[A/N:]: Hello, everyone. This story has a tendency to go through edits periodically, so as to why chapters may be slow coming, that is the main cause. Just a little warning in advance so nobody is surprised by my tardiness, and goes, "What's this? Hiatus? No way!" because that's not what's really going on. Just me, being slow, and being distracted by various shiny objects. Pretty. :)

But yes, humor aside, to get on with it... So people have an idea of what to expect with this story, here is a list of a few things that readers may want to know about in advance:

-Post-game story
-Lots of overwhelming amounts detail
-T Rating for this story covers sexual content, swearing, and violence
-Multiple pairings; some canon, some not
-Multi-chapter oriented fic
-Slow updates (this is not the only story I'm focusing on, currently)
-Edits and original material
-A bit of a trial and error story (never committed myself to a multi-chap before)
-Dialogue will become more frequent with story progression
-Story should stick fairly close to canon (I like my facts accurate, so feel free to correct me if I perchance present some falsehoods; I would be more than happy to correct them)

...There. I think that about covers it! If anyone is curious about this story or whatnot, please feel free to PM me, or drop a review, or what-say-you. Also, this isn't important and feel free to skim over it, but I do plan on updating whether I receive reviews or not. I realize that I used to ask for reviews, but I'd just like to say now that if you liked what you read, or you found something particularly odd worded or something that stood out in either a good or negative way, please let me know! There is no better motivation or reward for an author than knowing people enjoy reading what you write, or wanting to offer criticism to help improve. I'm still learning as I go about this, so any encouragement given would be highly appreciated!

But yes. I have a tendency to ramble (as you delightful readers can probably see for yourself here, ha), but anyhow... I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it, and hope you all have a wonderful amazing day wherever you are. Yes. I shall shut up now. :)

Edited 11/27/2011

I. Nostalgia

He was sure that he would not leave with regrets.

Looking back on days long past, and seeing how much his reputation as a man had changed, Ike was sure he had made up his mind. He had stayed up late in the middle of the night, sorting through useless trinkets and possessions of his, recalling every single memory that they triggered. Whether they were painful or enjoyable, they were his own, and he did not regret a single one of them. Excluding everyone else's thoughts on the matter but his own, he knew that his resolve would stand. Persuasion would not sway him, nor would briberies of any kind. His choice was final, and it would not be changed.

Ike was leaving for a better life, where someone else could have a chance at the glory that he had achieved through his heroics, or simply so he could live in peace and see places he had never thought much about. Ike knew that if he left for someplace new, he could start over again, and make things right in a different way. He could live a normal life, or at least one that passed for it.

Through his later years, Ike was always that one person that people complimented, even though he was just as guilty as the next person for making mistakes. When he was corrected on some occasions, people never dared to undermine him. They held respect for him, even if they didn't know him. It had never been like that when he was a teen, but that's the way it should have been, and was. Ike often thought about the events that had made him receive respect in those fashions, made him become the person who he was now…

It was always nowadays, Oh, I've heard 'bout you! You were Greil's boy, right? Who led the army?

Or, Blimey, you killed a goddess! And you're a sell-sword? What skills you must possess for someone of your stature! To Ike, it was painful listening to those statements. At times he wanted to flee the premises, just to escape the praises that he had earned, and not look back.

He was not cut out to be a figurehead, much less a general. He had told people time and time again, but they never listened. It was arguable, without a doubt, about his skills with cajoling others into doing their jobs and righting the wrong, but it was not something that Ike had any appreciation or love for. He had returned a princess to her rightful throne, gained the trust of an empress, defeated the man who killed his father, and then dispatched the main antagonist of a whole goddamn war. Needless to say, Ike was made a hero, and in the eyes of everyone, had become a nominal leader worth following. He didn't want that type of life though.

It was bad enough that people always automatically expected him to take off after his father, Gawain.

Without a doubt, Ike was definitely his father's son. Everyday as he aged, he began to look more like him: well-defined muscles, chiseled face, stoic expression, calloused hands of a soldier, skilled with the blade like no other…all those traits defined him. Ike had wanted to make his father proud—by leading the mercenary company in his stead and keeping the 'family' together…keeping up what the company was originally created for, and eventually becoming a peerless swordmaster. Ike's strong-will and good friends had helped him accomplish all that he had set out for, and a lot more.

But…Ike hadn't gotten to live a normal life when Greil had died, and was instead thrust into a role he hadn't been ready for. Helping Elincia save Crimea and claim her rightful throne had been difficult, extremely so, since Ike had just taken command of his father's company. But somehow he had managed, and three years later Ike was involved in another war—with everything he had attained in his life, and everybody's lives he cherished on the line. Ike had gained enough experience by then to learn the responsibility that came with being a leader, and had learned well from it. He was strong and capable, and had become the figure of a man equal to that of the Daein Rider, Gawain. What people didn't seem to understand though was that Ike wasn't Gawain, nor was he Greil. Ike's heroics were his own.

Gawain was a famous, powerful, respected Daein Rider while he had served under the Mad King Ashnard. Greil was the mercenary that he had become when he had fallen for the Palmeni Priestess Elena. While Ike's strength certainly came from Gawain, his logic and behavior came from Greil. Ike was his own person through and through; he had his strengths and he had his weaknesses.

Everyone that Ike knew believed he would turn out to be exactly like Gawain or Greil. Queen Elincia, Titania, King Caineghis—even Volke, the secretive assassin that had aided Ike in the Mad King's War, had on an occasion mentioned Ike turning out to be his father's son. Ike had felt honored when he had said that, as that was about the greatest compliment he could ever receive, but at the same time, he was…disappointed. Sure, Ike took off after his parents, which was only natural, but didn't he have his own character? Wasn't he his own person?

If he became his father, than who would be Ike?

Oh—it wasn't that Ike wasn't unappreciative, it was that people weren't seeing him for what he really was, and that's what really bothered him. He didn't care what people thought about him for the most part, it was only when they were wrong that it made him frustrated. As in everyone assuming Ike was his father.

He was a mercenary—a simple mercenary by the name of Ike. Not a God or a Noble or a Hero, or Gawain/Greil, like people thought. Ike didn't fight for personal glory or attention. He fought for survival, for coin, for the righteous, and as proven in the last war, for his friends as well; when they were in the right, that was. His company was a main priority of his life.

But Ike wasn't just leaving because of the comparisons people made on him and his father—it was really the fact that he just needed a break. He, in all honesty, couldn't even recall the last time he had gotten the chance to sit down, put his feet up and take a break from his mercenary work. It seemed that his life always had something to throw at him, something more for him to do, another decision that needed to be made. The list was endless.

It was nothing that his mercenary company couldn't handle without him—The Hero of Tellius simply wasn't in demand anymore. There were no wars left to fight, no battles left to wage, no bandits to be killing, no Goddesses to be slaying; Ike was a free man, but even so, he still felt shackled, and as if someone had thrown away the key.

Every one of his actions were his choice when they were made, and Ike had told that to his mercenary company time and time again. He weighed his decisions carefully, and was sure to grasp the consequences before he acted. Ike only hoped that when he didn't tell his crew of his latest purpose, that they would understand why. Why he had to leave Crimea behind and go somewhere new, why he would be going alone for the most part, and why he did not know the outcome for once. It countered his morals, but Ike wasn't bothered enough to change his choice. It was too late for regression as it was, considering the direction his life had taken him, he couldn't bother to be concerned anymore.

Those times had past.

Blinking wearily, Ike hauled his worn carcass out of his bed and sat up. The straw mattress crackled quietly under his weight, but he had long ago acquainted himself to the sounds; they were nothing but static in his ears.

He began his customary routine of waking up, popping various joints along his upper body as he assembled his thoughts. He had never been much of a morning person, despite the fact that he rose early everyday, but because of his lack of sleep during the night, the fact seemed to present itself more than usual. He could already feel the headache coming on and he had only just opened his eyes.

Glancing around his expanse of a bedroom, Ike reached for his boots and garments at the end of the mattress, and began dressing earnestly. His room in all honesty wasn't very large, or spectacular. Made of cedar wood, everything smelled very earthy, and looked furbished. If he didn't leave his clothes and armor lying around the room all the time though, it would appear as though it were unoccupied.

A large window north of the door above his bed allowed for fresh air, and Ike often left it unlatched due to the stuffiness of said cedar room. He'd typically wake in the early winter mornings to an annoyed Mist as she would scuttle about his premises, yelling at him for letting all the heat out of the fort. Ike would smile and promptly throw it open farther until more inhabitants would join Mist in their complaining and Ike would be overruled, and forced to close it.

As Ike cast a brief glimpse at the window then, he realized there was a chance that he wouldn't have memories like that after he left. He didn't know how to react to that thought, but for old time's sake, he opened it, and pleasantly cool morning air filled the room once more.

He walked around the room a bit, his body stiff from his awkward sleeping position during the night. Sore, he reached for his packed satchel, the holy blade Ragnell laid out beside it in its leather sheath. Ike picked it up first and fastened it to his side securely, fingering the hilt comfortingly. Ragnell had been in his father's care at one time, so Ike felt complimented to be wielding something of his, though he had admitted to liking his sword Ettard more, as it was more practical for day to day use.

Sure, Ragnell truly belonged to Begnion truly, but he hadn't refused when the Empress had stopped him before her departure after the goddess had been felled, muttered a simple, I think that belongs to you, and hadn't looked back as she had left the Tower of Guidance.

After a small internal debate, Ike strapped Ettard over his back as well, rolling his shoulders only slightly when the cold hilt dug into his spine. Two swords were better than one, he believed. If he were ever lacking for entertainment, for lack of better things to amuse him he could teach himself to wield both swords at once. Of course, he was stealthier with a single blade, but...

Ike made his way stealthily out of his room, his satchel flung carelessly over a wide shoulder. He reached for the handle of his door and twisted, wincing at the disturbing creak that resulted. It was still pretty early in the morning, and Ike didn't want to wake anyone. He had packed the night before just so he could leave early, but his plan wouldn't work if he woke someone up and was caught. Than he would have some explaining to do, and Ike wasn't so sure he wanted to deal with that.

He wasn't a coward, but he was smart enough to know that a confrontation would be anything but peaceful.

Sorry friends.

The door closed with a soft click behind him, and Ike strode down the hallway in slow and silent precise steps. He couldn't afford to waste time, but even so, it was hard to simply walk away from the life he had right in front of him. It was funny that he was leaving for something knew when he already had everything.

Except the freedom of an identity of his own.

Several doors lined the dark walls, each one of them containing one of the Greil Mercenaries sleeping figures. Mia's door on his left, Rhy's across from hers, Gatrie's next to his, Titania's next to Oscar's, and so on. Ike knew every room by heart. Subsequently, after the Mad King's War, he was the one that had the fort rebuilt, with pay from Elincia during her conquest for the throne.

Three years ago, when the mercenaries were escorting Princess Elincia away from Daein soldiers, Ike's father had the fort burned to the ground. It would only be natural that he would know which room belonged to whom, being the constructor, and the boss of them all. And naturally, it would have been silly not to.

So it was also only natural that he became rigid though when he passed by a certain door on his right.

A slender, brass curved handle, a small bed close to a thin glass pane, a stool in the corner of the room for no other reason but to occupy the space… Ike very well knew who slept in that room. It took all of his strength to not reach out and twist that brass handle, to go in and tell the inhabitant of that room everything that was eating at his mind. To tell what his thoughts were, about his memories, his burdens… how very much he wanted to confide in that one person about how foul his thoughts had seemed to become.

But he wouldn't. Ike wouldn't dare. After all, hadn't his sister suffered enough without him leaving her as well?

He owed Mist a lot, and felt a bit terrible knowing that his sudden disappearance would eat his sister up inside. It couldn't be helped though. Mist was very sensitive; no matter how much she tried to hide it behind her brave face and smile, Ike could always tell when daily life was hounding her. She would act goofy and childlike at times, just to cheer up others when they were down, but those times in her life were long gone, and now Mist was a grown, married woman with values and a life to make her own. Ike knew that better than anyone, and that's why he wanted to leave without a word—he wouldn't interrupt her life in the same way that his was. Abruptly and painfully. But if she knew the real reasons for why he was going, that would hurt her even more, and Ike wouldn't—couldn't do that to her. Not her. Ike would continue to protect his sister, even if it was from himself and something he didn't want to name.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a sloppily folded piece of paper. He had written out a letter the night before for his sister and everyone else, though felt absolutely ridiculous when he read them over. Ike would have much rather have told his mercenaries face to face the news of his departure, but he knew that the older members would never let him go. Ike hated when things got complicated.

It was so much simpler not to show his face, even if it did make him a coward.

Exhaling, Ike began to weigh his options carefully in his mind: Give the letter to Mist or don't give it to her. The decision was surprisingly an easy one for Ike, and hardly seemed worth the contemplation.

The fort was extremely quiet, so Ike could here the gentle scuffling of sheets coming from his sister's room. He froze, afraid that he had woken her simply from his leaping breaths. He was lucky though, and the scuffling ceased a few seconds later, assuring him that Mist was still asleep.

Exhausted and torn with all the decisions piling up, he leaned his forehead against the cool door, and took a deep breath, hoping for one last moment before he left for good that this was the right choice.

He had never been good with his emotions. Even his sister had thought so.

When his father had died, Ike hadn't even been able to bring himself to shed a single tear—and he had hated that. Now knowing that he was leaving Mist behind, as well as the rest of his family, he found that his mind was repeating the exact same thing that it had done years ago: Suppressing thoughts and feelings and trying to make him focus on other things—like the fact that he needed to leave before dawn.

The mercenaries were Ike's family, and his closest companions. It bothered him that he couldn't cry for them. But it troubled him even more when he realized that he couldn't cry for his sister either. Ike knew by now that that was just the way he dealt with stressful situations, but that didn't mean he had to like it. In all honesty, he felt disgusted with himself. He could change that though, couldn't he?

Taking another deep breath, he opened his sister's door with a flick of the wrist.

Stepping into Mist's room, he was immediately overwhelmed with how chilly the air was. Goosebumps ran over his bare forearms, and he shivered slightly, even though he wasn't cold. It was to be expected though, as autumn was there and soon winter would be on its way in Crimea as well. Taking one glance at her open window though explained the breeze he had felt.

It was almost a shame to close the shutters on what was looking to be a nice day.

Maneuvering carefully as to not step on anything, Ike made his way over towards his sister's sleeping figure. Mist's possessions were scattered all around her room in various places: her magic staffs propped up next to a small bookcase, the magic sword Florete leaning against the dresser, and her garments sprawled awkwardly over that none single stool, lonely in the northern corner, next to the window. The whole room had a very homey feel to it, and the smell of cedar only added on to that sensation. Despite that though, her room still held that same furbished look as Ike's own, no matter how messy she made it.

Sighing quietly, he picked up one of his sister's few books off the floor and placed it on her dresser. Squinting at the odd cover though, he couldn't help but shake his head in mild reverence. Only Mist would be brave enough to take one of Soren's tomes out of boredom and leave it on the floor in reach of mildew.

Securing Soren's book back under his arm, he quietly moved his way over to his sister's window. Sticking his head out, he took a deep breathe of the crisp morning air, almost instantly feeling rejuvenated. The stars were still out, bright overhead yet fading near the mountains to the far east where the sun would rise, the ultimate star of them all. Fog was lingering throughout the surrounding area, a silver blanket over green, and it made even him shiver simply by looking at it.

It was obvious that winter would be on its way soon enough.

Knowing he couldn't stand around admiring the scene around him forever, Ike moved his head back and pulled the soft fabric delicately over the open window with a soft tick over the catch, stepping away to reach his sister as mutely as possible.

Mist was an extremely light sleeper though, and she sat up in bed abruptly, rubbing one of her eyes to see what clamor had disrupted her sleep. The white colored nightgown she wore stood out in the night, illuminating her small, bony shoulders. Kneeling beside her, Ike gently pulled up her blankets and wrapped her up in them. She looked cold, despite the pile of blankets that covered her. Her wispy locks were sticking up in little brown clumps, clinging to her face. Sleep had obviously come to her easily enough during the chilly night.

Blinking fiercely, she glanced at him. "Ike?"

He didn't answer, instead reaching out and patting his sister reassuringly on the crown of her head, smoothing the flyaways out gently. He was really going to miss her, he realized, even though she drove him mad with worry just about every single day, even if the worrisome affairs were simply trivial. If it had been any other day, any other time, he wouldn't be feeling as divided as he was then. No words—or pointless tears, he confirmed suddenly—would be able to convey Ike's sentiments towards his leaving Mist and everyone else behind. But mostly her… after all, she was his sister. And even though blood ties were hardly important in his family, knowing that he simply wasn't the last of his father and mother's lineage was a strange comfort that he was glad to be able to share. It wasn't a burden one should ever carry on their own.

"Ike?" Startled, he met her gaze, and her bleary eyes told him she was still half-asleep. Suddenly smiling, she mumbled, "Did you need something?" and it was an affectionate look he had seen many times over and never could quite get out of his head whenever he woke her. She did look like Elena, even though her hair was brown like his father's and she was skilled with a sword, the redeeming qualities were there.

He struggled to form a logical sentence. She wouldn't be so affectionate when she learned of his disappearance later in the day. "...No, I was just checking in on you," he murmured. He let his hand slide off her head. "...You should go back to sleep anyway. It's still early in the morning."

Mist gave him a briefly annoyed look, but it was wasted with her hair sticking up at the angle that it was and being buried beneath a pile of blankets bigger than herself. "So you come in here to wake me up then just to tell me to go back to sleep again? If you wanted to speak to Boyd, you should have checked his room first, Ike." She let out a quiet groan and collapsed back into her pillow.

Momentarily, he was at a loss.

But of course she would think he was looking for Boyd. He'd walked in more than once on early morning days only to find them both sleeping; private moments that shouldn't have been his to witness.

"Great. Next time, I'll be sure to wake him first, and he can blame you."

He didn't mention the fact that there wouldn't be a next time.

"I'm sure we'll have a very draining argument." Her voice was full of sarcasm, and Ike scowled and tried to think of better days when she was the innocent one of the family.

Though in all honesty, he was hardly bothered. Mist and Boyd had gotten married shortly after the end of the continental war to celebrate, and he couldn't bring himself to make any objections. Having known Boyd since he was a sprout and could hardly pick up a sword much less a hatchet and having come to trust his sister throughout the years, it was hard to say anything against their relationship.

Besides, even then, he'd been thinking of leaving Crimea behind. It hadn't been much of a surprise upon seeing the ring on his sister's finger not so long ago. How Body had been able to afford it with the pay Ike was giving him had made him feel uneasy however, and slightly bewildered as well. Work done by artisans cost most people an eye or two or a various limb, but Boyd was hardly missing anything. Except on the occasion, perhaps his brain... but that was a different story all-together. The proposal he'd made to his sister was what had been the last straw. Ike's final prompt.

He knew he could leave feeling somewhat content with his decision. Mist would be one thing he wouldn't have to worry about too much.

Well, perhaps a bit.

"Is something bothering you, Ike?" Mist looked at him in mild concern, covering her mouth when she yawned again, her wedding ring emitting a small wink of silver from Ashera-knows what light source. Ike opened his mouth, but settled with just shaking his head instead. She would be able to tell if he was lying through his teeth.

The issue with sisters and their intellect.

"Just go back to sleep. Sorry I woke you." Mist complied with a shrug.

Ike ran his large, calloused hand over her small head again, a simple thing to do. Mist snuggled back in her bed, pulling the heavy quilt further up her frame, and her action felt like a hint that told him he should be going. But he couldn't help to pause, and instead turned to contemplate her silently. Her back was turned to him, and the blankets moved slightly with every silent breath she took.

Ike felt a bit awkward, being so affectionate to his sister.

Years ago, he had often seen his father and Titania tuck Mist in bed when they were both children, whilst they still dreamt the recurring nightmares of monsters and strange men living under their beds. When Greil had later died though, it had been Ike Mist would often go to see in the middle of the night, looking for reassurance. The red-haired paladin mourned too much at that time to have been able to offer any sense of the security that Mist would have wanted, and so the responsibility had fallen to him.

Ike had tried his best to comfort Mist, but he was no father, and being assuasive was not a quality Ike had ever held high in self-esteem.

Of course, Mist was the only one that ever knew that. Ike's empty words may not have provided much, but the fact that he had attempted something so out of his league had said more than any conversation could have, and for that, Mist was appreciative, he knew.

But is still didn't erase the awkwardness that smothered him.

After making sure his sister had fallen back to sleep, Ike pulled the letter from his pocket once more, and laid it beside her pillow with renewed fortitude. When Mist woke again, that would be the first thing she would read in the morning. And probably the last for the afternoon, but he pushed the dreary thought out of his head.

This was no time to start second guessing himself.

He needed to leave.

Ike gave his sister one last glance before turning away from her, feeling his chest loosen slightly. He knew that it was for the best that he hadn't told her face to face the news, but that didn't mean he hadn't felt guilty. He could only hope that she would stay safe in his absence, and that he would see her again... eventually.

Ike closed the door behind him without a sound, empty words and thoughts for his sister playing in his head like a mantra he wanted to forget.

He didn't like lying, but somehow... if felt justified. Even so, two wrongs didn't make a right. But was this really wrong? Wasn't he doing her a favor?

Exhaling in a rush, he slipped down the hallway. There was no time to stop and think. A single glance out the window told him all he needed to know, the stars fading to mere specks and the mountains in the distance brighter than he recalled them being only moments ago.

Time was not on his side...

And neither were Mia's waking hours. In all his stalling, he'd almost forgotten to account for her. There was no accounting for exactly when she'd rise and rush to knock down his door for a morning duel, but another side glance out the window told him it'd be very soon.

Wallowing down out of the corridor, Ike startled when a small shadow moved from the corner of his vision. Backing up, he slunk into the dark hallways and listened, his breaths still and silent. Immediately, Ike felt ridiculous. What was there to hide from in his own home? His shadow?

Ike crept along the walls towards the kitchen where the movements had come from, stiffening when another shadow passed in his vision. It was awfully large to be a person, Ike thought, though it was more than likely simply an affect wrought by candle light. He focused again when a definite sound reached his ears, now that he was closer. Pondering what it was, the sound came at him again, and Ike realized with clarity, that he was hearing the skitter-scratching of pen on paper. He immediately knew who the shadow's figure belonged to.

Advancing out of the darkness and into the dimness of the kitchen, Ike strained his eyes in the direction of the person's outline, and almost smiled, despite his usual stoicness. Ike blamed his terrible plans for the humor that they always provided, no matter how insignificant.

Soren was sitting at the table, his back to Ike, working on what he assumed to be the stock papers for the months supplies.

His back was hunched over the kitchen counter, feet dangling from the bar stool, his regular black robes dangling off him unkemptly. A large melted candle sat in front of Soren, having been lit for a while Ike figured, by the amount of wax around it. Soren's features were hard to make out, but Ike could see that his ebony hair was sticking up in front of his face. Ike imagined his companion had been sitting there well over curfew, pulling and twisting his locks into the late hours of the night whenever sleep threatened to claim him. Soren would pull all-nighters all the time if Ike didn't catch him up during his late circuitous routes to the kitchen out of the desire to move around.

He watched as Soren reached up and proved his theory, brushing the fallen strands out of his face once more with a flick of his fingers. Instead of continuing his work though, the archsage stretched and yawned quietly from his position, before reaching for the nearby mug that sat within reach. Ike assumed it be ale, as that was the only drink the mercenaries could afford that wasn't sweet and stingy well water.

Soren took another sip out of his mug, his head supported by one of his hands on the wooden counter. He appeared to be contemplating something, what exactly Ike wasn't sure of. It was always hard to tell with Soren. The fact that his back was turned didn't help.

"Ike, I know you're there," Soren said suddenly, turning his head and raising a thin eyebrow at the startled mercenary, small shadows under his bemused eyes. "You've been standing there for a while now. Is there something you needed?"

Of course Soren would notice him. Of course Soren would suspect something was wrong. And of course, Ike wouldn't make it out of the fort without being caught by at least somebody in his attempts of leaving everything behind.

No, of course not. Nothing was ever easy.

Sighing, Ike stepped forward, scratching at his neck blankly, cover blown, dignity murdered by his own idiocy. "...How'd you notice me?" he asked after a minute. "I thought I was silent."

"You were," Soren answered.

"Then how...?"

"Intuition," he said nonchalantly. Another sip of his drink, and Ike realized he was staring.

"...You too?"

"Ike, I truly have no idea what we're even discussing right now."

Great. Soren had it the same as his sister.

Intuition... He could have done with a generous dose of that.

With a scowl forming on his face, Ike walked across the expanse of rough stone floors towards his companion, and took a seat at the head of the table. The stool wiggled under his weight, and Ike was immediately reminded that it was an additional item that needed fixing in the fort from months ago.

Among other things, of course.

Like his stealth.

"You're up earlier than usual," Soren observed. He went to take another graceful sip of his ale, but after a side long glance, paused at the look on Ike's face and set it aside with a soft klak.

He didn't know what Soren had seen, but hoped he would at least spare him the trouble of a confrontation.

Ike casually pulled Soren's book from under his arm, and laid it before him. "Not really." He grimaced. "Couldn't sleep, so I checked in on Mist. Found your missing tome on her floor while I was in there," he added. Soren spared his book only a brief glance.

"Thanks," he murmured, setting it to the side distractedly. He glanced back up, and Ike found himself being analyzed almost instantly by a pair of crimson eyes. Startled, he leaned back slightly and his seat creaked its disapproval.

"Sor–?"

"You've just finished packing, correct?" An astute glance moments later latched onto the satchel over his shoulder and Ike tensed.

This was going all wrong, much too quickly.

"Packing…?" Ike let his voice trail off innocently. Surely his actions had escaped Soren's perception? He had worked hard to make sure that he would go undetected, and it'd be impossible trying to escape under the circumstances.

Soren gave Ike The Look and tapped his fingers once.

"You're leaving, aren't you?" Soren's tone was accusatory. "Or am I mistaken?"

Ike turned his gaze to his hands, suddenly finding his torn gloves quite interesting. He didn't say anything, didn't meet his friend's eyes. He knew it was impossible to get anything past his staff oficer. "Well?" Soren declared, adding a bit of venom to his voice. Ike frowned and glared at Soren incredulously, his patience having worn thin throughout his uncomfortable night.

"Well what, Soren? What am I supposed to say? 'Good-bye, hope you have a nice life?'" Ike sighed in frustration and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the stress piling once more. He needed to pull himself together, as getting angry would less than likely solve anything. It was exactly why he hadn't wanted to say anything to anyone though in the first place. It would only start arguments that Ike didn't have the time nor endurance for. Besides, he hated arguing with Soren; his friend would often get distraught afterwards and lock himself in his room for hours at a time, not wanting to talk or answer to anyone. Ike was slowly learning that he needed to be careful with what he said at times.

Ike examined Soren's actions carefully, watching him as he organized his papers into one, neat, collective pile, before opening the heavy tome he had retrieved. The archsage appeared strangely at ease, despite their small outbursts at one another only seconds before. Calm before the storm? There was a likely answer. Ike began to feel weary, and a bit concerned—for his well-being. He eyed Soren with caution.

"Don't try to deny it… What are you planning?"

Soren frowned, contemplating. He didn't bother looking up. "That's the wrong question to ask," he stated finally, tracing a finger down a yellowing piece of parchment. "What am I planning? How about yourself? You're a terrible sneak, Ike. The least you can do is tell me when you're up to something, and then I won't have to go investigating."

Ike glowered and waved his hands in the air mockingly, "All right, all right, you caught me. What now?"

Soren's look could have carved him a new set of arms.

"Aren't you going to ask me if I want to come before you go rampaging off across the land?"

Ike swore inwardly and tried not to meet his companion's gaze. "...I... wouldn't ask that of you." Soren snorted in disbelief instantly.

"And why not? Unless for some reason you don't want me to come along... I have no obligations here."

Ike looked at Soren in mild surprise. He hadn't been expecting that. Soren's expression was completely serious, and tucking his loose papers neatly in the the binding of his book, he flipped the cover shut with ease and flippantly raised an eyebrow at him. "...To repeat the question... Are you going to ask me to come... or am I going to be forced to invite myself along?"

"Hey, wait a minute before you decide anything." Ike rubbed at the back of his neck and met Soren's gaze. He had no idea what Soren was really thinking, but hesitantly, he started in anyway: "...What about the rest of the company? Are you really that willing to leave them all behind just because of me?"

"Did you consider the possibility that I hadn't intended to leave before even yourself?" He startled at that.

"Were you?"

"...No."

"Then why did you say that?"

"Because it was a prospect." Ike sighed and gave Soren a hard look.

"You have a life here for yourself, you know. A roof over your head, a family that cares, a job that pays well–" Soren grimaced and waved off his last comment and Ike trailed off. They weren't really getting anywhere, he could tell.

"What about my job, Ike? What about yours? This is your company, after all. I don't really have a reason to stay if you're leaving." He poked at his mug idly. "Also... while we're on the topic of leaving... were you even planning to say goodbye to any of us?"

Ike was at a loss. "Soren..." The sage sighed.

"I presumed as much," he said drily. "You wanted to leave before anyone woke. I'm glad you came here then." Soren adeptly blew out the candle in front of him and hopped off his stool lightly, his book tucked under one arm. "I suggest we get a move on then. We'll have time to talk later." He bent down and reached for something on the floor, his arm robes dragging slightly, but for what exactly her was grasping for Ike couldn't tell, and didn't really hold any concern for at the moment.

"'We?'' Ike asked, not having missed the plural in Soren's sentiment. "Since when did my traveling plans involve you coming along? I don't even know where I'm going to go!" He hadn't intended to sound harsh, but he saw Soren wince anyway.

"...For a while, even though you may not have known it," he said evenly, in his typical 'let's change the topic, please' fashion, pulling out a bag that had been hiding under the table and out of sight. "I'm mostly packed. I just need to put these in here…" Soren flipped the cover of the leather satchel and stuffed several items from the table in it, most of it being parchment and the tome rescued from his sister's clutches. Ike recognized a small bedroll, and what appeared to be an undersized rationing of food already confined within the interior of the bag, wrapped around with a bundle of crude cloths.

It looked as though Soren was being serious.

Without warning, Ike reached out and snatched the satchel out of Soren's grasp, restraining him from further packing. Soren was much too obstinate for his own good, always forcing certain matters, and Ike feared that that was what would lead to his down fall eventually. So he was sure to speak slowly, ignoring the his objections, wanting his companion to hear every word, and realize what he would be condemning himself to.

"Soren… are you absolutely sure you want to come?"

"Ike–" he started.

"–Where I end up going, I may not return." His tone was full of warning. "Ranulf will be accompanying me, so I won't be traveling completely alone. But I know you still dislike the laguz…again, are you absolutely sure that you really want to come? I won't hold it against you if you do decide to stay. …It would probably be better if you did, actually. They Greil Mercenaries would really be able to use your help."

Soren let out an irritated sigh, watching him steadily.

Ike didn't know what Soren would resort to do if he left him alone, but he assumed it would likely be something productive. When he wasn't occupied with work, he was reading, or among other things, writing up documents. Ike rarely saw the sage do anything else, except tear bandits apart on the battlefield, and that was reserved for the actual laborious parts of mercenary work.

Soren went to reach for his bag and Ike pulled it away. "Dammit Ike, I'm perfectly capable of making my decisions, thank you. I'm coming along with you. Bandits this time of year are obnoxious." Ike was able to recognize an excuse when he saw one.

But there was truly no deterring Soren.

"So you'll be alright with Ranulf coming along?" Soren snorted and stuffed his last book in his bag, giving Ike a peculiar look while he did so.

"…Do you really think I would let myself be bothered by Ranulf, of all the laguz? He's got nothing on Skrimir." Ike frowned, unsure whether that was a joke or a compliment on Ranulf's part, or something else all-together. It could mean anything with Soren.

"So... you'll be able to tolerate him then," he said carefully. Soren cocked an eyebrow.

"Was I not clear?"

"No."

"...Yes. I'll tolerate him."

Ike grinned. "Good. He's not as bad as you think he is, you know."

"Yeah he is," Soren replied, but Ike swore he saw the traces of a bemused smile cross his face while he said it.

A few seconds passed, and Ike watched as his companion finished tying the strands on his leather bag together. He stood up in a wave of black robes, and with an odd display of strength, managed to maneuver the leather thongs over his shoulder accordingly.

Ike silently crossed over to the wash basin and searched the cupboard above for where he had stashed his rations the night before. Strangely enough, the cupboard was empty. He paused, staring at it, certain he had placed them there. There was scuttling behind him, and then:

"Ike, I already grabbed what you had hidden away yesterday. If that was everything, I do believe it's time for us to get going." Of course Soren would have what he was looking for...

He stayed quiet, staring into the cupboard.

"...Ike? Are you all right?"

Slowly, he shook his head. "Not really. Just... recalling a few things. That's all." Exhaling, Ike closed the wooden door to the cabinet firmly and readied his own bag upon his shoulder, adjusting it to sit more comfortably against his shoulder blade. Soren was watching him wearily now.

"I almost get the feeling that I should be asking you if you really want to leave," he said carefully, to which Ike almost smiled.

Of course.

"Then ask."

Soren hesitated for only a brief second, but it still felt terribly long in the silence between them. "Well then... Do you want to leave?"

Ike didn't even bat an eyelash, just slung his bag further up his shoulder and glanced around the room. "Yeah," he murmured. "I'm ready to move on." And this time, he meant it.

"...Alright. Let's go then."

Soren gave Ike what could only be described as a reassuring expression – though he could have worn it like a snarl, too – before he walked past the table they had been conversing at only minutes before and into the foyer and towards the door. Soren twisted the knob with one hand, gripped his bag with the other, and bumped the door open quietly with a robe-covered hip.

Ike waited until he disappeared out of view before following.

Early morning sunlight was beginning to filter over the mountain peaks in the distance, and Ike watched it in silence until Soren murmured something along the lines of a 'we really need to go' and he was snapped from his reverie by everything being set aglow by the sun's warm rays. It caressed his eyelids and turned Soren's hair a twisted shade of green and bathed the fort in a tinted yellow outline and made the fog outside look like stars.

Looking back was foolish, because nostalgia groped for him the moment he had.

"...Ike."

"Yeah, Soren?"

"The Greil Mercenaries... I think they'll be alright without you. It may take a while, but they'll undoubtedly adapt over time. In the meanwhile... try not to feel too guilty about what you're doing."

He wondered solemnly when Soren started sprouting words of wisdom like prose.

Either way, Ike nodded at his companion and gave his home one last glace, his eyes saying everything that he himself couldn't. He memorized the roofs, the walls, the door, the cracks in the slates and the small but endearing covering over his sister's window, that strangely enough, he could see from where he stood.

And he said goodbye to all of it in exchange for something new.

"Hey Soren."

"Yes?"

"Thanks... for you company. I'm glad you're coming along." The sage looked momentarily startled, but he picked non-existent flint from his robes after a minute and muttered a sheepish 'you're welcome' before setting off down the road again, and all was forgiven in the end, it seemed.

And as they set down the long, winding path to Melior, it was wise that Ike hadn't chosen to look back, because as that given moment nostalgia stood in that one endearing patched up window, with brown hair and blue eyes and a white nightdress and a ring upon her finger, holding in her grip a small crinkled letter, torn at the seams, and still ripping further yet.

[A/N]: Woo! This was painful to edit! Let's not do that again... Criticism, praises, or thoughts would be highly loved, by the way. An ecstatic thanks for reading this beast of a prologue! :)