Summary:
Yet now, in Ike's arms, Soren revels at Ike's words. They send a shiver up his spine, yet warm his heart with a feeling he has never felt before.
Author's Ideas: What's this? An Avi writing more angst for a pairing that is basically canon and happy? What a surprise!
This turned into a lot more of a character study than I expected but pshaw, that's fine
Also there are one - very vague, albeit there - mention of attempted suicide, so please proceed with caution if you're not comfortable with things like that
Make Me Worthy
The sky is clear. The snow is pure white. The sun is glowing, and light spills on their figures as they step out of the Tower of Guidance.
Soren winces at the sudden brightness, wearily lifting a hand to block the sun. Ike grunts, rubbing his eyes. Soren stumbles, but Ike grabs him by the wrist, pulling him close.
"Be careful," he mumbles. Soren pushes himself against Ike, steadying him.
"You too," Soren mutters back. "You're swaying."
Ike stops walking, and Soren starts.
"What's wrong?"
Ike just pulls Soren in closer, grunting. "Nothing's wrong," he murmurs. "Just let me hold onto you."
The feeling of Ike's arms, wrapped tightly around him, sends him back to that time in the Tower of Guidance, where Soren had broken down sobbing in Ike's arms. Soren tightens his hands around Ike's shirt, ignores the rips and charred edges from battle after battle, and just revels in their warmth.
The rest of their companions stumble out, and the people guarding the Tower of Guidance rush towards them, sobbing and hugging as the citizens of Begnion cheer loudly for the ones that they know saved them.
Ike just stands still, and Soren does too. The sun is warm on their faces, and Soren lets out a shaky breath.
"Ike?" he murmurs, his voice muffled.
"I love you, Soren," Ike responds, and it's like he can read Soren's mind. "It's okay. If it's not okay, it'll be okay. I love you."
"I love you, Ike," Soren manages, and then buries his face against Ike's chest. The sobs come out of him gently, as if his body has decided he's cried and suffered enough. Ike hugs him tighter.
They had both never been men of words. Ike was bad with communicating, and everything Soren said sounded shrewd and hateful. Titania or Mist had always been Ike's way of communication, and Soren had simply withdrawn every time his words did not help him.
Yet now, in Ike's arms, Soren revels at Ike's words. They send a shiver up his spine, yet warm his heart with a feeling he has never felt before.
"Don't leave me," Soren whispers without thinking, like the words willed themselves into existence and from his lips.
"I won't. I'll never be far from you."
And indeed, they're never far from each other. They travel through Begnion, bid farewell to their allies, and head for their home in Crimea. All the time, they're together, side by side, smiles etched in their faces because they can finally be happy.
"Soren?" he says one night, when they're in the Castle of Crimea, staying overnight. The rain is heavy that night, and Soren is pressed up against him. Every so often, Ike kisses his cheek or his nose.
"What is it?" Soren questions softly.
"Will you travel with me?"
Soren blinks, sitting up. Ike follows him. "What… do you mean?"
"I want to leave Tellius," he responds truthfully, looking into Soren's eyes. Soren reaches his hand up, and brushes Ike's bangs out his eyes. "I… I want to explore the world outside. It can't just be Tellius. And…" Ike cracks a smile. "I don't think we want to stay here after we've become continent famous."
"I know, Ike. But…" Soren purses his lips. "I… Why me? I'm…" he runs a hand through his hair. "I'm Branded. I'm not emotionally attached to people. I'm bad at everything but tactics."
"And I've already told you," Ike kisses him gently, "that it doesn't matter to me. You're Soren. You're who I love. So?"
"I… okay." Soren agrees tentatively, and finds Ike's hand, almost out of instinct. Ike squeezes back, and smiles comfortingly. The doubt edges away.
~ / . / . / ~
The winds are lax today, and it leaves Soren impatient.
"It's okay," Ike murmurs reassuringly. "Soren - "
"I know," Soren replies snappily before sighing. By Ashunera, he really has become impatient. "I'm sorry, Ike."
"I told you, it's okay," Ike repeats. "It's not your fault. Being on a boat is boring." Tentatively, Ike takes Soren's hand. Soren squeezes back.
They stand along the edge of the boat in silence, hand in hand. The faint spray of saltwater from waves splashing against their boat sprinkles across their faces. Soren can taste the ocean, although he tastes it all the time at this point.
Ike lets go of Soren's hand, and Soren turns in question. Ike wraps his arms around him, and Soren lets out a gentle sigh.
"What is it?" Ike asks. Soren shakes his head.
"I'm just tired."
Ike hums softly. "Hey, Soren."
"Hm?"
"Hey… do you remember when we first met?"
"Of course," he replies incredulously. "How could I not?" There's a pause. "You… You remember, don't you?"
"Yeah," Ike answers. "I remember. You asked me about it, didn't you?"
"...I did."
"And you're the one who reminded me of it."
"Ah." Soren lets his lips curve into a small smile. "I did, didn't I…"
Ike presses his face against Soren's shoulder, smiling. "I wonder sometimes… what would have happened if I'd never met you?"
Soren tenses up at that thought, but Ike continues to speak.
"I wonder if I would have become a different person… I'm sure I would've become a much worse person without you."
Soren doesn't say anything in response; truthfully he wants to disagree - not meeting Soren would have probably been the best for Ike. He wouldn't be held down by Soren, held back by Soren.
"I'm glad I met you, Soren."
"That sounds very sinister," Soren answers honestly, and Ike smiles.
"I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm glad I met you, Soren. I don't care how sinister that sounds." Ike pauses, and then adds on, "I love you."
"...Ike?"
"What is it?"
"Do you… regret this? Do you regret leaving Tellius? Do you regret asking me to come along with you? Do you regret… losing everyone for me?"
"No," Ike replies instantly. "Never."
"Ike - "
"You once reminded me of the clouds," Ike starts, and then pauses, as if fumbling with his words. Soren waits patiently. "You were distant, and always hiding something, I suppose."
"I - "
Soren stops and releases himself from Ike's arms then, squinting in the distance. He rushes up to the ship's railing. It's true. It's really there.
"Land," Soren whispers. Ike stands behind him, staring dumbfounded at the distant landmass.
"We made it," Ike says, resting his hand on Soren's shoulder. Soren reaches up to touch Ike's hand, and then lifts his head to the sky. The clouds are the only things he sees, just like every other day of his life.
Yet, today feels different. He already knows why. Even the clouds feel different.
~ / . / . / ~
Ike changes a lot after their settlement on Rindal Island - at least, that's what Soren thinks.
Soren's not sure when he noticed, or when the thought occurred to him. He had always been the one to notice, to observe. Since when had it been the other way around?
Maybe it was the day they'd taken on their first request as mercenaries, from a young lady in their village.
She was rather renowned as a wonderful flower lady, who grew beautiful flowers on every corner of her front and back yards, and populated her house with the scent of fragrant and blossoming flowers, and had asked for their help in retrieving a few materials necessary for her flower-growing.
"...She must really like roses," Ike comments as they leave her cottage, his eyes on the small garden blooming in the front of her cottage. It's covered from top to bottom with roses of all different colors. The soothingly natural fragrance of roses is carried through the air by the wind.
Soren hums softly.
"It must be why she uses that perfume," Ike continues. "It's made to replicate the smell of roses."
Soren pauses for a moment, and stops walking. Ike turns over his shoulder.
"Soren?"
The sage blinks, and then shakes his head, hurrying to Ike's side. "No, it's nothing."
Ike tilts his head, but doesn't press him on the issue anymore. He simply takes Soren's hand and smiles. "If you say so. Ready to go home?"
"Yes," Soren replies, and musters up his strength to give Ike a gentle and small smile. Ike's smile grows.
That night, Soren stares off into the distance, wondering. He spends most of the night thinking and musing upon everything Ike has said, and eventually falls asleep at his desk, the single flame of candlelight illuminating his slumbering form.
He wakes suddenly to the feeling of being carried, and starts.
"It's just me, Soren," Ike murmurs. Soren lets out a sigh of relief.
"Sorry," Soren apologizes softly. "I - "
"It's okay." Through the darkness, Soren makes out Ike, his voice reassuringly. He nudges open the door to their bedroom, and sets Soren down before lying down beside him.
Soren curls into Ike, and soon he's asleep again, with thoughts of the night swimming through his mind.
They're still fresh in his mind when he wakes the next morning, pressed against Ike's slumbering form.
He shifts slightly, and Ike grumbles.
"Five more minutes," he murmurs, and Soren frowns.
"We have work to do."
Ike snorts. "So?"
"So we shouldn't stay in bed," Soren responds. Wriggling out of Ike's arms, he stands and makes his way to the window. "You've changed," he comments then, pulling the curtains open. Sunlight spills into their bedroom.
"How so?" Ike questions, sitting up.
"You're noticing things," Soren replies. "Things you never seemed to notice before, like what flowers people like, or what perfumes people wear."
"I noticed what you liked in the past."
"There are other things in the world that need to be noticed aside from me and the things I favor."
"I disagree," Ike grins. Soren rolls his eyes, and looks over his shoulder. He meets Ike's gaze, and seems to see a sparkle in his eyes that was never there.
~ / . / . / ~
Soren sighs, running a hand through his hair. His quill is propped in the well of ink by the large parchment in front of him, a rather rare sight. For once, he's not thinking about strategy, but he is thinking of what he usually thinks about, if not strategy.
He's thinking about Ike.
This morning, Ike had found his first gray hair, and although it would have been a rather hilarious situation, it was simply a reminder of something from Soren's grim lineage; that he would lose everyone that he loved, simply to his Branded heritage.
He'd already lost everyone other than Ike. He can't bear to lose Ike too.
With a frustrated sigh, he buries his head in his arms.
"Soren?" Ike touches his hand to Soren's shoulder, and he looks up. Ike brushes his bangs out of Soren's eyes. "You look tired. You should go to sleep."
Soren shakes his head. "I still have work to do."
Ike pauses, and then purses his lips. "Soren, I know you're worried about something."
The black-haired man freezes up, and Ike continues.
"Can't you tell me about it?"
Something about Ike's voice makes him crack open in weakness. He pauses, hesitates, thinks on everything believes, and then breaks down.
"I'm scared," he blurts out. His mind yells at him to stop, but his lips can't. "I'm scared of losing you. I… I had hoped my heritage, my disgusting lineage, had been lost when we escaped Tellius. Yet, here we stand - you are growing old, and I still look twenty years old. I've already lost everything. Why do I have to lose you too? Why…?"
Soren takes in a deep breath, and then covers his face with his hands. His shoulders tremble with fear, and Ike strokes his hair reassuringly. His touch is soothing, but it's not enough to stop or slow Soren's rapid thoughts.
"I'm…" Soren stops himself, and doesn't continue talking.
"Soren…" Ike wraps his arms around him, and Soren doesn't move, simply trembling and quivering with held back emotions. "I know it's hard for you, Soren."
"...I don't know how to say it," Soren murmurs, cursing his inability with words. Ike tightens his arms. Soren presses his face against Ike's chest.
"You don't have to," Ike reassures, his voice soft. Soren clenches his hand around Ike's tunic. "I…" Ike rests his face against the top of Soren's head. "I understand."
Soren doesn't speak his thoughts; that Ike truly doesn't understand. He tries, but doesn't. He doesn't know what it's like to lose everyone he's ever cared. Soren doesn't doubt Ike - he just doesn't know. He doesn't know, and he hates that he doesn't know.
"Soren, we should go to bed… okay?" Ike coaxes. "I… please. It hurts me to see you like this…"
"No," Soren mutters. "I… I still have work to do. Just… go first."
"Soren - "
Soren just ignores him, picking up the quill and writing on the parchment in front of him. He hears Ike exit the room, and then lets out a breath.
He spends the rest of the night in the study, thinking and writing, thinking and writing, until his mind can't think and his hands can't write. He slips into their bedroom, and curls up beside Ike, drifting into a dreamless sleep.
The sunlight is the first thing he wakes up to. The sun is bright, yet veiled by the curtains. The space that had once been occupied by Ike is empty, the blankets thrown aside and the sheets rumpled in the wake of his absence.
Soren slips out of bed, smoothing out his robes and rubbing his face. He pulls the curtains open the tiniest bit, and starts at the brightness that meets him. He's accustomed to waking at sunrise, when the world is still a little dark and the light is small.
He supposes it's because of how late he slept last night - it had most certainly been midnight, or some time past it. With a hasteness in his step, he hurries from the room.
Ike is standing in the kitchen, ruffling through parchments and bags of gold. An unfinished breakfast lays in front of him, and with a sigh, Ike looks up. He freezes when he sees Soren, and Soren walks up to him.
"...The clouds are nice today - " Ike starts.
"About what I said last night," Soren interrupts. "Just… forget it, okay?"
"Soren - "
"The clouds… are nice today," Soren replies, with a small and reassuring smile. Ike pauses, and then nods, leaning forward to kiss Soren gently.
Soren notices that he takes care to kiss him on his Brand, as if in a reassuring manner.
~ / . / . / ~
"Shit…" Ike grumbles, rolling his shoulders back. Soren is at his side in an instance.
"Another muscle pain?"
"Yeah…" Ike grunts. "I…"
"It's okay," Soren reassures, using his hands to massage his back and shoulders. Slowly, Ike begins to loosen up, sighing. Soren runs a gentle hand along the pained muscles, and then pulls away.
"How does that feel?"
"I'm definitely feeling better," Ike replies, but then sighs. "I don't think I can do work today."
The air laden with silence answers Ike. Soren's eyes and mind are on Ike - more specifically, his face and his hair. His face is full of wrinkles, his hair a mix of silver and blue. It's even more of a physical reminder that Ike is old, and that Soren is youthful and healthy.
"You… Soren? You don't look very happy. Soren?"
Soren grinds his teeth. The last thing he wants is for Ike to be worrying about Soren, out of all things. Ike has himself to worry about, the village to worry about, their deeds to worry about. Soren doesn't deserve to be worried about, compared to everything else.
"Soren," Ike prompts.
"No," Soren shakes his head. "It's nothing. Really."
Ike pauses, and when Soren turns to look at him, Ike holds his gaze. Soren stares back, and then Ike draws him into a hug.
"What…?" Soren murmurs questioningly.
"I know you're worried about me," Ike replies. Soren sighs. It is so much harder to keep things from Ike, ever since he had become more keen in observing and noticing the situations and people around him. "I don't want you to worry about me."
"I know," Soren answers. "But I can't help it. It's… instinct. I told you before." He tenses up. "I… never mind. Forget I said that. Forget about that night."
"No," Ike replies. "You told me things that night that I need to understand and be conscious of."
"Ike - "
"I know I said I'd forget it," Ike interrupts, "but I just can't. You told me your feelings, your real feelings and fears, and I want to understand that. I want to know what you have been through to understand everything about how you think. I care about you, Soren. I worry about you."
"...Ike…" Soren takes in a deep breath. "I…" he can't continue. Ike draws him into a hug, and Soren clings tight to him.
"It's okay…" Ike whispers soothingly. "I told you before, back at the Tower of Guidance, didn't I? It's okay, and if it's not, it'll be okay."
So as Soren stands there, clinging tightly onto Ike's garments, he wonders if he really is worth Ike's worries like Ike reassures.
~ / . / . / ~
"Soren…?" Ike's voice is raspy and soft.
"What is it, Ike?" Soren questions. He touches his fingers to Ike's hand, and intertwines their fingers. Ike squeezes back gently.
"I love you…" Ike smiles.
"I know," Soren whispers, "I love you too."
Ike's smile grows larger, his eyes bright with mirth despite the wrinkles in his face. Soren looks away.
"I was never worth your time," Soren murmurs, tears welling along his eyes. "I… never deserved anything from you. I never deserved to be with you."
"No," Ike whispers, as firmly as he can. His hand tightens around Soren's. "You… were never a burden. I…" Ike smiles reassuringly. "I loved you so much. I still love you so much."
"You shouldn't have," Soren replies, his words starting to blur together into an incoherent babble. He feels his spirit weakening, his heart turning and turning. "I… I don't deserve everything this world gave me…"
"You do," Ike looks into his eyes, and Soren screws his eyes shut, covering them with his hand. "You think you're a horrible person, that you don't deserve anything. You're wrong, Soren…"
Ike's voice is getting breathy. Soren opens his eyes and clasps both hands around Ike's. Confidently, Ike places his other hand on Soren's.
"You'll be fine, Soren. Keep living… Don't you dare… give up…" Ike grins. "I'll… be waiting… for you…"
Soren holds his hands, until the warmth has drained from them, and then lies his head down beside Ike's and cries. He cries until he can't feel his heart anymore, sobs until the world has become black and then lights with color again, for a night and a day have gone by since Ike's passing.
He cremates Ike's body in the house, and uses his magic to blow the smell of a burning corpse out of the house. He falls onto the bed, and drifts into a dreamless slumber that he couldn't care less about.
He wakes up the next day late in the afternoon, and simply turns his back to the window and buries his face in his pillow. He doesn't want to see the clouds, and everything they used to mean to him and Ike. They're meaningless now. Worthless.
Not unlike himself.
~ / . / . / ~
The world is bleak, but it always is and has been; at least, since Ike's death.
There had once been a time when nothing but Ike mattered, and nothing but their love was home to them. There had once been a time when Soren was happy; happy with the way the sun had fallen on his face, the way the wind had blown, the way the clouds in the sky had shimmered, the way Ike's hand had found his and their fingers intertwined, calloused and tan against soft and pale.
That time is not right now.
Right now is a blur of days. Right now is meaningless, motivationless. Right now, Ike is gone, and Soren has no life left in himself without Ike, as much as he tries.
Soren leans back against the bed frame, sighing heavily. A strand of silver hair falls brushes against his cheek, and then falls against his ear. He tries to hold back his flinch at the sudden feeling of something touching his cheek, like Ike is touching his face with gentle fingers.
Any sort of physical contact - even from himself - has become something absolutely foreign to Soren. Every time, he's reminded of the way Ike used to touch him gently, how he used to marvel and appreciate every aspect of Soren, how he used to whisper reassurances and sweet nothings in his ear.
Soren hisses as he inhales sharply through gritted teeth. His neck still hurts, days later, like the noose is still clenched tight around him. He tries his best to stop thinking about it, but once it starts, it doesn't stop. His heart aches with everything he can muster. It's as if every ounce of his strength and knowledge and emotions goes right back into mourning and grieving, even though it's been an uncountable amount of years.
He slumps down, and then falls onto the bed, attempting to ignore the pain that once again flashes through his neck, although this time the agony is much more excruciating. The air escapes his lungs, and he lays there, breathing heavily, chest heaving.
The thought strikes him then, a part of the stupid thoughts he doesn't want, and as much as he tries to cross out that thought and scratch and claw it out like graffiti on a wall, it doesn't go away.
He's getting old. He is old.
Under any other circumstances, that would have been the best news Soren could've ever received. His Branded heritage was finally letting go of him - he could grow old and die old…
Except the thought of growing old sends growls to his lips and forces the little hairs on his arm and the back of his neck to stand up, because Ike had died old, and the thought of rotting away now disgusts Soren.
He turns on his side, and grinds his teeth at the slash of pain that runs through his neck. He purses his lips, and feels the aftertaste of his meager dinner on his tongue.
Once every day, he takes a few bites from the already-small meal he has prepared, and then shoves the rest in the ice box. If a quarter of a slab of cow's meat and two sprigs of asparagus can sustain him for one week, he has no clue how long a full meal will serve him. To be fair, he really doesn't care.
Soren closes his eyes, listening to his own breathing. He lets it slow, and then listens as it grows shallow, and his mind drifts away.
He's dreaming of Ike, and of their boat. How the winds made him impatient, how Ike would reassure him, how the feel of Ike's hands and arms warmed his heart, and for the first time in centuries he wonders what the clouds outside look like. He wonders what the world has become, and he wonders if he's still unworthy in their eyes. He wonders if Ike would have noticed things like he grown to do.
He thinks then of his life, from beginning to end. He thinks of those first nine years he spent, starving and lonely. He thinks of the blue-haired boy who gave him food that day. He thinks of the commander he grew to be, the lover he became.
He muses on the realization that his life has began and ended the same way; alone, unworthy of anyone else by his side, with only the clouds to watch him.
"Here?" a voice rings out.
"No, down the hall," another answers. "Rumor says their bedroom was there. Perhaps their bodies are there too."
So when the villagers come into their room, and see his body, clutching a bottle of ashes, they touch it, wondering. And when they observe that his body is cold, ice cold at their fingers, with a sad and forlorn look etched onto his face, they conclude that he must have died a long, long time ago.