A/N: Whoa, so I didn't realize that I'd forgotten to upload this properly until I did my bi-weekly check to make sure that things were still running smoothly. My bad.

Enjoy.

Soren was too exhausted to care at this point. About anything, really. The freezing weather and higher altitude were wreaking havoc on his internal clock. Oscar was trying to take care of him, bringing him tea and extra quills and dinner when he didn't come to the mess tent (which happened more and more often). Titania had looked at him and muttered something about an imbalance under her breath, but he'd ignored that too. There was nothing but the weather to blame.

He'd wanted to punch Mist when she'd asked him about it. Why Ike had his own room now, why Soren wasn't sneaking off in the middle of the night. Instead he'd clenched his fists and let his nails bite into his palms. The explanation had been short and simple and he'd left before any further questions could be asked.

People just wouldn't leave him alone.

It was the swordmaster this time. The idiot who harassed him even before this whole incident with Rhys and Ike. Too much physical contact between them and nonsense about there being a village of Branded out in Grann desert.

Most Branded were killed before they had a chance to band together.

"You don't belong here."

Soren ignored the swordsman. His eyes bored into the parchment he was writing on. He realized he'd written Ike's name in the ancient language. A habit he'd gotten into to ensure that they wouldn't be caught.

He scribbled it out and continued calculating the remaining food supply.

Stefan leaned on the desk and said it again. "You don't belong here. You ought to come home with me when all this is over."

"I belong wherever my commander orders me."

"And what happens when he finds out about you?"

"I have nothing to hide."

The swordmaster cocked an eyebrow. "If you've got nothing to hide then I'm one of the herons."

"I have nothing to hide."

"You're the same as I am. Untouchable."

The comment made Soren's heart stop for a split second. He turned from his work only briefly to look Stefan in the eye.

"Don't accuse me of being something I'm not."

Stefan ignored the sage's heated gaze. "You're the same as I am. Ike's told me that you're a year older than him. So why don't you look a day over fourteen?"

"Appearance has nothing to do with this."

"Do you know how old I am? Sixty-one. Anyone you asked would say I was thirty. Maybe younger." The swordmaster placed a hand on Soren's shoulder. "You age differently. You bear the Brand."

"Spirit Charmer."

"That isn't the mark of a Spirit Charmer," Stefan said, his voice barely above a whisper. He leaned down, resting his chin on one hand. His eyes were nearly level with Soren's. "Not to say that your magical abilities aren't remarkable. But a Spirit Charmer? No."

"It isn't your place to tell me what I am nor where I belong."

"You belong with us. What are you going to do when they all die?" Stefan lifted his hair. His Brand was golden and stood out on his skin much like Soren's did. A different pattern. The same ugly mark on his skin. "You'll suddenly have no friends. No place to live. People will start wondering about you. Why you don't age. They'll be disgusted by you, your bloodline. It's not your fault you were born like this but they don't give a shit. Humans are stupid." His voice softened. "And you'll have to watch Ike die. Even if things ended between the two of you, you'll cling to him because he's the only one who cared about you. And in thirty, forty years you'll watch as he breathes his last. It'll kill you inside."

Soren was quiet for a moment. "How do you know? You aren't me. You weren't raised as I was. You've no idea what goes on in my head."

Stefan shrugged his shirt off. Scars stood out on his skin. Scars in sets of three and four, from what had to be claws. Jagged lines from whips and belts. Scars from burns, from frostbite. He held up one wrist and Soren saw the scars there too, self-inflicted. Some cuts had been shallow. Some had been nearly life-threatening.

The swordmaster's eyes met his. Soren reached for his sleeve and pulled it up as Stefan pulled his shirt back on. Their scars were similar. Almost identical, really. The only difference was which wrist; Soren was left-handed and Stefan right.

"Everyone tries once," Stefan murmured. "Everyone is beaten as a child, as an adolescent if they haven't run away by then. We all starved. We all have scars."

"How many are you?"

"Nearly two hundred. You wouldn't be the youngest. We have children. We rescue others from prisons and from their own families. We have food and medicine." Stefan smiled. "We fight. We fall in love. It's someplace where nobody is alone or discriminated against." Carefully, he took the sage's hands in his own. "Come home with me, Soren. There isn't anything for you here."

"Why are you so intent on dragging me with you?"

"Because I worry about you."

"Horseshit."

"I do." Stefan squeezed. "You've told nobody of your heritage, not even Ike. That much I can tell. You keep it hidden away with the hopes that nobody will call you on it. Everyone does." Then Stefan smiled. "You're braver than the rest of us. You wear your mark and don't hide it away. You're a sage and that helps with the belief that you're a Spirit Charmer. No Branded other than you would wear their mark so proudly."

"I am not proud of my origins."

"None of us are." Stefan was closer now and he closed the gap between them, Brand against Brand. Soren shifted uncomfortably but the other man didn't move. "It's not your fault. But you're being strong about it. That is something to look up to." Then he chuckled. "I could take a page out of your book. Stop hiding it."

"You'd be caught immediately," Soren replied. "My mark is like that of a Spirit Charmer and the coloration is enough to convince others that it could be a birthmark. You work no magic and your Brand is the wrong color. Everyone would wonder."

"Mm. I suppose." Stefan sighed; his breath blew against Soren's lips. "Consider it, will you? You'd be happier. I'd be happier."

"Why would you be happier?" Now it was past discomfort; something was strange. Too intimate for this to be a conversation between two people.

"I'd have saved someone from a potentially horrible life years from now. Kept him from wandering, being caught at forty with naught a wrinkle on his face." Now Stefan's nose was just barely brushing Soren's cheek. He was too close. This was what happened before—

Stefan kissed him. Soren pulled back immediately, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. He cursed loudly in both common and ancient tongue. The swordmaster shrugged.

"It was worth a shot."

"What could you have possibly gained from that?! You're forty-three years my elder! I could call Ike on you right now and he'd punish you for this."

"But you won't." The smirk was back, the one that only occurred when Stefan knew he was right. "You're not afraid of me. You're relieved to have someone who understands. Even our scars are the same. You were whipped and beaten. People threw rocks at you. Kicked you in the streets while nobody dared come to the rescue of an untouchable. You wanted to kill yourself at one point but someone saved you. Gave you hope for something better."

Soren was silent for a moment. Stefan's hand fell on his shoulder and he didn't shrug it off. "My birthmother abandoned me. The woman who took me in didn't let me speak and beat me if I made a sound. Greil once told me that it's a miracle I learned to speak at all. They took me in when I was ten. Any further along and I wouldn't have been able to learn anything but spells. Nothing but the ancient language. I'd be dead if I hadn't found Ike. That's why I can't leave here."

"You don't owe him anything."

"I owe him my life."

"He did it out of the goodness of his heart; can't you see that? He cares for everyone and doesn't give a shit whether they're human or sub-human or Branded. He'd want you to be happy." Stefan smiled and leaned in again. His fingers wound through Soren's hair and his forehead was against the sage's again. "I want you to be happy."

"I am happy."

"Are you? You've been sulking for days. Your eating habits have gotten worse and they were bad to begin with. You're barely sustaining yourself as it is. You're worn out. That isn't being happy. That's simply doing enough to survive." Stefan sighed softly. "Come home with me. I would make you happier than Ike ever did."

"I don't—"

"Please, Soren. I ask this because I'm worried, and because I want you to be happy. I want to be the one making you happy. You will have nothing left for you here once the war is over."

"Pedophile."

"I don't care," Stefan whispered. "I am already an outcast, a freak. Why should one more transgression pose a threat?" Then he smirked, pulling the sage close. "Kiss me. Forget all the shit in your life right now and let yourself feel better."

"I never said yes," Soren replied.

"You have time to think it over. Kiss me."

"Stefan—"

"Please."

A frustrated growl escaped Soren. The sage threw his arms around Stefan's shoulders and kissed the other man. Not the same way he had kissed Ike; that sort of thing could never be repeated with anyone else. But the green-haired man's lips were warm and gentle and Ashera, he knew how to kiss. His eyes never shut and neither did Stefan's. They watched each other as their lips moved together. Stefan's hands slid around the sage and he slid down onto the cot, never letting go. This was almost too familiar. Almost too much like Ike. But Stefan was taller and bonier and a thousand other things that weren't Ike.

That was ultimately what made this acceptable.

())CRAYOLA))

"It's too Goddessdamned cold out here," Ike hissed, huddling with Oscar to keep warm. The cloaks they wore weren't enough to keep out the wind. It bit at their faces and fingers and snuck into their clothes, chilling them to the bone.

The paladin's mouth twisted into a half-smile. "My armour is completely frosted over and so is Henry's," he replied, referring to his horse. "You've hardly got the same problem."

"I can't feel anything past my knees and my fingers are going numb."

"I've got a horse to take care of."

The wind died down slightly. Jill dismounted her wyvern and chuckled. "Your mount isn't used to this weather and it'll be hard to move. I can fight enough for two. Stay here."

"Yours is a lizard. I thought they hated the cold."

Jill shrugged. "It's what she grew up in. We both love it. Not that summers aren't wonderful too, but the snow…it's gorgeous."

"You haven't lost the feeling in your fingers yet, have you?"

"Haven't since I was eleven," Jill grinned. "Nobody else here can say that."

"Agreed." The voice belonged to Rhys. "Everyone's freezing; Janaff won't shut up about it. It's not a matter of feeling alright or not, it's a matter of whether we can feel certain parts of our bodies or not—which we can't."

"Could be worse," Oscar murmured. "Tormod and Muarim won't leave their tent because they're too cold. They've spent the entire week like that."

"It's the wind. Makes you feel colder than you should." Jill shuddered as the wind picked up and huddled in closer to Oscar. His arm fell down around her and she smiled slightly. "It's at least thirty degrees below freezing." She was greeted by blank stares and sighed. "Degrees of heat. It's something that one of the sages came up with to judge exactly how cold or warm something is. He says that freezing is at exactly zero degrees, and then it starts becoming negative…or something like that."

"It's exactly like that." They jumped. Soren pushed into their huddle, followed closely by Stefan. "Zero is freezing. Below that you start counting below zero instead of above. Likewise, he stated that boiling water was measured at exactly one hundred degrees of heat."

"Fascinating." Boyd shoved in, dragging Gatrie with him. Shinon followed suit, and then Janaff. Ulki gravitated toward Rhys and the bishop smiled. "How many degrees of heat will it take to melt those soldiers?"

Soren glared at him and lifted an Elfire tome. "Roughly the amount it would take to melt the ice encasing your skull. Let's find out, shall we?"

"Enough," Ike said sharply. "What do we know about our enemies?"

"They outnumber us roughly two to one without reinforcements," Soren replied coolly. "The added resistance of Kilvas will make things difficult. Avoiding combat with the king is preferable. We don't need an angered laguz nation partnered with Daein. But combat will likely be unavoidable." The sage turned. "Reyson? Tell us about King Kilvas."

The prince shot a look at Soren. "He's the king of Kilvas. Most laguz nations choose their kings based on strength. Kilvas is no different; they have a strong and skilled king."

Soren nodded curtly. "He will be weak against arrows and wind magic, regardless."

"Not entirely." Reyson's brow furrowed. "He studied with a sage in Gallia for a number of years. Drove the man insane, I'm sure; I've heard stories of him taking out his anger on the young Spirit Charmer that lived with him at the time." Soren felt a chill run down his spine. Reyson ignored it and continued. "I believe that his magic is a variation of the Tornado spell, although I could be incorrect. Regardless, Naesala is a strong fighter and the likelihood of losing men is high."

Ike nodded, brow furrowed. "So we'll need someone capable of both long-distance and hand-to-hand combat."

"High magic resistance," Soren added.

Ike nodded again. "High defence or a reasonable reaction time and endurance."

Almost immediately everyone looked at Boyd.

())CRAYOLA))

"Boyd's a terror when he fights."

Soren ignored the swordmaster and twisted out of the way of a sword. The blade passed by his throat and he cursed internally. The damned Elfire spell was memorized but the distraction of a quick and pointy death was enough to keep him from casting properly. The presence of Stefan didn't help. The past week and a half had been evenings of shared meals, a shared tent, stolen kisses after dark. It wasn't the same as Ike and perhaps that was why it wasn't comfortable, because Ike knew everything (almost). Ike knew how to deal with Soren. The mood swings and the frustration and the need to be alone for at least three hours a day with a cup of tea and a book. Stefan didn't understand that yet. He hung around even though he should have been doing something far more useful and it drove Soren mad.

The flash of green hair in the corner of his eye was the final straw and Soren let the spell leap from the pages. Flame enveloped both soldiers in front of him. There were no screams. When the heat died down there was nothing left but the smoking remains of armour and the stench of burned flesh.

Stefan whistled and effortlessly countered a messy blow from an axeman. Another Elfire burst out inches behind him, silencing another heartbeat. He smiled, catching Soren and kissing him even as the sage struggled for breath.

"I take it back," he panted. "You're the terror."

"I can do the same to you," Soren replied. A new spell was at his fingertips immediately, the spirits begging for him to unleash it on some new victim. This sort of thing always happened in the heat of battle. Bloodlust. Either his own or that of the spirits, he still wasn't sure. And the words were on his lips already. The voice in his head begged. Ordered.

Do it.

Stefan kissed him again. The swordmaster tasted of blood but it didn't matter. The words died on Soren's lips and he let Stefan kiss him deeply, gently. It was still uncomfortable. Too familiar, too reminiscent of Ike. The taste of blood and the silent sheathing of the sword as they kissed and the undeniable scent of steel and sweat. It was too much like Ike.

The thought tumbled abruptly out of his head as he heard Ike scream. Not a battle cry; those were distinct and easy to recognize. The spray of blood was from Ike and his sword dropped shortly before he did. Rhys was nowhere to be found.

"Ike!" His scream caught the attention of the mercenaries; they'd never heard Soren so loud, so terrified. It was enough to confirm things and they all rushed to the sage's aid.

Stefan wasted no time. He chuckled and shoved Soren forward. "Be happy with him," he whispered. "You will always have a place in Grann."

Mordecai was there almost instantly, engaging a soldier in combat and clearing the way for Soren. Janaff was on the other side, knocking the weapons from the hands of two other soldiers and flying away with them. Shinon appeared behind him and gave him a solid push, grinning almost sadistically as he did so.

"Go get your lover back," he hissed. "It's creepy, not hearing you two every other night." Somewhere in the back of his mind Soren knew that wasn't exactly what the sniper had meant; the redhead was generally incapable of treating him with any amount of dignity and respect.

The thought counted for something, though.

Soren didn't have time to dwell on the thought. His wrist was being grabbed and he was hoisted onto a horse.

"You two need to settle things," Oscar said. "You love him to death and whatever it was that happened wasn't important. You screwed up and now you need to fix it. I'll be here for both of you if you need me, alright?"

"Mm." Soren nodded, only half paying attention. His thoughts were focused on Ike. How badly he was bleeding, how far away he would be once Oscar had to stop, the amount of magic he would need to use to heal a near-fatal wound. He was deposited on the ground with little warning and didn't bother to thank the knight. He just started running. Ike was still bleeding out onto the ice, still surrounded by the corpses of those he'd killed.

Soren knew that he wouldn't make it in time. That Stefan had been right. He would watch Ike die. The only person who'd ever cared about him, the only person whom he ever would have considered telling his heritage to. Blood would stain his hands as Ike's lifeless corpse bled out onto him.

"Pessimist."

"I think realistically."

Reyson smirked. "For a mage, you certainly don't take into consideration the magic of others."

He sang. Soren had heard the song countless times but had never felt it for himself. It seemed to be a variant of healing magic, giving his muscles and mind an extra boost of energy and—

"You also think too much." Reyson sighed. "Weren't you just concerned about your commander bleeding to death?"

The words were only halfway out of the prince's mouth by the time Soren had started running.

He collapsed next to Ike's limp form. He didn't think as he pulled out the staff. Rhys had taught him only to feel. The spirits would guide him. Remnants of Reyson's magic still clung to him and he forced those through the staff as well. For five heart-stopping seconds, nothing happened.

Ike inhaled. Soren nearly died of relief.

"I'm so, so sorry," he panted, sinking against Ike's chest, not caring about the blood staining his clothes. "I don't know what came over me and I've done nothing but regret it since. I love you."

"It's not…that easy to forgive someone who…takes your heart…and stomps on it." Ike was still having a hard time breathing and Soren fished in his robes for a vulnerary. He held the pouch to Ike's mouth and the swordsman inhaled the powder. He coughed twice, sending flecks of blood onto Soren's cheeks. The sage didn't bother wiping them off. Then his blue eyes opened, meeting Soren's for the first time in weeks.

"I realize that," Soren replied, not breaking eye contact. "I just wanted you to know that…I love you. I tried to forget about you after…what happened. I couldn't. Even with Rhys…I thought about you. With Stefan I thought about you."

"Comforting." Ike's tone was sarcastic but he didn't look away.

"I always wanted it to be you!" Soren cursed. "In the back of my mind, with Rhys, I knew it wasn't, and that's why I kissed him! To see if it would ever be possible for me to move on should something happen to you!"

"You moved to Stefan afterwards."

Soren cursed again. "Goddessdamnit, Ike! I thought I had no other choice with you gone! You stormed off and I hardly saw you afterward. Stefan and I share common traits. We were raised the same way and found common ground in that. Nothing more."

"You kissed him."

"He kissed me. I would gladly have had nothing to do with kissing him, thank you all the same."

Ike was silent. He glanced off to the side, thinking. "Soren…you hurt me. So, so badly. I think…we need time to get through this. I'll try again. But I can't go back to how things were before." Then he smiled. "Not that the sex wasn't fantastic."

"It would do you some good to keep from bleeding in the next few days as it is. You nearly died just now."

"And you cried for me."

"I did not." Soren looked at the ground and Ike chuckled softly.

"You did. That in itself proves that you still love me."

"Of course I still love you." The sage smiled as Ike sat up. The wind picked up and Ike instinctively tugged his cape around them. They shared a slightly awkward chuckle.

"Love struck fools, then," Ike murmured. "Every night I wanted to confront you. Yell at you, hit you, kiss you, anything. I was too terrified of seeing you with someone else to even try." He smiled. "I don't think I will ever stop loving you, Soren. Even if the world ends and the seas swallow Tellius. You will always be precious to me."

"I'm sorry." Soren would never be able to say it enough. Tears threatened to spill over and he blinked them away. "I'm sorry." Ike's arms fell around him as the wind picked up further and they shuddered in the cold together. "I'm sorry."

"I love you," Ike whispered. He was shaking from the cold and his lower lip was trembling as it always did when he was past the point of discomfort. Soren knew that he looked the same—flushed cheeks and frost in his hair and freezing. He reached up with one hand and smoothed his thumb over Ike's lip. Tenderly, just like he had done last winter in Crimea, and all the winters before that. It was something that would never change.

"I love you," Soren repeated. It was barely a whisper. Their eyes met again and Ike smiled.

"Kiss me better," he whispered. "I still hurt."

Soren didn't need to be asked twice. As the snow fell around them, threatening to bury them completely, he kissed Ike. His lips and his cheeks and his forehead. Kissed the blood on his chin and the tiny strip of exposed skin at his throat. Then he leaned down and kissed Ike directly above his heart.

"I'm sorry. I'll never break it again," he murmured. "I will always be by your side."

"Forever?" Ike looked at him shyly, a soft smile on his lips.

"To the ends of the earth."

A/N: Many people have left me absolutely scathing reviews about the direction I chose to take here and I regularly get private messages from people who insist that I have no idea what I'm talking about and feel the need to privately inform me that I am a bad person.

Having cheated on someone myself and therefore having made things fairly complicated amongst my circle of friends (and ex-friends), I assure you all that I was very, very careful when writing this. I'm not trying to pull a happy ending out of my ass here. I speak from personal experience when I say that sometimes you can make a horrible mistake that you regret deeply, and that it is completely possible to promise yourself that you will never destroy someone's heart that way again (even if it's not the same person, as is the case here).

And on the contrary, having had my ex-fiancé cheat on me by taking advantage of a friend who was in an absolutely precarious emotional state due to having been sexually assaulted by a different person several months beforehand, I also understand wanting to forgive the other person despite how terribly they acted. The human brain does many, many, many stupid things when another human being is intimately involved.

So please don't tell me how offended you are and how I don't know what I'm talking about. I am familiar with both sides of this coin and I don't need to be lectured about how I've chosen to direct this piece of fiction.

(fiction (noun): the class of literature comprising works of imaginative narration, especially in prose form; something feigned, invented, or imagined: a made-up story; the act of feigning, inventing, or imagining; an imaginary thing or even, postulated for the purposes of argument or explanation.)