This is set sometime after Chapter 19. Also known as the PoR mission I hate the most, including the four Serenes stages.

So I finally gave in. IkexSoren hentai, here it is.

Excuse the brief diversion into allowing Kieran to be silly again. Sorry he keeps appearing in every FE story ever. (Of course, so does Naesala. FANBASE AHOY) Perhaps I make up for it by reinventing Crimean army protocol.

I don't own Fire Emblem, blah blah blah disclaimer.

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19. Those Who Inherit the Blood of a Dragon

I leaned back against a tree, exhaling deeply in a great cloud of mist. What a ridiculously exhausting day this had been. First it had been the Begnion knights, who were not happy about a couple of deserted Daein wyvern riders who'd decided to fight with us. Then I had finally found out the source of the mysterious illness and subsequently had to bar my own sister from the kitchens for a week for giving everyone food poisoning. Then there were the world's most worst negotiations, with a sick tactician, a distracted lieutenant commander, and three extremely unwilling laguz. Between the hours of battle and those spent sorting out army trouble, I was ready to collapse.

Just this one moment of peace would be a life-saver. The distant sound of knights gleefully sparring by firelight was almost soothing, in its own way. It was competition, but it was happy, it kept the men's minds off the day's losses, it would make them sleep better that night... and best of all, it didn't require me to be there. The early night was cold, but I was more than happy to just stand with the snow falling down on me, everything blanketed, made more quiet by its cool layers.

I sighed contentedly, feeling a little less harried, and started making my way toward the healing tent. Rhys usually kept anyone who needed to be watched nearby, but tonight he himself was ill again, and I wanted to stop by one last time to check on both him and Soren. The healing tent was one of the larger structures, of course, easy to pick out despite the fat flakes of snow pouring down; I went around the back to avoid the dracoknights passing by. I had to admit, they weren't my favorite soldiers in the army, particularly considering that they'd already betrayed two countries. But, they had their strengths, and despite myself I was starting to respect Jill, whom they'd come looking for.

I was unsurprised to see Oscar coming out of the tent. "Hello, Ike," the knight said, quiet but cheerful, as always.

"Hi, Oscar. Things are calm inside?"

"Thank the goddess, yes. Just making sure that dolt is still asleep. Obviously he is, as you can tell." Oscar shook his head in amusement, dislodging the snowflakes that had already accumulated in his hair. "Sometimes..."

I grinned again: Oscar was clearly talking about Kieran, who had somehow contrived to break both legs in the battle today. No one knew how, either, and he wasn't telling: his horse had wandered back riderless, and we'd found him (quite easily, since he was roaring curses) helplessly foundering in a holly bush, mortified face redder than his armor. It had been an easy matter for Rhys to heal the knight, but the priest's orders that Kieran stay off his feet for another day were met with fulminations of disgust and sworn oaths to spar against his eternal rival that night, limp notwithstanding. So Rhys had slipped something into his food at dinner, and had a couple of the men drag him to the healing tent. I had to admire Rhys's cunning - especially because, hilarious as he might be, the camp and the sparring ring were vastly calmer without Kieran's shouting and swearing.

"Well, rest up tonight. From what I hear, tomorrow is going to be as rough as today. And with Mist banned from the mess, you might end up pulling some double duty."

"Actually, I'll look forward to it. I haven't had nearly enough time behind the grill. And you get some sleep, too, Commander," Oscar said, already walking away.

"Oscar?" I called after him, and he turned. "Why, uh... why do you care about him so much?"

He just smiled, and shrugged - a little sheepishly, if I wasn't mistaken. "If I don't save him from himself, who will?" I had to laugh: it was understandable. He sketched a neat salute, and added as he was disappearing in a swirl of snow, "Like I said, get some sleep, General. You need it even more than I do!"

Couldn't argue with that. I ducked into the warm tent, feeling as if I could lie down on the ground and sleep right now. The atmosphere inside was quite cozy, a gigantic brazier of coals radiating heat in the corner and bowls of hot water and a tangy-smelling essential oil scattered about. I glanced over at Kieran, peacefully passed out on one of several occupied cots, and had to stifle a laugh. Sometimes just the sheer entertainment of having some of my friends around was worth the exasperation of dealing with their mishaps. Like Boyd's poison ivy incident yesterday (evidently he'd never known that he was allergic), Shinon's occasional drunken rampages, and Lethe's hilarious, albeit sometimes violent, quarrels with Janaff. Poor Rhys: no wonder he was sick again, running back and forth with Mist, good-naturedly healing everyone.

I went over to where the priest was sleeping, and laid a light hand on his forehead; he was warm, but not feverishly so, and in my limited healing knowledge he looked fine. A little paler than usual, perhaps, but sleeping soundly. I moved one of the bowls - eucalyptus, that was it - closer to his cot, and smoothed the hair back from his face; still sleeping, he sighed, and seemed to relax. I rose satisfied that he was all right, and moved toward the center of the tent, trying to pick out Soren's slight form. The scent of the oils reminded me of my mother, and by association, my father. I sighed, trying to ignore the jolt my stomach always got whenever I thought of my father.

Revenge was all well and good, and I was looking forward immensely to executing my father's killer, but the fact was that war wearied me. Looking at all the sleeping forms, laguz and beorc - some as peaceful as Rhys, others tossing uneasily or breathing heavily - it struck me that we really were a pair of obnoxious races. Why could we not live in peace?

"Ike," said a quiet voice, and I finally picked out Soren in the dim light, heavy-eyed and exhausted.

"There you are," I answered, coming to sit on his cot. He was thinner than usual, though I would have been able to sit next to him regardless, what with him being the smallest member of our company, besides maybe my sister. What was that they said about tiny gems being the most brilliant, though? "No, lie back down. Still feeling bad?"

He shrugged, impenetrable as usual; but I could tell by the slump of his shoulders that he felt no better than he had earlier. It wasn't enough that he'd suffered through Mist's cooking mishap the day before, but he had been almost killed by an axe warrior today, and poisoned on top of it. Subsequently had been forcibly removed (by me) from the negotiations to prevent him from becoming seriously ill.

But this was something else, too: usually, even when he was practically near death from attack or sickness, Soren always had that subdued glare, the spit-in-your-face, honestly angry attitude that made him so terribly convincing as a tactician. Titania sometimes called it his Bitch Factor, and on those occasions I secretly agreed that he was unnecessarily unkind, though it was always an effective tactic. But for the last few days, even before getting sick, he'd been reserved to the point of being unable to convince the other soldiers of our plans. I could tell his mood had to do with what he'd mentioned the other day, something about his parents.

"Ike, I can't stay in here anymore," he said suddenly, hunching under the covers. "I can't... can't you feel it? The other men... I feel so... surrounded."

Startled - and somewhat uneasy - I looked around. There were several others in the tent, to be sure, but two of them were men that Soren knew quite well, and all of them were asleep. "Do you mean... in this tent? Or more generally? Soren, don't worry, these men aren't paying any attention to you."

He said something, but his face was buried in his pillow. I didn't understand a word of it, and sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Do you want to go somewhere else? I can help you back to your own tent." Then I added as an afterthought, "Even though Rhys will kill me in the morning."

There was a long moment, and then he answered, "Yes," in a very small voice. This was unnatural and frightening: I didn't like it one bit. It had to be resolved.

"All right," I said, watching him warily. "Come on, let's go before I lose my nerve."

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He made it halfway, wrapped in my cloak and leaning on me, before he tripped on something and went down face-first in the snow. "Soren! Soren, are you all right?"

"I hate winter," was his only reply as he clung to me, features white as the snow now dusting his bangs.

I bent over and bodily picked him up off the ground - the goddess, he was so thin, it hardly took any effort at all. Just as he was opening his mouth to protest, I said, "Shut up, Soren. If I'm going to be scolded to death in the morning for letting you leave, I might as well do it so you don't fall on your face anymore."

Soren didn't say anything, and I could feel him shivering through the cloak. I carried him the rest of the way, wishing it would stop snowing for five minutes so I could pick out his tent more clearly.

He'd left his own brazier going strong, anyway, so it was almost as warm as the healing tent. Besides that, I had never known anyone to match the amount of blankets Soren kept on his bed when the army was well-stocked.

"Okay," I said as soon as he was wrapped in as many layers as possible, and sat on his cot in the same way I had before. "Out with it. Why are you so damn troubled over what you told me the other day?" He merely sat, staring at his hands, and I demanded, "What have you got to be worried about? It's just me, Soren. Tell me what's the matter!"

"Damn you!" he suddenly yelled, hands clenching, and I started. "Why do you have to know, Ike? I... you..." The anger went away as quickly as it had come, and I could barely hear his voice as he said, "I don't... I don't have anyone else, Ike. You're the only one I can tell anything to, my only real friend, and if you... if you..."

I suddenly realized that he was absolutely terrified. "If I what? If I suddenly decide not to like you?" I shook my head, and leaned forward to put my arms around him. He shook me off, curling into himself. "Soren, don't do this. I trust you more than almost anyone else in the world. I will never stop being your friend. And if you don't tell someone this thing, whatever it is, it will just fester inside you. Look at you, you're a complete mess."

His sigh of resignment was almost a sob, choked back quicky. "I know. I know."

"So tell me. Please, Soren?" I spoke softly. It hurt me to push him, but I had to know: to satisfy my own desperate lack of knowledge, but mostly to help him.

He drew his knees up, burying his head in them for a moment, and when he raised his eyes to me I saw the tear tracks, and it all poured out in one word. "Imoneofthebranded." His shoulders shook briefly, but he bravely stared straight at me.

I could only blink, and reached out a hand to take his. He flinched but stayed still as he realized I wasn't going to hurt him. "You're one of the... what? What's a Branded?"

"A filthy crossbreed, half laguz, half beorc. It's... it's a crime against the goddess, an abomination. I'm cursed, damned!" His voice hadn't risen any, but I could hear the disgust and terror; his eyes weren't on me anymore, and his hand was utterly limp in my own. "That's what the mark on my forehead means. It... I found out, looking at books in the Mainal Cathedral. That mage though I was a spirit charmer, but I'm not!"

"Spirit charmer?" I asked, blankly. So far none of this was at all illuminating.

"You make a pact with a spirit and you get the powers of magic, and he thought I was one of them. I thought it was a birthmark... I guess it is." His voice was bitter as he explained, "That mage who trained me was only interested in me because he thought I had some pact with a demon, but I'm just a filthy Branded!"

I suppose he was expecting me to jump to my feet and exclaim something. But as it was, a calm, dawning sense of realization - mingled with a kind of excited awe - came over me, and I asked, "Okay... so... you're part laguz?" The temptation was very strong to ask him which tribe, but before I could even decide whether or not to ask him, he exploded.

"Yes, now you know! Now you can be disgusted, too! You c-can throw rocks and sp-spurn me and let me go off and die on my own, because th-that's w-what I deserve!" His tears got the better of him, but instead of leaning toward me, he curled up again, arms wrapped around himself. He looked so alone and small and miserable that I could have cried with him.

"Soren, why on earth would you think I would even care about that, much less do any of those things?" I asked.

"How does it not totally disgust you?" he whispered. "Why would you even want something like me around?"

"I wouldn't... What?" I exclaimed. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Soren, you're not just my closest friend, you're an indispensible part of the army! It doesn't matter who your parents were, you're the best tactician we have, if it weren't for you we would all have been dead a long time ago, and we haven't a hope against Ashnard if you're not here!"

"But..."

"No!" I said firmly. "Look at me, Soren." He obeyed, eyes utterly devoid of hope; I put my hands on either side of his face, unable to help noticing the mark on his brow, but ignoring it nevertheless. "I don't care! Have you totally forgotten that I love the laguz? If anything you should expect me to like you more than ever! And besides that, what the hell does it matter? You're... you're you, you're the same person you were before I knew, or before YOU knew, and anybody who thinks differently is a moron. And..." I enfolded him in my arms, and finally he melted into me. "You know me better than anybody else, better than my sister or Titania. I don't throw rocks, if I don't like somebody, I tell them so and then stab them."

He laughed briefly, a little hysterically, and clutched me again, chest heaving against my own. I heard him gulp, and he finally asked, "Ike... you... do you really mean it?"

"Of course I do. You know, for a such a smart person, you're really quite stupid sometimes."

"Yeah." He sniffed, and raised a hand to wipe his eyes. "Ike, you..." Our eyes met. "When we met... in Gallia..."

That particular dark memory suddenly struck me, and I breathed, "That WAS in Gallia, wasn't it? I guess it was, I was only five or so. Soren, were you..."

"I was dying," he said simply. "No one would talk to me, the mage was dead, and I couldn't find food, and... you, you and later your father, you saved me. Ike, you're the only real friend I have. That I've ever had."

I stared at him, warmth surging through me, feeling - what? Not pity, not sorrow, but not exactly happiness, either. It might have just been simple gratitude. Before I could think too much about it, he leaned forward, eyes closed, and our lips met. The kiss was brief, and quite chaste - he pulled away quickly - but I found myself breathing hard. "I'm sorry," he said instantly, "I didn't mean... you..."

He took a deep breath, and put a hesitant hand on my shoulder. I pressed my lips tight, almost unable to breathe myself. Both of us tried to speak at the same time.

"I guess you-"

"That was-"

We both stopped and laughed a little. "You first," I said. His eyes were on mine, and I could feel his hand: it was moving toward my neck. "Or not."

"Well..." He bit his lip, then shrugged. "Yes or no?"

"Yes," I said, a little too quickly and hoarsely for my own satisfaction. I cleared my throat and tried again, putting my hand over his. "Yes."

Finally his hand came behind my head, and he pulled me closer, our lips dipping together again. The kiss was more experimental than the first, longer, but still somewhat hesitant. He pulled back this time, crimson eyes looking into mine. "Do you... Do you remember the night before I left to study?"

"Oh, the goddess, do I remember?" I groaned, graphic images flashing through my mind. We had both been so young, teenagers despondent at being separated, unsure of anything. The night had ended with us both naked, ashamed, hardly able to speak... but somehow satisfied. Even now it sent a simultaneous flush of horror and desire through me. "Oh, Soren. That was so long ago."

"I know," he said, eyes on me again, tone quite blank. "I know, it was, and I spent the better part of five years wishing I hadn't, and when I came back you were so different..." He stopped, swallowing, and for the first time I'd ever seen, he started blushing. Furiously. "Did you ever think that maybe - maybe it wasn't just a mistake? Maybe that's what... that's how we really feel?"

A dozen thoughts raced through my mind: "He's right, you know," alongside "Oh, Ashera, forgive me." I ran my fingers through his hair; his hand came up to my face, and a thrill shot through me. Something in my heart stirred, heat flashing over my body. Everything else in Tellius had disappeared; the only things that existed were the two of us, in this tent. There were just desires.

"I think... every time I see you, I don't know what to feel," I said softly. "Are we just... are we just friends, or do I want to defy the goddess and take you into me?"

"Or you into me," he whispered. "And now that I know... what I am... what difference does it make?" I swallowed, and this time I was the one to lean forward and join our lips. His tongue flicked into my mouth, and unable to resist any longer, I wrapped my arms around his slight figure, crushing him against me.

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It took so little time for our clothes to vanish, ripped off and thrown aside. The brazier gave off very little light, but enough for me to see every one of his ribs. The bed's rough cover chafed against my back as I pulled him against me, straining and gasping, sweat slicking our bodies. "I love you," he said at one point, though I could not answer. Skin rubbed against skin as we repeatedly plunged into one another, hands clenched on each others' shoulders, the night disappearing into short fragments of feeling. I cried out his name when I finally reached my climax, and he screamed breathily at his, fingers digging into my thighs. Never in my life had I ever felt so animalistic, so utterly whole.

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"Are you sure-"

"Oh, shut up already," I said again, patiently. "I told you, I'm sure. It makes no difference to me." Moving his hair aside for a moment, I kissed the mark on his forehead, then brushed his bangs back down. "If anything, I pretty much love the idea. Do you..." I hesitated, then plunged ahead. "Can I ask which tribe?"

"I don't know," he answered, somewhat tightly. "I don't remember my parents. And the old woman who raised me certainly didn't know. Or care."

I pulled him against me again. "I'm sorry. That was stupid, you've told me that before. I suppose that woman treated you badly because of your parentage, then. Was she a laguz herself?"

"No, she was a beorc." His head was pillowed on my chest, one of his fingers idly toying with my nipple. "Laguz just kind of ignore Branded... beorc are the ones who actively persecute them, in case you haven't noticed."

"I guess I did. But then again, for the most part they actively persecute laguz, too. Oooh! Stop that, it tickles!" I made a grab for his hand, and he snatched it back, laughing. I'd never seen him so happy, so flushed and satisfied, and my heart swelled to think it was because of me. "You know, this is probably no consolation to you, but wouldn't it be great to convince the others that you're a full-blooded dragon? The dragon prince looks just like a beorc, except with-" I poked his forehead "-so it would make as much sense as only having one laguz parent. And then they'd be too worried about you breathing fire at them to even look at you sideways."

His eyes were huge in horror, but when he saw that I was just joking, he shook his head, smiling a little. "As much fun as it would be to see the wyvern riders run the other direction every time I came around... rumor would spread too fast that you have a dragon in your army. Then you'd really be in a situation, when Deghinsea came flying in demanding my return to Goldoa."

Tears came to my eyes as I laughed, and it took a while before I could finally say, "Oh, Soren... I've been missing that kind of logic lately. It's good to have my pragmatic tactician back."

"And the pragmatic tactician is thinking you've already been in my tent for a little too long," he said frankly, brows contracting. "Not," he added, snuggling against me, "that I want you to go. But you are the commander of the Crimean Liberation Army... sooner or later something's going to go wrong, and when they find your tent empty there will be an almighty fuss. Wouldn't that be embarrassing: Tibarn would come looking for you and you would burst out of my tent with your breeches half-buckled."

I started laughing again, rolling over to wrap my arms around him. "Soren, if the entire army was standing outside this tent waiting for me to emerge, I'd walk out naked and dance for them rather than deny that I slept here tonight."

He reached over and plucked my tunic from the floor. One eyebrow rose as he asked, "Slept?"

"Fine... Perhaps that's not the most appropriate word." I took the tunic and sat up to start pulling my clothing back on. "I'm sure there are much more scandalous goings-on in this camp than you and I."

"Well, yes," he said, expression inscrutable, but a glint of deviousness in his crimson eyes. "Quite a few."

I raised my eyebrows and buckled on some armor. "Like...?"

He shook his head. "Only the obvious ones. The two paladins, Rhys and Titania, your sister and Boyd..."

"What?!" I exclaimed, dropping my cloak. "My... Mist and Boyd? What?" I fumed and stormed in circles, wondering if it would be appropriate to go bursting into my old friend's tent right now and beat the everloving snot out of him. "That's completely disgusting!"

"Oh, calm down," Soren said, shivering as he threw back the covers. "They haven't done anything yet, from what I can tell. They flirt incessantly, that's all. The deputy commander and her lover, though... that's a different story."

I gaped. "They... she... with Rhys? He'd disintegrate!"

"Well, he hasn't yet," he said, shrugging and pulling his boots on. "You just watch. When we get back to the healing tent, he won't be there."

"You don't just want to stay here?" I asked, frowning, and catching his arm as he fell off-balance, pulling his robes over his head. "You're not fighting in any battles today, I can tell you that right now."

"Maybe not," he admitted. As he put his arms around me, I noticed that we were just the right height: the top of his head fit snugly under my chin when we were standing. "I still feel awful. But not quite so..." he hesitated for a moment. Finally, he said thoughtfully, "Surrounded, I guess. It's... it's not just that you're the person I trust the most in the world. You're the commander, too. If you're convinced that my presence isn't a problem... well, the rest of the army really doesn't have any right to disagree, do they?"

"They absolutely don't," I agreed, a delightful feeling of satisfaction developing somewhere around my stomach and spreading upwards. "There have already been a couple of generals and commanders who tried to make me pick between one of the old mercenaries and them. Every time, they sulked when I didn't pick them over Titania, or Oscar... or you."

He looked up at me, and even though I could still feel his unhealthy warmth through his robe, his face was fiercely set again. I knew he would recover quickly now. "Good. We're what's left of your father's family. And that's more important than anything."

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"Go back to your tent and get some rest," he whispered sternly, for a moment resembling a short, raven-haired (and consequently somewhat terrifying) version of our priest. "I'll meet you for troop review in the morning, okay?" The brazier had burned down, and though it was still faithfully giving out heat, the light in the tent was now so dim that I could barely make out the other sleeping figures, all snoring peacefully. It was easy enough to tell, though, that Rhys's cot was notably empty. Soren noticed me looking, and his small smile began to carry a hint of smirk, his meaning quite clear.

"Yes, oh brilliant tactician," I answered, both in answer to his command and to his expression. Looking around ostentatiously, I leaned over for one last kiss. He pushed me away after a moment, but good-naturedly. "Thank you. Again," he said, softly.

As he was getting ready to say something else, though, two figures blustered into the tent. Instinctively, I crouched, though it was hard not to recognize Titania, armor and hair coated in snow. My jaw dropped as her companion flung off his equally snowy cloak and embraced her. Soren had been right - but it still made my head spin. From my father to... Rhys? "Good-night," said the priest simply, his voice somewhat husky, eyes fixed on her face.

Titania didn't answer: just kissed him deeply. Next to me, I could actually feel the cot shaking as Soren tried not to laugh out loud. How had the two of them not noticed us yet? This was so humiliating.

"Good-night," Titania finally answered, softly, and vanished back out into the cold. Rhys picked up his cloak, shaking out the melted snow into the brazier with a loud hiss, and started back toward his cot. I coughed, finally unable to stand the tension any longer, and he froze.

"Um... evening," I said; a glance at Soren showed me that the mage was traitorously pretending to be quite fast asleep. Treacherous little bastard.

Rhys's eyes were immense, but with great dignity he folded his cloak and carefully laid it across the cot, then said, "It is precisely what you think it is." Then, flushing, "Um... as long as you think that it's..."

I was hard-pressed to keep from laughing, but in all honesty the strongest feeling going through me was utter relief. Perhaps Titania was happy, then. "I try not to think too hard about anything that isn't my business," I said, coming toward him. "And as long as she doesn't get her head chopped off in battle worrying about you, it really isn't any of my business."

Apparently put at ease by what I hoped was my uncaring grin, Rhys relaxed, his shoulders losing their tension. I came forward and embraced him. "Sorry I didn't tell you, or anyone," he said, mild face somewhat confused when we drew back. "She just... we seem to be right for each other right now. Which doesn't make much sense."

"It doesn't have to make sense. And anyway, you're the reason she's still alive and fighting with us."

He grinned, cheeks pink, his sudden ebuillence startling me. "I guess so. Ike... thanks."

I shrugged. "For what? Understanding? You know me. I like everybody... well, except the Begnion senators." I suddenly felt exhausted at the thought of tomorrow: the apostle was coming for a discussion on laguz involvement in the morning. "Mmphm. I think I'd better get to bed before I end up sleeping here." Another glance back at Soren showed me one raised eyebrow and a small smile of contentment. No need to give a formal good-night, then. "See you in a few hours - and feel better."

"Thanks. Sleep well," was Rhys's reply as I stepped outside for the last time that night.

I was too tired and too cold to unwrap my cloak from around me and dance, but despite the wind trying to freeze my teeth together, I grinned all the way back to my tent. I liked being a general no better than I had that morning, but I could manage for a while yet. After this war, I swore to myself, it was back to the Greil Mercenaries with me, and to the simple friendship of my family. But until then... well, I had those friends to tide me over.