Ughhhhh this is taking FOREVER.
Really trying not to hate Almedha. It's difficult but I'm getting there.
~~ Chapter Nine: Home ~~
The next week was an absolute blur. Weakened by the arduous journey from Goldoa, and more or less stunned into complacency, Soren slept through almost the entirety of his first four days in Nevassa. For the first time he could remember, he neither dreamed nor woke alone; his mother's hands were always clasping his fingers, softly passing through his hair, holding him steady as he rose. When he woke, he was gently led to her servants, who replaced his tattered robes, combed the mud from his hair and drenched him with warm, rose-scented water, then fed him until sleep overtook him once more.
He vaguely remembered Micaiah coming to greet him: news of a strange visitor evidently spread quickly in a snow-buried Nevassa. Soren didn't remember a word he said to her, although he had the impression that she had been very friendly and kind. He had, before leaving Goldoa, briefly thought of asking Micaiah for any advice on having grown up as one of the Parentless, but had dismissed the idea, unable to fathom how to approach the queen of Daein. As it was, she approached him: and by that time, he had found the answers he was seeking.
When he finally managed to pull himself together long enough to sit up straight, he talked with his mother, an episode that lasted the rest of the week. It began with Almedha's questions about how he had ended up in Crimea with Ike. "Were you in an orphanage?" she inquired innocently; he could see the hope in her eyes, that, like Pelleas, his life had been at least bearable without her. "Once he had my brother, Ashnard would tell me nothing, only that he had taken you away, that he had rid us of... of an unwanted child."
In the past, Soren would have withdrawn into himself silently after such a statement. But her gentle voice, pained expression, and the way she pressed his hand as she spoke, carried across the awful lie behind the words.
Finally, he managed to answer. "I'm... I'm not sure, at least early on. There was a woman who took care of me when I was very small, but I don't know where she, um, got me."
As the story unraveled, Soren tried to keep back the most painful portions: the frequent beatings by that old woman, the mage's exhausting lessons and training, and most of all his years alone. But before he knew it, Soren began to spill everything, some little details that he'd never even told Ike.
Having never been a vindictive or vengeful person, over the years Soren had cursed his faultless memory, since it only brought misery. Now, he was glad to remember everything. When he had spoken to Ike of his past, it had only been to satisfy the other young man's curiosity, to prove to Ike that his trust in Soren was warranted, and that there was a reason the tactician rarely spoke. Despite his deep trust and love for Ike, Soren had never really wanted to share his most painful secrets: he simply hadn't been able to say no.
And when Ike had betrayed him, had left him standing alone in the cold, he had never thought he would share again. He had thought the wall in his heart was bricked up forever. But talking to his mother, someone who could implicitly understand everything, Soren told the whole tale as much for his own relief as her wish to know.
What surprised him was her composure. Having briefly observed her behavior toward Pelleas, and given her first frantic greeting, Soren had been miserably prepared to deal with overprotective smothering from Almedha, which would have been almost as unbearable as aloofness. But perhaps she had always felt doubt about Pelleas being her son, and that had resulted in more mothering than was necessary. Almedha always seemed to sense Soren's mood, giving him silence when most needed, and her gentleness was of the light, sensitive kind, rather than cooing and petting.
The exception had been when he talked about revealing his secret to Ike. The memory of needlessly baring his soul was so awful that he wept as he told it; his mother placed her arms around him and held him tight. He felt her press her lips to his head: she was the only person besides Mist who had ever done so, yet it felt right.
They spoke throughout the rest of the week; he often grew tired of his own story and curious about hers. It was difficult at first to ask about Ashnard. Soren was almost tempted to find Pelleas, and ask how the other young man had felt upon first realizing that such a monster was his father.
But Almedha's telling of the tale was, in a way, more romantically tragic than abjectly painful, and he felt that she shared the story for the same reasons that he did. She had obviously once loved the ambitious Daein prince, and Soren admired her for having stood up to her own father.
Her voice became understandably bitter when she reached Ashnard's dealings with Rajaion, and how one day she had come home to find her child's cradle empty. "After that," she said quietly, looking out the window at the whirling snow, "I don't remember much. I suppose it was just as well Ashnard hid me away. I was insane with sorrow for you and Rajaion, and didn't have any way to escape or to contact my family. In any case, Father wouldn't have let me come home again."
Soren hesitated, wondering a little at his own shyness, then rested his head on her shoulder. "Was that before you had the... what was it called? A sending stone?"
"Yes, long before," she answered, smiling a little. Her hand rose to lightly stroke his hair. "Kurth gave me the stone when Pelleas and I joined the Emancipation Army. That might have been one reason for Father's anger: he didn't want my brother even speaking to me, and Kurth wanted nothing more than to bring me home. But I'm no longer part of the dragon clan. It wouldn't have been possible."
"You're like me," Soren said impulsively, then realized it was almost true. She would never age like other beorc, and while she could no longer transform, she possessed a great deal of magic power—if not channeled, like his own, into the practice of battle.
She was silent for a moment, and as her hand fell away from his face, Soren's heart sank. But Almedha said softly, touching his face, "Yes. In the ways that matter, I am."
Finally she asked him to continue his own story: Soren managed to get as far as the end of the war against Ashera—quite literally, to the moment he had last spoken to Almedha—but found that he couldn't continue. Something in the back of his mind was warning that if he opened the door to those memories, there would be no stopping the pain: if he searched his memory for anything during those dreadful six weeks, it would all spill out.
His mother placed a hand on his arm. "You don't have to tell me. The way you spoke of this Ike, and the things I've heard from Sothe... if he were alive, he would be here now with you."
Soren clenched his jaw, closing his eyes. Everything would be easier if Ike really had been killed in battle, or succumbed to some lingering disease. It didn't help that Soren had vigorously imagined, during the first long journey into Gallia, various scenes of Ike's demise.
Finally, he said quietly, "Ike isn't dead."
Just to say it was the stab of a knife. There was a silence. "Oh," Almedha said, a little apologetically. He knew her curiosity was aroused, but that she had also been serious: he needn't tell her.
Taking a deep breath, Soren forced himself to speak. "He left Crimea at the end of the summer. I'm not... he didn't tell anyone where he went, but he told Mist that he couldn't stay in Crimea. I'm sure it was beneficial to Elincia: she had enough trouble on her hands without the nobles accusing her of goddess knows what, consorting with peasants or something. Again. They were horrible last time, after Crimea's war with Daein. We, the Mercenaries, sort of hid in the countryside, hoping nothing would happen..."
He felt like he was babbling, and trailed off. Her eyes lowered momentarily, then rose up again to meet his.
Soren needed no words to understand what that gaze asked, but couldn't look at her as he answered. "I... when he left, I tried to kill myself. After six weeks I knew he wasn't coming back, and I thought there was nothing left for me."
She knew his aversion to suffocating physical contact: but, as before, she pulled him to her, obviously unable to stop herself. "Oh, Soren," was all she said, in a voice that made him wonder if she'd tried to do the same thing. Lehran had, after all.
He put his arms around her: the memory was almost more painful than the event itself had been, but he felt no need to cry. A dull anger filled him. Should he say anything about Mist? About Oscar? It had been such an unutterable, startling relief to find that they cared: not just that Mist sympathetically shared his loss, but that they had worried about him for his own sake. Titania had only spoken to him once or twice after he'd tried to take his own life, but her quiet, guilt-ridden tone had made him think she actually felt responsible. He suddenly wished he could talk to her again.
It came to him in a flash. Soren opened his eyes, knowing for the first time what to do next. He pondered it for a moment, almost afraid to speak it aloud. But it didn't become any less ludicrous: in fact, it solidified into a true need.
"I have to go back to Greil's Retreat," he breathed.
It was as if he had struck her. Almedha started away from him, putting her hands on his shoulders. "I've... I've found you, but..." Soren swallowed, unhappy to say it, fearing it would hurt her. "The Mercenaries are my family, too. I have to go back to Crimea."
Her crimson gaze was a little panicked, her eyes searching his face frantically. "No—no, you can't leave!"
"I don't mean alone," Soren said, thinking. He bit his lip, wondering if she would agree, and gripped her hands, steadily holding her gaze. "What else is here for you? Come with me, to Crimea."
Almedha stared at him; he couldn't quite tell if she was horrified, or merely dumbstruck. "Please," Soren continued fervently. He'd never quite felt such a pressing need to convince someone. Even as tactician for the armies, he'd advised the generals (particularly Skrimir) with a 'take it or leave it' approach.
Now, the need to bring Almedha away from Daein seemed almost more important than actually getting to Crimea himself. "Mother... Titania and Mist and the others will take someone in to help, even when he's a stranger, even if there's no reason to t-trust him." He felt the word trip on the end of his tongue, and ignored it. "They would welcome someone they know."
"Trust," she finally said, turning her face away. Soren's breath caught at the bitterness in her tone. "What would it matter if they trusted me or not? Trust has nothing to do with love, and I tell you, they've no reason to love me."
"What about me?" Soren countered. "Who would want to take in a filthy half-breed, an orphan with nothing to give? There was no reason for them to love me. But..." The seriousness of what he was about to say struck him hard in the chest, and he swallowed, sitting back. "But they did. Ike's own sister brought me to my senses, even when she was half-mad with sorrow and anger, too."
Neither of them spoke for a few minutes. The winter winds flailed at a nearby window, beating snow against the frosty panes. Even if she did agree, Soren thought glumly, they wouldn't be able to go for another month, at least.
Almedha looked at him once more. To his grief, she removed her hands, set them carefully in her own lap. "I can't even tell you why my heart is saying no," she said quietly, her voice full of misery. "I would tell you if I knew why. It makes no sense. Other than a lingering wish to stay near Pelleas... nothing holds me to this land. Indeed, I should want to leave." Her voice was hypnotizingly soft. "Why can you not stay here?"
Soren almost buckled, just for a moment: but now that the idea had solidified, the little tactician's voice in the back of his head was already making plans. "I feel as if I've betrayed Mist by leaving. I don't have any purpose here, and perhaps she can forgive both Ike and I if at least one of us returns," he answered firmly.
And this time, perhaps he wouldn't arrive half-starved and freezing. He reached out, placed his hands on top of hers. "Mother, I walked here from Goldoa, and I'll walk back to Crimea alone, if that's what it takes." But I beg you... come with me."
Her eyes flickered, up to his and then away again, out into the snowy city. "I will think over it," she said quietly. And in the meantime, Soren read in her tone, perhaps she would try to change his mind. Something in him applauded her firm resolve... exactly as he secretly challenged her to try.