Chapter Text
The cell was dark, moldy, and cold. Ike shivered, holding the remnants of his slashed through cape together as best he could, coughing.
...So...this is it…
The Knight had bested him - of course he had. But Goddess avow him, it was the only way…
He could still hear Mist’s cries as the boat drifted away to safety, while the Knight knocked him down like a doll. It didn’t matter. Ike’s face flashed, briefly, with a grin, and then the Knight realized his trap.
“...Using yourself as bait. How like your father, Ike.” The knight’s tone was distasteful and obviously irritated. Ike found satisfaction in that that he couldn’t find in revenge, at least for the moment.
Ike had been sure he would die, that the same blade that ended his father would cut his skull open like an egg - but instead, the hilt of it slammed against the back of his skull, and then - darkness.
Darkness wasn’t death, though. He knew that now as he felt the cold, rubbing his hands inside the cell. He’d called to the guard to ask where he was, but was given no response.
...Why didn’t he kill me? It makes no sense…
Ike didn’t have his blade. He wasn’t restrained by anything but the bars, but they were enough.
...Am I to be tortured for information regarding Elincia…?
He swallowed - that was the only option he could think of. How despicable his father’s killer was…
Mist is safe. The company is safe. Titania - she’ll know what to do. She’ll be able to…
That was all that mattered. And he wouldn’t crack, not under Daein’s tortures. Not under his father’s killer.
It was a few hours before he heard the clinking of heavy armour he had memorized along with the sound of rain and choked breath. Ike jolted up from his thoughts, glaring at the Knight.
“...The prince wishes to see you.” The figure said smoothly, voice betraying nothing. Ike’s eyes went slightly wide.
“...The prince?”
Ike swallowed nervously yet again. The prince was here…? Where was he? The capitol? How far had the knight taken him just for torture…?
“...I suggest you do not resist, Ike. You will be at his feet whether you will it or not."
Ike glared, fiercely, and of course, the Knight had to drag him, gauntlets digging into his skin, metal chafing and cutting. Ike bit his tongue so he wouldn’t curse.
I won’t give him the satisfaction.
The Knight knocked on a door, before opening it, pushing Ike inside. Ike cursed as he stumbled from hours in the cold cells, barely managing to catch himself before looking up.
Cold crimson eyes met his gaze. Imbued with the chill of the Daein north. Unforgiving. Merciless. Unyielding and almost inhuman. Ike swallowed.
Prince Soren, of Daein. The Mad King’s only child...and the genius tactician we’ve been fighting this whole time.
He had to admit, except for his eyes, it was a thoroughly underwhelming sight. The Prince almost looked like a child. This was Daein’s top tactician? This was the boy that had been undermining all their plans and forcing them to retreat, forcing them to take unorthodox strategies when they couldn’t?
He’s younger than I am.
The thought was insulting. Ike glared with all the energy he could muster, but didn’t speak a word. The boy tilted his head.
“...So this is the son of General Gawain, the traitor.” Soren mused, shutting the book he was reading and rising from his seat. “...You are certain of this, General?”
Gawain…?
“I saw him myself when I slew Gawain, my prince.” The Knight’s voice was just a touch softer - Ike could barely even tell, through all that armour. “He is his son, I am certain.”
Soren was quiet, meeting those blue eyes. “...Do you know of your father’s true identity, Ike?”
Ike didn’t wonder why Soren knew his name. He must have heard in the reports. He glared, scoffing.
“My father was a mercenary leader.” He said vehemently. “Your general is mistaken. Perhaps you should look for new hires.”
Soren raised an eyebrow, looking at him so intently Ike was worried he’d have holes in his skin after. Is he trying to see if I resemble my father…? No, he can’t have ever met him…
What was going on, then? All he could do was listen, even though he didn’t want to.
“...Your father was one of King Ashnard’s top military generals.” Soren said purposefully, finally tearing his eyes away from Ike’s face. “He betrayed him before you were born, and left under a different name.”
Ike felt ill. His father…
“That’s a lie.” He said, immediately. “That’s not...true. I won’t believe it.”
Soren huffed, looking strangely disappointed. “If you need proof, ask the King himself. That is where I plan to take you next.”
“What?”
Ike paled - the King? Why? Why would a prince want to take him to meet a king? Why wasn’t he being killed or tortured on the spot? It didn’t...make any sense…
I don’t...understand. What do they want with me?
The prince especially, seemed to want something with him. He kept looking at him, briefly, like a child might when they tug at their mother’s skirts to ask a favor. Why?
...Someone like me can’t be expected to understand, but...it can’t be good.
Soren sighed softly, eyes falling.
“...General. Take him back to the cells...but have him see a healer first. Then return. We must make preparations to return to the capitol.”
“As you will it, Prince Soren.”
Without another word, Soren turned, and the Black Knight grabbed his wrist again. Ike scowled, looking at the prince’s back - but he didn’t turn, and only tapped the window softly, before pressing his forehead against it.
Ike didn’t understand any of this. But he understood that whatever the Daein Prince wanted with him...it could never be good.
--
Soren hadn’t always been a prince.
Oh, by blood, of course, he had always been. That wasn’t a fact that could simply be altered. He was the son of the Princess of Goldoa and King of Daein by birth.
But he hadn’t always been a prince.
He’d been tossed aside, roughly, soon after he was born. He’d been taken care of by a time by some woman who didn’t really care - in retrospect, that was even more obvious than it had been at the time. Always throwing words and cruel phrases at him.
Obvious.
And then he had been sold. For his magical capabilities, to some poor sage who didn’t realize what his mark really meant, and had taken him in just to feed him knowledge, like some book he was filling up with references for someone else to look at and know the sage had existed. Not for Soren himself. That much had always been so blatantly obvious.
And then he’d had to leave - once the sage died and there was no food left. He’d left, and been alone. Starving. Ignored by anyone he pleaded for help. Beaten by others. Hunted for sport by subhumans. No one was kind. No one was selfless. Soren had learned those lessons harshly as a child.
There was no kindness in the world except -
“Ah…! Are you okay?”
Soren had been sleeping in the roots of a tree, hair tangled just a little in the branches. He hadn’t eaten in days. His skin was bone tight across his skin, so pale and frail looking, he might have already been dead.
It wouldn’t have surprised him.
“H-hey...say something…”
The boy’s voice was fearful. The boy. A voice. Cruelty. Instinct shot inside Soren, giving him energy he didn’t know he had left. He sat up sharply, whining softly and shirking away from the blue haired boy like some wounded animal.
“...Ah...you’re alive…” The boy’s eyes trailed over him, taking in his sickly pale skin, his bones poking out from under too thin flesh, his eyes sunken inside his skull leaving deep holes under them that made them look like they could fall out. “...Um...you look really...hurt…”
There were whip marks against his shins. Scars over his stomach, swollen from malnourishment and over his arms. Defensive wounds. Soren shuddered.
“...Y-You really need to eat…” The boy pulled something from his pack, Soren squeezing his eyes shut, but then the smell of food flooded his senses, and his eyes couldn’t help but open to see if he was only dreaming.
Oh…
Bread. Cheese. Rice. Meat, even. And a flask of water. Soren’s stomach cried out, as if there were claws inside of it that were trying to rip it open to get the food in there faster. It hurt so badly, tears prickled his eyes.
“Here. Take it! You definitely need it more then me.”
Soren whined, pitifully, like some hit dog. This was so cruel. Was it poison? It must be...no one was this kind. No one.
...It might be okay to die with a mouthful of meat...I haven’t had meat in so long…
His eyes darted to the boy’s face, before his bony fingers darted forward, taking the bread first. He made a soft pleased noise when the taste flooded his mouth.
Oh, goddess…
“Aha, if you like the bread that much, you’ll really like the meat! Go on!” The boy gave a carefree grin, and Soren nodded without thinking, his rational thoughts of poison cruelty run run run - replaced by a mantra that wasn’t even a word so much as a feral desire to eat - to live. He devoured the meat, some grease sticking to his fingers, and he sucked that off too. It was so good he wanted to cry. And there was even more food...cheese, rice…
Swallowing the last of the meat down, he started on the cheese and rice, stomach finally settling, the clawing pains of hunger dissipating. Before he could blink, the boy had shoved the flask in his hand.
“You probably need to drink, too, right? Go ahead.”
Soren did so, drinking the entire flask in one go. Rather then feeling needy after, he felt so very satisfied - he rarely got one of those types of foods, and now he’d had so many at once…
“Aha, that’s it…” The boy nodded, taking it back. “There we go. You feeling any better?” He grinned. “My name’s Ike. My dad’s a mercenary, and I’m gonna be one too, one day. Who are you?”
Soren hesitated. Then he decided, opening his mouth and cutting a line across his tongue with his finger. Ike tilted his head.
“Oh! You can’t speak?”
Soren shook his head.
“...That’s okay...but you must seriously be in trouble. You look so sick…and um, dirty, sorry...Dad says I have to work on my manners, but…”
Soren shook his head again. He knew he was dirty. He barely knew the concept of being clean. Clumps of dirt were stuck in his hair, and mud slicked up his feet all the way up to his ankles, both dried and still wet.
“Why don’t you come home with me?” Ike suggested, but at that, Soren shrunk back.
I...I can’t…
“...You really won’t?” Ike looked saddened. “My mom and dad will definitely help you out...they’re nice people!”
Soren shook his head.
Ike gave a frustrated huff. “Are you scared? I guess that’s okay...you’ve been hurt a lot, I can see that much. Um…” Ike seemed to fish around for an idea, before deciding upon one. “How about I come here tomorrow? I’ll bring you more food, promise!”
At that, Soren wavered a little bit. It could still be a trap, but…
Slowly, he nodded regardless. Ike seemed happy with that, and to Soren’s bewilderment, he stuck out a finger - his littlest one.
“...Um, it’s a pinky promise.” Ike explained. “If we lock pinkies together, it’ll mean we have to keep our promise.”
Soren had never heard of anything like that, but he reached forward and linked pinkies with the other anyway. It made the other laugh, and he found himself liking that sound.
“Okay! I’ll see you tomorrow! Promise!”
Ike hesitated, then unclasped the cape at his shoulders, wrapping it around Soren, who again gave a slight jolt.
“T’ keep you warm...be safe, okay?”
Soren watched as he ran off, so bemused. The cape was warm. It smelt like Ike.
He slept well that night, in the roots of the tree, with the cape as a blanket. But in the morning, Ike did not come. Soren waited, and waited, until the sun was nearly dipping in the sky.
...What if he’s hurt…?
What if Ike was in trouble? Even if it was a trap, he’d given him the most precious thing there was - food. He couldn’t just ignore that and let him stay in danger. So Soren gathered his courage, stood up, shaking, and headed down through the forest on dirty feet caked with mud. He didn’t know where the nearest beorc town was, but he knew if he followed the trail set by their steps, he would find it.
And find it he did.
There was a clashing of metal, violent strikes of what he could tell to be swords. Fighting…?
He shouldn’t get involved in fighting. He shouldn’t. He didn’t even know if this was Ike’s village…
But what if it was…?
With that thought propelling him like the fool he was, he trampled down the hill overlooking the village, nearly slipping on the wet grass. He steadied himself once he got to the bottom, looking from side to side before darting in, Ike’s too big cape still around his shoulders. To his surprise, only one man was really fighting, a tall man in yellow clothes that struck a sword down across anyone that crossed his path. What…?
“Dad…! Dad, stop…!”
A childish voice cried out - Ike. He’d already memorized his voice - as the man suddenly stabbed a woman with blue hair through the heart. A terrible scream cut through the air, that made Soren’s heart shudder with grief.
“Dad…! Mom…”
Soren peeked out from behind the alleyway, only to see Ike - sitting near the fallen and bleeding shape of a woman, shaking her desperately. He noticed, unseen to Ike’s desperate eyes, the man slowly approaching him, and lifting his sword.
No…
Soren didn’t even think - he darted forward, in between Ike and the man - the shift in targets was enough to make it so the metal didn’t kill him - instead, it merely grazed his arm, making blood pour and gush out in rivers. He tensed, but held his ground.
Ike.
Ike was looking up at him with horror, desperation overtaking his childish features completely. “Y-You…”
Soren braced himself as he heard the man gear up for a second blow - but instead, it was met with the sharp ring of metal. Soren shuddered, then opened his eyes.
“General…! Have you truly gone mad…?”
A knight was there, clad in armour up to his neck, brandishing a blade that had brushed aside the man’s attack. Soren didn’t have time to be grateful - he wrapped his arms around Ike, tackling him to the ground off to the side, and wrapping him in that cloak. He had to protect him. He had to.
He heard shouting - a second voice, and then the fighting seemed to still. Soren sat up slowly, unsure, and ready to run with Ike at the slightest provocation.
“...Are you alright? Oh...you’re hurt.”
The knight - he’d been talking to a mage, before, but as soon as he’d noticed Soren, he’d walked over - kneeled next to him, looking over his arm.
“You poor thing. Let me - “ He wrapped up his arm quickly with bandages, before his eyes flickered to his face. To his brand. And then those eyes went wide, and Soren prepared himself.
“...Sephiran…”
The other man was talking with a young child that had come out, looking for her parents, but when the knight spoke, he hummed, stepping forward.
“...Yes? What is it?” His gaze flickered to Soren. “...Ah...are you concerned because he is Branded…?”
“No...I mean…”
The man swallowed, shaking his head.
“...Look at him, Sephiran. He looks just like King Ashnard’s consort, doesn’t he…?”
The mage he’d called Sephiran took in his face and features, eyes going slightly wide with shock themselves.
“...By the Goddess…”
“...The king threw him out then, but...we can’t just leave him here…”
Sephiran sighed. “...You are so soft, Zelgius.” He stared intently at Soren. “The streets may be a kinder fate then King Ashnard - “
“Nowhere on the streets is a kind fate for a Branded.” The knight called Zelgius insisted. “If he is his son…”
“He may just toss him aside again.”
“Then nothing is gained or lost, is it?”
Sephiran gave a long sigh.
“...Take him back to Daein, if that is your wish.” He finally said. “...I suppose a prince could prove useful in the future…” He shook his head. “Make your choice. I have to deal with the boy and girl…Ike, was it? Come here…”
Soren whined as Ike was led away, the man waving his staff in front of him - but he couldn’t do anything. He himself was lifted up by Zelgius, even as he squirmed and whined.
“Shh...you will be safe soon, little prince. I swear it.”
--
Soren remembered it clear as day. The experience hadn’t been too traumatic for him, after all. He hadn’t needed to forget.
The way Ike did.
He wanted to flare up with anger. He wanted to blow the windows in this room to pieces. He wanted to scream at what the fates had brought him.
I finally see Ike again, and he’s...he’s...he’s…
“Soren.”
He flinched at the familiar voice, Zelgius removing his helmet as he shut the door behind him. His green eyes flashed with sympathy.
“...He doesn’t remember.” Soren said softly.
Cold. Numb. Succinct.
So like Soren.
“...You knew that he would not, Soren.”
Zelgius reached forward, touching his shoulder gently, but Soren wasn’t having it - he pulled back, looking at the floor.
“...You’re right. I did know.”
A few beats of silence played out between them.
“...He despises me.” Soren finally broke it. “...He looked at me with such hatred. Such loathing. He...he…”
He was the first person to look at me with kindness, one of the few that ever did, and he…
“...Do you think it would change anything...if he did remember…?”
Zelgius stayed quiet for a few moments, overlooking Soren small frame and fragile composure.
“...I could not say, my prince. That is not something I would know.”
“Of course not.”
Soren shuddered. What was he to do? He couldn’t just let Ike go - according to the reports, Ike’s group had already escaped, along with the princess they’d been searching for. And it was by sea - Ike had no way of reaching them and getting to safety, even with an escort.
“...I’ll have to take him to my father...father will try and convert him to our side. He’ll give him a chance.”
“...Ike will not take that chance.”
“...Perhaps not. But...what other option is there…? Perhaps if Father truly decides on execution, we can smuggle him out, but...any other option I can foresee leads to his death. If I set him out with an escort, he will be caught by Gallian forces for being with Daein. If I set him out alone, he will have no chance of survival. And even if I was able to bring him back...even if I could ride my beast and bring him to safety...he will only become a leader that my father will strike down. Better to make him an ally, so he may live, if I can.”
He shook his head.
“...I will try my best...to get him and my father to understand. That is the best I can do for the boy that saved my life.”
Zelgius didn’t protest He wasn’t in a position to. Zelgius had always been a soldier, and he did not defy orders from those he was loyal to.
“...As my prince commands.”