Genre: Adventure/friendship
Words: 9,340+ o.O
Rating: T for teen
Main Characters: Ike and Nailah
Summary: Post RD. Several months after Ashera's defeat, Ike, Soren, and Ranulf leave for Hatari. Nailah decides she wants to reunite her lost nation with the rest of Tellius, but fate has a different idea in mind.
(A/N): In case anyone's interested, I put up the new prologue on the 16th, so…I HAVE been working on this story, just so you know. I actually finished the prologue a few days after New Years, and spent the rest of the time editing and forcing my poor, poor mother to proofread it, which she did gracefully (Thanks mom!). Anyhoo…I had hoped to get this chapter out much faster, but I'm glad I took my time on it. I'm happy with how it's turned out and I hope you readers think the same. :D
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Travels of the East –barefootbean
CHAPTER I: Of Parchments and Boots
Crimea- Melior
The year 649, early autumn
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Ranulf never did like the rain in Crimea.
It was cold, wet, and not sticky sweet like it was in the humid forests of Gallia; where an abundance of tropical fruits would often grow around this time of year, it was the dying fields and gardens that Ranulf got the delight of seeing instead. The final harvests had already come and gone, leaving mud and decay in the places of what surely used to be corn fields. The stalks had yielded to the winds, bending and snapping as the heavy rains helped crush them into submission, a forecast for what the Crimean winter would likely bring.
Snow, and a quantity of mud.
Ranulf didn't like mud that much either, when he came to think about it. Walking through it was a nightmare; it would grip at his boots and pull him in ankle deep, and then victimize him when he would least expect it, causing his feet to tangle. After several disasters, Ranulf was deciding whether or not to wage a personal war on the land, just to save some of his pride.
But then again, he should have picked a better route to travel. There was a reason for why highways were constructed, after all. Hiking through hills of bracken and tightly bound shrubs was a foolish mistake on his part, but luckily an easily fixed one at that.
Ranulf paused for a breather, and sat on the remains of a fallen tree. The briars and branches scratched at his bare arms, but he ignored it without much trouble. He was exhausted, beyond exhausted. Unfortunately, he had gotten a very late start leaving Fort Gebal that morning—due to a completely innate, irrational, preposterous Lethe—and had been rushing to the rendezvous spot that Ike and he had agreed on for the last several hours of the day.
It was absolutely redundant, really. Ranulf was going to be late no matter what he did now to make up for the lost time, all because Lethe was having one of those days, and Skrimir always had to find some type of work for him to do.
Ranulf had been clear in telling Skrimir that he would be leaving that morning, and as even further forewarning, had told him two weeks prior to his proposed departure to have him fill out any paperwork that needed doing then, that way Ranulf wouldn't get stuck with work at the last minute. Of course though, Skrimir had gotten busy with other propagandas that needed taking care of—really he was just training more of his laguz warriors, assigning captains and commanders to teams, not that they were needed—and had forgotten that Ranulf would not be available. And as Ranulf's unfortunate luck tended to go, he had gotten stuck with the lovely duty of now having to deliver treaties to Nevassa and Melior, all because Skrimir had yet to find someone to fill his position.
Stupid lion. What does he think I trained Kyza for? A replacement, that's what!
And than to top it off, Ranulf nearly got his head gnawed off by Lethe earlier in the morning. She was angered – cat scratch that, furious - that he was leaving—she demanded answers, gripping Ranulf by the front of his tawny, deer hide jerkin, claming that he was betraying his laguz pride, eloping—Ranulf had gagged at her poor choice of word—with a beorc, and leaving when Gallia needed the help of an experienced diplomat like himself the most.
Of course, Ranulf tried to calm her, reassuring her that he wouldn't be gone forever, that he'd come back just to see his lover, making jokes—but that never went well with Lethe. Especially when she was mad.
"I can't believe you! You're going to mock me now?" Lethe hissed, outraged by his ludicrous jokes. "You think this is funny, Ranulf! What about what the people think? Does that not mean anything to you? And what about the King? He's only been ruling for several months! He still needs the proper guidance from an experienced warrior to rule appropriately."
Lethe huffed, chest heaving, and glared at Ranulf. He stood still, back against the enclosures of the outer walls of Fort Gebal, allowing the gentle fall breeze to blow away any harsh retort he himself may have been tempted to launch at her. Lethe always knew how to push his buttons, and which way to push them. Sometimes she would say too much, perhaps too little, and than Ranulf wouldn't be able to contain his outrage. He didn't want to deal with that.
He wanted to leave on good terms with someone. Even if it was lethal Lethe he wanted to make peace with.
Ranulf sighed, familiar with her harsh behavior. "…Lethe, he's doing a great job. And don't deny it," he said quickly, cutting off her retort, "because we both know you'd be lying. Skrimir may be a blockhead sometimes, but I doubt you or any other laguz couldn't set him on the right path if he screwed something up. Heck, that's what I've been training Kyza for for the last couple of weeks. It's short notice, but I know he'll be fine."
Lethe glowered at him, stepping forward until she was within short distance of him. Her purple eyes narrowed down to slits and her brilliant orange cat ears laid flat against the crown of her head. Ranulf watched them idly from under the flaps of his soldier's hat as her tail flashed wildly, slashing back and forth like that of a beorc's sword. It was a clear sign that she was becoming impatient. When she was calm though, it was a sign she was lying. Her tail was often her downfall, ironically.
"I realize that Ranulf, but this is your duty to Gallia. This is what you have done all your life, what you were born for—trained for! And now you want to throw it away for some crazy journey that, allow me to quote, 'may not return from?' Doesn't service to a country mean anything to you at all?" Lethe crossed her arms, frustrated.
Ranulf sighed again, and blinked, beginning to weary from her constant barrage of challenges that morning. "I'm sure I've long since filled my so-called duty, Lethe. I've been at it for over forty years now! I've been in several wars! Heck, I fought Ashera along the side of King Caineghis! You were there; you know what I'm trying to say. I think it's fair enough to say that I deserve a break."
She snorted in disbelief. "A break, traveling? Surely you couldn't decide on something more productive to do? Training soldiers, for example. That would be highly practi—"
"Why are you so determined to change my mind?"
Lethe froze, her cat ears perking up in surprise. She glowered almost immediately. "What would make you think that?"
"Well, you keep suggesting different activities for me, an—"
"No," Lethe interrupted, eyebrows knitting together in irritation. "I'm trying to understand. I don't see why you would want to leave. It seems rather…inconsequential."
"Oh, I think I see what you mean…"
No, not really, Lethe.
"Do you not want to live in Gallia anymore? What has made it lose its appeal to you?" She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall opposite Ranulf, settling herself comfortably. Stray strands of hair whipped around her face softly; burning gold despite the shade they made conversation in.
"No, it's not that…" Lethe's eyebrows resigned to knotting themselves permanently.
"Then what is it?" She asked with an air of impatience.
Ranulf gave Lethe a closer look. She never used to be so interested in his life. He wondered what was making her act so indifferent and curious. "Ike wants to go…sightseeing, andddd, since he was planning to go alone, I simply offered to accompany him. I think he could use the company—and besides, Skrimir's work will kill me otherwise, so it works out for both of us in the end." Ranulf finished with an unholy grin on his face. Lethe rolled her eyes exasperatedly.
"I already know that, Ranulf. And Ike can do whatever he wants with his mercenary life. It's his choice," Lethe added. "What I truly want to know is what you hope to accomplish from all this. You're a laguz; you have a country and a King to help lead…what do you find more important in traveling to you than this?"
"…Lethe, I don't know how I could explain this to you."
"Try me," she encouraged dryly. "I have a sister. I'm sure I've heard far worse."
Ranulf twitched slightly. It seemed the past wars had inexplicably changed Lethe. She was no longer so angered and biased—in turn she had become more willing to understand and listen to others, something she used to flinch at the very thought of doing. Ranulf supposed it was her friendship with the Daein wyvern rider Jill, and maybe even from easy going Ike, that had caused her to change in the ways that she had. Before meeting any of them, she was as prejudiced as any other laguz. Now she was wiser.
Ranulf shrugged, feeling a bit out of place. Typically their positions were reversed. Lethe was the one who lectured him, not the other way around. But in a way, she still was, wasn't she?
It's an odd role to play, Ranulf thought demurely. He would give it a go anyway.
"Alright then; I'm leaving because there's a lot I've still yet to see. I want to go exploring—see some sights that haven't been ravaged by war or because of some political reason that I would need to do so. I want to see eastern Begnion's mountains, make a casual visit to see Nasir and Ena in Goldoa, have a friendly drink with the hawk tribe. I just want to travel, you know? Without it being work related. I've been living here in Gallia all my life, serving Caineghis, training troops…but now I want to do something different. Do something for myself for once. There are so many places I would like to go and…"
Lethe slid down the wall silently, nonchalantly twirling strands of Gallia's lush, green grass around her fingers, snapping them when the pressure built and became too much. Ranulf watched her reactions and continued to speak calmly, allowing her the time to digest the knowledge. He shifted his position and joined her on the ground.
"I see." Lethe turned her gaze to the laguz who roamed the courtyard before them, continuing to destroy the grass beside her in the meanwhile.
"Do you? I would have thought you'd be dismissive of the whole idea. Not gonna chew me out and lecture me?" Ranulf teased her.
"Hmph. I'm not the same as I was three years ago, Ranulf. …I was as ignorant as the beorc, I will admit, though I now know that they were more so, being kept in the dark about the history of our races. I've seen things with my own eyes, taken part in them. I could see why you would see traveling as something important… I still don't understand how you could leave the place you've lived in for so long though. This is your home, is it not?" Lethe's eyes softened slightly.
Ranulf frowned. "Of course it is, Lethe. This is where I grew up—it won't be easy for me to leave this place behind. I've spent most of my life constantly help improve it. But it's fair to say that I've seen enough of it."
"You tire of your own country." Lethe scowled. "That's poor on your part."
"Exactly. Now you see why it's best that I go… I'm completely useless here." Lethe blinked, then scowled some more.
"Master Giffca thinks differently."
"Oh, does he now? Since when has Giffca ever seen my identical way before anyways?" Ranulf grinned slyly at her.
"Point taken, I suppose." Lethe let out a heavy sigh. "…I see that I will not change your mind. Well, I frankly hope you find what you are looking for." Lethe paused, than almost added reluctantly. "I may even want to hear of your tales sometime...if you return."
"Already going on withdrawals of me, Lethe?"
She snorted and stood abruptly, swiping away the torn morning grass that clung to her shorts. "Hardly. You still flatter yourself too much. I can reassure you that I won't be the one missing out; it's my sister and your little posses that will."
Ranulf groaned knowingly. "Ah, Lyre and Kyza, you mean."
"Mm. You better get going before either of them shows up. And also, before I forget what I came here for—" Ranulf watched as Lethe reached into the large knapsack tied to her side, pulling out several rolled up parchments of papers. "—these here are to be delivered to Nevassa, and this one-" Lethe pulled out another letter, much smaller and more delicately folded than the rest- "-is to be delivered to the Greil Mercenaries; that tactician of theirs to be exact. A 'final request' Skrimir asked of me to tell you. I don't see why he couldn't give these to you himself though. I was busy." She sniffed indignantly.
Ranulf scowled confusedly, and reached up to take the papers from her where he sat. He was focused on the heavy parchments, and failed to notice the letter Lethe held out to him. She scowled and tucked it in his front pocket while he was reading. The documents crackled slightly as he flipped through them, skimming the contents briefly. The ink smeared on his fingers, and he wiped them on the grass to rid them of the contents. He sighed frustratingly. "I resigned. He shouldn't be giving this to me. This is Kyza's job now."
"…Skrimir has still yet to accept a replacement for you. So theoretically, you're still working." Lethe crossed her arms.
"And where did you here that from? I just talked to Skrimir a couple hours ago, and he didn't say anything about that. Big guy gave me a pat on the back and told me to have a good time…he never even mentioned Kyza being inefficient."
"There's probably a reason for that. And to answer your question, Lyre told me. She's always involved in all the gossip, as her companions love to tell me." Lethe's expression turned sour.
"Hmm. Well, what'd she hear?"
"Only you would be interested in the rumors, Ranulf." He threw Lethe a small grin at her cheeky comment. "Very well…apparently, Lyre overheard that Skrimir already had somebody else in mind for your position as commander. A beorc, from the description. Supposed to be someone of suppressed talents and abilities, do to his/her current position. And supposedly they're also a mercenary."
"A smart, talented mercenary…huh, I know way too many of those. I'll have to look into this."
"Don't bother. I already did, and I came up with nothing. Apparently it's only someone that Skrimir is 'personally' acquainted with."
"Personally?" Ranulf's jaw went slack for a moment. "Oh-ho. Cat's been let out of the bag. A secret lover…heh." He grinned conspiracingly.
"If you say so, Ranulf." Lethe shrugged and started to walk off.
Ranulf groaned and scampered up from his position on the ground in a hurry, holding back a retort. He would need to talk to Skrimir, though his insides knotted at the thought. It would undoubtedly be a long and boring conversation. Though, it could prove to be mildly humorous, with the rumors and whatnot going around… Ranulf was sure either way though that his self-esteem would be in a poor state of affairs by the time he'd manage to actually get away, if he even went, that was. Probably not considering his lack of time, he'd have to miss out if he wanted to reach Melior by nightfall.
Lethe and he walked along Fort Gebal's stone castle paths, their footsteps hushed by the dirt and grit beneath their feet. Other laguz passed them as they walked, and as custom called for, crossed a single arm across their chest and bowed, before resuming and continuing along their way. Lethe returned their gestures, unsmiling.
"You like being a leader of a bunch of hot heads?" She hissed and sidestepped as another male laguz passed her with a slightly irritated expression, and quickly sashayed back to her position at Ranulf's side. Her ears twitched in his direction.
"Ha, they have only taken pride in being part of the beast tribe. It is honorable. And shouldn't I be asking you? You have been a laguz commander much longer than I have." Ranulf grinned at her comment, and stroked his non-stubbly chin proudly.
"True. I'm full of wonderful knowledge. Care to make use of me, m' dear?"
"Hmph. I can handle things on my own."
"Aw, you're no fun. Still stubborn," He gave a heavy sigh.
"I didn't ask for an opinion." Lethe turned on her heels abruptly and continued down the nearby corridor, leading to the east end of the fort where her trainees awaited her. Stone arches seemed to rise above her as she walked, they being covered in a bright mixture of green and colorless vines. Skimpy patches of grass grew along the sides of the walls, stretching towards the dim sunlight above pathetically.
Lethe paused when Ranulf's footsteps didn't reach her ears, and turned to give him an irritated look. "Coming?"
"Nope. It's time for me to leave."
"...I assume you won't be talking with Skrimir then." Lethe turned back around and met Ranulf halfway in the corridor. "Also, don't forget to deliver those letters. You've been awfully forgetful lately." Lethe scowled and flicked the letter she had stuffed in Ranulf's pocket. "Skrimir said it was important."
Ranulf waved her comment off. "Yeah, yeah, that's what he always says." He paused, and then grinned. "Before I leave…aren't you going to give me a goodbye kiss? A last, little something to remember me by?" Lethe's eyes narrowed to slits and she grabbed him by the front of his jerkin, slamming him unexpectedly into the wall.
"What's your problem? Why is everything a joke with you? You're leaving for unknown lands and all you can do is treat this deal as if it's some type of tease! You-you—ugh!" Lethe hissed angrily and jerked her hands back away from Ranulf as if she had been stung, her ears flattened upon the top of her head. She glared at him, seething.
"Lethe, come on! It's my last day here. You can't expect me to be completely serious." Ranulf waved his arms about him in defense.
"Yes. I. Can. The least you could do is show a bit of maturity." Ranulf waved her off and snorted sarcastically. "You're infuriating!" Lethe screeched and clenched her fists at her sides, making Ranulf grin smugly.
"Did you know? You're pretty cute when you're angry." Despite Lethe's angry outburst, Ranulf couldn't quite quell the grin that still shown on his face.
"Stop smiling," Lethe scowled. "Before I claw that smug look off your face, superior or not, I'm feeling rather insulted now. You don't need to make a mockery of me, Ranulf."
Ranulf's eyes merely twinkled at her, and he leaned in close to her face, blowing her an airy kiss. "I'll miss you too darling. But don't worry, I'll always come back for you." Lethe howled and spat in response, giving up and leaving Ranulf alone with his conscience. "I'll bring you back some souvenirs!" He shouted. He fled Fort Gebal as quickly as he could after his teasing - chuckling all the while - avoiding Lethe before she tried to strangle him, as she most certainly would if she could without any qualms, and if she didn't, Skrimir would do worse otherwise with his so-called 'chitchats.'
I took too much enjoyment out of that… Heh, her reaction was worth it though. Its Lethe's own fault, really. She sets herself up for that kind of treatment…
Ranulf snapped back to reality, and fingered the letter in his front pocket. He wondered what it was for, as Skrimir had never requested a friendly letter to be delivered before, and much less by Ranulf. He wasn't a paperboy, though he could get the job done just fine. The treaties that were to be delivered to Nevassa and Melior, however, were another case all together.
Of course, he'd have to tell Ike about it though - who would less than likely show any level of degree of annoyance at all - but Ranulf shouldn't have even had to deliver the paperwork in the first place. He already had plans, and even though he had no idea where Ike wanted to travel, he knew for a fact that Daein would not have been a thought out choice. Which was understandable, as it would only bring back thoughts of his father, and less memories he would want to be reminded of. Ike had been through a lot, and had gotten over it certainly with due time, but even then, to go to a reconstructed country and recall that his own father had once lived there—it was more than likely unpleasant, and something that Ranulf couldn't quite fathom.
He hadn't really tried to put too much effort into the thought, though, so perhaps Ike wouldn't mind?
Ranulf let out a sigh, and stood and stretched, holding back tears of exhaustion. It would be nice to see Ike again, but it would be even better if he could get some sleep. Skrimir just loved to run him ragged at work. In fact, it was probably payback for the war…he just always had to have the last laugh.
I already feel pity for the new commander. Ah, well, they'll survive somehow.
Gracefully, Ranulf shifted into his cat laguz form at a run, light blue fur beginning to sprout along his spine and limber limbs, causing his body to tingle from the exhilaration and thrill of it. His jaw opened and feline teeth lengthened considerably; sharp as daggers. Paws formed where his hands used to be, and claws took the place of nails.
Ranulf dug them into the earth eagerly; pleased when he found a leverage he had been missing in his beorc form. He cherished that feeling; the sense of empowerment that it always brought.
Aw, I hate this mud. …Skrimir is going to owe me for life for this. He better pay me double when I return…well, IF I return that is…
He landed on the mud with a soft squelch, and immediately bounded outward with his hind legs, tearing up the ground as he ran. Each paw in front of the other—barely in front of the other before another would take its place. Ranulf paced his breathing; climbing over branches and craggy rocks as he navigated Crimea's thin forests, the sun just starting to set over the horizon. He took in the sight.
Fluffy clouds had moved in as the day progressed, creating shadows over fields and small wetlands. It rained occasionally, and Ranulf was sure it would only get worse. The thought made him move quicker as he roved over the lands towards the capitol of Melior, where he would be rendezvousing with Ike. Hopefully he wouldn't have kept Ike waiting too long. He didn't have the best amount of patience sometimes.
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"Daein? I don't have a problem with that. Don't have any plans set yet anyway."
"Well, that works out nicely. Skrimir decided he has a treaty that he wants me to deliver over there. Nevassa, to be exact." Ranulf traced the patterns of wood in the table, letting his fingers find them tiredly. He eyed the bread basket next to him, wondering if he even had the energy to snatch a slice, much less chew it.
"Even though he knew you were leaving?" Ike asked confusedly.
"Yep. 'A last and final request,' he claimed, or so Lethe told me. I could hardly say no. Well, not without Giffca or Lethe getting in my face about it…which Lethe did, of course. I wanted to leave on good terms though, you know?" Ranulf sighed and laid his head in his arms, giving in to the quiet that filled Calill's bar and inn the group had decided to inhabit. It paid having good connections with the keepers' daughter; Amy always knew when to put in a good word for him when he needed it most.
"What type of treaty will you be initiating?" Ike asked. Ranulf glanced up in surprise.
"It's the full freedom and equal treatment of all laguz in Daein. As in, zero tolerance of mistreatment on either ends of our races in either of our two countries. Skrimir would have liked to have had it signed earlier, but right after the war was not a good time, especially considering how Nevassa and Fort Nox were both torn and blown to dust, along with the country still being a wreck from the Senate's so-called labor camps." Ranulf shook his head in disgust, the thoughts brought up about Begnion making him ill. "...We received word from Queen Micaiah only several days ago that Daein's new royal court members had been selected for the council, providing support for her decisions. Apparently, making peace with Gallia was one of the first things they suggested, and this proposed treaty came quickly as a result of that."
"Good to know they're making progress." Ike paused, nodding his head in a relaxed manner. "...Daein's still under reconstruction though, right? Isn't it too early to be initiating anything, especially with Daein?"
Ranulf shook his head. "No. The sooner we get this done with, the sooner we can aid them with their reenactment. Micaiah mentioned that she was hoping it would help with Daein's prejudice, also. It may help fade it a bit, if the citizens know what she's agreed to.
"You don't think they'll have objections?" Ranulf stared for a moment in silence. Since when had Ike become so perceptive?
"No," he started hesitantly, "...not with Micaiah. The people are more than likely still infatuated with her, and what she says is basically law."
"Glad she's on our side then," As opposed to what other side? Ranulf wondered silently. "Did she say how she was doing at all?" Ike continued.
Ranulf grinned. "You know, you're awfully inquiring. I'm not sure whether I should be concerned or not." Ike scowled and Ranulf simply smiled broader. "To answer your question, she did not. She actually didn't say much in her letter at all, with it being so brisk and businesslike, only that her country and citizens were doing better than they had been before." Ranulf scratched his ears contemplatingly; they twitched, and Ike watched them in silent amusement, unbeknownst to Ranulf.
"Well, it's good that Daein's finally pulling itself back together. I'd like to see it when it's fully restored." Ike fiddled thoughtfully with the green sleeves of his damp tunic.
"Yeah…" Ranulf trailed off. He had seen Daein before the Mad King's War occasionally on private business trips, but even then it hadn't been much to look at. It was dreary. Dark. Cold. Unwelcoming. Exactly the type of country its past rulers had made it out to be. If Queen Micaiah was as an excellent ruler as the citizens had all claimed her to be though, then without a doubt Daein was getting its priorities straight.
That would be a good change for the rest of Tellius as well, Ranulf hoped.
"Hmm." Ike frowned and tipped back in his chair, looking exhausted. He bit back a yawn and Ranulf snorted at him.
"Late start too?" He hunched over in his seat, placing his chin in his palm and grinning cheerfully.
"Only a bit. The weather definitely slowed us down though. Soren and I got rained on all the way here from the fort. We only arrived here about an hour ago. Would have taken us several days, but we managed to catch a ride in a merchant's caravan. Sore bribed the man." Ranulf's eyes widened in surprise, and he sat up, realization dawning that he still had that letter from Skrimir in his pocket.
"Wait, let me get this straight. Soren's here too?"
"Uh, yeah? Didn't I tell you?" Ike shrugged at Ranulf apologetically, and hid his discomfiture behind a tankard of cold ale.
"No, you didn't."
"…It's been a long day. He caught me snooping around in the kitchen this morning, and insisted—no, demanded that I take him with me. He was determined to come along, and you've witnessed how hard it is to win in any situation with Soren, so I agreed to let him come along…" Ranulf frowned. Did he honestly hear what he thought he just did?
I believe I smell a little white-lie. What's that about?
Ranulf's ear twitched; he could tell Ike wasn't telling him everything. He wasn't bothered by the fact, as really everyone had secrets to keep, though it made him wonder about the history between the two beorc. Soren was an interesting character, if not because he was obnoxiously intelligent and had such a strange scent, then the fact that he was so close to Ike. He had secrets that Ranulf had still yet to figure out. He could sense it when he conversed with him though, the discreet looks of hatred and loathing Soren would cast his way. Perhaps Ike was taking part in guarding them? If Ike was willing to lie to him over such a simple matter, than things were on a more personal level than Ranulf had first suspected.
It would essentially be rude to pry, but then again, he was curious…
Heh, curiosity killed the cat… that phrase is perhaps too fitting for me.
"…retired early tonight. I made him retire, since he was up all last night, apparently waiting for me to sneak out so he could join me. Horrible rainy weather the whole time." Ranulf snapped back to attention.
"It rained? Correction, it poured, Ike. My boots were so full of mud and other identifiable objects when I arrived that I had to wake Calill and ask her to dry them with those tomes of hers. She got mad that I woke her at 'such an ungodly hour,' and decided to turn them to ash instead, nearly frying my feet off in the process!" Ranulf dramatically pulled his raunchy barefeet out from underneath him and waggled them in Ike's face, which instantaneously prompted him to draw Ettard up from against his chair as protection. He scowled pointedly.
"I really wanted to smell your feet Ranulf. Thanks for that."
"Oh-ho, lookie here—sarcasm. I guess Lethe was right when she said my feet caused the beorc to do strange things. Feeling the need to curl up in the fetal position, Ikey-poo?"
"Not a chance. Maybe for bed though." Ike grinned good-naturedly and took another swallow out of his mug, relaxing nonetheless, and let his sword drop back to his side. The contents warmed him inside out, and he clenched the tankard comfortably in the palm of his hand. Ranulf stood from the table at which they sat in the inn's public quarters, and walked over to the dying fire. He locked his gaze on it, poked at it half-heartedly, and let out a large yawn as he did so.
"You know what? I'm gonna go hit the hay. Skrimir's a treaty he wants delivered to Elincia by tomorrow afternoon and signed, so I'm going to have to leave early in the morning." Ranulf scratched his chin and pulled off his soldier's cap, shaking his hair out. It stuck up on top of his head in various spots from the rain, making him look much younger than his actual age. "…Do you want to come along? It shouldn't take that long, and I'm sure Elincia would love to visit with you."
"No, I don't think that would be a good idea. I'm sure you're aware that the nobles and I aren't on the best terms with one another. Thanks though. " Ike grinned. "I'm going to retire here pretty quickly too anyways, so I might see you in the morning. If not, where do you want Soren and me to meet you later?" Ike stood and clambered from his seat, stretching his leg muscles slightly.
Upon the mention of Soren, the letter burned in Ranulf's mind once more. He almost face palmed at his stupidity. "Wait—hold that thought. I have a letter from Skrimir for Soren. I'm so tired I'd completely forgotten about it. Can you give it to him for me?"
Ike looked perplexed, and ran his hands through his hair in surprise. "Sure, it's not a problem. What's it for though?" He took the letter from Ranulf's open hand, and flipped it around. He could barely make out Soren's name written out in small, crooked, chicken scratch, though managed to decipher it anyway. Ike had to admit that Skrimir's writing just about mirrored his own.
"Beats me. Probably something regarding Soren's tactical planning—or along those lines. You know what? I can't even think straight right now. I'm so tired I'm falling asleep on my feet here. Don't ask me anything this late at night. In fact, why are we even talking? I'm going to bed. …And as to where to meet, how 'bout Fort Pinell? It's not too far from Melior, and it's an easy day's walk even if you leave here late. In fact, we could probably make it to Delbray if the treaty signing goes well and the weather clears up."
"If that's what you want. No objections here and I doubt Soren really cares either." Ike tucked the letter into his pocket before carrying his plate and empty tankard over to the barkeep on night-duty, who took it with a small uttered gruntand a toothy scowl. Ike simply nodded incomprehensively and strode back over to the wide open furnace, retrieving his somewhat dry boots off the rack that sat in front of it just for the seasonal purpose.
"Ike, I doubt I've ever heard you object to anything." Ranulf gave a laugh and stuffed his cap back on his head, grinning. "Ah, well, goodnight. See you tomorrow afternoon."
"Night."
Ike watched as Ranulf walked tiredly backwards and gave a small, unhurried wave before stumbling up the stairs on the northern side of the room. The torches that lined the stone walls caste Ranulf's shadows all around the corridor making it seem as though darkness was sneaking in to claim him. Ike blinked just to make sure he was wrong.
Sighing, he sunk back into the chair he had previously occupied, propping his feat up on Ranulf's empty one as weariness threatened to claim him. The fire taunted him with its movement, encouraging slumber, all the while strangely reminding him of ink on water, only lit in a color of crimson blazes that regular ink could not begin to compare to. He closed his eyes at the boldness of it, obeying, and breathed through his nose silently, letting the days past events run through his mind.
Almost immediately, his mercenaries came to mind.
He wondered about Mist, if she was searching the woods for him as he stayed hidden in Melior, her head bobbing around the undergrowth in a frustrated painstaking desperation for him that would make her undoubtedly come undone at the seems. Mist would be out all night searching, if Titania or Boyd didn't make her stop to rest. And when she would finally yield, her nights would be sleepless, her thoughts tormented. Boyd would rub her shoulders chivalrously and whisper stupid words in to her ear to calm her, all the while wondering out loud what in the world Ike was thinking as to leave his sister behind, knowing that she would end up falling apart. Titania would chide Boyd for saying such things, and he would argue back, because really, Ike was Mist's brother and their commander for the last 4 years—he was obviously not coming back if he was leaving without a word. And then Titania would leave the room, because everything was too much to bear, and the late autumn night breezes would gossip in her ear that he really wasn't coming back, to not keep her hopes up, as her already wounded heart could not withstand the loss of another promising man in her life gone. So she would join Mist that night in tears, and both would feebly attempt to take comfort in the horribly written letter, knowing full well that a mere piece of parchment paper couldn't keep promises when they were only a fragment of the words left unspoken—compared to what should have been said—
Elincia came to mind. She was the Queen of Crimea; experienced in dealing with the requirements that her position called for. She had made difficult choices in her lifetime, some of which the consequences had been too much for her to bear, and they had gnawed on her inside out, messing with her kindhearted conscience of what was the lesser of two evil paths to take. Ike hadn't seen Elincia since the end of the war, but undoubtedly she was still being forced to make decisions in life she was uncomfortable with, yet still managing to keep her wits about her. If Ike talked with her, he could get an honest opinion. But there was always the chance that she would give a point of view he didn't want to hear, and try to convince Ike otherwise—
Caineghis came next. He was a wise laguz and an old family friend; would he in Ike's position have approved of his decision to leave his life behind, even aware of the consequences? Ike was sure his father had seen the former Gallian King for advice on several occasions, especially after taking his wife's life, and he himself had even asked for opinions before. The answers were typically helpful, if not solving Ike's problems completely. But unfortunately, King Caineghis was in Gallia, and Ike knew he should solve his own damn problems considering what he had been through.
Lingering on things past was a waste of time anyways; there was nothing he could do to change anything now. Besides, despite the consequences he knew were already occurring, they would soon move on, if not for themselves than rather for the sake of the mercenary company. Mist would be saddened, but even she would have to see the reality of the situation eventually. The Greil Mercenaries well-being came first, and if she as commander was too busy moping about, no one would be making any coin. No income would lead to no supplies, and for eight mouths to feed in the quickly approaching Crimean winter, a lack of supplies were the tell-tale signs of landing yourself in an early grave.
It was a do or die situation, whether they liked it or not. Ike was aware of that, and he had already prepared for it. There was nothing to be done though—and going back was definitely not an option. He wanted to travel—needed to travel, get away for a while. The country didn't need him any more. This was his chance to finally do something different, and he was going forward no matter what.
Ike's brotherly institution took that moment to scowl down at him, unmerciful. He was a failure of a brother. Ike had had his chance to tell his sister—to tell all the mercenaries his decision, and he had passed it up.
Heh… I wanted to leave without regrets and now it seems that I've already gotten one. I haven't even made it through the first night. Guess that plan didn't work out very well…
He had already wasted three years of his life planning the death of his father's murderer, and he wasn't going to spend the rest of it worrying about what he did and didn't do for himself or his mercenary company. They knew what to expect of him, and likewise. Self-pity wouldn't ever claim him. He had promised himself that when his father died, and Ike never went back on his promises; they were etched in stone.
Time seemed to drag on, and Ike had to force his eyes open to prevent himself from nodding off, a clear sign that he should have left for bed when he told Ranulf that he would. Soren was probably wondering where he was anyway, undoubtedly calculating a search as to where to look for him if he stayed out much longer than necessary.
Blinking several times, Ike managed to drag his body from the chair and stumble out of the room, heading for the quarters he would be sharing with the archsage for the night. He successfully managed to avoid knocking over any stools or coat racks on his way out of the room, tripping over his own too feet from exhaustion instead. He clambered down the wide hallways as quickly and silently as he could, removing and lighting a torch from the wall and using it as a guiding light, as the remaining torches had long been extinguished for the night.
The hallway was silent for the most part, except for Ike's own heavy footfalls and the occasional snore erupting from within some of the rooms. It reminded him slightly of his mercenary companions after a long days' work, but too closed off to have any real effect on him. It was really undoubtedly from drunken men, finding nothing better to do than to lose their money and exhaustion in the wine and alcohol that Calill offered on days' ends.
Ike paused at a door at the corner of the corridor, squinting in the dark with his dim torch to read the door's number. Number seventeen stared back at him, and Ike relaxed. He doused the torch with a nearby pail, and slipped into the room quietly, closing the door behind him with a creak.
A small candle sat on a table in the corner of the room, more than likely left by Soren so Ike would be able to see when he came in late. It had all but melted completely, and he was left wondering how long ago Soren had lit it for him, waiting –more than likely- impatiently as Ike dealt with his conscience. He was glad Soren hadn't come and talked to him, though he really wouldn't have minded too much. Soren always had interesting views to offer on his predicaments in any case, when he wasn't criticizing him.
He blinked to let his eyes adjust to the dimness of the room before he made a beeline for his mattress, eager to sleep. He tossed a furtive glance at Soren and shook his head with a small smile gracing his features, noticing the small lump of a tactician hidden beneath the large bundle of blankets and quilts save for a small streak of hair poking out. Soren always had hated the cold, and it didn't seem to like him that much either. Ike mentally reminded himself to thank Calill and Ranulf later for providing them with the warm material.
Ike hardly managed to remove his headband and boots, and that was only accomplished with bumping his head against the wall several times and all but yanking his own two feet off in the process, extinguishing Soren's candle light with an accidental grunt of breath in annoyance. He all but collapsed afterwards on the mattress, feeling far too tired to do anything but roll onto his stomach, close his eyes, and wait ever diligently for sleep to take him away.
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0o0o0o0
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The smell of food is what woke Ike in the morning, or so he thought. He knew he could detect the faintest trace of something though, and whatever it was smelled very appetizing to his empty stomach. It groaned as if to prove a point, and slowly, Ike stirred, blinking his eyes tiredly.
Sunlight streamed in from the open window, causing blind spots to appear in his vision. While the sun's warmth was welcoming, its brightness was not. Ike groaned loudly and planted his face firmly back into his bedroll. He wasn't moving, appetizing food be damned.
But there it was again; that wonderful smell, tempting him to crawl out of bed and face the new terror of the day… It suddenly dawned on him.
Sausage. That's what Ike smelled.
He popped open his eyes once more, squinting like an old peasant man as he waited for them to adjust. A rather small, lean black figure greeted him, and Ike frowned.
"Mist?" The person hmphed and a flying object instantaneously made contact with his face.
"Do I look like I randomly developed breasts overnight? Or is it my seemingly flaunting curves that make you think I'm your sister whenever I wake you?"
Ike took a moment to digest this strange greeting, still half asleep, and scrutinized his companion. "…my sister's curvy?"
"And a good morning to you, Ike." Soren gave him a somber but amiable look and walked out of Ike's sights to the other side of the room, his boots clacking softly on the wooden floor. The sound of a pair of curtains sliding open farther destroyed whatever chance of sleep Ike may have gotten, and he immediately took the opportunity to cover his head in despair, fearing the end results as bright sunlight filtered throughout the room. It warmed his body quickly, though Ike would have shut the curtains in a mere heartbeat if he only had the will to drag himself out of bed.
"I'm never letting Calill get us an eastern room again, no matter how cheap," he grumbled.
"Agreed, though it was better than having to sleep in the rain all night. We're going to have to make some money soon though, as the cost was a bit much."
Ike frowned into his sleeping roll, his voice muffled. "How much do we have left?"
"Not much. Barely enough to afford anything at all, and if we need food we will more than likely have to acquire it ourselves if we don't receive mercenary work anytime soon. If we run out of money we won't last long with the coming season."
"Hmm. Well that's wonderful news to wake up to." He ran his hands absentmindedly through his bed-hair and gave a long yawn, cringing when his jaw popped. Ike could almost feel Soren's crimson eyes latch on to him as he blatantly attempted to fall back to sleep. It was difficult not to twitch in response.
Some unseen object connected with the back of his head, and Ike groaned in exasperation. "Stop throwing pillows at me!"
"Then get up and face the day, Ike. If you don't, I'm going to be forced to eat all this food that I just bought. And I won't take any enjoyment out of it either."
Ike instantly rolled out of the comfort of his bed and onto the floor, landing on his hands and toes masterfully, before springing lightly to his feet. He turned and gave Soren a weary look, locking his eyes on the plate of food before him.
"Oh—I did smell sausage. What a treat," Ike said placidly. Soren scowled and drew the plate closer, pulling off one of the delicious pieces of meat with a fork and eating it right before him. Ike paled.
"Am I still asleep, or did you seriously just eat meat willingly?"
"You're awake, and yes, I believe I did. It just reminded mye why I dislike it so much. Though no, you cannot have it. This is your punishment for sleeping in." Soren snatched another piece of sausage off and ate it, wrinkling his nose as he did so and watching Ike's reactions smugly as he smacked his fists together in protest.
"That's completely and utterly unfair. At least take some enjoyment out of it. We don't get food like this very often, not with Oscar working as a palace knight again. Mist still isn't up to par with his skills either." Ike grimaced in remembrance and joined Soren at the table, dragging the chair out and taking a seat across from him where he had a clear view of the bustling city streets below. The sounds of clinging coins and rowdy bargaining deals made with merchants and street vendors floated up from the world beneath him, leaving Ike to wonder what else was currently going on within the confines of Melior.
"Here." Ike turned his head away from the window and startled in surprise as Soren pushed the plate across the table to him. "I apologize. You should eat. You're rather out of it this morning. More than the usual," Soren added, giving Ike a wary look.
"The usual? Do I even want to ask?" Ike tiredly took the plate and promptly began to inhale its contents, more for swallowing than chewing his food. Soren watched and sipped a small mug of cheap wine satisfactorily, supporting himself on the table with his elbows, mentally hoping Ike didn't eat his fork as well as the plate.
"The usual consists of your daily routines. The first thing you do when you wake up is eat—and instead you opted to go back to sleep this morning. You hold food as one of your highest morning priorities, so it was unusual for you. Second of all—you have lines under your eyes, which you rarely ever get. Third—you never whine. Oh—and to add on to the list, your left eye twitched a few moments ago." Soren sipped his at his drink, regarding Ike over the brim of his small tankard. Ike just looked befuddled.
"That's so odd. I've never noticed my eye twitching whenever you mention that it is." Ike frowned, and leaned forward precariously balanced on his forearms. "Is my eye twitching now?"
"N-no." Soren stuttered from the proximity and leaned back in his chair, leaving Ike to frown confusedly once more.
"...That's a good thing, I suppose." Ike's stomach rumbled and he ate another sausage, leaning back in his chair thoughtfully. "Well, anyways, to get on with the morning… Ranulf came in late last night, apparently due to Skrimir giving him a last-minute treaty that needs to be delivered."
Soren snorted uncharacteristically. "I shouldn't be surprised," he muttered darkly. "Skrimir can't do anything right, and absolutely fails at battle strategies, though I will admit that he has gotten better... I can only imagine the state of affairs Gallia's political system must be in with Ranulf resigning…"
"Ranulf didn't give me much detail, but I didn't get the impression from him that anything's gone wrong. With Ranulf leaving his position behind though, Skrimir's hastily been looking for a replacement, and apparently he's in a bit of a fix. Ranulf had to stay later than he planned and try to sort things out, which is why he was so late in coming in last night." Soren frowned.
"That still doesn't mean that you had to wait for him. It was well past midnight when he showed up. What he had to say couldn't have waited till morning?" Ike shook his head before Soren even finished speaking.
"No. Ranulf left for the royal palace early this morning, so we wouldn't have had the chance to talk."
"Hmm." Soren said vaguely. He sipped his wine some more and tossed a brief glance out the window, before meeting Ike's eyes with his own. "Where are the treaties to be delivered to?"
"Melior and Nevassa. Ranulf thought he would be done with Elincia by midday, so he suggested meeting us just east of Fort Pinell. I figured from there, we'd just cross the mountains and Riven Bridge and finish planning it out once we're in Daein."
"Sounds like a plan, though we'll certainly want to stock up here in the capitol before we set out. The weather's getting colder faster than even I had expected, and the Marhaut Mountains will be no exception; warm clothes and a good amount of food will be of the essence."
Ike grinned. "Yeah, you don't like the cold too much. You were buried under the blankets last night. I could barely even tell you were there when I walked by." Soren's face slowly turned crimson, and he fiddled with his tankard in agitation.
"My robes take much longer to dry than your clothes, Ike! They were still damp, so of course I was cold," Soren declared indignantly. "…Besides, you would have given them to me anyway. I simply spared you the trouble of doing so."
"True." Ike sighed and cracked his knuckles before standing from the table, stretching. "We should probably get going, though I wouldn't mind staying a bit longer." Ike pushed his chair in and stumbled over to his bed, gathering his small bundle of damp clothing and his bedroll. Something fell from his pocket and Ike froze, trying to place just what it was he had dropped.
Soren glanced over and frowned. "Ike, what was that?" He bent down and picked up the now crumpled piece of paper from the floor, slowly remembering.
"...It's a letter. I had forgotten all about it when I went to bed last night. It's from Skrimir for you; Ranulf asked me to give it to you since he was busy." Soren raised a slender eyebrow in surprise, though took it anyway when Ike offered it, tearing it open hastily with Ike's sausage fork and narrowing his eyes as he read. The parchment crumpled where Soren's fingers clenched it, leaving livid lines. Ike didn't take it as a good sign after a few minutes of quiet.
"Well…what's it say?" Ike finished packing his few items in his satchel, and opted to get dressed then, pulling on his torn headband and yanking on his brown boots hurriedly, giving Soren a concerned look. He adjusted his scabbard accordingly and slid Ragnell onto his back, his muscles tensing with the silence from his companion.
"Soren? You okay?" Ike stepped over to the table in concern, watching as Soren sat stock-straight, and his body shaking silently. "Soren?" Ike shook his companion's shoulders lightly, making Soren snap his head up in surprise.
"Ike, I…" Soren turned back to the table, holding the letter in his hands with an annoyed expression, "…I…can't stand that hot-headed lion! He's a moron! He can't honestly expect me to agree to this?" So abruptly, Ike was unsure he even saw anything; the letter caught fire between Soren's narrow fingers, and burned ferocious hues of russet and cobalt until nothing remained of it but a small pile of ash. Ike simply stared, wordlessly turning to Soren for an explanation as he let the cinders fall from his fingertips upon the table.
What was that about?
The archsage sighed and took a long drink of his wine, emptying his tankard in one go, looking beyond irritated. He gave Ike the look and sighed again, but indulged his friend's curiosity anyway, seeing no need to withhold anything.
"...I've been requested to serve under King Skrimir… as a replacement for Ranulf."
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0o0o0o0
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(A/N): Okay, yes, poor Ranulf. He always gets the short straw. He'll have a better day eventually…perhaps. I guess everyone will just have to wait and see what I have in store for him.
Anyways, thanks for reading! If you have the time to leave a review, please do so. Feedback is a great encouragement and tool for improving that I love to look to. Give it some spice if you can. :p