Wielder of a blessed blade

Even when he tried to wave it away, it didn’t falter. Something about it felt familiar, yet also unfamiliar as well. He felt as though he had all he needed, yet at the same time, he had that same sense of panic one feels when they realize that the one thing they always possess is no longer in their possession.

But he couldn’t voice it. Magic choked his words as they left his mouth, forcing his sentences to be short, terse. He hated to be unable to speak to others, to be unable to thank others, to be able to more or less function. 

But he had little choice, for now. Thankfully most of the Shepherds had come to accept the needs of an Einherjar, and gave him space when he needed it- or, at least, when they thought he needed it. It seemed they believed he needed much, much more space than he truly did.

What he wanted now, though, was nothing more than to have someone nearby. Someone nearby talking might ease his headache or clear the haze- or make it worse. It was a gamble, but it was worth a shot.

He thought he heard footsteps and whirled around, hoping he could look more pleasant despite the pounding in his head.

Sighing, he made his way back to camp, exhausted and more than a little bit worried about all the wounds on his body. He’d have to go see Rhys, and the healer would probably feel the need to give him a good talking-to.

You can’t keep doing this, Ike, he was likely to say. One of these days you’re not going to make it back okay, he’d warn.

And as much as Ike wished to ignore it or to fight it, he knew it wasn’t going to work out. Rhys was right. Ike knew he wasn’t invincible.

It wasn’t as though the words of others were getting to his head. But lately, he’d found those quick skirmishes just easier to handle on his own. It was easier for him to go out and take down some brigands threatening a village then to bring out his entire company or even a few men- not to mention cheaper as well (free if he could sneak back with minimal injuries and perhaps something freshly-hunted for dinner).

In truth, he hated doing that. He hated having to kill. The thrill of the fight faded all too fast now, and left behind only the reality of what he was doing. Someone, somewhere, was paying him to end someone else’s life.

It wasn’t what he’d wanted when he was a little boy and said he wanted to be a mercenary just like his father. It wasn’t what he’d wanted when he finally accepted himself as the leader of the company, it wasn’t what he’d wanted when he had returned home.

What he’d wanted was to do what was right, to help people who couldn’t help themselves. But being a hired sword came with having to put your own feelings aside. Sometimes the people who could afford them were on the wrong side of things. Sometimes people who couldn’t help themselves could only offer thank yous, and thank yous couldn’t buy equipment or feed anyone. 

Of course, it was Ike’s decision whether or not to take a job, but that didn’t change his own worries.

I’M DOING STUFF TOMORROW BUT IT IS OF MY OWN ACCORD

i will likely be home before very late, but now i’m going to sleep because i’m sleepy moreso than because i’m tired or not feelin’ it or whatever. i wanna try to get some sleep man

I am, in all honesty, not all that worried about how I play my character anymore. I like playing Ike, and it’s all simple as that!

So if I ever disappear from this blog for some time, please just let me know that I owe you a reply and I’ll do my best to hop onto it. I’ve got a lot of headcanons and a lot of ideas, and I’m looking forward to playing them all out here with y’all.

Ike looks at it in the mirror for a moment, frowns, and then looks back at Elincia.

“... How did you know what I wanted for lunch?”