So, I finally decided to join the Fire Emblem fandom. This will be both my first Fire Emblem Fanfic and my first multi-chapter piece! I apologize for any inconsistencies with the games as I only played once. Hope you enjoy!
The brilliant tactician had miscalculated by allowing his emotions to consume him.
He got Ike hurt.
He hurt Ike.
When he blinked, he could still see the gash from across his chest going towards his abdomen. It happened so quickly. At this point, Soren wasn't even entirely sure if he had wanted to prove a point, start a fight, or simply wanted to get himself hurt. Maybe it was just fear? Or perhaps it was envy?
Soren was never very good at articulating his own emotions. No one had cared, and in the name of survival, he focused his energy instead on reading others. Always being overly cautious and keeping everyone at arms-length didn't yield much time for self-reflection, and even if he bothered to learn his own feelings, he wouldn't begin to know how to speak them. For the longest time, he hadn't known how to speak at all—he just couldn't. Subconsciously, he rubbed a spot on his left bicep that had an ugly scar concealed from many years prior that had nothing to do with the battlefield.
He may not be able to articulate his emotions, but he was very perceptive of the changes in others. He sensed Lethe's bloodlust and disgust towards him the moment she laid eyes on him. It was just like all the other sub-humans.
He had told her as such: "You're nothing but a beast." Or maybe it was to Mordecai? He was the one who attacked, but she gave the order. In retrospect, the entire moment became jumbled in his mind. Even trying to put the pieces together in retrospect hadn't revealed the clarity the tactician had hoped for.
And for some reason, spitting back the same hurtful words he was told in his youth didn't give him any more sense of power. It wouldn't undo the damage to Ike, and it didn't persuade him not to let these sub-humans nearby.
"Soren! Stand down!"
The wind mage wondered if perhaps he truly was the beast. Ike's disapproval was devastating.
"Why did you stop me? He hurt you! He could have killed you! We can't let him get away–"
Still… That violent strike was meant for him, not for Ike. Not for the only person who ever showed him any kindness.
He hadn't hesitated or tried to block the brunt of the attack with his arms.
"If you hadn't provoked him, none of this would have happened."
Ike was right— it was his fault.
That didn't make hearing the words fall from his lips any less painful.
"But–I only… I'm sorry…" Soren couldn't possibly articulate what had happened. Yes, Lethe had obvious disdain for beorc, but even more so towards him. Even before he opened his mouth.
He should have just taken it.
He should have kept his mouth shut. No one wanted him to speak…
Maybe he should have never been born.
Soren couldn't quite find the strength disagree with the intrusive thought.
The beorc treated him terribly—starved and abused him, but at least they had acknowledged him. The laguz, though… They thought he was nothing. He didn't exist to them, unless they were absolutely forced to acknowledge him. When they had to, they rubbed in that he was an orphan—harsh whispers of "parentless" fell from their lips. And somehow, that felt far worse than the violence of the beorc. He didn't understand what he had done that was so wrong all those years ago, but concluded in Ike's optimistic naïveté, they would turn Ike against him.
At the first possible opportunity, he excused himself and quickly left.
As he left the base to be alone, he blinked away tears that threatened to form and fall.
The wind mage heard whispers across camp that not only was he cold and heartless, but that he was also racist.
He never paid much attention to the idle chatter that seemed to follow him. Many thought he made a pact with the spirits, selling his soul for power. He never bothered to correct them. In all fairness, perhaps he had, and he was just too young to remember.
Then, a voice said "…He is responsible for Ike's injury. He took the blame for what Soren said."
The wind mage's walking gait changed. He almost stumbled, and didn't bother trying to determine who had made the statement. His erratic heartbeat echoed through his ears again, and had the strong feeling that he might vomit. He ducked into his tent.
After most of the camp retired for the night, Soren began packing his bag. He was just waiting for the end of the inevitable chain where he was on his own once more. A spare tome, a vulnerary, and whatever non-perishable food he could hide from his portion. As a tactician, he had to be prepared for anything and everything, but somehow Soren had a gut feeling that someday soon, things would change. He felt like he was unraveling bit by bit against something he couldn't quite understand, but if he kept screwing up, there would be no place for him here. So, he kept the packed bag by his bed roll, vowed to work harder to make it up to Ike. He prayed to the goddess, 'Not that she ever helped me out before…' that Ike wouldn't kick him out. He didn't know that he was really sorry about what he said, but the image of Ike being injured, and because of him, made him ill.
He thought that it couldn't get much worse. But, of course, it always did.
Branded.
An abomination.
Not only did he get Ike hurt, but he was part sub-human himself.
All of the pieces started to fit together— the bloodlust, the disgust, the mark on his forehead.
The reason why he didn't belong anywhere, and why he wasn't wanted.
Who would want to care for such a monster, anyway?
"Tell me, Soren, are you all right?"
"Hm?" The wind mage hadn't even noticed Ike's approach.
"Recently-ever since we reached Begnion, in fact-you've seemed depressed."
'How could he know that? I… I thought that I was hiding it well enough!' He swallowed to make sure his voice was as even as possible.
"Is...is that so? How odd. Well, I can think of nothing specific that's bothering me."
Piercing blue eyes studied him closely for a moment. He seemed unconvinced, but let it go with a small sigh.
"Well, if you say so."
Soren needed to keep his emotions in check. 'If Ike finds out… Will he hate me as well?' Possibly. And any possibility, no matter how small, was not a risk he could take. Not ever.
In his mind, he could clearly picture Ike's friendly smile changing to the same look of hatred he was used to. While he probably wouldn't resort to violence against him, as even his deepest fears knew Ike better than that, he could clearly picture him saying to pack his things and be gone by morning before walking out of his life forever.
He was vaguely aware of his body being visibly tense.
"…Soren?" The tactician squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed thickly once more in an effort to expend the anxiety: it wasn't particularly effective.
"...Eh? Yes, what is it?" Ike stared back intently, eyeing the mage's body language with suspicion.
"All right, I know there's something going on!"
The new commander must have noticed the fear that swam in his blood-red eyes, for his expression softened and placed his hand on Soren's shoulder. As a reflex, the mage flinched away, before realizing that was not the proper reaction to have towards the friendly gesture. Chancing a glance back towards Ike, he noticed that confusion and even greater concern laced the larger man's features, along with a bit of hurt.
Blast. Somehow, he hurt Ike again.
Ike's hand fell limply by his side and he took a half-step backwards, putting more distance between them.
"I'm... I'm sorry... I was...thinking. What is it you wanted?"
Ike's attention was pulled elsewhere. Not angry, but with a little more guarded of an expression than that suited him.
"Well, I was going to ask you for directions, but it's no longer necessary. It looks like we're being met."
No longer necessary…
How long before he was also no longer necessary to Ike?
After the battle, Soren tried to keep his distance. He would deliver his reports, then make himself scarce. With emotional walls (in)securely in place, he avoided Ike. The less he was around the one person who, for goddess knows what reason, cared about him enough to read him… The less likely he would be to screw it up again. He was on thin ice already… First, causing problems with the laguz, followed by a lack of attention towards his commander while he was speaking. He was distracted to the point where Ike noticed.
'And my next mistake will likely be my last before I am asked to leave... There is only so many times Ike can cover for me before the others rebel...'
Soren eyed the packed bag with apprehension.
But… where could he possibly go?
Eventually, Ike caught on to the fact that he was being avoided. He made his way to the convoy where Soren was calculating supplies and budgeting for the supplies they needed.
"Do you have a second, Soren?" Of course, he would always have time for the one person who ever showed him kindness... Even if he was trying to avoid him at the moment.
"What is it, Ike?" Maybe this time, he could actually be useful.
"What's wrong? You've been quiet and moody for days. What's going on?"
Of course he would want to go back to that.
"Um... Well, it's…"
"Yes?"
" ...It's nothing."
Ike watched him carefully. He looked as though he might take a step towards the mage, but situated his weight back down on his foot. 'Probably because of my pathetic display from the last time...' the tactician brooded gloomily. Soren had understood that Ike was waiting patiently, and was also painfully aware that he was in the way of the exit. Running now would just make him more relentless, anyway.
Carefully, the mage began. "...You've never worried about who you are, have you? Your family? Where you come from?"
Ike considered briefly. "Who I am...? Well, not really. No. I guess I don't understand what you're getting at. I had a father and a mother. I don't remember much about her, but otherwise, no complaints."
Soren had crossed his arms and averted his gaze. "It must be...nice to have loving parents. You need people to experience your childhood. To help shape the person you will become. Without an adult around to affirm and support them, a child can't know which path to take. Or who he really is."
"Don't you have any memory of your parents?"
"No. The woman who raised me was not my birth mother. And she wasn't all that fond of me, anyway... My earliest memories are of her saying, 'Why me? The world isn't fair!' or 'Stay away from me, child!' No love. No affection. She took care of me out of some sense of duty that she didn't really possess."
Soren chanced a glance back towards the only other occupant in the room. His normally sky-colored eyes were steely, as if some pieces were coming together in his mind. He wasn't sure that he wanted Ike to put the pieces together. If he did, who knows how Ike would feel about him?
Suddenly, the silence felt suffocating. If he didn't speak now, he might find that he never could again, just like in the past. Locked rooms. Violence. Strangers trying to torture words out of him–words he couldn't make, despite his best efforts. In a panic, his current words started bubbling out before he could allow himself to process them.
"When I was about four, a nearby sage came by and asked to take me in. He said I possessed rare magical talent. I remember the day clearly. My caretaker was delighted to give me up. In fact, she seemed almost delirious with pleasure. Smiling like a madwoman as she handed me over... The sage even gave her gold as compensation. Not that it was necessary."
"Oh, Soren... I had no idea."
Now that dam that he had always kept closed on his past had ruptured, it was impossible to stop the stream of words tumbling from his lips.
"The sage was old, and knew that death would soon come for him. His only goal was to teach his art to an apprentice. As time was short, he put me through terribly rigorous magic training. We worked day and night, without cease. I didn't even have time to think about who I really was. But it was still a better life than I had ever known." The tactician pivoted away once more, studying rows of swords and axes in front of him. "When the sage died two years later, I had acquired much magical skill. Perhaps too much for a child of my age... At any rate, once I had eaten all of the food in the sage's hovel, I left and walked for days to find help. Upon reaching civilization, I came to another grim realization... I couldn't speak. Not a word."
"Soren…" There was a large hand on his shoulder. Was Ike disappointed in him? How could he not be? Now hyper-aware he was babbling, Soren tried to damage control.
"Oh, I could read and write better than most of the villagers. And I could understand what they said. I just couldn't talk. I couldn't help it. The woman and the sage both used to hurl words at me. Unkind words, usually. But I never needed to answer, so–"
"Soren!" The hand jostled his shoulder. It wasn't until that moment that he realized he was hyperventilating.
"Huh? Oh... I apologize, Ike. I should not have made you listen to such nonsense…"
He pulled his shoulder away from the sturdy hand. It was pathetic, really. He was supposed to prove himself useful to Ike, not expose how weak and broken he was.
"Soren, it's no nonsense! It's awful! It's the most terrible thing I've ever heard! Where did this happen? Was it in Begnion?"
Begnion? Why would he think that? Oh, wait… Ike was trying to put pieces together that Soren had intentionally wanted to keep separate. His mouth moved without his permission once more. That seemed to be happening more frequently around his friend.
His only friend in the entire world.
"No... But, there's more. I haven't told you... About my parents…" Was he really going to do this? He looked back and saw Ike, deep sapphire eyes only showing sadness and concern. He remembered how quickly the people who encountered him changed when they saw his brand. It was a mark of sin: to all who knew what it meant, he was an abomination who would be better off dead. His ever-brilliant mind was able to easily transport him into the past-strangers teasing him with food only to kick him in the mud… At least it was only that if they were feeling merciful. When they were especially cruel… Soren gripped his left arm: images of chains, rocks, and hot metal surfaced in his mind.
And if Ike knew? How would that kind and concerned expression twist? Would he spare him and just walk away? Would he yell? Call him a fraud? Shake his head in disappointment? Ike wasn't very violent in moments of peace, but… Would he push him? Threaten him with his sword to get lost?
"No, that's enough. I'm sorry. Excuse me…" Soren pushed past him and sprinted out the door of the convoy.
"Wait, Soren? Soren!"
That was one request that Soren couldn't allow himself to comply with.
Updating next week! Thanks for reading Chapter 1!