Title: Frost Fair (3/5)
Day/Theme: December 25 [2010]: Lighted streets, distant stars, brilliant snow
Series: FE10
Character/Pairing: Ike/Soren eventual, Pelleas/Micaiah
Summary: Soren, the head CEO of Nevassa Corp, is entirely tired of his mother's nagging, and so
sets out to hire a date for the holidays and his brother's upcoming wedding. After several disastrous interviews, he comes across Ike who thought it was a bodyguard job and really needs the money.
Rating: PG-13
Author's note: -
.
Ike did so, and in a moment they were sneaking down the back stairways through a door to the courtyard, and out into the cold air.
"One thing I can't help wondering is why your brother wanted to get married right after the holidays? I always heard people go for June weddings," Ike said.
"We're from Daein, the only difference between June and January is a few degrees and a little less snow. Besides, everyone is already coming up for Frost Fair, so we're saving money."
"What's a Frost Fair anyways?"
"When the main river that flows through Nevassa freezes over. Vendors take up shop there. It happens most every day in winter, but some idiot decided to make a holiday of it around the new year."
"Isn't that dangerous? People falling through and all?" Ike asked.
"Daein winters don't leave weak ice. You could build a castle on there and it wasn't make a crack."
Ike stepped out on to the ice. "What are we getting again?"
"Away from the family?" Soren suggested.
"Works for me," Ike said.
He took Soren by the arm as they stepped across the ice. Ike had fairly good balance. Soren however, wasn't one for making a prat of himself. Oh, other pairs could fall down and giggle (Pelleas and Micaiah among them) but Soren preferred to not look like an idiot.
Ike steadied him, and kept him close against his thick jacket.
"So," he said, in a low tone, "Are you going to show me the wonders of Daein?"
"You've already seen it. Snow, snow, ice, and crazy people. It's Daein's main exports."
"I could stand to see a little more."
"Just wait until the rest of the family comes. It's like walking into an asylum," Soren said.
Ike laughed. "Sounds like my family. The whole group my father worked with was pretty much family. There was this one guy – Shinon's his name – he'd get drunk and throw beer cans at me."
"Sounds like last Frost Fair," Soren said.
There were vendors of both hot food and cold food along the sides of the frozen over river and on the sides of its banks.
"Any specialties?" Ike said. "I'm always up for trying the local foods."
"We aren't Begnion. This isn't the place for light, airy cakes that require thirty eggs to make. Mostly Daein specializes in a lot of stews and soup, all with large amounts of meat. There is no such thing as vegetarianism here. Even the priests rely on meat, given that only the hardiest of crops survive here," Soren said.
"Sounds like just my kind of place," Ike said.
"If you enjoy living in an arctic wasteland," Soren said.
Soren's long, grey wool coat was buttoned high. he had a black hat pulled low over his head, and thick black wool gloves with a fur lining.
"You didn't bring a scarf," Soren noted.
"Oh yeah, I forgot," Ike said.
"You'll get wind burn if you don't wear one," Soren said. He looked up to Ike's face, already turning ruddy from exposure. "Frostbite too, if you stay out long enough."
"I'll just pick up something here. It could be a souvenir, or something," Ike said.
"The vendors will overcharge you," Soren said. "It's the way they welcome the tourists. Here—" He dug into his coat and dug out a gold scarf.
"I always keep extras available," Soren said.
"Always prepared, eh Soren?"
"But of course," Soren said. "Keeping ahead of things is the only way to truly succeed. If I had been incompetent and let little things slide, the board would've overthrown me by now."
He frowned in concentration at the scarf, which was a little lopsided.
"Here, lean down, I'll take care of it."
Ike did so, and Soren adjusted the scarf until it was tied about his face.
"Think they'll mistake me for a bandit?"
"If so, then all Daeins are bandits," Soren said.
They turned, and made their way towards more of the festivities, when a voice cut through the air.
"Ikey-poo?" called a sing-songy voice through the crowd.
"Oh crud," Ike said.
"An old girlfriend?" Soren asked.
"More like old stalker," Ike replied.
The woman pushed her way through the crowd before they could make their escape. She was wearing a thick fur-lined coat over her clothes, which she opened up to reveal the sort of airy, light dress that belonged in harems, not the Daein cold.
"It is you!" The woman cried. "I didn't expect to see you here."
"Me either," Ike said. "Really, what are you doing in Daein?"
"Oh, I was just traveling with the group of other salesmen. You know how it is. See, this is proof that Destiny wants us together!"
"Your sister has nothing to do with this, Aimee," Ike said.
"Well, I am glad I ran into you, so we could clear up a little...mistake. See, there was this little misunderstanding of these papers. I burned them, of course, with all their filthy lies. Was it that sister of yours that got them? She just is too young to understand our love."
"I got the restraining order," Ike said.
"Of course, of course. You're so silly, always teasing... I won't pressure you for a ring, but I'm not getting any younger," she said, and laughed. "We really should get started on our family soon!"
"We're not going to have a family ever, Aimee. I keep trying to explain that, and you keep not listening," Ike said in exasperation. All this time, Aimee had pointedly ignored Soren's presence. Soren had a low tolerance fo histrionics, and he didn't like her already. It was that, and the annoyance that she was holding him up – and perhaps a slight annoyance at her presumptuous ways, that she dared try and claim Ike's heart that moved him to action.
"You won't be having any children with him. In fact you won't be having him at all. He's otherwise occupied," Soren said. Soren gave her one last cold stare, before looking up to Ike.
"Otherwise occupied?" She narrowed her eyes. "You're not nearly woman enough for him."
"All things considered, I don't think being 'woman enough' was ever an issue with him. Regardless, shouldn't we go, sweetie?" Soren asked. He looped his arm in Ike's. "After all, we've a wedding to plan."
On that note, with Aimee still sputtering, Soren lead him away. As they left, surely to Aimee's glare behind them, Soren slipped his hand in Ike's back pocket.
"Sweetie? A wedding?" Ike asked, when they were out of hearing distance.
"I never said whose wedding it would be. Regardless, I did what I had to do," Soren said. "Though if you ever speak of this, I'll deny it. The only other witness is obviously insane, and so it's just your word against mine."
"And your hand?" Ike asked, taking a glance back to where Soren's hand still rested.
Soren withdrew his hand and put it into his own pockets, ignoring the fact that it was his first experience copping a desperate jealous grope, and it had felt rather good.
"I was playing the part of the jealous girlfriend – or in my case, pseudo-boyfriend to the best of my abilities," Soren said.
"Am I getting my pay docked for this?"
"No. Luckily for you, I didn't see the need to put a stalker clause in the contact."
"Good to know," Ike said.
They walked – or to be more appropriate slid down the river that cut through the outskirts of Nevassa. Around them, children skated by, sometimes crashing into each other which seemed to end with laughter almost as much as tears. On the snowy side, the children of Daein made snowmen, snow angels, and snow forts. There were bundled up in thick snowsuits, little pompom hats, thick mittens and scarves until only their eyes were visible. They looked like a little alien race from another land, come to capture the snow and possibly throw it at each other, when they weren't building with it.
Vendors sold traditional Daein weapons, traditional Daein armor, to say nothing of thick brown cakes shaped like dragons, spears or armor.
"Are they good?" Ike asked, motioning towards them.
"It would depend on your tastes. The cakes are thick, and have more of the consistency of bread than cakes – and not Begnionian white bread, mind you," Soren said.
"Of course," Ike said.
"Those over there on the farther side, the ones without the shapes are Shepherd's pies. They fill them with meat and vegetables...that sort of thing. Given your tastes, you'd probably enjoy it," Soren said.
"Well, there's my first taste of Daein food," Ike said. He approached, and picked out one of the fresh pies.
"Ten gald," the woman.
Ike reached for his wallet. "Expensive," he muttered. "I hope it's good."
"Finest quality ingredients take money," the woman said.
Soren stepped in. "I'll handle this."
"Ten gald is an outrage. I've seen better quality ingredients used in wyvern feed. Five gald."
"Five gald is an insult! I have children to feed, and this is hardly chicken feed. Seven gald." the shopkeeper replied.
"Six and a half, and no more," Soren said.
"Fine," the woman said. She wrapped the pie up in wax paper.
"That was great," Ike said.
"Around here, you have to bargain to get a good deal, or they'll overcharge you," Soren said. "Even the legitimate sellers are thieves when it comes down to it. As for that... It's a messy dish, and best eaten with some tea, coffee or warm milk."
"Coffee sounds good about now," Ike said.
"There's a restaurant that opens around here just for Frost Fair and travelers," Soren said.
"You're the guide," Ike said. "Lead the way."
It was only a ways down to the restaurant, with frosted windows that didn't completely obscure the warm, inviting glow of the hearth fire. The room was decorated with a coat of arms made up of two wyverns and a thorn bush before a mountain. Behind it were two spears above the well-kept fireplace which crackled. There was a slight hint of woodsmoke in the air, added together with the scent of herbs and spices, cooking meat and coffee being brewed. There were several others in the room, seated on wooden benches and large tables. Soren chose a mostly empty table where their backs would be to the wall, and their gaze to the door.
"Traditional place," Ike said, looking around.
"Daein does so love to hold onto outdated traditions," Soren said. He sat down, and Ike began to take bites of his Shepherd's Pie, which had cooled enough to eat, without turning lukewarm. People behind them laughed at their own jokes, other people's jokes, and shared anecdotes.. All around them was the murmur of conversation. A young dark-haired waitress with curly hair came to take their order. She flushed at the sight of Ike, who had pulled down his gold scarf to eat.
"M-may I take your order, sir?" She said. She didn't even glance at Soren.
"One black coffee, one black tea," Soren said.
"Anything else?" She asked hopefully, looking to Ike.
"Not for now. I'll call you if we need anything," Soren said, more sharply then he intended. She left, albeit reluctantly.
"This thing is amazing," Ike said. "I think I could survive on Daein food for the rest of my life."
"Mm," Soren said. He had picked up the menu to search for the best deal.
"Any suggestions?" Ike said.
"You're up for something else already?" Soren asked.
Ike shrugged. "I wouldn't mind a little more. Like I said, this is my kind of food."
"I see...Note that the Wyvern stew doesn't contain actual Wyvern, but has meat that isn't quite as well done – or the sort you would feed to Wyverns. It's a common misconception," Soren said.
"Good to know," Ike replied. "I'm not too keen on eating giant lizards."
"The Mountain Soup is made from bitter vegetables from the highlands. Unless you have a particularly strong palate, I wouldn't recommend it. Otherwise, the meals aren't the sort of Begnion delicacies. The biggest issue is usually whether you want your stew to have poultry, pork or beef."
"Now those are my kind of choices," Ike said.
Ike settled for a pork and beef stew, which even contained some vegetables, while Soren settled for a creamier soup made with milk. They split a loaf of pull-apart bread which had a thin sheen of butter and garlic on it. Ike was slumped in his chair, and sighed in relief. "That hit the spot right there."
Soren too felt pleasantly full and warm, but as always, he was more reserved about such things. He sipped at the last remains of his black coffee without any hurry. He flipped open his phone to check the time and frowned.
"What?" Ike asked.
"Fifty-six missed calls," Soren replied. "I suppose it's time to turn in."
He drank the last of his coffee and left money on the table with enough for a tip – a very lean tip.
"No bargaining?" Ike asked, as they left the warm restaurant and went back into the cold air.
"There were laws passed about price gouging and franchises. The street vendors find ways to avoid it, but with the restaurants, they can't charge beyond a certain price," Soren said absently.
He put his phone back. It was already getting dark. There were certain places in Nevassa where it wouldn't be a good idea to be after dark. Ike would likely turn any cutpurses or thugs aside, but still, it was better to not take the chance at all.
They walked past more happy children with red cheeks as they walked closer to the gates. Soren paid them little heed, mentally calucating this and that. The moment of calm had gone.
"By the way, Soren..."
Soren turned, and Ike pulled off his cap and released a handful of snow over his head.
"You did not just do that," Soren said.
"I did," Ike said. "What are you going to do about it?"
"I warn you that I have a good aim," Soren said. He ever so calmly brushed the snow from his hair, and put his cap back on his now cold head.
"You say that," Ike said. "And yet I'm not so sure you can even lift a snowball."
Soren bent down, and Ike took this chance to arm himself too. The children, sensing a fight, had already begun throwing snowballs of their own. Every stall was a potential shelter, every person a potential shield. Soren had played enough war games to know this altered state. Dropping them off in the woods and leaving them nothing but a knife was their father's idea of family bonding, after all. That and bringing them to watch battles to the death and executions, some personally done by Ashnard himself.
The first few Ike threw missed. Soren was a small target, and it had always been the one thing in favor about his size. Soren returned fire, but so quick that no matter how powerful Ike's throwing arm was, he still missed. Bit by bit he was getting closer, and the children if anything, added to the chaos. They tackled each other, and seemed to have no distinct team, but had simply turned it into a free-for-all. Ike was often on the receiving end of then, and more than once he reached out to the nearest child who had thrown snow at him, pulled off their hat and gave them a snowy noogie. Soren used these chances to lob snowballs at Ike, hitting him most every time. That wasn't to say he never misjudged. A few times Ike was able to catch him. Once on his chest, and on both shoulders, but Soren had the upper hand here.
The sun was setting to grey behind them, and all Soren could thing that he was going to get a very snowy revenge on Ike. He bit his lip to repress – what? Laughter? Mirth? Soren let the children around him do the laughing for him. He watched as several tackled Ike and hugged at his legs, apparently deciding to wage war on simply him after tiring of fighting themselves.
"It serves you right," Soren said. He stood over Ike with a well packed snowball ready to aim for the killing blow. Before he could drop it on Ike, above the giggling, squirming mass of children, Ike tugged at his legs so that they fell to the snow together.
"You did not just do that," Soren said, a little incredulous, and more than a little inane at this point.
The children dispersed and went off to tag, to other childhood games, laughing all the way.
Ike grinned. "How do you like the snow now?"
"I was more neutral about it before it was in my pants," Soren said.
"Nice tactics back there," Ike said.
"Nice throwing arm, though I can't vouch for your maturity," Soren said.
"Everyone needs to have a little snow fun every once in a while. Really, when's the last time you made a snow angel?" Ike asked.
"I don't believe I ever have. I have always found such things tedious and puerile."
"What?" Ike said.
"...childish. Pointless endeavors. Foolishness," Soren said.
"Yeah, but that's why it's fun," Ike said.
"It's easy. You just have to lay flat, and arc your arms, like this." Ike demonstrated. He flapped his arms and kicked out his legs from side to side, leaving a definite imprint on the snow.
"See?"
"I know how to make them," Soren said in irritation. "I simply never cared to try."
"Then how do you know it won't be fun?" Ike asked.
Soren rolled his eyes up to the grey skies. Snowflakes landed on his nose. He raised his arms with a sigh and made the arc of wings , and the flowing robes.
"Now, was that so bad?" Ike asked.
"It was perfectly exciting," Soren said flatly.
Ike pushed himself up, marring the snow angel in the process. He held out his hand. For a moment, Soren just looked there, at his black gloved hand, the rest of the activity of Frost Fair turning to background noise behind them. He pushed himself up, and took the offered hand. Ike had him standing in seconds, as if his weight was entirely negligible. For a few odd moments, they were up and standing, still holding hands. Soren turned, and brushed away the snow from his pants.
They walked back together, through the gates, leaving the last festivities of Frost Fair behind them. He could've called Bryce, but it seemed a waste. They walked past flickering street lamps and shops advertizing sales. The streets were icy, yet Ike kept his arm at Soren's, so he wouldn't fall. They looked the part of lovers, walking there. Ike in his scarf, Ike's arm at his elbow, keeping him from falling.
Soren was in high spirits, much to his own surprise. The feeling of lightness he had found while going to the Frost Fair with Ike hadn't quite worn off yet. Of course, he kept it quite hidden, for Soren never simply let his emotions come free outright, save for irritation, which he displayed often.
"I haven't done something like that since I was a child," Ike said.
"Me either," Soren said.
Technically, he'd never been that unburdened, but he didn't bring that up.
"Although way back when my sister Mist, and her friend Rolf used to make snowmen. The snow wasn't like up here, though. This stuff is epic. Over there it was good, but not Daein quality."
"Nothing but the finest in snow and crazed rulers for us," Soren said dryly.
Ike chuckled.
They came up through the courtyard and stomped their boots to free them off snow before they came into the coatroom.
"You have snow in your hair," Ike said, as they came into the coatroom.
"I wonder how that could've happened," Soren said dryly. "It seems my date decided I needed more contact with the elements."
"I should dock your pay for that," Soren said in an undertone.
"Good thing I have a contract," Ike said. "And besides, you needed to live a little. Here, I'll get it."
He leaned to brush the snow from Soren's hair.
"There's snow caught in your eyelashes," Ike said.
"There's snow in a lot of other places too," Soren said tetchily. They were both trying to dislodge the snow now, hands bumping together, cold and without gloves. Ike, who seemed in a perpetual state of frowning, was actually grinning. And Soren himself was on the verges of a wan smile. Obviously, the cold had somehow gotten to both of them.
There was the sound of a throat clearing, and there in the doorway was Almedha, looking down disapprovingly, and aloof. Suddenly the moment was awkward, as if they had been a pair of teenagers being caught making out.
"We have searched the entire Keep for you two for hours," she said. She stared down, stony and accusing at them both.
"I simply took Ike out to see the Frost Fair," Soren said.
"Is it that hard to leave a note?" Almedha said, her voice taking on a hysterical note. "We were worried! What if you'd been hurt?"
"It was merely a festival. It took longer than I expected. Besides, in case you haven't noticed, I am no longer a child," Soren said.
"I'm your mother, Soren. Whether you're a child or not, I will always worry about you," she said. "And I missed so much of your childhood...you can't fault me for worrying that it will happen again."
The situation had to be quite awkward for Ike at this rate. Soren hadn't delved into his past for Ike, and as far as he knew, Ike hadn't gone out of his way
"This isn't the place, mother," he said quietly.
"Of course," she said. "It never is..." She shook her head, the black veil from her hat covering most of her face.
"It's time to trim the tree," Almedha said. "We've been waiting for you all along."
She spun on her heel and left. Soren rubbed at his temples. Of course by 'we' Almedha meant 'she'. He highly doubted say, the bride-to-be worried particularly. As of yet, there was little love lost between them, and he hadn't even known her three days. Soren had a way of affecting people like that.
"We'd best go before this escalates into something worse," Soren said. He looked back to Ike, but Ike seemed to have taken this awkward, and more private moment in stride. Soren had to admire his duress under fire.
The tree was a thick evergreen which was so tall that even Ike would've needed a ladder to put the decorations upon. It was not the usual barbed-wire garlands which Ashnard had taken such a liking to – for nothing said festiveness like wrapping his enemies in barbed wire and listening to them scream. This year, for Micaiah's sake, there were lots of lit candles, and garlands made of cranberries for the birds, instead of Beorc and Laguz skulls, tied with entrails as ornaments like the other years.
People could say a lot of things about Ashnard the Bloody. That he was tyrannical, cruel, heartless, but no one could accuse him of not being festive.
So it was instead, that they were making the decorations by hand, and disemboweling wasn't even involved this year. They folded paper chains which had prayers for world peace written on them. Soren was pretty sure his father was rolling in his grave now – not that he particularly cared. He and his father never did quite see eye-to-eye, especially considering that Ashnard was over six feet tall and Soren barely cleared five feet.
Soren didn't bother to come into the conversation, where Pelleas was relating (yet again) how he and Micaiah met at a peace rally.
"She was protesting my father's company, and she was just so...beautiful. I mean, not just her looks, which are lovely, – very lovely! – but I wouldn't want to see shallow and misogynist, but oh, the way she talked. She was so driven. It was...it was a moment where I thought that if I was ever lucky enough to marry her, I'd be happy the rest of my life. Simply saying 'I'm going to marry that girl someday' would be presumptuous..."
"That's sweet, dear," Almedha said. "Now...Ike, why don't you tell the story of how you and my son met? I just can't help wondering how someone like you and he met and fell in love. It's so very curious and unlikely, no?"
Soren looked up from his sizeable paper chain. There were no prayers on his; he figured he'd leave the praying to Micaiah.
"Well..." Ike said.
"I don't think that's an appropriate question," Soren cut in. "He has barely unpacked his things, and now you're asking for his life story."
"No need to get snippy, dear. We just want to know more about who you've been keeping hidden away," Almedha said.
"I was working as a waiter, and we sort of ran into each other – literally. Then there were job offers...Other stuff happened, and now I'm here," Ike said. He shrugged.
"What a silly little way of putting it," Almedha said. "How eloquent."
"I don't think the details are something you want talked about in public," Ike said dryly. There was tittering laughter from some of the others, and the situation was mostly diffused, and looked as if it might be shifting into another topic now. Score one for Ike.
"Even if you put it brusquely, you're really very fond of him..." Micaiah said in her dreamy, otherworldly way she had when she was telling fortunes. This proved her a sham in his eyes – though Soren had already thought her as such. This simply gave him factual proof that her moments of Knowing were actually moments of Bullshit.
She rose up from her seat, her many-colored skirt floating down around her as she put her prayer chains in a neat little pile where she had once sat.
"It's a brisk night. Wouldn't a walk outside be nice?" Micaiah asked. She looked to Pelleas.
"Actually it's quite cold, love. We might get frostbite."
"Then we could keep each other warm," Micaiah said pointedly.
"Oh... Oh. Um. I'll be right there, I just need to find my cloak."
Pelleas shuffled off, nearly tripping in the process, and Micaiah looked on serenely, even in the face of her future mother-in-law's obvious displeasure. "Excuse me," she said, and walked on, unhampered by whatever they might be thinking, or accusing her of.
Even with their guests of honor gone missing, the conversation went on. Soren had finished his paper chain and was leaning back into the thick couch. He could barely keep his eyes open. Ike lounged next to him, with his arm stretched over the top of the couch, just behind Soren's head. Everyone was holding some sort of different conversation now, but he was on the verge of nodding off. His eyelids felt heavy, and his head was drooping as the weariness began to get the better of him.
Had it been on his own terms, in his own apartment, he would've simply turned in – or taken coffee and stayed up writing a contract or plan that needed attending to. Simply because he was CEO didn't mean he didn't end up doing a lot of other people's jobs, as their incompetence got to him. If he left now, his mother would simultaneously nag at him for leaving, worry that he was sick, and then go on about how Pelleas wouldn't leave when the festivities were just starting.
"You ready for bed, Soren?"
"Mm?"
"Let's go," Ike said. Before Soren could protest, he scooped Soren out and carried him out of there while the rest of their family and friends stared on.
Meg, one of the bridesmaids-to-be looked on and sighed. "They're always taken or gay – or both."
Jill cleared her throat. "There's always other options."
But the rest of their conversation was obscured as Ike rounded the corner.
"You're really light," Ike remarked.
"You didn't have to do that," Soren protested, slightly more awake now.
"You looked like you needed to be rescued," Ike said.
"I'm not a princess," Soren said tetchily.
"You sure about that?" Ike said. Soren couldn't see his face, but he could hear traces of laughter in his voice.
"A nearly disowned son of a fallen tyrant with dubious claims to the monarchy, yes. That does not make me a princess," Soren said.
"Eh, close enough," Ike said.
He nudged open the door and came to their rooms. A few steps more and he laid Soren down on his bed.
"Gotta change," Soren murmured sleepily. He stepped up, a little wobbly from the bed. "Besides, you won't get extra pay for tucking me in."
"Actually, I was just trying to escape them. If we had to listen to one more story about childhood antics, I figured you'd explode."
"I'm used to them. Their attempts to make me implode via humiliating childhood stories have less effect on me," Soren said. "I have figured out their tactics and tuned out accordingly."
Soren bent to pull his things out of his luggage. He hadn't a chance to unpack, and that had galled him, being as obsessive-compulsive as he was, it would've taken far too long. He pulled off the grey fisherman's sweater he'd been wearing, and began to undo the dress shirt he'd worn under.
By chance, he looked back to see Ike sitting on the bed, watching him.
"You're still here?" Soren said.
"Well yeah, we were talking," Ike said.
"Pull the gold cord."
Ike looked up. "This one?"
"Yes."
Ike did, and the thick curtain attached to his four-poster bed closed shut. Soren changed in peace into his thermal long underwear, thick black socks, and topped it with a sleeping sweater, considering that the heat in the Keep was barely enough to keep the rooms from frosting over in the winter. He walked towards the bed, and pulled the curtain open.
"I hope a tee-shirt and boxers isn't all you're wearing to bed," Soren said.
"I'll be fine," Ike said.
"When you die of exposure, don't expect me to make a show of grief at your funeral. I already stretched whatever acting abilities playing the jealous boyfriend today," Soren said.
"Wouldn't dream of asking it," Ike said. "Night, Soren."
Soren pulled up his covers, and watched Ike go to the adjoining room. He heard a crackling, and frowned. Somewhere along the line, Ike must have stoked the fire, for Soren definitely remembered it had died down.
"Goodnight..." he said softly. Ike was already gone, unlikely to hear him.
