Chapter Text
It started with a touch.
Small movements; a hand on Soren’s back, fingertips brushing Ike’s forearm, legs accidentally bumping into each other under the table during strategy meetings. Subtle acts of reassurance to let each other know that they weren’t alone.
As missions grew more difficult and the situation surrounding the war grew dire, the more they craved physical contact, especially in situations where it was impossible to touch without drawing too much attention. The longer they remained at war, the more they sought each other out, eyes skimming the camp for the other should they find themselves alone.
Ike especially hated solitude. When he wasn’t otherwise engaged in mingling with his soldiers, he always found himself drifting towards wherever Soren happened to be. Soren would be waiting for him whether he happened to be in the merchant’s tent, managing the supplies, or simply going over maps in his own tent. Ike would settle down nearby with barely a grunt as a greeting and whittle or doze off while he waited for Soren to finish.
They quickly lost track of how many times Ike had simply fallen asleep in Soren’s tent and stumbled back to his own in the wee hours of the morning only to lie awake in his own cot. So when Ike showed up at Soren’s tent one night with his own rucksack and bedroll tucked under his arm muttering something about how sharing a tent would be more efficient, Soren was hardly surprised.
He was surprised, however, when Ike laid his cot right next to Soren’s and plopped himself down in the middle of both cots, insisting Soren quit work for the day and join him. Soren was too flustered to refuse and ultimately resigned himself to learning to sleep with his back against Ike’s chest.
He could have protested if he had wanted to, really he could, but he knew for a fact the reason Ike was always in Soren’s tent at night was because Ike had trouble sleeping on his own ever since Greil died. The nightmares played on loop – blood, a flash of a blade against the moon, a thousand vicious soldiers surrounding them, calling for his death. Soren would wipe tears from Ike’s cheeks as he watched him sleep, desperately wanting to wake him but knowing that doing so meant Ike would sleep at all and goddess, did he need the rest.
It was easy for everyone else to forget that Ike was only seventeen when the fate of an entire country was thrown on his shoulders. It was even easier to forget how young he was at twenty one what with his enormous build and stern chiseled features – but Soren never forgot. Soren knew how much Ike suffered and struggled to live up to everyone else’s expectations; he know how much Ike had to give up in order to keep the army together, to ensure that no one died needlessly.
He knew that Ike was just as broken as Soren was. Ike was just a boy with a bleeding heart who just wanted everyone around him to be ok. He was no one’s hero, no matter how convincing his acting was.
So Soren pushed aside his doubts and fears of rejection and self worth and pressed himself against Ike and let himself be held like a stuffed bear. If it brought Ike comfort, then he would do it gladly, insecurities be damned.
He was Ike’s support and he was proud of that.
Their touches grew in intensity from that point on. On the somewhat rare occasion that Soren dined with everyone else, he’d always sit close enough to Ike for their thighs to meet, elbows knocking into each other but hardly caring. Ike would often lace his fingers with Soren’s when no one was looking, or just lean against him. After battle briefings were no longer formal affairs, but intimate whispered conversations over maps and ledgers, foreheads touching, Ike often absentmindedly twirling the tips of Soren’s hair around his fingers.
It was enough for Soren to have hope that maybe he could become more than Ike’s support – that Ike would choose him in the end and they could lean on each other for the rest of their lives.
Of course it was far more likely that Ike would one day meet someone wonderful and settle down with them; then the work he was doing would become their job. Soren could only treasure these little moments between them and hoard them away for a time when he was no longer needed.
It was difficult to do when the world kept throwing every obstacle in their path. Soren was exhausted, drained, and Ike broke just a little bit more each day. Panic attacks were common and nightmares even more so. They would spend hours simply sitting, holding each other and trying to remember what it was like to be at peace. Soren often suggested leaving, running away and letting the nobles sort things out for themselves, but every time Ike would smile sadly and shake his head.
He didn’t have it in him to abandon anyone.
While they had proven that they could stand before any man – mad or otherwise – and not falter, a goddess was something neither of them wished to face off against; yet there they were at the base of her tower waiting for the sun to rise. Neither of them spoke as before dawn, but as soon as they stepped onto the frozen stones Ike turned to him and said, “Don’t leave my side,” in the softest, most uncertain tone Soren had ever heard.
Soren took him by the hand – a first for them – and whispered, “Of course, Ike.”
Hours of fighting – blood, filth, sweat and steel – too many close calls amidst the screams and tears. Floor after floor of gold-clad soldiers reeking of death and ghostly spirits raining down bolts of lightning caused many to give up, to run down the stairs and abandon their cause in order to save their own lives. Soren was numb and Ike fought more and more like a savage beast than did a man the higher they climbed and there was nothing Soren could do to help him.
Standing before the goddess seemed to calm him somewhat – perhaps staring death in the eyes was cathartic, or perhaps it was Yune’s blessing. Regardless, Soren at least was hyperaware of their immanent fate, and with their backs together and weapons at the ready, he asked the one question that would leave him with no regrets.
“Ike… Um… Were you joking when you said you couldn’t remember how we met?” A gold flash from Ragnell as Ike cut down an approaching foe from a distance.
“Well, sorta,” A deep breath, “It was a long time ago.”
“ How could you forget?” Soren felt his heart clench as he readied another spell and fired it in the direction of a wayward spirit. Ike spun him around and smiled.
“Relax, Soren,” He said quietly, “I got to thinking, and I remembered. I remember what happened in Gallia on the day we first met.” Soren forgot how to breathe.
“Ike…” He keened.
Ike began the story and Soren filled in the blanks. Weapons clashed around them, flames singed their clothing but, somehow they were both smiling, small and easy, back to back. But the longer the story went on the less Ike spoke, and the more Soren reminisced about things he’d rather not remember – of hunger and loneness and more rejection than any one person should ever have to bear.
Then the panic set in. The rush of battle, the stress of the last five years of war and nonsense, and his last secret laid bare – if they were to die now, what would it all have been for?
Suddenly Ike’s arms were wrapped around him, whispering, “It’s all in the past, Soren…” Ragnell lay forgotten on the stone floor as Soren burst into tears. Ike ran his shivering hands through Soren’s hair and he realized that Ike was shaken too – he’d been shaken for so long and without any way to shed tears.
Soren clung to Ike and cried enough for the both of them.
And somehow they won.
Beaten, tired, and in excruciating pain, but the goddess had been bested, her barrier fallen and her soldiers no longer a threat. And as she faded away the cries of victory grew and grew until the walls of the tower shook with relief.
Soren remained frozen in place unable to process the fact that he was alive – they were all alive. They had won. Ike caught met his gaze from across the room and gave him a tire smile. The numbness ebbed and in its place a kind of panicked joy bubbled forth. The tears came back but this time Soren made no move to stop them although he never looked away from Ike.
Soldiers everywhere raced around to confirm the living and mourn the dead, cries of loss and joy equal in measure. Mist was the first to tackle her brother in a crushing tear-stained hug that Ike barely had the strength to return. The other mercenaries followed suit and soon Soren couldn’t tell if they were congratulating him or trying to hold him upright. Too tired to continue smiling or protest, Ike let them do as they pleased.
Slowly he made his way towards Soren, weakly accepting congratulations and thanks from the rest of his army as he went. As the rest of the soldiers gathered the dead and the wounded, Ike merely stood there, inches from Soren and drained –
It started with a touch.
A soft brush of knuckles against a wet cheek and suddenly Soren could move again. He fell forward, Rexcalibur dropping to the floor, fingertips against Ike’s arms, delicate and hesitant and then –
Ike smiled.
Wide and proud and blissful and Soren couldn’t help smiling back. Ike touched his forehead to Soren’s and started to laugh, softly, sweetly, and Soren laughed with him. His fingers found their way into Ike’s hair, and muscled arms curled around Soren’s back as they laughed, and laughed and laughed…
And as that laughter died away the bliss stayed with them. They made it. They were alive. There were so many things Soren wanted to say but all he could get out was a breath that sounded like Ike’s name before it was stolen with a kiss.
Ike may have looked like an uncultured brute but his kisses were soft and sweet and Soren wanted nothing more than to drown in that taste of earth and blood and salt. Though chaste, it was bursting with unrivaled passion that set their lips and cheeks ablaze and their pulses racing. Ike held him tighter and barely let Soren come up for air before kissing him over and over like he was starving and the only thing that could sate him was the smooth fruit of Soren’s lips.
Soren would have let Ike take him right then and there, their first time on frozen bloodstained stone, but Mist called for them and they were forced to pull apart.
But before the disappointment could set in, Ike picked up Rexcalibur and Ragnell and laced their fingers together.
They left the tower hand in hand.
And if they disappeared early on during the celebratory feast, no one noticed.