he did not notice as Ike held him around the waist in order to help him off the horse. Ike’s heartbeat was in his wrists as he felt the smooth, taut line of Soren’s stomach through his clothes. He let go hastily and stepped back to an appropriate distance. 

“They’re ruins, obviously.”

The prince’s eyes flashed ruby fire. “I assume you were raised here then? It would explain your manners.”

Ike stretched his arms behind his head, pleased that the prince was not tempering himself. “It explains why I like flowers, at the very least. Boyd and I used to come here as kids to pretend we were great Daein warriors. Defeating enemies, defending the kingdom, you know?” 

“Rescuing princesses?” The prince offered, picking his way through the stones, “Though I cannot imagine either of you in the role.” His gloved hand half-covered his smile but Ike was still mesmerized by the rare expression. 

“I’m not...interested in princesses.” Ike said, his tongue stumbling over the words. 

The prince’s steps were silent as he picked his way through the ruins. He only paused when he saw the uninterrupted view of Nevassa. “Mmm...no. Only battle and glory for the children of Daein. My birthright.” Ike stood next to Prince Soren, trying to subtly gauge his reaction. “It doesn’t feel like mine. Perhaps that will be my childish imagining: King Soren of Daein.”

He twisted his mouth at the unfamiliar words, the expression delightful to Ike. 

“How strange.” Ike said, coming abreast of the prince. “When I think of Nevassa, you are one of the first ones to come to mind. You need not listen to those cruel words that would deny you; you are my prince and there is none other.” He had sworn an oath to protect Daein and all her subjects from harm; there had been no princesses in the games of his childhood, only a prince that Ike had defended from invaders and marauding bandits. “Gods, it sounds like a speech I would have made as a child. Forgive my ineloquence; it is one of my greatest faults.”

Prince Soren smiled teasingly. “You are foolish, General, to give me this leverage over you. You ought to have a strategist handy to keep you from spilling your weaknesses so easily.”

“Now if I order you to do something you dislike, you can use this against me.” Ike was not bothered in the least at the thought of the prince blackmailing him. “So long as you keep this spot a secret.”

“Of course. I’ve never had...I’ve never had someone close enough to share secrets with.” 

It tugged at Ike’s heart to think of what a lonely existence it was. At least Ike had his father and Oscar and Boyd to confide in. Prince Soren had no one. Except… “Now you do. If you wish, I would guard yours more carefully than my own.” Ike pretended not to notice, but he glowed internally, glowed at the prince’s blush. 

Prince Soren asked to be excused from the formal dinner that evening, pulling his boots off and groaning softly once his feet touched the cool stone of the floors. Ike had been more than happy to oblige, promising to have food sent--good food, as silent thanks for being able to watch the prince unpin his braid and run his fingers through his loose hair. Such a short ride was nothing to Ike, but he was still tempted by food.

He ignored the stares in the great hall, the whispers about why the prince was not by his side didn’t concern him. At least no one aside from Boyd and Oscar thought to ask him about his activities of the day until long after he had finished eating and he felt someone take the empty chair beside him.

“General Ike.” 

Ike’s teeth were on edge immediately, a feeling like fire in his fingertips. He had expected this but not so soon.

“General Isengrim.”

The man was carefully relaxed, as if he hadn’t a care in the world, but Ike saw wicked hunger deep in his dark eyes. “Enjoying the fruits of your promotion?” Ike felt his expression darken, felt his body coil tight in preparation to backhand the man if he overstepped. “Close-lipped, aren’t you? He’s that good is he? The best kept secret in Nevassa. Has he not graced us with his presence because he hasn’t the strength to walk? If you’re not careful, you’ll break his bones.” Rather than a word of caution, it sounded like he almost enjoyed the thought of the prince being manhandled to the point of snapping.

“Do you have some business with me?” Ike asked coldly, wondering if he should cast his sword aside to avoid temptation.

“All business with you, general. The prince couldn’t help you relax? Are you still breaking him in? If not,” the man inched forward, making his voice low and conspiratorial, “I’d like to ask you to borrow him. For a night or two.” Killing a fellow general would seal Ike’s death warrant but...gods, if it wouldn’t feel good. “That frigid little thing. I always wondered about him but I thought his father wouldn’t be so cruel to turn a blind eye; I should never underestimate King Ashnard.” His smile could cut glass. “Surely, general, that chilly prince must be somewhat sweet under all those robes. Let me borrow him. I am dying to know.”

Only years and years of careful instruction from his father kept Ike from committing murder in the great hall. Even a single word from gritted teeth was almost too much for him.

“No.”

Isengrim laughed at the sharp refusal, though his eyes flashed malice. “Rare enough to hoard, eh? Well...he is ‘yours’ now. When you tire of him, let me know. I’ll make it worth your while.”

Ike should have left well enough alone, but he was in a rare state. “It will never happen. Keep your eyes and hands off of the prince or I will let him slice them off your body.” It was clear Isengrim did not seem to take kindly to being told ‘no’ or being threatened. “That is my final word on the matter.” 

Before the man could utter another foul word in regards to his intentions towards the prince, Ike turned on his heel and left the dining hall. If he opened the door a little harder than normal, the fine wood bouncing with a hard crack against the stone behind it, no one commented.

Like he was about to vomit up fire, Ike hurt from his throat to his gut, the feeling causing his fists to tremble. 

Ike was known for being calm and stable, rarely losing his temper, even in the heat of battle. But he had never felt so threatened in his entire life, rage racing through his veins in a latticework of magma.

How dare he. How dare he? The man was a monster .

Just thinking of the prince--his quick glares, his rare smile, the slender curve of his waist--interspersed with the anguished screams of people he had seen Isengrim hurt before...Ragnell almost throbbed at his hip, begging for blood. There was no question in Ike’s mind: if Isengrim tried to touch Prince Soren, Ike would let the prince burn Isengrim to ash. If the prince was unable to do so, Ike would relieve the man of his head. He had to calm himself considerably before he entered the prince’s rooms.

He wouldn’t scare Prince Soren. He wouldn’t let him know that his greatest fear had been very legitimate. 

Ike had taken care of it quietly and the man would never disturb Prince Soren again.

He need not have bothered to calm himself; the prince, exhausted from their long ride and so many hours spent under the open sky, had fallen asleep in his armchair. His head was pillowed on one of his gloved hands, the other hand keeping his spot in the book he had been reading. He must have been truly exhausted, as very little could tear Prince Soren away from his beloved books. Ike closed the door softly behind him, not wanting to disturb the prince.

If he continued to sleep in his current position, the prince would wake with severe pain in his neck. 

“Your Highness,” he crouched in front of Soren’s knees, unable to bring himself to touch the prince in order to rouse him, “Your Highness, you should move to bed.” It seemed a waste to wake him. He looked so peaceful, so at ease…

There was a crack of crimson and Prince Soren moved, a small murmur of protest slipping from his mouth as his head jerked a little on his hand. Ike took the book from the prince’s lap, finding on the low table nearby a bit of string with smooth sea glass attached as a bookmark to save his place. It looked so familiar.

The string was as red as Soren’s eyes, the sea glass like the highlights in Ike’s hair when he had spent days under the summer sun. It was so familiar…

Ike didn’t have time to recall as Prince Soren sluggishly pushed himself up and trudged over to bed, Ike following dutifully behind in case he stumbled. The prince did not even bother to remove his cloak or his gloves as he fell onto the duvet, curling up on himself. His body was hardly equipped to keep out the chill, so Ike simply folded the rest of the blankets over the prince’s body, leaving Ike’s usual side of the bed bare.

He didn’t intend to sleep there in any case.

Ike thought of how his father had always insisted he stand guard in front of the prince’s doors until relieved of duty. Though he had never questioned it before, he wondered now if his father had used it as a precaution against Isengrim. Even if Ike had been ordered aside, he would have gone to Greil first. Greil and the king were the only two who could strike the fear of the goddess into the man.

Ike would be the third amongst their ranks.

He dragged the armchair and matching footstool over to the door, setting up so close that no one would be able to sneak past without waking him. Ragnell lay parallel on the ground next to him as Ike settled in for a decent night’s rest.

He fell asleep remembering.

Blue sea glass on a red string...playing with Boyd to rescue a prince...Soren’s smile.

Chapter Text

Soren would normally feel the eyes on him, but he was concentrating so hard that he could drown out everything else around him.

The young, stout man named Boyd stumbled backward, only saving himself from the embarrassment of falling on his ass by pitching forward onto one knee. At least he did not drop his weapon. His clothes and armor were cross-hatched with slices, though Soren had held back from unleashing his full potential against someone Ike considered a friend. Boyd shuddered a breath before he burst out laughing, clearing the sweaty green hair from his forehead.

“Ike, you crafty bastard! Did you know his highness was this good before you sicced him on me?” Clearly only their years of close friendship kept Captain Boyd from being punished for calling a Rider a ‘crafty bastard’. 

“I assure you, Boyd, I had no idea.” Ike said easily from his front-row position just outside the training sands. There was a slight tilt to his smile that Soren recognized after six weeks of living with the man indicating that he was being devious and was likely lying.

Soren felt warm over Ike’s high estimation of his skills.

Ike had seen Soren practicing his magic in their shared rooms and asked, with all decorum, if he’d like to practice against a proper opponent and make sure he could defend himself. Nevassa had the training grounds to spare for it but Soren had always been too nervous to go himself, afraid that Isengrim would challenge him or that a public failure would reach the ears of his father. Ike promised that he’d already had a sparring partner in mind.

He had been terrified at first, especially with the growing crowd coming to see why the slim, helpless prince would set a single foot in the training sands. But...he was shocked over how easy it had been.

All the intense concentration that had allowed him to master the most difficult of spells, allowed him to immediately assess his opponent and sense his strengths and weaknesses in battle. In a moment, he knew that Captain Boyd, with his heavy practice broadaxe, would destroy Soren in close combat but would be at a severe disadvantage from a distance. Elwind was the best option for keeping Boyd on the opposite end of the arena and he used half a lifetime of avoiding wandering hands to dodge any strokes that came too close. 

His single focus was to defeat Boyd and he had been shocked and elated when the man gave in.

The crowd around him was silent in shock, that one of their strongest could be felled by the slender prince but Ike smiled as if he had known the outcome all along. Soren’s lips upturned in spite of himself.

“You are fearsome, Your Highness.” Boyd did not seem the type to fall into foul humor over a loss, even to a seemingly weaker opponent, his smile wide as he got back to his feet. “I insist on a rematch, when you feel up to it.”

“He’ll challenge you until he wins.” Ike sighed, stepping onto the pitch. “He’s stubborn like that.”

Seeing Boyd and Ike’s informality with him, Soren was then inundated with recruits, begging him for a match. Most of them were typical Daein men: huge, hulking, with fiery eyes that looked over Soren like he was some great, powerful beast to bring down for glory. He stepped closer to Ike before they fell on him, weapons bared.

Ike frowned but it seemed Boyd was not so diplomatic as his friend. 

His green eyes narrowed with fury as he rose up to his full height, his voice a bellow of command. “ Fools ! Have you lost your senses in lust for battle? The prince has just bested a captain of Nevassa! Do you claim to be able to do the same?” The fire was lost immediately, replaced by the scuffing of boots and a vague murmur of indignation. “Gods give me strength; let’s see your bravado after Oscar runs you through drills.” Boyd’s serene older brother smiled from the sidelines, clearly amused by his brother’s bluster. There was a chorus of groans in response to the threat of drills.

“I’ll spar with you while they contemplate their punishment.” Ike said as he clapped Boyd on the shoulder. “I promise more of a challenge.”

Boyd’s smile was razor sharp as he slapped Ike’s hand away in faux annoyance. “General, I believe you still have a scar on your ass from where I bested you in a duel.” Ike laughed at the memory and Soren watched, enraptured at how close friends communicated with one another.  

But Ike was not wrong.

Soren’s heart was skipping beats as Ike took up the practice sword opposite him, the wood just as intimidating as if he had been wielding steel. Soren picked Elfire as his main magic for its versatility, hoping that the even speed and strength of the tome would give him an edge for ranged and close combat. He quickly looked over Ike for a weakness and found none. 

“Throw everything you have at me, Your Highness. My armor deflects magic.”

“I am at a disadvantage then.” Soren replied tartly. “As my robes do not repel wood.” There was a collective gasp from the other soldiers, punctuated by Ike’s hearty laughter. “Very well, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

He inhaled a scream as Ike rushed him, giving no quarter, lightning fast even in his heavy armor. Soren’s boots skidded in the dirt, shooting fire to where he had been only a moment before, but Ike had already recovered and was gone from where the blaze hit. Soren rolled on instinct, the wooden sword whistling over his head. Somehow furious in spite of the adrenaline, Soren aimed his next spell at Ike’s boots, savoring the man’s yelp of dismay as he skittered backwards again. There was no strategy; his only defense was escape.

He tried to dodge again, an hand wrapping around his forearm, and Soren felt a bolt of fear, dropping the Elfire in favor of his familiar Elwind. He blasted the spell blindly over his shoulder, hearing a hiss of pain as he was pulled back, practice sword pressed against his throat.

As he calmed, his chest still rising and falling rapidly, Soren glanced behind him. Ike was smiling, smelling of magical smoke, a thin scratch from the wind bleeding on his cheek.

“You’re good,” He breathed in amazement. Soren felt the compliment like a strike to the chest. 

The most annoying thing by far about living with Ike was how early he woke up in the morning. Despite all his best efforts, putting on armor was noisy business and he often apologized before leaving their chambers in the morning.

Soren was half-asleep still when Ike took his hands, warming Soren’s fingers. “I’ll be back after lunch. I have a mission in the city and then I’m seeing off my father.” Soren remembered hazily that it was time for General Greil’s mysterious sojourn into Crimea. Soren felt something warm press against his cheek and he leaned into the heat. “Please feel free to sleep longer, Your Highness. It is not yet sunrise.”

“Don’t...tell me what to do...general.” Soren mumbled and Ike rumbled a laugh at his cheek.

“I’ll lock the door on my way out. Rest easy.” And Soren was lowered back onto the warm sheets.

It was still jarring to wake up and find Ike gone, his rooms a little colder and larger without the general’s presence. Nervous about going to the training grounds alone, Soren contemplated how he would spend time alone in his room until Ike returned. Getting used to Ike’s presence had the unintended side effect of making Soren...lonely when the man was gone. 

In the end he decided to write in his journal-- the barest notes, betraying none of his feelings, and were mostly cold observations about his opponents and how he might improve his skills in battle--when there was a heavy knock at the door. Soren’s period became a scratch of black across the page, his heart stuttering in his chest as he remembered Ike was seeing his father away on his annual trip to Crimea.

He clutched the collar of his robes tight around his throat, as if that would deter anyone, his fingers reaching for the closest Elfire tome.

“Who is it, please?” He asked, his voice surprisingly level.

“Summons from King Ashnard.” It was not Isengrim’s poison-honey voice, but the bored tone of a guard clearly sent on a boring errand. Still, Soren brought the tome with him, pressing it tightly to his chest as he opened the door. He breathed easy when he did not recognize the bored face in the hall outside.

He did, however, recognize the heavy black card with the blood red border that his father used to bring him to heel. The silvery handwriting offered no information aside from orders to come to the king’s chambers immediately and Soren sighed, steeling himself for the meeting.

Going to speak with his father was like entering a battle arena blind and disarmed. He had no way of preparing himself but the king would not be left waiting.

“Lead on.”

Though he kept his expression calm, Soren’s heart rate picked up as he came to the black double doors of the king’s chambers. Twin dragons were carved into the dark wood, their glittering ruby eyes almost seeming to regard Soren hungrily. He avoided their jaws as he knocked and announced himself.

His body went cold, in spite of all his layers, when he heard his father’s voice. “Come in, boy.”

Soren entered slowly, always fearful of crossing that threshold.

His father’s rooms were just as spartan as his, one of the few things they had in common. But while Soren’s ‘frivolous’ nature manifested in bookshelves and his own miniature collection of volumes, the king was much more taken with weapons and war, his blade set in a place of honor, a massive table in the center of the room devoted solely to a massive map of Tellius.

King Ashnard was looking out the window, his expression hidden as Soren waited silently to be acknowledged. His father’s disdain was palpable and though Soren could not think of having caused offense, he found himself terrified.

“I hear you have caused some upset on the training grounds.”

“General Ike requested it of me.” Soren said, bowing his head. He could not tell if his father was impressed or angry and wondered if he would think Ike was trying to make Soren more powerful on purpose. “I believe he wished to have the recruits well-versed in defending against magical attacks.”

“I see.”

The conversation fell fallow, Soren measuring his breaths as he waited.

King Ashnard took his time moving from the window and striding over to where Soren stood. His father took him roughly by the chin, tilting it up so he could get an unmolested view of Soren’s face. It was clear that he didn’t like what he saw.

“A disappointment. Just like your mother. One child enough to kill her and she only provides a weakling, rife with her weak blood and childish face. If you had been a girl, you’d have been of more use to me. At least then I could’ve married you off to some great warrior who could take the throne. Well, you’ve gained me a fantastic general, at the very least.”

Soren did not even dare to fist his hands in his robes. Besides, he’d heard these same complaints year after year. He was numb to them.

“You asked for me, father?”

Ashnard released his chin, almost threw it aside, and strode to the window with his hands clasped behind his back. “Boy. Do you know why I esteem General Greil above all others, including the other riders?”

Soren thought quickly, knowing that his father would not tolerate a long pause or a wrong answer. “I believe in battle against the other four riders, he would emerge the clear victor, father. The man has no equal.”

The king smiled, though it was a cold, greedy expression on his face. “You’re not wrong. I think Greil is the most powerful man in Tellius and he has sworn himself to me. Yet…” there was the clink of metal as Ashnard closed his hand to a fist and Soren felt a moment’s panic for his own safety, “yet he goes to Crimea as he pleases, eluding every tracker I set on him to determine his whereabouts. Why does he go? For what reason does Crimea have this hold over him? Does he have some secret he is keeping from Daein? From me?”

Soren felt a cold drip of fear for Greil.

His father coveted . There could be no secrets, nothing that came before king and country. But more importantly the king. Ashnard had to own them, body and soul.

“I do not know. I am not close to the general, as he keeps his own counsel.”

Ashnard turned to him and there was desire, cunning, layered under a veneer of disgust. “But you keep the counsel of his son...amongst other things you must do for him.” Soren wondered if it was possible to blanch and blush at the same time. “At least General Ike seems to favor your... company . Do not be coy, boy. Find out why General Greil goes to Crimea; use whatever wiles you used to seduce the son and draw the truth from him. Surely he must know.”

“And if he does not?”

Ashnard turned, his eyes glittering dark with annoyance. “I’m sure you will be able to come up with something. You are crafty, at the very least. Find out why Greil goes to Crimea, boy. Do not fail.”

He turned back to the window, clearly indicating that the conversation was over, and Soren silently excused himself.

Only years of fear and degradation kept Soren from breaking into a run as he went back to his rooms. He slammed the door behind him and nearly screamed as he saw someone sitting inside.

“So--Your Highness!” Ike stood quickly, the chair clattering backwards in his haste to stand. He crossed the room in three quick strides--he was so fast it took Soren’s breath away--and one hand trembled just under Soren’s jaw. He clenched his calloused fingers into a loose fist before inadvertently touching the skin of Soren’s face. “You’re so pale.”

“I’m always pale, General. A charming side effect of staying indoors.”

“N-no. I mean...you look frightened. Did someone--did Isengrim--?” Ike seemed to choke on the words, his eyes catching blue fire at the thought of someone hurting Soren. Soren had no doubt that if he gave Ike a name, the general would storm from their room in demand of answers and he almost wished Ike’s palm was still open so Soren could rest against it. Instead he touched Ike’s wrist with the very tips of his fingers.

“No. No, I’m alright. I’m not hurt.”

But someone is trying to hurt you . My father, the king is… he wants more. Always more . His father’s demands warred against Soren’s sincere fondness of the man, and he felt the same twist of sickness over the impossible decision before him. He would have to betray someone…

He gripped Ike’s wrist a little harder to steady himself, hoping that some of Ike’s heat would transfer to him. “I-I am just...worried about the future.”

Ike softened, the fury leaving him. “If anyone is fearsome enough to face the future, it’s you, Prince Soren. Though...I’m more than happy to keep you safe, if it’s too much to bear.”

Soren’s heart ached. He could never betray Ike…

Chapter Text

Ike had recalled how, long ago, the prince had expressed how he had learned magic to protect himself and Ike had seen the competitive spirit of Daein in him, the desire to win, only Prince Soren was more dangerous. He had more than half of a brain and a mouth to go with it, sizing up opponents with his quick eyes before the battle even began. Even with lightning--notoriously finicky magic that missed more often than not--Prince Soren was fearsome. 

Ike had had a feeling the first time in the arena that the prince would get a taste for fighting. His feelings when it came to battle were rarely wrong.

In the months following their first match, when Ike was not off on assignment, the prince went with Ike to the practice sands at least twice a week. Ike made sure their trips were made only when General Isengrim was sure to be otherwise engaged. He lived in mortal fear that the man would appear and demand a match against the prince. 

Ike was confident Prince Soren could at least survive the encounter. And the crowds of soldiers who watched him fight the lucky few who had begged hard enough to enter the arena had learned that he was no easy target. 

Boyd had hooted in vindicated glee as one of their eager lieutenants had nearly had his privates singed by an Elfire. “I told you! Your greed is too clear and his highness ought to have roasted your balls!” Ike shook with laughter as Oscar cuffed his brother on the back of the head.

“You speak so crudely in front of royalty?” Oscar scolded and the prince covered his hand with one sleeve to hide his own smile. 

Boyd did have a point though; one of the recruits would end up hurting themselves, trying to defeat the prince. So they set up a vetting process.

Ike, Boyd, and Oscar could challenge him as they liked but all others had to get the approval of at least two of them before they could challenge Prince Soren. Usually they picked the calmer, more calculating recruits who would give less away, make the prince’s brow furrow in concentration. It was hard to let other people take a turn when Ike liked to see that rabid desire to win turned on him, even more so since the prince had never once won a match against him. 

Ike would not let Prince Soren win either.

He had to give his all every single time or the prince would see through it and be terribly offended. He was rabid to win with his own power; Ike understood.

It was unsurprising then that the prince had gotten hurt during battle.

One of their most promising female lieutenants who specialized in short spears had cunningly gotten him hard across the wrist, causing the prince to drop his tome and lose the battle in favor of cradling his injury. He still looked mad enough to spit and Ike had to hold back a smile as he declared the victor.

“Where are you taking me?” Prince Soren asked, still shaking from adrenaline, too on-edge to truly feel the pain yet. The audience stared agape at how demanding the prince was being. Certainly it had shattered many illusions about their little arrangement of Ike ‘owning’ the prince.

“Congratulations on your first major injury. I’m taking you to handle it before the pain becomes too intense. She got you good; it will probably take a week or two for the ache to go away.” Though he could not see the injury directly, Ike had had his share of practice weapons landing hard on the bone. “Trust me.”

Prince Soren grumbled but didn’t fight it any further as Ike led him to a secluded bench and pulled out a length of cloth bandage from their storerooms. Though...his hands were a little unsteady as he began unlacing the fine cloth of the prince’s sleeves, revealing an arm the color of lily petals, slightly swollen.

“It was a lucky hit. A little longer and you would have emerged the winner.” 

“Let her challenge me again.” The prince’s eyes glittered with determination and latent fury. “Now that I know her tricks, I’ll not lose again.”

“At least wait until your wrist has healed before you go tearing the army apart,” Ike sighed, wrapping the bandages with the skill afforded by years of similar injuries, “They only waste Healing and Mending magic on truly grievous injuries.”

“Is that an order?” The prince said, still hot from his fight.

Ike smiled. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Though,” he turned the prince’s wrist gently, marveling at how delicate the bones were, “I could find you a priest if it hurts. Does it hurt?” He sincerely hoped it did not, his brow knitting with concern. 

Prince Soren softened a little, his shoulders losing their tension. “It does not, beyond a slight throbbing. You are...very good at this. Thank you, Ike.”

“I’d certainly hope to be good at it.” Ike laughed, bowing his head so he could better concentrate on wrapping. “Boyd and I have been injured so many times that we should have a personal priest to accompany us. Since you are the prince, I suppose I’ll serve as your personal medic as well.”

“I could just learn healing magic.” Prince Soren tilted his head and the silky length of his hair poured over Ike’s forearm. It felt electric. “It cannot be too difficult.”

“For you, I’m sure it wouldn’t be. But I like to do this. To serve my prince like a knight of old.” Ike was almost regretting that he was able to apply bandages so easily. He should have slowed down, taken his time. He tied the length off expertly at the center of the prince’s forearm. He had never touched so much of Prince Soren’s bare skin before. 

The prince was in better humor, carefully flexing his fingers to see what was sore. “A shame I have no signet ring for you to kiss.” 

Ike cupped the prince’s fingers with his hand and raised them to his lips unthinkingly. He only realized that he could be taking liberties a mere millimeter before his lips brushed the prince’s bare skin. His lips trembled and his breath was warm against the cool, pale skin of Prince Soren’s slim fingers. Too late to back out now. 

It was not a kiss, Ike convinced himself, as he pressed his lips forward. 

He hoped his smile was reassuring and not at all indicative of the racing heartbeat under his skin. “I pledge to be your positively mediocre personal healer, Your Highness.”

Prince Soren did not yank his hand away but allowed Ike to place it back on his lap. “Just what I’ve always wanted.” 

Though it was a simple fantasy, like his childhood dreams of single-handedly saving the kingdom from invaders, Ike could not help but dream that Prince Soren had always wanted Ike to kiss his hand. 

The prince’s quick mind never ceased to amaze Ike and he was entirely unsurprised that Prince Soren had taken their offhanded conversation to heart. He had come back from a meeting with General Bryce in his city manor to find the prince poring over Healing magic tomes in the library. His brow was furrowed in concentration as he rolled the unfamiliar spells around in his mouth. Ike watched him for a moment, smiling at how the prince could drown out the world around him.

“Your Highness.”

“ Bastard! ” Prince Soren yelped and dropped his book in surprise, whirling to see who had crept up on him. “Gods, Ike!”

“Shall I injure myself so you can practice your magic more efficiently?” Ike asked kindly.  

“You need not.” Prince Soren swiped up his book, the tome snapping shut to further display his anger. “I’ll do the honors myself.” Ike grinned and Prince’s Soren’s lips wavered. “Give me a little longer, please. I’ll come back to our rooms before supper.” 

“Whatever you like.” Ike said. “Apologies for startling you. Next time I’ll give you a book in the arena to keep you truly distracted.” 

“I would think it would distract my opponent as well. I was under the impression that you soldierly types have never seen books before.” 

Ike laughed about the prince’s sharp mouth all the way back to their rooms. As he removed his extraneous pieces of armor, Ike hoped that the tomes wouldn’t keep Prince Soren’s attention for too long. The rooms were fairly uninteresting when the prince was not in them.

Ike cursed softly as the toe of his boot caught one of the stones of the floor, nearly kicking it across the room. As he went to retrieve it and set it back in place, a bit of white caught his eye and he was surprised to see stacks of paper tucked into a hollowed out spot underneath the stone, a hidden alcove for gods knew how long. He wondered if they were remnants of the original builders of the palace and removed them carefully so he might share them with Soren later.

The paper was heavy, rich and Ike withdrew a letter at random, surprised at how crisp the paper and ink were after so much time.

Ike ,

Ike’s breath caught in his throat as he began to read, his eyes continuing helplessly as he saw his name and recognized the fine, elegant script.

Your gift brings me such peace. It is a hazard of my appearance, but when I am forced to withstand distasteful touch, when no one listens to me, I often hold the shells in my hand and breathe in. I should think that there is no smell so soothing as that of the sea. 

Though I have never been, I can imagine the shores, the endless blue like your hair or your eyes. With such dark intentions and ugly words here in Nevassa, I dream of joining you by the sea. I have never craved bloodshed and battle, even if I were the size of a warrior, I would not wish to join the army and command my countrymen to their death but...I would think that traveling by your side would not be so terrible.

The prince’s private thoughts laid out before him, the sensible, honorable part of Ike’s mind knew that he should not continue. But...there was another, visceral part of him that had seen his name in Prince Soren’s handwriting and needed to know. Like a man who had never known fine wine until it passed his lips, he was desperate for something he had never known he’d needed until this very moment.

Cradling the paper, holding them as precious, Ike read. The somber, yet hopeful words pierced his heart with sorrow and anger but also golden elation, some emotion deep in his chest causing his hands to tremble.

‘The screams of men who I must hurt kill a little part of my soul. My love for magic withers with each of their cries. But the moment I hold this night-dark feather against my cheek and I see that it has a sheen of emerald, like my hair, everything is banished. Weak as I am, I like to think on the fact that you saw the color and thought of me. That a feather would bring me such peace…’

‘Ike, I wonder what you would say if you received this letter. Would you feel the same soft happiness I do when I return to see a package, battered by time and distance but nothing less than precious? In this world where there is nothing for me, your gifts are all I think of, all that is beautiful for the future. I cannot...there is not enough paper in Nevassa to say how these simple things have kept my heart beating.’

‘Captain Ike, I worry for you. I would never say it aloud for fear of causing offense but you are a good man and those are rare enough. Perhaps it is my selfishness. If you were not to return, I fear I would never find any joy in thinking past the next moment. I would never impugn your skill by saying such a thing aloud but I pray to the goddess to keep you from harm.’

‘I wonder if the fear of battle is the same as the dread I feel when General Isengrim approaches me. I wonder if I asked, if you would let go with you and your men from Nevassa, far from here.’ 

‘Ike, when I wake from the horrors that I have done, the men that haunt me, I dream of those flower fields in Crimea. I imagine them stretching beyond what my eyes can see, the smell so sweet and powerful that the perfume sinks into my skin. Surely you are the only person in Daein who would appreciate such a simple wish. I have sworn never to send you these thoughts so that...people will not think you a weakness of mine, or me yours. But...the goddess above knows that my greatest dream is to see those fields and walk with you there. Maybe then I will have the courage to ask why. Why did you send me all these lovely things? Why me?’

Ike’s heart was pounding as he finished the letters, the feeling like the racing in his chest after an intense battle. 

Never had a letter caused such a profound reaction and he took a moment to recover from all that he had read. The prince’s precious thoughts, filled with the same wit and elegance that Ike had always...admired. 

He longed to keep them. 

He thought of sewing a pocket into his linen shirt beneath his armor so that he could store the letters, take them out and read them when he was far away from the palace. But the prince was right, as always, and that some would find it a cruel boon to discover that the prince was fond enough of Ike to write him letters. If anyone were to hurt Soren to manipulate Ike…

His breath came out in a painful stutter. Ike would visit the full wrath of his power on them.

No, the risk was not worth how badly he wanted to keep the letters. It was safer that they remained hidden. 

He organized them gently, not wanting to cause even a single unnecessary crease in the precious pages, and placed them gently back in their stone alcove. Ike pressed the loose stone of the floor back in with all his strength, not wanting any unwanted interloper to discover what was his. Ike stared, letting the feelings wash through him in smooth, warm waves. 

It was better than the flower fields, better than the sight of the sea.

He jolted as the door opened and he was fixed by that lovely red gaze that almost felt like it was burning him under his armor. His voice was soft, pleasantly surprised, as if he hadn’t expected Ike. “General Ike.”

“Soren.” Ike said, unthinkingly, the name coming out before he could collect himself. The prince’s eyes grew even wider and Ike felt his cheeks flush as he amended, “Y-Your highness.”

He had never been so informal before and it took them both a moment to recover from Ike’s lapse in decorum.

“Is everything alright?” 

“I was...just thinking about the flower fields in Crimea.” Ike said, noting how the prince perked up at the mere mention of the flower fields. Ike was suddenly overcome with the image of the prince, shin-deep in flowers, with his hands trailing lightly over the petals. “I’d love to go there with you. Provided you don’t mind spending a little longer on horseback.”

“I’d like that.” Prince Soren said, smiling up at Ike.

Ike did not tell him that if he were to smile at Ike like that in the battle arena, then it would cripple Ike more so than any magical tome in the library of Nevassa.

Why did Ike send him all those lovely things? Because...because Ike...towards the prince, he...

Chapter Text

Soren had never easily suffered the touch of others.

His mother had died long before he could look back fondly on her comforting touch. His father had only ever deigned to touch him when Soren had not yet learned to curb his sharp mouth. The slaps had drawn blood.

Isengrim’s touches oozed like poison, like rotten honey.

Trailing over Soren in hot swipes, gripping possessively as though he would rip the clothes from Soren’s body, shove fingers into him at the slightest provocation. Other drunken oafs had made passes but no one had the cruel, sickening precision of Isengrim. Soren often thought, he knows what he is doing, he is well-practiced .

Touch was violent or insidious, there was no in between...or so he had thought, until he spent so much time with Ike. Perhaps it was the constant contact he’d had with his comrades, but as he became more comfortable with their arrangement, he had become unthinkingly physical with Soren.

A soft hand on his shoulder at dinner to keep any unwanted interlopers from cornering Soren, coming up close behind him on the practice sands to correct his form and show him some simple ways to break holds, holding Soren’s hand when...when anxiety clutched at his heart like a vise. Soren was becoming used to it and--if he was being very honest with himself--he quite liked it.

There was never any risk with Ike. His touch was gentle and hesitant, sure to fall away without complaint if Soren did not want it. He could not believe he had ever been worried that Ike would willingly harm him or force his touches.

It felt like his skin was electric, even through his clothing. He jolted when Ike touched him without fair warning, though it was not from fear.

“Apologies, Your Highness.” Ike withdrew his hand from Soren’s waist, his flush clashing against the messy blue of his hair. “I did not mean to take liberties.”

“It’s alright.” Soren murmured, turning closer so that Ike knew that the reaction was not fear. “You never take liberties. I was just surprised and besides, I find your touch quite--”

He could not say exactly what Ike’s touch meant to him. A confusing mix of anticipation and surprise and soothing and want, he could not recognize until several nights later. 

Soren awoke in a cold sweat, the screams of the dying men still echoing in his ears as he clutched his shirt tight around his neck. His breath came in quick, helpless gasps, the panic like a weight on his chest.

“Soren?” Ike’s voice was as lucid and calm as if he had been awake the entire time. Soren felt warm hands on his shoulders, thumbs rubbing soothing circles. So used to Ike referring to him with all decorum, it was nice to hear Ike call him by name. “Soren? Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

Soren shook his head. “Just a dream.” Breath still came too fast and too little. 

Ike’s calloused palms moved to Soren’s fingers, massaging them until they relaxed from the cloth of his shirt. “I know...sometimes...it seems so real, doesn’t it?” Soren briefly wondered what horrors Ike had seen to recognize the panic. At least his breathing had slowed in response to the warmth of Ike’s hands; he relinquished his shirt to grip Ike’s fingers and move them to his neck, just under his jaw, where his pulse was still fluttering erratically. “I--”

“Please.” Soren whispered. “Just a little longer.”

“I...whatever you wish, Your Highness.” He wished Ike would call him ‘Soren’ again but knew that Ike was very aware of the bounds of propriety. It was a shame.

Feeling the rough pads of Ike’s fingers on his throat allowed Soren to pace his heartbeat and he fell into a dreamless sleep not long after. It was surprising how foreign hands could be so...soothing.

For once, Soren was awake before Ike. One of his hands was still resting just below Soren’s left cheek, monitoring his heart rate, while the other cupped the back of Soren’s head, pillowing it above the mattress. With the small slice of early morning light that came through the gap in the curtains, Soren could see the small scar through Ike’s dark eyebrow, a silvery glint of blue stubble on his chin, the pale blue highlights of his hair and it hit him hard in the chest.

Oh. Oh, I yearn for him. 

He could not name the emotion beyond a warm swelling just behind his breastbone, he had never felt such a thing before but it felt so good, he decided to bask in it. 

He wanted to touch Ike. He wanted Ike to touch him. He wanted...Ike. If they never left the bed, if Ike kept his hands right where they were, then Soren had no complaints. Feather-light, he traced his fingertips over Ike’s calloused hands, up the tight steel of his arms, onto his chest, where the firm muscle stretched far below the low cut of his linen shirt. Soren could feel the healthy, soothing tide of his heartbeat and he felt a twinge of regret as Ike stirred and he let his hand fall back to the mattress. 

Ike’s eyelashes were so blue, they were almost black, his irises a few shades lighter, and Soren was breathless as he tried to name what he was feeling. It fled from him the moment Ike smiled sleepily; all thoughts were banished other than how he could keep the smile there as long as possible.

“I...must still be dreaming...if you’re awake before me.”

“You’re much more charming in your sleep, General.” Soren said easily before he could help himself. It didn’t matter.

Ike smiled wider.

Soren jumped as Ike entered their rooms without his usual courtesy knock. 

He was in full armor, Ragnell at his hip, and a determined set to his jaw that Soren rarely saw outside the practice grounds. Soren felt a jolt of fear and leapt to his feet, wondering why his energy was so different this afternoon.

“General! Ike. Is everything alright?” He hoped his panic did not register, even though he clutched the neck of his robes and Ike’s eyes darted up accordingly.

He softened. “Apologies, Prince Soren. I didn’t mean to frighten you; I’m just...there’s a difficult situation that has arisen.” Soren waited patiently for Ike to tell him, never thinking for a moment that Ike would lie to him to spare his feelings. “I have just had a meeting with your father, the king, and there is a large contingent of bandits that have taken up hold in the Wyvern’s Forest about an hour east of here. They have captured several caravans and slew the merchants. They have also killed the contingent of soldiers first sent after them.” A brief flash of pain across Ike’s face and Soren realized that some of the dead he must have counted amongst his friends. Very slowly, Soren stepped forward and touched Ike’s armored knuckles. “Now it falls to me to rout them and avenge...my comrades.”

“I...I understand. Are Boyd and Oscar--?”

“They’re safe.” Ike assured him and Soren mirrored his relief. “Oscar is coming with me. Boyd is…” Ike’s brow furrowed as he took Soren’s hand, careful that he did not grip too hard with his gauntlets, “Boyd is staying here at my request.”

“Oh?”

“If...something should happen and I am unable to return, I have asked Boyd to keep you safe.” From Isengrim , remained unspoken but lay heavy in the air and it still terrified Soren to the point where his legs felt liquid. He had never considered that there was a possibility Ike might not return. “You need not worry. It is simply a precaution. Though these bandits are crafty, I have no doubt we will be successful. But,” Ike took a deep breath, “though your father has ordered this of me, I will honor my original vow to you and I will keep you safe, no matter what.”

Soren felt too tightly laced, breath coming short. Though it had always been a risk, never had it hit him so close. “You...you must come back.” He would not dare to go against his father’s orders but he would use all of his insubstantial power to order Ike around as well. “As your prince, I demand it of you. Please. Come back.”

Ike smiled and nodded, raising Soren’s gloved hand to his mouth, kissing the dark velvet. “I swear. I’ll come back.”

Though it was merely a sign of chivalry, Soren’s heart flipped whenever Ike kissed his hand. It was a more common occurrence and Soren’s fingers continued to tingle even after Ike had left for his mission. 

But despite the warm feelings in his fingers, his heart was still gripped by fear, his chest like ice.

He paced as the light of mid-morning gave way to afternoon and a trip to the royal library to read on the recent history of banditry did not help his anxiety. Just like the tenacious soldiers Daein and their merciless king, the bandits of Daein were renowned for being bloodthirsty and cruel beyond measure. Reading of how once a group had flayed a previous general alive did not set Soren at ease in the least.

He kept thinking of Ike...of Ike in danger, of Ike in pain and something new added to his fear.

Fury.

He was properly furious at the thought of Ike in peril. That people who were technically his subjects would hurt the only person on earth he held dear? He had always taken care to tamp down his stronger emotions to keep anyone from using outbursts against him but this had him feeling like he was filled with bubbling lava.

Perhaps it was also why, by late afternoon, he had made the arguably foolish decision to follow Ike and wipe the bandits from the forest. He’d burn the forest to ash if he had to. 

Sometimes being unwanted had its benefits, and sneaking out was one of them.

Though he had no armor, Soren dressed in older silk robes, knowing that the raw silk would prevent further extraction injury if he were to be hit by an arrow or a spear.

Aside from his beloved Elwind tome, Soren also brought a Bolganone and a precious Rexflame, one of the strongest tomes he owned. He’d do all he could to keep Ike safe. Include sneaking out of the palace with his strongest tomes...although, saddling and riding a horse was a tall order.

After finding the horse they had ridden together to the ruins, it took Soren half of an hour to figure out how to saddle and bridle her, and another fifteen minutes to hoist himself up that enormous distance onto her back. Without Ike’s firm presence behind him, Soren lurched with vertigo as she moved and he felt a cold sheen of sweat break out on his neck and lower back.

“Ok. Ok…” He whispered to calm both himself and the horse, her ear flicking back towards him at the sound of his voice. “We’ll take this slow, alright?” Even so, he yelped when she began to move; it would be a long fall. 

But the horse was well-trained and did not seem to mind that Soren gripped her reins tight with his hands, sometimes squeezing her flanks hard with his skinny thighs. To be fair, she was probably used to a more substantial rider.

It was a wonder he was able to steer her at all.

The ride seemed to take ages, even though the road to the Wyvern’s Forest was straightforward, if riddled with clear signs of a recent battle. Soren successfully brought the horse to halt, thinking carefully before he charged full speed ahead. 

He would not be as much help attacking from the front, where he would be in the way at best and a liability at worst.

From what he had read of Daein bandits, they often had clever hideouts in the forest where they stored supplies and kept reinforcements. Ike often lamented that it was difficult for his men to find these lairs, because the bandits would hear them coming and hide accordingly. But surely they would not hear the approach of one slim prince. 

He chose not to think about what could happen if he was caught. His father would be furious but Ike...Ike would come for him. Ike would protect him; Soren knew it in his cautious heart.

He eased the horse back, retracing the flow of battle to where it had spilled out of the forest. When he heard the telltale sound of voices over the rustle of leaves and the distant sounds of heavier fighting, he took a deep breath before sliding down the horse’s flank.

“End of the line.” Soren gasped, surprised at how shaky his legs were as he dismounted. He was awash in sweat, clearly not as comfortable with riding as he thought. He’d have to walk the remaining distance to avoid notice. “W-will you stay here?” He asked the horse who flicked her ear at him by way of response. Though his own safety was not assured, he was more worried about the safety of Ike’s horse; Ike would be so upset if he were to find his horse stolen or dead. 

In the end, he tied her reins around a low-hanging tree branch and hoped that she would be able to break free of his simple knot if there was an emergency.

Following the sounds of battle, Soren slipped into the forest, glad that he had a light step and dark clothes, even though he nearly rolled his ankle a few times on jutting roots and loose stones. He was not fond of the experience but...Ike, Ike needed him and Soren would have foregone the horse and walked the entire way to keep Ike safe.

Even so, he cursed the rocky embankment he was forced to scale.

Soren inhaled sharply as he saw the bandit’s camp, all their supplies set up around the mouth of a cave; easily defensible and likely containing countless twisting passageways and escape routes in case of a retreat. His heartbeat sped up as he thought of how a well-placed Bolganone would crumble the entrance.

Close by was the sound of voices giving orders, the creak of wooden wheels, and Soren peered from behind his hiding place to see a good fifty bandits and their horses dragging two enormous catapults towards the main battle. Fire flared in his heart as he thought of them hurling heavy projectiles at Ike and so it was fire that he reached for. His hand closed around the warm spine of the Rexflame tome as he thought of how well the dry wood of the catapults would burn. He didn’t even need to light a torch; the words of the spells glowed orange on the page, the sound of them like spice on his tongue.

He had never used Rexflame before.

No one in the vicinity was ready for the absolute maelstrom of golden-orange flames that engulfed the forest.

Chapter Text

Ike was a mess.

Scratched to hell, he was bleeding from at least eight different places in his body, though he had eschewed both priest and vulnerary in his haste. His cloak was nearly in shreds, his armor was dented, and what little of him wasn’t bruised or bleeding was covered in black ash and mud. He smelled of smoke and his hair was more black than blue. He was sure he looked like he had just clawed his way out of the underworld, but it was very effective at getting people to get the hell out of his way. 

“Stay here and search what’s left.” He commanded his lieutenants as they looked over the blackened chunk of the forest that had once served as the bandit’s center of command. One of the catapults had survived enough so that Ike and his team could see just how lucky they had been. Oscar and his mounted team would have almost assuredly died if those catapults had been used. “Oscar, if there are any residual fires, please see that they are put out before the blaze spreads.”

“Where are you going, Ike?” Oscar asked, still thunderstruck from what they had seen.

“I have to make a report to the king. And--” 

Ike had run through the charred patch of earth, checking blackened bodies and finding none that were slim and dressed in a mage’s clothes. His heart still could not be still and he needed to get to Nevassa, needed to make sure that…

If Soren was not safe, Ike would personally slaughter all the remaining bandits.

He did not elaborate any further, remembering his father’s words. Ike would not let any weakness slip from him when someone might overhear. At least Oscar did not pry.

Ike trusted his men to get the job done and swung himself up on his warhorse hoping that the beast would not throw his shoe again as the two of them rode hard back to the palace. His horse was also pumped full of adrenaline after the blaze and skidded into the courtyard of Nevassa in record time.

Usually Ike thanked the recruit who took his reins and stabled his horse, but he was in such a state that he simply tossed the reins to the girl before he had even dismounted. He had passed her in quick strides up into the palace, people all but leaping from his path.

He was unsurprised that Boyd was the first to find him, face pale against the dark green of his hair. 

“Ike! The fuck—? Oscar! Is Oscar—?”

“He lives.” The words were almost cotton in Ike’s mouth. “He has stayed behind to control any further damage to the landscape and search for any residual supplies or—“ he stopped; if any bandits had survived they were surely gods in human disguise, “I’d like you to make a report to the King’s guard.”

Boyd rushed to keep up as Ike walked through the halls, speaking through his haze. He was still careful in what information he gave.

Ike knew from the reports he’d read before leaving that casualties on their side were very likely; the forest was rife with traps and the bandits had massive numbers and surprise on their side. Even the skirmishes had been difficult enough to warrant Ike to step back and consider how he could move forward without sacrificing most of his men, like Petrine or Isengrim would do. And then…

Then the forest had fucking caught fire.

It was a blaze unlike anything Ike had ever seen, so hot that he felt it through his magicked armor. It became bright as mid-afternoon as Ike saw previously unseen catapults erupting into ash, any bandits fleeing from the blaze quickly apprehended. Oddly enough, though the fire licked high into the air, it stopped well before Ike’s group, as if there was an invisible barrier set in front of them. Though Ike had never seen its equal, the fire itched of magic and magic from a powerful mage.

No escaped enemies, minimal casualties from Daein’s finest; a resounding and crushing victory Ike could hold no credit for. 

He had a feeling of who deserved the credit though he left his suspicions out of his report to Boyd. It was dangerous for anyone to suspect that a mage powerful enough to raze such a chunk of the forest lived in the palace.

“We assume explosives were erroneously lit,” he lied, “as we found no mages in the bandit’s employ. The others should be back before midnight but I thought to come back and report immediately as well as to tend to...my wounds.”

Boyd nodded. He did not look for falsehoods and Ike was so happy that his friend trusted him. “I’ll send a report immediately.”

“Thank you. Oh, and Boyd?”

“Yeah?”

“You suck at guard duty.”

Ike left Boyd to scratch his head over that cryptic final message as he took the final staircase that would put him closest to his and Soren’s room. Ike almost ran the final few feet and did not bother to knock, as he normally did. It may have been coming from his own skin but he swore that the room smelled of smoke and burnt timber.

Soren was not in the main room, though a quick sweep gave Ike clues: a traveling pack abandoned by the bookshelves, muddy boots not far from the pack, and light underneath the crack of the door to their shared bathing quarters. Ike ran, once again forgetting to knock as he ripped the door open and it bashed against the wall.

“ Ike !” There was a yelp and Ike lost the ability to breathe.

Soren had removed his outer robes, the dark mess of them submerged in a basin at his feet, leaving him barefoot and dressed only in his calf-length pants and his gauzy white undershirt. His long hair was loose and his skin was wet and pink as if he had been scrubbing himself clean only moments before, a Healing tome resting precariously on the side of the sink.  

His red eyes were huge with surprise as he clutched his wet hands close to his chest. Despite how he had tried to rinse clean the evidence, Ike saw streaks of soot at his nape and on his pants, the shiny pink of healing burns and scratches on his cheeks and hands. He was still getting used to the healing magic so it took longer for wounds to heal. 

But the most damning evidence was the look of fire in his eyes. He was still glowing from adrenaline, from riding hard and channeling his power and winning . There was no mistaking the look of victory on Soren’s lovely face.

Now there was no question in Ike’s mind.

He crossed the room to Soren in two quick strides, suddenly very aware of how far back Soren had to tilt his head up to see Ike’s expression. Ike put his hands on Soren’s cheeks--fuck decorum--and Soren did not flinch away, his hands resting lightly on Ike’s wrists.

“It was you. I knew it was you.”

Soren’s voice would have been lost, had it not been for the acoustics of the bathroom. “I didn’t want them to hurt you.” 

Ike rarely snapped but...but something about Soren’s wide, sweet eyes had his self control burning up with that chunk of the Wyvern’s Forest. Ike ducked down and kissed Soren on the mouth and, gods, if it didn’t feel good. He had tried so hard to keep his feelings simple and honorable but...it was so hard when he felt Soren grip the edge of his breastplate, pulling Ike closer, tilting his head softly for a better angle and Ike found his hand cupping the delicate base of Soren’s skull. It was better than his dreams.

Soren moaned softly and Ike stopped slowly, pulling back only slightly so that he could get a better look at Soren’s flushed face. Thank the gods he did not look frightened but...even so…

“Forgive me…if I am...if I overstep my bounds.”

“Bit late for that, don’t you think?” Soren asked, dragging his palm across Ike’s jaw. Ike laughed, though it had the shakiness of his nerves. He could run headlong into battle without pause but a single kiss had him trembling. “You...you kissed me.”

“I...I couldn’t help it.” 

“W-Would you do it again?” Soren sounded so hesitant, so unsure of himself. 

“You are my prince.” Ike’s hands and voice trembled. “I’ll do anything you ask.”

Soren’s hands were cool on his cheeks and Ike leaned his head so he could kiss Soren’s smooth palms. “And you ‘own’ me, Ike. I ask you...to command me to do more.”

It took a moment for Ike to understand. And then--

Soren jumped a little as Ike moved forward again, his slim legs wrapping around Ike’s waist as Ike kissed him again. Soren was so light, Ike could hold him up with one hand, the other sliding up Soren’s gauzy undershirt, feeling the individual, delicate bones of his spine through his skin. Soren’s hands were in Ike’s hair gripping with all his strength so that Ike could not break away from Soren’s mouth. He didn’t want to break away. He was kissing the prince, kissing Soren, just like he had always dreamed of under those quiet dark skies when he was far from home.

Soren in his arms, Soren’s hands at his nape, Soren’s mouth open and moving against his with the same passion Ike felt low in his stomach. He was so overcome, he felt the need to move, though he couldn’t decide where. Filthy, feeling Soren struggle with the straps of his armor, Ike stumbled toward the direction of the bath--a massive thing cut into the stone floors and heated by the volcanic springs that flowed under the palace. 

There was desperation only a near-death encounter could bring and Ike only broke the kiss to rip himself out of his blasted armor. 

The metal pieces cracked the tiles of the floor as he threw them aside carelessly, Soren’s clever fingers unfastening buckles with lightning speed. Ike kicked off his boots and nearly tore the fabric of his shirt in his haste to disrobe. He felt Soren’s eyes on him, burning hot, though he did not trust himself to take a good look at Soren’s body lest he...embarrass himself. He hoped there would be time for it later as he stepped into the bath.

“Soren.” He kept his eyes firmly fixed on Soren’s face as he opened his arms. “Will you join me?”

It took Soren no time to decide; a white blur pushed through the water into Ike’s chest. Ike took care to be gentle, fearful that Soren would be crushed in his arms if he squeezed too tightly.

The water was so warm, soaking through the silk of Soren’s hair as Ike kissed him again, his hands digging into what little dry sections were left of that dark hair. Soren pressed close so that their bodies were almost flush under the water and the two of them yelped in unison as their bare hips ground together. 

Soren glanced down and Ike knew he would see the tuft of blue hair at his crotch, see how much he wanted Soren. Ike could not do the same, lest he collapse into helpless desire. Even imagining the dark hair, the lovely state of Soren’s hips had him feeling a little dizzy.

“I-I’ve not--I’ve never--” Soren stammered. 

Ike knew his face must have been as red as Soren’s eyes. “Neither have I! I just…” Ike had never visited pleasure houses with some of his companions, had never been one to flirt with locals during his travels, or even let slip around a campfire what he found attractive. Most of his comrades had, up until he had asked for Soren, thought him to be entirely asexual. “I suppose...we’ll have to learn together then?” Ike knew Soren liked to study, liked to be prepared and his inexperience must have given him a great deal of stress because Soren bit his bottom lip. “Unless you’d like to leave to get a book and cram while I bathe.”

Soren flicked water at him. “Don’t you dare tease me Ike.”

“I am your loyal subject and your general and your--” he stumbled over the word ‘lover’, feeling his face heat up, “I care deeply for you. Simply...command me and I’ll touch you in any way you like.”

He knew some people in court had touched Soren as they liked and the thought made him burn. But now he could let Soren take control of being touched for the first time. He took Soren’s slim hands--now fully healed--and placed them over top of his hands, letting his arms hang loose for easier guidance. 

Soren looked at Ike’s hands--calloused and scratched with dirt under the nails--and trembled a little. 

“I won’t...ever hurt you.” Ike promised, in case the tremble was due to fear. 

Soren smiled wide, blushing, and it was the sweetest thing Ike had ever seen. “I know you won’t.” 

He placed Ike’s hands low on his cheeks, high on his neck and dragged them down his throat, over his pale chest--Ike shuddering like he’d been blasted with ice when his fingers grazed Soren’s nipples and the ridges of his ribcage--down the slim circumference of his waist and Ike was struck at how he could nearly wrap his hands around the waist of the one who had burnt ten acres of forest to cinders. Ike felt a jolt of desire to lift Soren up, to throw his slim form over one shoulder, to carry him to Crimea so he could touch him in a field of wildflowers. 

Soren took a deep breath before guiding Ike’s hand lower--between his legs--and the small noises he made had Ike coming undone.

Ike rubbed gently, exploring with his hands while his eyes were firmly set on Soren’s face. His cheeks were flushed, mouth open and lips trembling, and red eyes darting wildly between Ike’s face and his hand. Ike had never touched anyone like this and he was reasonably sure no one had touched Soren so gently. He honestly hoped it was sweat or steam that dripped from his bottom lip and not drool.

“May I--Ike, may I touch you too?” Soren’s voice was hesitant, body shaking as if he thought for one moment Ike would refuse. Ike moved closer to kiss him again, though this one was tender.

“I’m all yours.”

Soren’s clever, quick hands left Ike’s to do as they liked so that he could slide them down Ike’s jaw and the muscles of his arms and torso, finally coming to rest at the base of Ike’s cock where no one--aside from himself--had ever touched before. The feeling was the same heat of the burning forest, rippling over him in a wash of red-orange that made him want to groan as he melted. Soren’s free hand continued to stroke the curves of Ike’s muscled arms while Ike used one arm to slide under the soft curve of Soren’s bottom, lifting him so their waists were at the same level, cocks nearly touching.

They were both pleased with the gentle exploratory touches for a short while but when the pleasure mounted and Soren began to beg, Ike decided to indulge them both. 

In one swift motion he brought both of Soren’s arms around his neck, hoisting the prince higher so their wet bodies were flush and he easily took both of their cocks in his hand. Soren crushed his mouth against Ike’s as Ike began rubbing their cocks against each other, providing delicious friction. Every breath when a kiss was broken, Ike heard Soren gasp his name in breathless tones and he began to do the same. 

“ Soren! ” 

Soren’s slim legs wrapped around Ike’s lower back but he was so light, Ike could hold him aloft with one arm. His slim fingers were in Ike’s blue hair, gripping for dear life, and he began rocking his skinny, wet hips against Ike’s as they both chased the climax that was rapidly approaching. 

Soren’s hit first. He tossed his head back, Ike’s name a breathless gasp, as he came three stripes like buttermilk across Ike’s lower stomach. Even after climaxing, his cock was only a very pale shade of pink, deepening a little towards the tip and Ike thought of taking it into his mouth next, orgasming as he thought of what little sounds Soren might make then. His mouth suckled on the pale column of Soren’s neck as he rode out the most intense pleasure of his life and Soren hummed in lazy approval.

Ike doused his sticky hand in the water, cleaning it before he cupped Soren’s lolling head in his hand and met those pretty, hazy, scarlet eyes. He was overcome with love and kissed Soren’s forehead, the tip of his nose, his mouth, his cheeks.

“Soren...oh, Soren...my prince...my Soren…”

Soren smiled at him again. “Ike…”

Chapter Text

Ike claimed illness for three days.

Boyd came to check on him halfway through the first day, concerned that Ike had not come to the barracks or the dining hall. Ike had simply wrapped a sheet around his waist, eyes bleary from lack of sleep and hair an explosion of blue around his head as he glared accusingly at the interruption.

“You alright, Ike?” Boyd knew him well enough to sense he was not interested in company. “Oscar and your team are...wondering if you’re still alive.”

Ike had never felt more alive. “I’m sick,” he lied easily, “and the prince is caring for me. I’ll be out as soon as I’m able.”

Boyd looked him over with a clever eye.

He clearly saw the bite and suckle bruises concentrated around Ike’s neck and nipples, saw the scratch marks down his arms and shoulders, as well as the dark disarray of Soren’s room and rolled his eyes.

“ Right . ‘Sick’. I’ll spread the word and send up food.”

Ike had always learned best with his hands and he learned Soren’s body, his pleasurable spots and favorite acts, the same way. 

Soren was slender and flexible as a new sapling, his arms and legs and waist dainty in comparison to Ike’s muscle, and he liked—Ike learned very quickly—to be manhandled. He trembled softly when Ike’s touch was gentle on his face or in his hair but he was hot and desperate when Ike tossed his limbs about, pulled his tight little hips close, pressed his shoulder down firmly into the mattress, or held his entire body in midair. His pale, scholar’s skin kept love marks beautifully and Ike’s progress could be seen dotted down the smooth lines of Soren in red and pink and violet.

Helpless virgins, the both of them, their first night together had been a flurry of hands and fingers under the soft candlelight until even Ike’s wrists ached from their constant explorations and the sheets needed to be stripped from the bed. 

After waking from a limp stupor, Ike discovered how much he liked his mouth on Soren, liked the whimpering, throaty little sounds he made when Ike licked him from back to front or the helpless cries when he simply slung Soren’s slender legs across his jaw and just let the prince ride his mouth. He was so delighted by the act, he would have been happy to have the remainder of his ‘sickness’ be spent lapping Soren to pieces. And when Soren built up the nerve to return the favor…

Ike was utterly helpless.

He may as well have been limbless for the way Soren’s hot little tongue had him in ecstasy. He came embarrassingly fast, Soren’s look smug even as liquid dripped from his cheek. “Gods, but you surrender quickly.”

“I always knew you had the more clever mouth.” Ike shrugged, eliciting another smile from Soren. 

An unspoken competition, Soren draped himself across Ike’s body, the two of them trying to see who was better with their mouth. Soren was firmly in the lead when Ike found that delightful things happened when he slid fingers inside of Soren while suckling at him, the prince coming so hard that he could not even pull out in time to come across Ike’s cheeks. His glare was hazy.

“You’re c-cheating .”

“Do you want me to stop?” Ike asked, curling his finger and watching the effect ripple up from Soren’s hips to his pretty head.

“ No .”

His fingers remained in Soren, coaxing more pleasure from him as Ike wondered how he might slide into a place so tight. That particular problem did not arise until the afternoon of the second day, when Ike forced himself away from Soren’s pale cock so that the two of them could eat the stew Boyd’s youngest brother, Rolf, had left outside their door. It would replenish their energy but Ike frowned at the taste, mildly upset that it washed away the flavor of Soren in the back of his throat. 

Soren sat on Ike’s lap to eat, Ike’s solid torso keeping him from swaying. In between bites, he spoke in a soft voice, hoarse from constantly calling Ike’s name. “Ike...Ike I want more. I want you in me. L-Like the diagrams in a book.” Ike knew exactly what he was talking about and very nearly choked as a bit of hot soup dribbled out of his mouth, down his chest. “You don’t want to?”

“I...I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.” Ike admitted honestly. Two fingers seemed to be too much for Soren’s tight insides and Ike didn’t particularly like to brag but he was...proportional.

“You said you wouldn’t ever hurt me.” Soren insisted and turned his wide eyes back on Ike, his expression the picture of innocent desire. It was all a front but Ike was enchanted nonetheless. “Please Ike? Please ?” 

How could he possibly refuse? 

It took him nearly an hour and a half of careful touching as well as two slick vulneraries from his pack to serve as lubricant, Soren soaking the pillow they had used to prop his hips up and Ike’s fingers going a little numb but Ike finally stretched Soren to the point where maybe, maybe he could fit. Ike was shaking from anticipation, sweat tracing the length of his spine and it was only made worse when Soren gripped the length of him, pulling him forward.

“Ike...Ike, please . I want it.” Never could anyone in Nevassa believe that the cool, collected prince could beg so fervently and Ike would certainly keep it to himself. He was nothing if not good at following Soren’s orders. He cried the sweetest sounds in the world as Ike pushed into him gently.

It was slow going and hard not to lose himself entirely.

Soren’s skinny hips were tight and he was so hot inside, Ike was sure he was going to break or melt if he tried to move too quickly. When his hips finally pressed flush against the soft curve of Soren’s ass, Ike had to take a moment to catch his breath, his forehead resting against Soren’s shoulder. His hips itched with the need to thrust but he waited patiently until Soren begged him again. 

It did not take long.

“Ike, move! Please!”

Ike looped both arms under Soren’s armpits, gripping his shoulders so he could draw himself out and thrust shallowly. The tip of him felt like it was melting and Soren’s muscles were so tight that it was almost painful for Ike to pull out. If not for how much Soren was begging for him to go harder and faster, Ike would almost think his prince was crying in distress. He was trying so hard to be gentle on the first round but it was a constant battle with Soren’s fingernails in his thighs and his tiny ass pushing back insistently.

“Ike! Ike! Harder!”

Something had to give and Ike was weak to sex.

“Fuck it! Slap me if you need to tap out!” He hissed through clenched teeth. Ike ground his entire body down so that Soren was half-buried in the mattress under Ike’s body, one of his hands gripping Soren’s hip to keep him firmly in place.  His toes ground into the bare mattress and he thrust with a good quarter of his strength, enough that Soren’s ass was reddening with every thrust of Ike’s hips. His cries were positively mouthwatering.

Ike hissed as Soren came for the first time, clenching so hard that Ike had to stop and let him ride out the pleasure, lest Soren’s tight little muscles snap his cock in half.

“Oh…” Soren sounded positively wrecked, closer to tears and Ike saw his toes curling. “Oh gods…! Oh, Ike... save me…”

Ike gave him a few moments to recover, kissing him hungrily as Soren tried to catch his breath. But his stamina was still largely untapped. When Soren’s breaths became softer and more measured, Ike flipped Soren’s body around without removing his cock so that they were chest to chest. His scarlet eyes were so wide with surprise that Ike grinned and kissed the tip of Soren’s nose.

“I wanted to see your face.”

“I never gave you permission.” It was clear that an orgasm did not cool Soren’s snark.

“ Please .” Soren had him by the short hairs and Ike felt as though he’d never been more helpless in his life. “Soren, please .”

Soren eyed him carefully before Ike felt slim legs wrap around his thighs. Soren’s elegant hands took Ike’s and had one grip hard in his silky hair. The other he guided to his waist, inhaling sharply when he saw just how much of his waist fit in Ike’s hand. He looked up from under his lashes and might have looked innocent if Ike wasn’t deep inside him.

“You’re holding back on me, Ike. You can...but only if you do it harder .” 

Ike groaned from deep in his hips. What could he do but obey such a delightful order?

“We should probably return to civilization tomorrow.” Soren sighed, clearly upset from his vantage point pillowed on Ike’s bare chest. Ike cleared the dark hair from his forehead, pleased that he did not want to leave the comfort of their bed. “People will talk.”

“People have been talking since the moment I asked for you.”

Ike was unconcerned. He was torn between wanting to keep Soren’s affections his tender secret and wanting the entire court to see his marks on Soren, like a shield against unwanted interlopers. He had not even left the bed and he was already counting down the moments until he could get Soren naked in his arms again. Let people talk. Ike would not be sated by three nights.

“Can I ask you something Ike?”

“Mmmm?”

“When did you find you...felt more than...knightly affection for me?”

“Around the eighth time you inferred that I didn’t know what a book was.” He laughed as Soren smacked his chest. “No, it was when you nearly sliced Boyd’s nipples off in the arena with your wind spells.” He laughed even harder as Soren tried to push away from his arms.

“Be serious !” 

Ike wrapped his arms and legs around Soren’s body, squeezing him close so he couldn’t detect Ike’s blush. “It’s...embarrassing. I’ll tell you some other time.” He did not know how to explain to Soren that he had wanted him, cherished him since he was young.

“Don’t you...trust me?” Soren drooped a little in his arms and Ike detected true sadness in his tone. “I would not use your honesty against you. You have to know that.” Ike thought of his father’s warnings: to control his emotions and not show weakness to anyone in Daein.

But Soren was different . Soren was...

“I trust you.” Ike murmured softly into Soren’s hair. “I’d trust you with my greatest secret. My father and I...in Crimea--.” He had always felt a little guilty when he and Soren had delicately sidestepped the issue of their mothers. Soren’s was dead. Ike’s mother… 

“No. Don’t mind me. You don’t have to tell me.” Soren trembled in his arms and Ike squeezed him tighter.

“I want you to know before I take you to the flower fields. My mother,” He thought of her with her tender smile and her hair, a few shades darker blue than his, “my mother lives . She is alive and lives in Crimea with my younger sister, Mist. They are too gentle for life in Daein and my father and I fear that someone cruel would use them against us. You cannot show weakness in Daein. It was safer for my father...if everyone thought them dead.” 

“That is why your father goes to Crimea.” Soren’s voice was so soft and Ike curled a lock of silky hair behind his lover’s ear. “He goes to visit them a-and...assure their safety.” Ike smiled; he knew Soren would be intelligent enough to connect the information. It took him a moment to realize that the trembling had become more violent.

Peering over Soren’s shoulder, Ike felt a jolt of alarm to see Soren’s eyes crushed shut and tears pouring silently down his cheeks. 

“Soren, Soren. Hey…” Ike turned Soren’s head gently with his palms. Seeing Soren’s tears broke his heart and he kissed Soren’s wet cheeks.

“You shouldn’t have told me.” Soren whispered, burying his face against Ike’s chest. Ike dug his hands into Soren’s dark hair and kissed the top of his head. “Ike...oh gods Ike. Something so precious, you should not even say it aloud.”

Ike felt a rush of warmth and fondness; that Soren would care so deeply for the safety of his mother and sister…

“It’s alright. It’s only you and me here. I trust you. I trust you with my life. I…” he thought about Soren safe and happy in the Crimean flower fields and felt at peace. He suddenly understood why his father insisted that his mother and Mist hide in Crimea.

“It’s dangerous…”

“I won’t let anyone hurt you.” Ike had never felt strong enough to promise such a thing before but now he was a Rider—young, strong, and lauded—and he adored Soren. He’d do anything if it meant Soren was safe from harm. Protectiveness welled in him until he was almost choking on the feeling.

“It is you I worry about.” Soren murmured pulling back so that he could look at Ike, one cool hand cupping Ike’s jaw. “I lo--I care deeply for you but I have no power, no way to protect you.”

“I know a chunk of forest and a contingent of surviving bandits that would beg to differ.”

He laughed as Soren flicked his sore nipple in annoyance. “You know what I mean.”

Ike held him close, Soren’s skinny legs slotting between his. “You’re my prince and my...my l-lover,” his tongue stumbled over the delightful words, “and I will use all my power to keep you safe, I swear.” He kissed Soren’s face wiping it with the sheets until his cheeks were dry and he was less tense. “And when we go to the flower fields in Crimea,” he considered it then, considered just...staying. Just living there with Soren where no one in Nevassa could hurt him, “I’ll...I’ll introduce you to my mother. She’ll like you. I know she will.”

Chapter Text

Soren liked to lace himself up and see the ghost of Ike’s fingers on his skin. He liked knowing that there was a pleasurable secret just under the fabric: suckle bruises under his collar, soft crescent bites on his inner thighs and chest, pink handprints overlapping on the curve of his ass, a dull, pleasant throb in the in-seam of his trousers. Hell, if no one would notice, Soren would love to go without trousers under his robes so Ike could pull up his hem whenever he liked, bend Soren over and…

He had to stop thinking about it or he’d go find Ike and beg him for more.

While other touches were soft and searching, he liked when Ike was rough. He liked the man’s strength, his weight, his bulk, like a protective shield around Soren’s body. Not to mention the size of him. It was hard to keep his desire a secret.

Before the king would send Ike on missions that would take days or weeks, Soren liked Ike to love him so hard that Soren would be sore until his return. He felt Ike try to leave the bed without disturbing him and grumbled, latching onto Ike’s arm. “Don’t go…”

“I have to. I’ll be back by tomorrow evening at the latest. And then we’ll have a full week before my next mission.” He laughed quietly as Soren grumbled, not happy at all with his attempt at soothing. Soren felt hands stroking his hair. “Rest a little longer. Your body will give out if we keep going at this rate.” 

“A good commander trains those beneath him thoroughly to build up their strength and stamina.”

“Incorrigible. As I recall, you have not been ‘beneath’ me for the past week and a half.”

Soren blushed, even through exhaustion. He had been studying while Ike was away, learning new things that might please the both of them, and his current favorite was to have Ike beneath him, those strong hands on his hips, pushing him down as he rode as fast as he liked. He wanted Ike to stay even more…

“Stay... please .”

A kiss on his temple. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Soren obeyed then, falling back asleep to dream of Ike’s tongue inside of him. He did not reawaken until midmorning, when someone pounded on the door to his room. The childish, hopeful part of him that had emerged after receiving so much of Ike’s love considered for a moment that Ike had come back, his mission cancelled. It was dangerous.

It only made his heart drop faster when he saw his father’s guard outside the door.

“The king demands your presence as soon as you are...decent.”

Soren nodded, his body like ice. It was hard for him to slip back into his cold, unfeeling facade, when he was bubbling with adoration and desire just under the skin. If ever he needed a mask of indifference, it would be when faced with his father.

King Ashnard did not even look up from his reports as Soren was allowed entrance to his chambers.

“Show me your neck, boy.” There was a trace note of disgust under his father’s normal icy tone.

Soren would never dream of disobeying even though he did not want his father to know how much Ike cherished him. His pride in their pleasure was the only thing that kept his fingers from trembling on his laces. The cloth of his collar drooped, revealing Soren’s neck as a messy patchwork of red and violet kiss marks. He did not care to see his father’s reaction.

“So...the rumors are true. You have him like this and yet you give me nothing?”

“I don’t--?” Soren had been so wrapped up in Ike for weeks that he had forgotten. 

“The general marks you like this and yet says nothing of where his father goes?”

“It is hardly stimulating bedside conversation.” Soren said before he could help himself. A gauntlet-clad hand gripped his bare throat and his next words came out choked. “He is a cautious man, the perfect Daein man. He has no weakness to exploit.”

Thank the gods he had gotten so good at lying. 

His father released his throat and pushed him back at the same time. His disgust over Soren was clear. Perhaps he had thought Soren could not find new and unique ways to disappoint him. “Keep trying. Degrade yourself if need be, go to the whores of the city to learn their tricks but by the gods boy, tell me why Greil goes to Crimea. Now get out.”

Soren felt a shudder of righteous indignation beneath the fear of his father and laced up his collar as he almost ran from the room. He did not know how much longer he could hold off his father’s expectations before the king would try some new and terrible method but…

Soren would not betray Ike. Never Ike. 

He did not know how to bring it up to Ike once the man returned with arms open, smelling mouthwatering even though he said he had not been able to bathe on his mission. The fear of his father dissipated when Soren saw Ike, his mind immediately going to how much armor could be left on during lovemaking without things being uncomfortable when Ike picked him up. In Ike’s arms, there was the feeling that nothing, not even his father, could touch him. 

All rational thought left his mind when Ike opened Soren up with his mouth and held both Soren’s wrists in one hand when they made love. The guilt only set back in when Ike had to ease up to prepare for his next mission.

“Ike...when you return next,” Soren began, sputtering as Ike pulled him closer.

“Mmm?” 

“I need to talk with you...and your father.” 

It was next to impossible to get both Ike and his father in the palace together at the same time, as Greil was twice as busy as his son and the clear favorite of the king. At most they’d be in Nevassa at the same time for a day or two before one of them would receive a new mission and be off again. Soren wanted Greil to know as well because he was the only one Soren considered strong enough to rival King Ashnard. 

Ike propped himself up on his elbow so he could look down at Soren. “Is everything alright?”

“For now. But...I have some concerns. Don’t let it affect your mission.”

Ike kissed him tenderly, his hands digging into Soren’s long hair until Soren shuddered. “You’re not alone anymore. If anything worries you or causes you distress, I...I’ll…”

“Not every problem can be solved with Ragnell.” Soren joked and then squeaked as Ike squeezed him close, one hand on Soren’s ass.

“I’ll protect you. I’ll listen to what you have to say.” Ike promised, his fine cheeks reddening. “Anything you need from me...I’ll do all I can to give it to you.” He was so incomparably dear; Soren did not want to alarm him.

Soren wrapped his skinny arms around Ike’s back, running his fingertips over a small scar just over Ike’s shoulder blade. “I know you will.”

“Prince Soren!” Boyd was in full armor as he breezed into the library like a storm. “I’ve brought your knight to you.” He had one strong forearm around Ike’s collar, dragging him in his wake. Ike flushed furiously, slipping out from under Boyd’s grip. “Do you have a token of favor for him? A handkerchief or a kiss?”

Ike slapped at his friend, expression stormy, “Gods Boyd! Keep your voice down!”

Soren ignored the both of them, going back to his books on magical theory. “The only favor I’ll give either of you is a reminder that libraries are places of quiet, as a general rule. Is there anything else you need?”

“We’re leaving soon for the foothills.” Boyd said. “And aside from coming to get a goodbye from you, your general said you were practicing healing magic and I offered a convenient practice subject.”

He nudged someone behind him and Soren craned his neck to see, curious in spite of himself.

The boy that peered out from behind Boyd couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven, his hair a few shades lighter than Boyd’s dark green. Boyd ruffled his pale hair and smiled down lovingly at the skinny thing. “This is my younger brother, Rolf. He’s currently studying in the archer’s battalion and he’s offered to come have you practice patching him up. He’s a scrappy little thing, so he has the scrapes to spare, don’t you?”

Rolf smiled up at Boyd, clearly delighted by his brother’s attention. He flushed when he saw Soren looking at him, his hands fisting in his clothes as he ducked his head. “Y-Your Highness.”

“Thank the gods he has Oscar’s manners.” Soren remarked lightly, trying to hide his smile as Boyd made a noise of betrayal.  

“Keep him safe, will you?” Ike said smiling at Rolf and then Soren; the boy was even smaller than Soren so likely he was only saying it to give Rolf a boost of confidence. Soren would make sure that the boy wouldn’t fall on a blade for practice.

“Funny, I was about to say the same thing to you.” Nothing made Ike smile wider than someone else giving Boyd hell and his grin made Soren flush a little hot. Gods, it was unfair how attractive he was.

“You two are so cruel!” Boyd groaned, before pushing his younger brother into the room. “Stay out of his highness’ way, yeah? We’ll be back by the week’s end.” Ike looked at Soren with all the things he would not say when others were around but Soren understood. The heat and adoration was unmistakable and Soren was momentarily knocked breathless.

He inclined his head softly, never letting his eyes leave Ike. “Come back safe.” To me .

“I will.”

It was torture to see him go, and Rolf--shy and quiet--stood by his shoulder at the library window as they watched the two small forms in the courtyard, saddling up their horses and giving a final wave up before riding leisurely from the palace. Soren watched the deep blue speck of Ike’s hair until it left the gates and sighed with regret.

“Y-Your Highness?” Rolf asked, his back stiff and proper as he awaited orders. “What would you have me do?”

Soren gave him the brightest smile he could offer a stranger, which was not much but it seemed to assuage Rolf a little. “It will be a while yet before I practice healing you. You may wait and read or rest while I study the theory.”

Rolf nodded eagerly. A typical young recruit he was likely run ragged at all hours of the day and seemed to be pleased to sit by the library door and let his feet rest. It suited Soren just fine.

The boy did not seem the type to talk his ear off or distract him.  

Soren tried to focus on the healing magic and the devastation of Rexcalibur but his mind kept wandering to Ike, riding away again. He longed to reach for those few, rare books that some deviant lord long ago had tucked away in the most unobtrusive corner. The depictions were...graphic, but informative and only young Rolf’s presence kept him from indulging. Instead, he turned away from the table and the tomes of magical theory in favor of looking out over the city, wondering how far away Ike was.

So lost in thought, the attack was almost enough to make his heart stop. 

Rolf’s scream was so piercing and familiar that Soren immediately broke out into a cold sweat. He had heard it many times in the dungeons: the scream of a man dying in pain. Soren turned and pressed himself hard against the stone walls, protecting his back.

It took him a moment to realize what he was seeing.

Rolf was crumpled on the floor in a pool of his own blood, his skinny chest rising and falling in the throes of pain, his face pale. And standing over him, with blood dripping from his magic sword, Reinicke, was the lean, smiling form of Isengrim. The man was a nightmare, the picture of relaxation, confident that no one would rescue Soren or hold him accountable for what he had done...what he would do... Isengrim looked as though he was paying a social call and had not just mortally wounded a young boy; his eyes were locked on Soren and Soren clutched the neck of his robes tight.

“Hello little prince. I’d like a word with you.” When Soren edged backwards toward the desk where his tomes were, Isengrim’s smile grew even wider. “I’ve heard you’re a terror with those things. I think you have time for one spell before this one dies.”

He gestured at Rolf dismissively and Rolf looked up at Soren with wide, terrified eyes.

There was finesse in Isengrim’s torture.

Soren realized the terrible choice in it. He could either defend himself from Isengrim and let Rolf die or heal Rolf and let Isengrim drag him away. He thought of Boyd and it was no choice at all, really. Soren grabbed a tome and began chanting before the pages had fully opened.

His heart was beating in his ears as he came to the end of the spell, the pale blue glow shimmering gold for a split second before the page disappeared entirely. Soren heard Rolf breathe in deeply and he felt a moment of relief over his improved skill with healing magic before one hand gripped his braid like a length of rope, the other wrapping around his arm in a vise. The Mend tome dropped to the floor with a soft thump. 

Isengrim was close, too close, and Soren knew he was done for.

“I had a feeling you’d do that. Let’s go then?”

His body and heart froze over with helpless terror, though he kept his expression smooth. Isengrim all but lifted him off the ground, the tips of Soren’s boots dragging the soft carpet as he was pulled out of the library in quick steps.

“Run, Rolf!” He hissed as they passed, amazed his teeth weren’t chattering.

Rolf nodded, his chest still glowing blue and gold from where it was mending. Soren wasn’t sure how he would fare after the encounter but at least he could keep his head held high knowing that he could return Rolf to Boyd and Oscar.

He only hoped that Ike would... save hi--no, it was far too late for that. 

He could only hope that Ike would forgive him.

Chapter Text

Despite the fact that Soren felt his face was rigid with terror, not a single person gave them a second glance as Isengrim ‘escorted’ him through the halls of the palace. It took him a moment to realize where Isengrim was taking him but only once he realized did he begin to struggle in earnest.

Isengrim’s rooms--though he had never visited--were the stuff of his nightmares. 

Likely they were filled with chains and ropes and whips and all sorts of other terrible instruments to make Soren scream but...but there was something truly sickening about being dragged back to his own rooms. His rooms, the only place in the palace where there was a small illusion of safety, where he and Ike...where Ike had loved him so carefully…

“No, don’t !” He hissed, his scalp prickling with pain. He might as well have been fighting the stone walls as Isengrim opened the door to Soren and Ike’s rooms. “Isengrim, stop !” He tried to grip the door frame in a pitiful attempt to stop Isengrim but he was yanked in by his hair, yelping pitifully as the door was slammed shut behind the two of them. 

Isengrim threw him ass-backwards onto the bed, Soren scrambling to sit up and prepare to defend himself. Isengrim looked at him with indulgence...desire, though there was a dark, hungry cast to it. 

“Oh...little prince. I’ve waited ages for this.” His voice was calm and light as he removed his gloves. “I’ve wanted you for years, wanted to see what you look like when you lose your composure. I asked General Ike to ‘borrow’ you but...he’s a selfish bastard, isn’t he? I just decided to wait until--” wait until Ike slipped up and left Soren guarded only by a boy , “It is a shame though. I had so hoped to be the first one to peel off those laces, push you open, watch you squirm.” 

It was so different to how Soren knew love was with Ike. It was nothing so...violent.

“So,” His smile was sharp and Soren narrowed his eyes. He was thinking about if he could sprint to his bookshelf and grab his Elwind tome. He could slice Isengrim to ribbons if he could only get his hands on one of those tomes. “You and me, alone at last.”

His worst nightmare. 

He had always been wracked with fear over the thought of Isengrim catching him alone for a long period of time. He had heard the stories whispered by soldiers about the screams the man could cause. But he no longer had Rolf to threaten; Soren was going to fight with all the force in his skinny body.

“Truly, nothing gets past you.”

The man’s jacket pooled on the ground and he stepped forward, delighted and menacing. “Oh, what a mouth you’ve got on you now! Where has this been all your life?”

Waiting for Ike . “Over there.” Soren inclined to the spot just behind Isengrim and the response was so quick and confident that the man actually turned to look, one hand going to Reinicke’s hilt.

Soren pushed up off the bed, already breathless as he tried to sprint across the room.There was a laugh and Soren cried out as a strong arm caught him around the waist, hauling him backwards. He landed on the bed again, legs splayed, and this time Isengrim got on top of him, pinning his arms down with one hand.

Soren glared up at him and spit, Isengrim never losing his delighted smile. ”What a shame. I thought you’d kick and scratch at me,” Soren shuddered as Isengrim’s free hand toyed at the laces near Soren’s throat. “Go on then. Show me what the general has taught you. Fight me, little prince.”

“Give me my magic and I will.”

The slap across his face was so strong that his teeth cut his cheek open and caused blood to dribble out of his mouth. He heard the ripping of fabric and all the times he had clutched his collar tight around his neck was useless. The fabric wilted like petals around his collarbone, exposing the blooms Ike’s lips had left on Soren’s skin and Soren shuddered when Isengrim touched his bare skin.

Isengrim’s voice might have been thoughtful if the smile had not fallen from his face, his expression flat and terrifying. “The little general certainly has marked you up. Staked his claim.” A knee ground painfully between Soren’s legs and he clenched himself tight. “Are you going to call for him? Do it. Scream for your general to come back and join us.”

Something wild and cold took hold of Soren even though he was utterly helpless. The thought of Isengrim seeing Ike naked and holding Soren, vulnerable, had him burning with fury. He’d use every part of himself to keep Ike safe and he closed his mouth into a firm, angry line.

“I am Soren, the Crown Prince of Daein. You’ll command me to do nothing.”

Isengrim responded by gripping Soren’s tongue between his knuckles. “We’ll see about that.”

Soren remained stubborn, glaring at Isengrim as the man pulled at the frustrating laces of his clothes, his expression darkening with each passing moment as Soren remained impassive and his fine clothes did not give as easily. Soren was unsurprised when the man gripped his jaw with fingers that would surely leave a bruise. His smile was taking on the edge of a snarl, his eyes black with some terrible emotion. 

“Are you this quiet with Ike? What does he do to make you cry out?”

For some reason his tone was strained, unsure and Soren looked carefully, his mind in overdrive. And he saw that Isengrim, for all his poisonous caresses and cruel promises, was not aroused. The desperation was telling and Soren took only a moment to realize why the man was so obsessed with having him fight, having him in hysterics.

“You...you can’t do it,” Soren gasped and saw a flicker of murderous darkness across Isengrim’s expression. “You can’t unless…”

There was a small surge of power, knowing that Isengrim would get no joy from him unless he screamed and fought. It was short-lived.

Isengrim simply smiled down at him before--lightning quick--he had unsheathed a dagger and slammed the blade into Soren’s right shoulder, just below the collarbone. The pain was hot and unspeakable and Soren did scream in pain then, his legs thrashing. It was even worse being withdrawn, the vulnerary coming just moments after the worst of the pain. Isengrim’s smile was almost angelic.

“Are you still going to be stubborn?”

Soren’s inhale was shaky with pain and fear. But he took too long to find words and the blade plunged hard into the palm of Soren’s hand. He was screaming even after the vulnerary had soaked into the open wound, healing the muscles and ligaments, and Isengrim was certainly more prepared than before.

His confidence had returned as he sliced through laces indiscriminately. 

Isengrim still ripped the fabric when he could and it hit Soren deep in his gut then. 

He was going to be torn open and devoured. His greatest fear was coming true and the only man who could stop it was already gone from Nevassa. Ike would return to find him--

Well, he would not be the same, that was for sure. 

His exhales were simply cries after the panic rooted in deep; Soren did not need to force them any longer as the dagger dripping with his blood cut through his underclothes, nicking the skin. His body and limbs fought but he did not have the strength of a Rider and Isengrim had the predatory grip of a man who had waited years for this. It had only been a matter of time really. 

Soren’s clothes were in tatters on him, torn to shreds by Isengrim’s blade, leaving him bare except for his boots and the stubborn cloth at his shins and wrists. Somehow leaving the boots on was worse than if Isengrim had stripped him naked; he could try to run, but he would have to run through the palace without his clothes on and people would...they would know . 

Despite how he struggled and lashed out his arms and legs, curled his body in on itself, it did not stop Isengrim’s hands from mapping him. His fingernails scraped at the remaining love bites Ike had left, knuckles clenching Soren’s bare nipple between them, and Soren clawed lines in Isengrim’s face when he tried to trail his hands lower. Another slap to his face and Soren kicked Isengrim hard on the inner thigh, just missing his target.

It was enough for Isengrim to let him go for a split second and Soren tried to run again. 

He would risk running through the castle naked because he did not want this. Any hands other than Ike’s were abhorrent to him.

“ Bitch !” There was a strong grip on his hair and Soren wished he had had it cut as he was yanked backwards, back onto the bloodstained bed. The moment he had Soren pinned again, Isengrim bit him hard enough to draw blood.

One of the finest warriors in Daein, torturing the prince. It was hell, hell ...

Soren did not mean to do it. 

He meant to keep this one childish hope of his of his secret from Isengrim but Soren had lost his ironclad control on himself. His fingernails raked against the familiar sheets, against Isengrim’s body, against anything he could touch in hopes that Ike would be there. His screams took on shape and Isengrim laughed above him.

“He’s gone. He’s not coming back for days . And even if he does...there is nothing he can do. This was my gift. I can do anything I want, have anyone I like. There is nothing you can do.”

It didn’t matter.

Soren’s hair matted over his face in a tangle of black silk and caught in his open mouth as he called in abject terror for Ike, Ike, Ike . He knew Ike was gone from the palace and wouldn’t hear Soren’s cries for help but he could not help it. He wanted Ike to save him; Ike had promised he’d keep Soren safe and--

Isengrim slipped one terrible hand under Soren’s bare hips, angling him up and Soren caught sight of the man’s face through his hair.

His eyes were, at once, blazing and devoid of emotion. A true monster, he would not stop until Soren was devoured whole and Soren crossed his slim arms over his face, surprised to find his cheeks cold and wet. He did not want to see the man above him, did not want to see the reflection of his own destruction in Isengrim’s eyes. What a fool; even though he was the prince of Daein, no one would save him. He had almost forgotten. 

“Ike...Ike…” Soren’s trembling voice did not sound like his own and his scream made his own blood run to ice as he felt something begin to push at him. “ Ike! ” 

The bedframe jolted and there was a wet gasp from above Soren. Something warm and wet spattered on his bare abdomen and the pause in his assault had Soren shakily looking down to see what new torture was in store. 

Isengrim looked shocked, the fire gone from his expression and Soren duly considered that he had never seen the man look so...surprised. 

At least he had stopped moving, one hand still digging into Soren’s hip and--as Soren looked down--he found the reason for the pause and the wet heat that was still spattering on his stomach. The thick point of a blade had pushed through Isengrim’s body, the tip only inches from Soren’s navel, the steel the same color as Soren’s eyes as blood dripped out too quickly for survival. The blade looked familiar too, but Soren could not place it through his fear as a metal-clad hand gripped Isengrim and hurled him off the bed. 

Soren was so panicked, he almost did not recognize Ike.

Ike, looking more furious than Soren had ever seen before, his eyes snapping blue sparks and blood striped across him in a crescent of scarlet. He looked at Isengrim like he would have relished killing the man twice, if he could. But it was Ike, alive and here and--

“Ike…”

Ike jolted at the sound of Soren calling his name, the rage leaving him immediately in favor of abject relief. He dropped the bloody weight of Ragnell onto the bed so that he could pull Soren up against him in a surprisingly tender embrace. Ike was shaking to match Soren, his metal breastplate uncomfortable against Soren’s bare body but Soren ignored it as he held on for dear life.

Gentle hands stroked his hair and his back and Soren shuddered as he tried to catch his breath. Ike was somehow...he was here, he had...he had kept his promise to keep Soren safe. 

“ Gods ! Soren! Soren, oh gods…” Ike cradled Soren’s face in his hands, surveying his expression. “That bastard . I told him...I warned him, I--oh, Soren .”

Soren gripped Ike’s cloak, his body slippery with blood, and he felt as though he would faint for all the emotions warring for dominance inside of him. Fear, happiness, panic, disgust, relief, love… The first rational thought to come to him hit him with such force that he almost retched. A Rider had been killed, Ike had killed a general. King Ashnard’s fury would be limitless.

“I-Ike...we’re ruined …”

Chapter Text

Ike’s horse had thrown its shoe, not but a half mile from the palace and Ike had thanked the gods above that it had happened so close to the royal farrier rather than miles deep into the forest or in some field half a day’s ride from civilization. Now the only issue, he had thought, would be to resist running back up to Soren to see him one more time before leaving.

He was ignoring Boyd’s endless teasing when they had caught sight of Oscar halfway hoisting himself up on his horse.

“Os--!”

Boyd’s voice had fallen away the moment Oscar looked up and the two of them had seen the look of sheer horror on his face. Ike’s concern had been at a reasonable level until he caught sight of a slim form staring up at Oscar. His heart dropped to his feet when he recognized  Rolf, his clothes stained with the familiar dark red of fresh blood, stark against his pale face.

Shoe or not, Ike urged his horse to a flat run for the final distance, Rolf shrinking back in terror as Ike dismounted before the horse had even come to a complete stop. 

“Boyd! Ike!” Oscar gasped.

“Are you hurt?” Boyd gripped Rolf, looking for injury and the boy looked as though he was on the verge of fainting. “Is this blood--is it--?” Ike felt as though he was going to be sick.

“I-It’s mine!” Rolf stuttered. “B-But I’m fine! Prince Soren healed me.”

“What happened?” Ike was so terrified his voice was completely flat. “Please Rolf!”

Tears welled in Rolf’s eyes. “We w-were in the library and h-he came up behind me, stabbed me. I w-would have died if the prince hadn’t m-mended me. But then he couldn’t p-protect himself! And--and general Isengrim--”

He need not have said anything else. 

At the mere mention of Isengrim being anywhere close to Soren, Ike was off his horse and running through the castle with one hand on Ragnell. He and Boyd had only been away for a little less than an hour but that would be enough time for Isengrim to...to…

Ike was in a panic as he ran into and out of the empty library, ignoring the drying blood on the stone floors. He then had to think of where the man would take Soren as an alternative. He wished the palace was not so enormous.

In the end, it was Soren who helped Ike.

Though the stone walls were so thick that normally most sound outside of a large crowd did not come through, Ike was hyperaware. And as he was entering the hall where his and Soren’s room was located, he heard someone calling his name. He knew it was Soren; he’d know that voice at a whisper or a scream and, from what Ike knew of the palace, it had to be a scream.  

Despite wanting to kick the sturdy wood in, Ike opened the door slowly, astonished at Isengrim’s arrogance. The man had not even seen fit to lock it. 

He had not thought about consequences when Soren was calling for him and Isengrim was not focusing on guarding his back and Ragnell was so close at hand. His vision had not gone red; Ike’s fury was ice and he bit his tongue through clenched teeth, salt and iron pooling in his mouth. Ragnell pierced the man as easily as if it had sliced through snow, and Ike tossed him aside the next moment in favor of making sure that Soren was--

“I-Ike...we’re ruined …”

Ike pulled back and his breath was raspy when he saw the handprint on Soren’s face, the shadow of Isengrim’s grip on his pale skin, the blood dribbling from his mouth. “What do you mean? You’re not--you’re…” Ike could not get the words out but he hoped Soren understood that Ike did not blame him in the least. 

“No! I mean…” Soren looked down at his bloody sheets, at Ragnell, “you killed a general, a Rider . My father will execute you.”

“He wouldn’t,” Ike insisted, though he could not be assured; there was no telling how King Ashnard would react. “He wouldn’t lose two generals in a single day.”

“Would you stake your life on it?” Soren asked, his eyes enormous as he clutched Ike’s wrists. “Would you stake my life on it? He may...accuse me of causing this.” Ike was cold at the thought, “I know my father and someone will need to take the blame for this.”

Ike thought carefully about Soren’s words and knew that his lover was not the type to lie or exaggerate.

If he feared for his life and for Ike’s, then Ike knew their situation was dire. He was unwilling for Soren to be raped by Isengrim, much less killed for the man. He had to think of what to do or Soren was right: they’d be ruined.

Soren jumped as Ike released him but Ike simply unpinned his cloak so that he could drape it around Soren’s bare shoulders. Soren was so slim that the garment completely covered him, hiding the scraps of cloth that draped off of him. Ike wanted to comfort Soren for the rest of the night, to take him to the baths and stroke his hair and rub vulneraries into his bruised skin. But they no longer had the luxury of time.

“Are you fine with wearing this for a bit? Can you walk?”

He helped Soren out of their blood-stained bed and though Soren’s hands shook, his legs were steady. He was an unstoppable little thing when he wanted to be. “Yes. You have a plan?”

“I’m no strategist but… I know someone who will.”

Only because it was around time for dinner did Soren and Ike not encounter another soul on their brief run through the halls of the castle, Ike occasionally pressing Soren into the shadows when they heard voices nearby. Though Soren was stoic and silent, Ike could see his pulse in his throat, fluttering quickly.

Ike did not breathe easy until he had knocked on the heavy wooden door and escorted Soren inside.

“Father.” His father looked up from what he was writing and Ike felt a momentary pang of regret over interrupting Greil when he was so clearly relaxed. 

“Ike. What brings you--.” 

The words died on his lips as he caught sight of Ike and Soren. Ike covered in blood and still shaking with anger, while Soren peered out from behind him, white-faced and rigid as he clutched the tatters of his clothes and Ike’s cloak around him for cover. It looked very bad and Ike was unsurprised as his father stood, chair clattering backward.

“Your Highness? Ike, what have you done ?”

“Please!” Soren implored Greil, stepping between father and son at the same time Ike spoke. “It wasn’t me. Isengrim tried to--when I was gone he…” 

The scraps covering Soren had slipped low and Greil took quick stock of the dried blood, the bruises, the bites...he was intelligent enough to make the connection. His expression was still cold with fury but at least it was no longer directed at Ike. “He assaulted you, Your Highness?”

Soren raised his chin in defiance. “He tried. He had been threatening it for some time.”

“And I killed him for it.” Ike said. He felt not an ounce of regret. 

“He’s dead?” 

“I couldn’t sit by and do nothing.” Ike had always held his father in the highest esteem, but he would not be swayed by anyone on his decision. “He deserved it. I’d kill him again if I had to.” Greil nodded softly and Ike was relieved that his father understood. 

“Please.” Soren’s eyes were enormous as he looked between Greil and Ike, though his expression was of preternatural calm; he was tough, “You have to understand, my father, the king, he’ll kill Ike for what he’s done or he’ll...he’ll use this to find why you go to Crimea, general.” Greil looked alarmed again and Ike felt his stomach sink to his feet. He knew his father had lived in fear that Ashnard, Petrine, or Isengrim would find out about Mist or Ike’s mother and then the two of them would be all but slaves, threatened by that one weak point.

“You think the king would do such a thing?” Greil was steady but Ike could see him thinking, planning.

“I know he will. It consumes his thoughts. He has even asked me to...to use Ike’s affections for me to find out the reason you go to Crimea. I have put him off as long as I can but…”

Soren looked distraught then and Ike understood immediately.

Ike never once entertained the thought that Soren would betray him. “I believe you.” Soren’s smile was fraught with relief as he leaned into Ike. His ‘thank you’ was almost inaudible. 

“I believe you as well.” Greil’s expression was thunderous. “He made thinly veiled threats towards your mother’s safety and your safety when you were a boy. When I...I had thoughts of not accepting the position of a Rider. I have no doubts he’d do all he could to keep us under his heel.” Ike felt a little ill; he’d always had the feeling that he was as much of a pawn of the king as anyone else in the castle but...it was still disheartening to hear it admitted outright. His father’s sole weakness. “Ike, if the king had you choose between your freedom and Soren’s life--”

“Soren. I’d choose Soren.” Ike said without hesitation and felt Soren grip his hand tight. “I won’t let anyone else hurt him.”

Greil nodded, “I thought you’d say that. My fool son, he told you why I go to Crimea, didn’t he?”

“He did.” Soren nodded. “You must believe that I’ve told no one.”

Greil smiled at him, though it was fraught with regret. “I know, Your Highness. If you had, your father would have sent forces into Crimea the next morning. I have known him longer than you and I believe you as well.” Soren slumped against Ike in relief. “Before we handle this, does anyone else know about Isengrim taking you, Your Highness?”

“Rolf.” 

“Boyd and Oscar too.” Ike added. He had a feeling about what his father was considering and, though it would be risky with six people rather than three...he would feel terrible for leaving them behind. “Are they in danger?”

Soren nodded and Greil clenched his fist. “Yes. He will most assuredly have one, if not all of them tortured for information.”

Ike thought of serene Oscar with flames licking his bare skin, Boyd, his best friend, crackling with electricity, and Rolf chained up against those cold, stone walls where Ike had seen men tortured before. He could not leave Daein and leave them to such a terrible fate. “We’ll have to convince them.”

“Yes.” Greil was moving throughout the room. “I’ll let them know. They’ll listen to me.”

It was true.

Since their own father, their only family, had died, Greil had watched out for the three of them and Ike knew his friends had the highest opinion in the world of his father. He could easily convince Boyd and Oscar, and Rolf would follow in their footsteps. 

“We’ll meet you in the stables when we’re ready.”

“Don’t take too long.” Greil nodded, clearly remembering the sorry state of Soren’s clothes and how poorly he would fare on a hard ride.

“What’s going on?” Soren asked. “Do we have a plan?”

Ike felt a twinge of guilt then. It was all because of his impulsive nature that Soren would have to leave his home, his crown, his birthright. “Soren...my father planned in the worst case that we escape Daein to Crimea.” The words remained unspoken but Ike hoped Soren understood: they would be fleeing forever, living a humble life, and Soren would lose his chance at inheriting the crown. Still, Ike would not be able to bear to leave Daein without Soren.

Soren was clever, even when he was still wracked with fear and adrenaline. Ike saw understanding and cool acceptance take hold in Soren’s wide eyes.

“Fuck this place. I never want to return.”

Ike kissed Soren’s knuckles before running back, hand-in-hand to Soren’s rooms. Likely for the last time. 

Everything Ike cared about in his rooms could be carried in one arm.

With Ragnell across one shoulder, his pack on the other, and Soren by his side... that was all he needed. Soren likewise seemed unattached to most of his belongings. He ignored Isengrim’s body as he changed into the sturdiest clothes he owned, taking only his tomes, the book of Crimean flowers Ike had sent him long ago, and a familiar puzzle box that rattled into his small leather pack. Everything else was useless to him and Ike smiled in spite of himself.

“Ready?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in Soren’s voice. He too would not miss the cold, unforgiving halls of Nevassa. “Are you?”

“Oh. One more thing.” Ike kissed Soren quickly on the mouth as he nudged the loose floor tile out of its spot. Soren flushed as red as his eyes as he saw Ike pick up the precious packet of unsent letters and tuck them carefully into his pack. “Can’t forget those.”

Soren took his hand, locking the door behind them to give them extra time as they ran away. 

The sun was still setting, the courtyards mostly clear as Ike and Soren slipped into the stables. Ike’s father was waiting with reins in his hands and Ike felt immeasurable relief as he saw Boyd and Oscar already mounted on their own horses, a teary-eyed Rolf in front of Oscar. Though Ike wanted to apologize to them all, it was hardly the time or the place.

They were all dead silent, trying to look as unassuming as possible as they rode from the gates of the castle, west towards Crimea. Soren’s head rested on Ike’s chest, his eyes closing from exhaustion not long after they had cleared the outskirts of the city.

“Ike?” The soft voice startled Ike and he looked down to see Soren glancing up at him from under heavy-lidded eyes.

“Hmmm?”

“Thank you.” 

Ike kissed his forehead, squeezing him a little closer. The world had gone to hell but at least his father, his friends, and his lover were safe...for the time being.

Chapter Text

Soren came to the conclusion that he did not like riding horses after his second day in the saddle, the sun beating down on the back of his neck until it burnt, his hair a tangled mess from the wind, and muscles aching like he had never experienced before. The first night when they had dismounted for a brief respite, Soren thought his legs would give out.

At least he was not alone, with Rolf walking unsteady as a newborn colt.

Ike was not affected in the least, his stride steady as he set Soren on a nearby stump and began massaging Soren’s aching legs with his strong hands. Soren was too exhausted to mind that everyone could see Ike’s fingers rubbing circles on his thighs.

“Ike, you should rest too.” He protested weakly.

“I’ll be fine.” Ike insisted. “We can’t rest long and there are still two more days before we reach the border. You’ll need this for tomorrow.” He frowned when Soren yelped over a particularly sore muscle. “I’m a fool. I should have...I should have ridden with you more, built you up to this. Forgive me…”

“It’s my fault.” Soren was about to hang his head when Ike ducked forward and kissed him. “Ike!”

Ike smiled at him, hands still working tirelessly. “It isn’t your fault. We’ve been planning this for years. And it’s no use trying to argue with me now; we’re both running, both abandoning our titles, so you cannot hope to order me around anymore. I am the only one to blame and I’ll kiss you again if you try to tell me otherwise.”

Soren glared but said nothing else, planning on how he could order Ike around in the future. 

Ike massaged Soren’s legs until Greil called for them to keep moving, Boyd sweeping up Rolf into the saddle in front of him to give Oscar a break. Soren ached even as Ike insisted he sit astride his lap to save his thighs the strain, refusing to hear any arguments otherwise.

“Sleep, Soren. I can go all night and all of tomorrow. Rest.” Ike tucked his cloak around Soren to keep out the chill of the night and Soren closed his eyes.

The third day was worse for Soren’s legs, the ache like the knife Isengrim had shoved into him. He hated the helpless noises of pain he made, Ike’s brow furrowing in distress when he could not immediately fix what ailed Soren. A vulnerary split between himself and Rolf did help the ache a little, but Soren refused to use any more. 

“We only have a limited amount of supplies. We should save them for emergencies. And I’ll be fine.” 

Ike kissed his forehead. “It is you that should have been the Rider. Fearsome with your magic and intelligent, what a terror you’d be. A strategist at the very least. And hopefully there won’t be any emergencies.”

Their luck lasted until the morning of the third day when a screech from the east startled them out of their exhausted haze. The horses reared and Soren forgot the ache in his legs as he gripped Ike to keep from falling off the horse. 

Ike’s expression was thunderous as he turned his horse back to see the approaching shadows.

“Wyverns.” Greil said quietly.

From so far away, they looked like a small flock of bats but Soren felt a sense of foreboding, chilling fear on seeing them. He had seen their razor sharp fangs, the hooked claws on the tips of their wings, the ways their jowls dripped blood when they returned from battle. Wyverns were not to be fucked with and Soren dreaded a fight with them. 

“Can we outrun them?” Boyd asked.

“With horses that aren’t fresh?” Oscar said. “Highly unlikely. We might be able to lose them under cover but…” There were not enough dense forests nearby to shake a team of wyverns.

Rolf clutched at his brother, his eyes wide. “A-Are we going to be ok? Are they going to kill us?”

Almost assuredly, was the answer but Soren could tell that none of these men would go down without a fight. Soren was the same. “Do you think my father is amongst them?”

“I am sure of it.” Greil said, “He’ll have brought Bryce and Petrine and most of his wyvern knights. I would imagine he is going to try and bring Ike and me back alive. It remains to be seen what he would do with you, Your Highness.” Soren thought of the dungeons of Daein and knew...that if he were to fall back into those depths, Ike would sell himself, sell his strength to Daein in order to get Soren out.

It would not happen.

“Father, are we far from your path to Crimea?” Ike asked.

“Not far. A half an hour’s ride at most. If they do not reach us before the mountain pass, I can try to lead them away. Give you all time to run.”

The look of devastation on Ike’s face, the thought of losing his father was too much for Soren to bear. 

Ike jumped when Soren spoke. “I will not let it happen. We must keep going.” Ike thought he would make an admirable general? He would not let his lover down. “Please ride. I have a plan.” 

Greil looked at him and nodded; he had always trusted Soren. 

As the horses were spurred into a quicker pace, Soren realized he had never been so filled with fury in his entire life. Not when he had been forced to torture men or when his own people disdained him or touched him. Not when his father had tried to use him against Ike or when Isengrim had tried to rape him. The only thing that had come close was when those bandits were threatening Ike. 

But this was years of neglect and degradation. He had finally found something worth standing up to his father over. 

“Keep riding. Don’t stop.” He demanded as he dug into the leather saddlebags, searching for that familiar tome. “Ike, whatever you do, don’t stop!” His fingers closed around the spine of a book and he felt the magic coursing through his skin in a soft gust of air. He knew wind magic when he felt it--it was his favorite after all.

And wyverns were weak to wind magic.

Rexcalibur’s glossy pages fell open under his hands and he read the words fluidly, despite never having read the spells before. Rexcalibur was his most valuable tome and he’d never had reason to use it before. But he had a feeling his father was riding one of those wyverns and no one living deserved Soren’s first Rexcalibur more than King Ashnard. 

He put nineteen years of latent fury behind the spell, which created more power than he had ever thought imaginable.

He liked wind magic because it was precise, accurate. He watched with cold delight as the Rexcalibur magic shot into the sky in slices of green and the magic spiraled around the approaching wyverns like a cyclone. He saw dark wings being torn like paper, saw the beasts careening helplessly against the force of the wind spell, before the entire squadron plummeted to earth in a shrieking black mass. Soren was breathing like he had physically fought every last wyvern, fire in his veins as he snapped his tome shut.

“Gods above!” Oscar gasped, reining his horse to a halt so quickly that Rolf nearly slipped off.

Boyd’s mouth was agape as his horse skidded to a halt and even Greil looked thunderstruck, his eyes whipping between Soren and the empty sky. Only Ike seemed unsurprised, though he was clearly impressed.

“Would they have survived a fall from that height?” Soren asked to any one of them. If he had money, his wager would be on ‘no’ but...it didn’t hurt to have an expert’s opinion. 

“If they did,” Ike said, his voice low and similar to how it sounded when he was wracked with desire, “they will not be in any shape to follow us.”

Soren looked at the sky, at the spot where the wyverns had fallen and felt not a moment of regret. He squeezed his arms around Ike’s waist. “Let’s keep going then. They’re no longer my concern.” True Daein men, none of his companions questioned the cruel pragmatism of his desire to keep going.

He thought briefly of his father dead on impact and--if it were the case--he was technically the king of Daein, for however a short period of time. 

Greil’s secret path into Crimea was nothing like Soren had expected. 

There was a crumbling aqueduct near the dangerous mountain pass between Daein and Crimea, the arches little more than rubble in the creek bed. Greil had their horses pick their way slowly to a door half hidden by fallen stones and climbing vines. Soren could see why such a passageway had escaped notice. 

The horses seemed reluctant to go into the claustrophobic tunnel, their flanks grazing the stone walls as they picked their way down the low steps under the aqueduct. Beneath the earth was a long channel, seemingly forgotten to time, with fresh mountain water flowing in the shallow groove that had been carved into the floor. If not for the torches that Greil and Oscar packed and Soren set fire to, they would have been riding blind.

“What do you think of Crimea?” Ike joked softly as Soren looked around in distaste. 

Soren gave him a long look. “I prefer it to the dungeons of Nevassa at the very least. Though it would be difficult to mount any sort of decent offense in such narrow quarters.”

Ike shook behind him and Greil turned around with a grin. “I should like to see you summon another cyclone in this aqueduct. Also, I agree with my foolish son’s earlier observations: you’d be a hell of a strategist, Your Highness.”

Soren leaned back against Ike’s chest and relaxed when he felt one of Ike’s arms wrap around his waist and squeeze. “You don’t...none of you need to call me that anymore.” He murmured grumpily, hoping that no one would notice him blushing. “I’m no longer a prince. I’m only Soren.”

Ike took full advantage of Soren’s offer and murmured his name over and over until Soren nodded off to sleep with Ike’s cloak wrapped around his shoulders. He must have been truly exhausted because he did not wake until morning. 

Soren awoke from a combination of things.

His head had been thumping rhythmically against Ike’s chest in time with the horse’s gait but Ike’s hand on his shoulder shook him gently into wakefulness. Soren was fully ready to be unhelpful and grumpy when his senses were almost completely overwhelmed. It was like someone had misted fine perfume into the air, the scent so strong that Soren could almost taste it on his tongue. He felt Ike kiss his forehead, just below the hairline, and his eyes cracked open a sliver.

The sun was just coming up, staining the sky to match the undulating surface of the earth in violet, pink, orange, and yellow.

Flowers .

Soren woke quickly, his eyes wide and heart hammering in his chest like it was trying to break through his ribs. He was so inundated with the smell and sight of the flowers that he almost felt like he was becoming a flower. It was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen: an endless sea of blooms from the very sweetest of his dreams.

He slid from the horse, uncaring of his jellied legs, and hit the ground on his knees. He was up to his chest in flowers, colorful and sweet, and Soren took enormous gulps of air as Ike dismounted beside him and hoisted him to his feet. 

Ike pressed up against Soren’s back so that the view would not be interrupted.

“We’re here? We’re here?” He gasped, holding on to Ike’s forearms to keep him steady. “I’m not dreaming, am I? We’re in Crimea?” Ike ran his hands through Soren’s dirty, knotted, windswept hair, kissing up and down his neck and jaw in spite of how dirty Soren was. “Ike?”

He turned back to look at Ike.

Beloved Ike with his deep blue eyes, handsome and boyish even in his exhaustion, and he was Soren’s, only Soren’s. He smiled and Soren might have fainted from love and exhausted and too much pollen if he hadn’t wanted so badly to know if this place was Crimea.

“Welcome home.” 

Crimea. Safe at last. Home .

Soren launched himself up towards Ike’s mouth and Ike’s arm slipped under his backside to hoist him up. He tasted like sweat and dust and smelled of horses, but Soren wanted him. He no longer had to worry about anyone seeing and using his love against him. 

Making love outdoors was...still a bit risky but Ike was making a very convincing argument to the contrary without even using words. Soren was on his back, pillowed by flowers before he could think of a compelling argument, his legs wrapped around Ike’s waist.

“The others?” Soren gasped as Ike’s mouth went to his throat, freedom heady in their hips. 

“Camped out near the village.” Ike rubbed his hips hard into Soren’s. “No one will come here for hours yet. Soren…”

Soren arched up, pleased when Ike ground into him, shaking his hips in a smooth circle. “We’ll crush the flowers, Ike!” He wanted Ike to hold him up and rub Soren’s hips up and down his firm thigh but the press of the ground against his back provided excellent friction. Petals brushed against his cheeks.

“Because flowers are so rare here.” Ike sighed, running one hand down the center of Soren’s backside. The sound of snapping stems and suddenly blooms were falling down around him and tangling in his hair. “We’ll pick as many as you like, once I just--” He shuddered as Soren’s hands ran down him and Soren’s toes curled in his boots. They were too impatient to bother with removing clothes. 

At least Ike was awake enough to sensibly strip both of their trousers to mid-thigh so that they would not have to ride in sodden pants.

Soren felt like he had been drugged: exhaustion, freedom, and the smell of flowers almost causing him to faint. It did not help that Ike held him so close and murmured the sweetest things in his ears.

“We can come back whenever you want.” Ike promised, his voice like the subtle softness of music. “This place is within half a days’ ride of us.” Despite the fact that Soren had gone days without a proper bath, Ike tucked flowers into Soren’s tangled hair. “Hell, we can grow flowers in the gardens outside our home.” Soren shuddered as Ike’s fingers rubbed into his scalp. 

“I can take a bath.” He gasped, taking big handfuls of Ike’s hair. 

“It will be lukewarm. And we’ll have to share to save the warm water.” Ike did something clever with his hips and Soren arched his back.

“ What a pity.” Soren sighed. “You’ll take me to the ocean?”

“I’ll take you wherever you want to go.” Ike whispered, running his lips around the curve of Soren’s ear. It tickled so Soren threw a handful of yellow-pink petals at Ike’s head. “We can do anything we like now.”

Soren felt himself smiling, smiling so wide that it hurt and Ike brightened too.

They were young and free and bare at the waist, dripping petals, shaking their hips and grinning like fools.  

Chapter Text

Old habits did not always die hard.

Ike was awake the moment the sun cracked the horizon, the sky a very dark lavender outside the window of their room. There were one or two birds chirping, but even the rooster hadn’t gotten up yet to alert everyone that it was morning. Ike rose with the very beginning of the day and Ragnell rested against his side of the bed but at least he no longer felt the need to sleep in his armor.

He didn’t move for a long while, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness so he could see…

Soren was an insignificant weight on his chest, his head pillowed on Ike’s chest, and one arm across Ike’s waist. One of Ike’s shirts hung loosely on him, falling to the tops of his slender thighs, one leg slotted between Ike’s. He had begun to braid his long, black hair before bed to keep it from tangling in his sleep and some of his habits had eased with time, alongside Ike’s.

Their door stayed locked at night but Soren had moved the tome out from under his pillow and onto the bedside table. Isengrim was not coming back.

As the light turned pinkish, Ike could make out the smooth planes of Soren’s lovely face, see the black fan of his eyelashes, the lean lines of his body that were now a little more muscle and a little less bone. His breath hit Ike’s skin in soft, even blasts and Ike couldn’t help but sneak a kiss, Soren snuggling a little deeper against Ike once he pulled back. 

Though there was work to be done--there was always work to be done--Ike stayed watching Soren until he saw the first slice of crimson from underneath those pitch-black lashes. 

No one would begrudge him a few small indulgences.

And no one ever thought to use his love of Soren against him. 

The rooster crowed and Ike shifted to see that the sky was a little blue around the edges. He felt Soren move in response and Ike wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “One of these days,” Soren’s voice was furious and thick with sleep, “I am going to kill that fucking bird. Use fire magic to roast it where it stands.”

“You’re in a good mood today.” Ike said with a smile as he hoisted Soren’s entire body up onto his, Soren curling up into a tight little ball. “At least you only threaten the birds and not the sun.” Until they had commissioned Mist to sew them some dark curtains made from leftover burlap, Soren had cursed the Crimean sun every morning.

“Waking with the dawn is torture. And it does not help that someone keeps me up half the night.”

Ike snuggled Soren closer to him, unrepentant. “You had no complaints last night. And besides, we need to keep up the exercise. I like you when you’re lean like this.” Fixing up their little manor, wrangling animals, tilling the land, fighting off the occasional bandit troupe, and hours of vigorous lovemaking had kept Ike and Soren in shape though they fell into a deep, dreamless sleep every night. At least, after almost two months, they were finally getting used to a quieter life in their modest-sized Crimean town.

“I am in no mood for your complime--mph!” Though Ike loved to hear Soren complain at length, he enjoyed a deep morning kiss more. Soren melted into it, allowing Ike to scoop him up and carry him out of bed. 

Their room was much smaller and more humble than Soren’s chambers in Daein. 

The mattress was a mixture of poor cotton and bird feathers, rather than swansdown, the single bookshelf rickety and mismatched since Ike had made it for Soren himself with leftover wood. Their water pitcher and cups were old and chipped and Mist and Ike’s mother had sewn the two of them some new summer clothes since they had left most of their things in Nevassa; Ike was still getting used to seeing Soren in shorter sleeves and colors other than black.

The cobblestone floors of their room had several loose tiles for hiding spaces but Ike kept Soren’s beloved letters out in the open. The worst that could happen would be that Mist might see them and tease Ike for being a sap.

A small and humble room for a prince and a general. But it was perfect.

As usual, it took Ike and Soren enough time to leave their room to warrant someone to come get them before breakfast ran cold. Mist had gotten to the point where she teased Ike until he blushed, the two siblings making up for lost time by bickering, and Boyd had walked in on Ike and Soren in a compromising position so many times that now it was mostly Rolf who was sent. 

He did not burst in but knocked like a civilized human. 

Usually Ike’s father and Oscar had long finished eating when Ike and Soren finally emerged while Mist and Boyd flirted lightly over the table. Ike was beyond caring, though he ruffled Mist’s dark hair as he passed. His mother grinned at Ike, clearing the dark blue hair from her eyes as she cleaned plates and cookware in their spacious kitchen.

Every time she saw him, she smiled at him like she would cry, as if she could not believe Ike was in Crimea. 

Ike remembered when they had first arrived in their town and she and Mist had come running toward the horses, skirts splattered with mud. He had not seen his mother since he was eight and he was not used to her being so small in his arms, joyful tears running down her cheeks.

“Ike, my boy, my sweet little boy.”

“Mother.” Ike might have cried a bit as well. “I am hardly ‘little’.”

It did not matter that they hadn’t seen each other in ten years. They had the rest of their time to make up for what had been lost, for what Ashnard had stolen from them.

“Come here, my boy.” She held her arms open and Ike went to her dutifully, as weak to her as he was to Soren. He had to bend down so that she could sift her hands through his messy blue hair and kiss his forehead. She did so every day, all the while murmuring his praises. “Look at you. So handsome. Did you sleep well? Are you hungry?”

“Look at the size of him,” Soren said, “he can always eat.”

“Good morning, Soren. We have to fill you up too.” Ike found it hilarious that Soren was weak to his mother and Mist’s sincerity and sweetness. She had accepted Soren without the slightest hesitation and even pulled him in to kiss his forehead as well. Soren’s eyes fluttered a little as she began to collect strands of his hair to pull back out of his eyes. “Cherries should be in season soon and we’ll have enough saved up in a week or so to get you some rose bushes. I know you wanted more types of flowers.”

“You don’t need to--”

“Oh, please Soren!” Mist called from the table. “It will be so nice to have roses and we can make crowns and bouquets for the spring festival here.” 

Ike let Mist continue to wear Soren down while he fixed himself a breakfast plate. “Where did father and Oscar go?”

“The two of them went to the blacksmith for new horseshoes and Rolf’s found someone willing to give us a kitten for the barn.” Boyd said through a mouthful of fried egg. “I’m going to go feed the goats after this if the two of you don’t mind going into town today.”

Ike nodded, pleased at the thought.

The lively center of town was only a ten minute ride by horseback from their manor and one of their household members made the journey twice a week or so to replenish supplies or buy things that they could not grow or raise themselves. Ike liked to go, if only to see all the ‘fine’ things he wanted to buy for Soren in the future.

Their little family would disperse to the four winds during the day and return at suppertime to crowd around the rough-hewn kitchen table. The meals were simpler than in Nevassa but Ike had never enjoyed dinners so much. He was more than pleased to get a shopping list from his mother and saddle up a horse for them to ride into the market.

Ike did not take Ragnell, lest he terrify the locals, but Soren managed to tuck an Elwind into one of the deep pockets Mist had sewn in his olive green jacket. Seeing Soren in colors other than black, gray, and red made Ike want to ride to the closest shady grove and strip him but he abstained...for the time being.

Soren liked making love outside just as much as Ike, so they could carve out time after their shopping.

“Would you prefer to ride in front of me or pillion?” Ike asked, remembering their first time riding together to the ruins.

“Pillion.” Soren said as he finished tying his boot laces. “I’d rather not ride in front of you while you’re in that state. You devil.” He motioned to Ike’s pants and Ike laughed helplessly. 

“You have to stop being so lovely! I cannot help it.”

Soren glared up at him but he was smiling, so it did not help matters. It also did not help that Soren was equally wicked and hooked his hands very low on Ike’s waist, sometimes barely brushing his crotch as they rode the familiar trail into the village square. 

The local town was big enough to warrant a monthly livestock trade, a weekly farmer’s market, an inn, and two dry goods stores. Even so, the bustling town center was very quaint to Soren and Ike in comparison to the urban sprawl of Nevassa. 

The local market was buzzing with talk as Ike and Soren walked hand-in-hand through the normally serene cobblestone streets. Out in the countryside as they were, it took some time for Tellius news to reach them, but...when it did, there was cause for everyone to take to the streets for discussion. 

 Ike did not even bother eavesdropping. If some bit of news was particularly exciting or lurid then surely some merchant or elderly gossip could not resist the urge to be the first to share it with Ike and Soren. They shopped for vegetables at their leisure, making bets under their breath.

“I swear, it will be that crone Ryselle who will snap first.” Soren insisted, as he tucked bunches of garlic into his pack, “She’d never resist the opportunity to put a withered old hand on your arm and tell you the personal business of everyone in Crimea. Feisty old bitch.”

Ike laughed harder, remembering how the old woman did hold onto his bicep at the slightest provocation, ignoring Soren’s dagger glare. 

“Well she’d best hurry,” Ike said with a quick slap to Soren’s behind, “we’re about to buy sardines and Ahsel likes to share news from abroad. Especially if we buy from hi--”

“Ike!” 

Soren was triumphant for all of a split second before annoyance set hold, his eyes going to the hand that was squeezing the bulge of Ike’s bicep. Ryselle certainly might have matched Soren’s tenacity and quick wit but she did not have his pedigree and allure. Ike was as courteous as could be, though he delighted in the knowledge that Soren would tear the clothes off of him and bite marks on his shoulders as soon as they were alone.

Ike wondered if he would have to confiscate the Elwind tome from Soren, lest he use it on the old woman.

“My dears, you’ve come at just the right time!” Though the rest of her body was rickety, her well-used voice was honey smooth and syrupy, “There’s been such an interesting tidbit that has been going around the market. The news has been trickling across the border for weeks but it’s only recently been confirmed by the members of the royal family.”

“We’ve not heard anything to warrant discussion.” Soren said, his tone distinctly chilly.

Ryselle looked at him as though she had completely forgotten his existence, but her love of a juicy tidbit of gossip seemed to win out over her desire to monopolize Ike’s attention. “An international scandal, my boy! Concerning our neighbor to the east.” Ike felt Soren grip his hand and he rubbed a reassuring circle on Soren’s hand with his thumb. “The heir missing and presumed dead and the Mad King Ashnard, while out wyvern riding was--”

Ike inhaled, a feeling of complete and utter weightlessness consuming him. His heart skipping beats just like it had when he had first asked for Soren as his price or slept next to him in their bed or kissed him. 

Relief . 

No one knew, or would ever know that the heir to Daein was hand-in-hand with Ike in the center of town. 

“Dear woman,” Ike interrupted with all decorum, “you are so kind to think of us and share what you know. But my love and I have very pressing matters to attend to. I’m sure you understand.”

Ryselle deflated, clearly unsure of how to move forward with trying to convince Ike to stay and chat.

But he had already extricated himself and was pulling Soren through the crowd. As they ran through the market square, Ike knew, he heard the snippets of conversation and smiled like his heart would explode.

After so long, so many years...

Ike and his father were out from under the thumb of Daein. His mother and Mist, Oscar, Boyd, and Rolf were safe. Ashnard would never look at Soren again, never hear his voice, never use him to torture men or blackmail generals. 

Oh gods, it was relief .

“Ike, Ike!” Soren was smiling, laughing as Ike pulled him into a relatively secluded corner and kissed his sweet mouth.

Ike kept kissing him. He didn’t care if anyone saw.

He loved Soren and Soren loved him. And no one could use it against them ever again.