TELLIUS SAGA

Let’s be honest, Soren hates the whole concept of nobles. He would never want to be a king. Excerpt:

“I heard you’re abdicating your throne,” he said when he found Pelleas. He crossed his arms. “Why?”

Despite Soren’s accusing tone, the young man’s eyes lit up as if pleasantly surprised. “Soren, you’re here! This is actually perfect timing. I was hoping to talk with you before we left. Let’s go somewhere more private.”

Soren was more than a little annoyed by this response. “Fine.”

Pelleas led him away from the other Daein soldiers whose names Soren hardly remembered. They all seemed busy telling jokes around the fireplace, and Soren doubted they’d heard his accusation because no one had reacted when he’d made it.

“What you say is correct,” Pelleas began when they were safely in the corridor. “But there are few with whom I’ve shared my intentions. Was it Micaiah or Almedha who told you?”

“Almedha.”

“Then, you really are the one?” Pelleas asked with a touch of excitement.

Soren recalled what Kurthnaga had said about it being Pelleas who’d figured out his parentage in the first place. He supposed he owed him his gratitude, but he couldn’t bring himself to actually feel grateful. “Yes,” he answered, “If by ‘one’ you mean the offspring of that crazy woman and an even crazier king.”

Pelleas winced. “She is not that bad, really… She means well.”

“That is beside the point.” Soren returned to the topic at hand. “I want to know why you are giving up your position in Daein. Now is not exactly a good time for a power vacuum.”

Pelleas shook his head. “And I don’t mean to cause one! I am simply not the right person to lead. It is your birthright, not mine. If you wish it, I will vouch for you in an instant and support your ascension. I have stolen your identity for far too long. I will do what I can to return it.”

Soren had feared this would be the case, and now he felt even greater annoyance at Pelleas than he had Kurthnaga. “I do not want it.”

Pelleas looked confused. “But the Daein people would want their true king on the throne, not an imposter.”

Soren wondered if he was actually this naïve. “There’s no such thing as a ‘true king’,” he growled, “You’re as qualified as anyone. You’ve actually fought for your people. I’ve only ever fought against them.”

Pelleas frowned as if this fact disturbed him. “True…I cannot promise you would be immediately popular. King Ashnard was not particularly beloved in his final year either…”

Soren released a bark of laughter. “Beloved? He abandoned his nation to an invading army!”

“That is true,” Pelleas conceded. He then took a steadying breath. “If you refuse my offer, you should know I still intend to reveal my lack of royal heritage and abdicate. If not you, I would like Micaiah to take my place on the throne. She is already beloved by the people, and I know she will achieve more than I ever could… I hope you will agree with my judgement on this.”

Also, Tibarn says gay rights ヽ(^。^)ノ

Eventually it was Reyson who surprised everyone by speaking up: “I wish he had come back to Serenes,” he said softly. “None of us knew that Lehran was still alive, but we were raised to think of him as a hero… My people could be strict, but I’m sure they would have forgiven his relationship with Altina. He didn’t have to be so alone… None of this had to happen.”

Tibarn sighed bitterly. “Right, because your father is always so forgiving of us?” he asked pointedly. “I know you don’t want to dishonor your people’s memory, but ‘strict’ is putting it mildly.” He kicked up one knee and, leaning against it, stared at Reyson. “If Serenes back then was anything like it was when we were growing up, I have no doubt Lehran was raised to hate himself for loving anyone except an appropriately vetted heron girl.”

Reyson shook his head. “Times were changing…”

“Nothing was changing!” argued Tibarn. “It’s stupid tradition and closemindedness that led to the situation we’re in now. I’m not saying Lehran isn’t to blame—the guy did some awful things. But it’s not his fault alone.”

“Are you saying my people deserved to be slaughtered just because they were ‘closeminded’?” Reyson hissed, getting to his feet.

“No, of course not!” Tibarn stood too and raised both his palms. “And I don’t think Lehran thought that either—seeing as their deaths sent him off the deep end.” He lowered his hands and passed his gaze over everyone watching their spat. “Look, all I’m saying is: if we don’t learn anything from what caused this situation then nothing’s going to get better.” He pointed a finger at Skrimir, saying, “Gallia.” He next pointed at Elincia, saying, “Crimea.” Then he pointed at Sanaki, Micaiah, and Kurthnaga: “Begnion. Daein. Goldoa. I need you all to give your word, right now, that you will live through this and make your nations better.” He jerked a thumb at himself, “I’ll do it for the bird tribes.”

“Very well,” Sanaki was the first to agree. “I will do what my grandmother sought to do. I will reveal the truth. What else would you have me vow?”

Tibarn grinned to the side and nodded. “People are people,” he declared, “Love is love. Family is who you choose and who chooses you back. Got it?”

Skrimir, Sanaki, Elincia, and Kurthnaga all raised their hands solemnly and gave overlapping vows of agreement. Then Yune ran forward, hugged Tibarn, and squealed: “You meatlings say the nicest things!” When she released him, her face was split in a giddy grin. “Micaiah says Daein’s in too!” With that, she skipped back toward the door. “Shall we?”

Excerpt (the lead-in to the convo we all know and love): 

Soren approached Ike, because he knew this would be his last chance to talk some sense into him. He was currently polishing Ragnell, which shone with a wicked edge. The holy sword was blessed such that it could never dull or break, so it required very little maintenance. Soren imagined buffing it to a shine was the only way Ike could keep his hands busy and feel like he was preparing for his duel.

“Do you feel ready?” Soren asked by way of greeting.

“Yes,” he answered. “I feel like every fight in my entire life has prepared me for this.”

“But that doesn’t mean you are ready,” Soren argued. “You felt confident in Nados too.”

Ike lowered his sword and glanced up. “I am stronger than I was then.”

“But are you strong enough?” he shot back, knowing he was being cruel but also not caring. He sat down and crossed his legs. “Is it even a matter of strength? One thing you have not gained, even after all this time, is the ability to think realistically. You are still just trying to play the hero.”

“Maybe it’s hard for you to see,” Ike growled. “But I’m not a little kid with the pretend sword anymore! Why can’t you just trust I can do this?”

His words were like an electric shock through Soren’s whole body, and he lost the thread of his own argument. Perhaps it was Ashera’s power still confounding his mind, but he suddenly saw a flash of a little boy batting away bushes with a stick. The little boy looked over his shoulder, revealing a gap-toothed smile.

“P-pretend sword…” Soren repeated.

“I meant practice sword,” Ike amended. He sheathed Ragnell. “I was always sparring while you went out on missions. Father wouldn’t let me use a real-”

“Ike… You… Do you…” Soren didn’t even know what he wanted to ask. He had never pushed Ike to remember the years he’d forgotten. But here, in this place, memories were out of anyone’s control.

“Anyway, what I’m saying is that I’m stronger now,” Ike declared firmly, obviously wanting to get the conversation back on topic. “I can do this.”

“Ike, do you remember the day we met?” He asked before he could reconsider and tell himself it was a bad idea. He’d come here to convince Ike not to fight Zelgius alone; this was entirely beside the point.

“No… I mean, I guess. Sort of. It was a long time ago…” Ike’s teeth were gritted, and he seemed at war with himself. Placing Ragnell aside, he stared at the floor between them, and a crease deepened between his eyebrows.

Soren waited a long time for him to say something else, but when his expression didn’t change, he gave up. He suddenly found he didn’t care to save Ike from himself. He would defeat Zelgius or he wouldn’t—nothing Soren said was going to change that. With this thought in mind, he got to his feet. But then Ike’s hand shot out and seized his wrist. He still wasn’t looking at him, but this was enough for Soren to stay a moment longer.

“I remember,” Ike finally said. “I remember what happened in Gallia…how we first met.”

Excerpt: 

The stairs kept going, twisting and turning, for a long time. Sometimes there were walls; sometimes there were not. When there weren’t walls, Soren could look over the edge of the stairs and see an abyss below. Like looking at the ceiling in the entrance hall, this was like looking at the sky. It had no end, and Soren’s sense of up and down would surge back and forth if he gazed too long.

Once he’d regained his balance and continued moving, he tried to glance backward, to see where the stairs were coming from, but they merely extended forever, much farther than they could have already walked. Or had they? Soren found he couldn’t quite remember if they’d been here for only a minute, an hour, or a day.

When he looked ahead, he had the same problem. The stairs doubled back, went up and down again, passed parts of itself, and levelled out onto platforms that should certainly not have been floating with nothing to suspend them. Sometimes there were vast round walls visible in the distance, surrounding them; sometimes there were not. Sometimes mighty pillars and bits of rubble appeared on either side, but Soren’s mind would become awash with confusion if he tried to figure out what they were attached to, when they’d entered his field of vision, or where they went when he passed them.

“Try not to look down,” Yune advised when some of the others voiced their bewilderment. “Just keep going.” Then she returned Micaiah’s body, and the team proceeded without her guidance.

Here’s an excerpt with an important convo I moved up in the timeline, because I thought it made more sense to occur before the events in the Tower: 

He was momentarily waylaid by Tibarn, who was also looking for Ike. “Where is he?” he demanded, seeming angry about something.

“This way I believe,” Soren replied, walking in the direction he felt Ike’s presence.

Tibarn walked alongside him, grumbling, “What’s he thinking picking Reyson…” and Soren had to assume Reyson was the heron Ike had chosen for the tower mission. He had forgotten to ask.

When Ike came into view, he was talking to Kurthnaga and Daein’s dowager queen. Her veil was flipped back and she was standing straighter than Soren had yet seen her, although she also had an arm linked with Kurthnaga’s for support.

“Hey, Ike!” Tibarn called through gritted teeth and a false smile. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”

Ike waved to show he’d heard him. “Well then, Lady Almedha, Prince Kurth, take care,” he bid them.

“Yes, you as well,” Kurthnaga replied.

Just then, Soren and Tibarn reached them. “Reyson’s not going anywhere without me,” the Hawk King began. “So either pick Rafiel or Leanne instead or I’m coming too.” He crossed his arms as if to say he wouldn’t budge.

Ike gestured for them to walk and talk, while Kurthnaga and the woman walked in the other direction. The woman—Queen Almedha—was stumbling and looking over her shoulder while whispering frantically to the Dragon Prince. But Soren couldn’t hear anything over Tibarn’s tantrum.

“Well, I don’t see why not,” Ike conceded, and his calm tone revealed that Tibarn’s frenzy was unwarranted. “Since Titania’s not coming, that frees up a spot.”

“Good,” Tibarn declared as if satisfied. “There’s no telling what kind of trouble he’d-”

“Ah! Wait! Wait, stop a moment!” a woman’s voice called, and Soren, Ike, and Tibarn all turned around in surprise.

Almedha was running frantically toward them, while Kurthnaga tried to stop her. “Sister!” he called, and Soren was momentarily stunned by the word. But now that he saw her face clearly, he knew it to be true. Not only was her skin and hair the same color as Kurthnaga’s and Rajaion’s, but she too had a red laguz mark on her face. Instead of being in the center of her forehead like her brothers’, it was just above her temple, half-covered by her hair. Soren realized she had to be second of Dheginsea’s three children: the daughter he’d assumed was dead.

The only problem with such a realization was that she was standing right in front of him, and yet she didn’t feel like a laguz at all. Then again, neither did she feel like a beorc or a Branded. She felt like nothing at all, as if she were some sort of wraith.

“Yes?” Soren managed to say, because she was staring at him instead of at Ike or Tibarn. “Did you need something?”

“You are… What is your name?” Almedha asked.

Soren glanced at Ike, suspecting that he must have said something to set her off, but he just shrugged. “Soren,” he finally answered.

“I-I see.” Almedha stared at him until she shivered and glanced downward. Kurthnaga grabbed her arms as if to steady her. “That…that is a fine name.”

“Thank you…?” Soren offered in response. He glanced at Ike again, but he looked just as confused as Soren felt.

“You’re welcome,” Almedha replied, not making eye contact again.

“Is that all?”

“Ah, yes, yes.” She shook her head. “Pardon me, calling out to you like that… I was confused.” She lifted a hand to her head.

“Don’t let it trouble you,” Soren replied curtly. “If you will excuse us.” He, Ike, and Tibarn kept walking while Kurthnaga dealt with his sister.

When they were far enough away, Soren dared ask, “Did either of you know Daein’s dowager queen was Goldoan?”

“Yeah, for a little while actually…” Ike answered, rubbing the back of his neck. “You can probably guess now why Ena and Kurth were so intent on saving Daein, right? Family’s a big thing for them.” Soren was annoyed that Ike hadn’t said anything sooner, but this must have been the thing Kurthnaga swore him to secrecy about.

“Well, we travelled together from Daein,” Tibarn answered next, “and I knew she wasn’t beorc. Makes sense that she’s got the old lizard’s blood. She is strong when she throws her fits.”

“Fits?” Soren repeated.

“Couldn’t you tell?” Tibarn gave a halfhearted laugh, “That lady’s not all there.” He tapped the side of his head meaningfully.

“I guess that’s what happens when you marry ‘Mad’ King Ashnard,” Ike sighed. “Kurth told me the story. Ashnard threatened to hurt Pelleas to control her. He even lured Prince Rajaion into a trap and poisoned him… It all sounds so awful.”

“Pelleas…” Soren thought aloud but stifled what he was going to say. The problem with Ike’s story was that Pelleas wasn’t Branded and therefore couldn’t be the child of Almedha and Ashnard. Could she be lying? Does Pelleas know? Soren wondered and suspected this might be why Pelleas was so interested in the Branded. It was a disturbing thought. Either Pelleas was Ashnard’s child by some other woman, or he wasn’t Ashnard’s child—or the rightful king of Daein—at all.

“Hey, Tibarn, why don’t you go tell Reyson the good news?” Ike said, successfully changing the subject and lightening the mood.

Soren-Pelleas convo: 

After a couple hours, however, Pelleas came over, and his expression was uneasy. “You are Sir Soren, correct?” the young king asked. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

Soren assessed him and didn’t immediately reply.

“I wanted to apologize for any injury I may have caused you in our battle,” Pelleas continued, seeming flustered. “I am glad you appear well now. I am glad we are all on the same side.”

Soren doubted Pelleas had come over just to convey these pleasantries, so he got to his feet. “Fine, we can talk,” he said, walking away from the fire where everyone was gathered. When he judged he was a safe distance away, he stopped. “What is it?”

“Well, actually, I was just hoping,” he stumbled to say, “Just hoping I could get to know you better…”

“Why would you want to do that?” (He, for one, had no interest in getting to know Pelleas better.)

“So, you’re not a Spirit Charmer?” Pelleas stated suddenly.

“We have already had this conversation.”

“It wasn’t much of a conversation,” King Daein replied, trying to make his voice light with a laugh. “We were in the middle of a battle.”

“No, I am not a Spirit Charmer,” Soren sighed.

“No, I didn’t think so.” Pelleas shook his head. “But I wanted to make sure… I entered my pact when I was thirteen,” he said suddenly, “I was living in an orphanage, and all the other children had been cruel to me for so long. I thought having power would help, but then they were just afraid of me.” He gave an awkward, self-deprecating chuckle. “I taught myself magic, and eventually Izuka found and trained me. He was the one who told me…who I was.”

Soren stared at Pelleas, trying to communicate his disinterest. “Fascinating,” he finally said.

“So, what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Well, I was just wondering if you’d experienced something similar.” He lifted his bangs again, to show off his mark of Spirit’s Protection. “Were you bullied?”

Soren released a bark of laughter. “What?”

“Were you an orphan too? Where did you grow up? How old are you?” Pelleas asked in a rush.

Soren took a step back, suddenly uncomfortable by this line of questioning. “Say what you mean to say.”

Pelleas shook his head and seemed to recede into himself. “I’m sorry. I am sure I’m being terribly rude.”

“You’re a king,” Soren replied, “You can afford to be rude.”

Pelleas took a long, steadying breath. “Let me try again… After I made a pact with the spirits of darkness, many people distrusted and abused me because they thought my mark was something else. They mistook it for something called a Brand, which appears on the flesh of children born of laguz and beorc… Is that what you are?”

Soren’s skin felt suddenly cold and clammy, and he wondered if Pelleas’s barrage of random questions had been less painful than this. But then he took a deep breath and reminded himself that nothing mattered anymore. So what if Pelleas knew the truth? Either one or both of them could be dead after tomorrow, so what did it matter? “…Yes,” Soren finally answered. “Yes, I am, and yes, I was mistreated. Yes, I was an orphan, but no, I was not raised in an orphanage like you. They wouldn’t accept someone like me there.”

Pelleas sucked in his lips and stared as if mesmerized by Soren’s every word. His reaction was disturbing, but now that Soren had begun, he decided to keep going:

“I grew up in Crimea. Before that I was in Gallia. Before that, Daein. I am twenty-five years old, or at least, I should be soon.” He shrugged slightly as if to say it didn’t matter. “If you’re also an orphan, you should know birthdays are arbitrary. I’ve always thought of myself being born around this time, when one year turns to the next… This is stupid. Why do you care?”  

“No, please- I mean, thank you. Thank you for telling me,” Pelleas hurried to say. His strange entranced expression now turned into an easy smile. “You know, we’re the same age,” he laughed, “I wouldn’t have guess by looking at you.”

Soren scowled. “If you’ve researched the Branded, you should know why.”

“Yes, of course,” Pelleas rushed to say, “I’ve heard rumors, and I’ve tried to learn everything I could recently. Did you know there is a great collection of books here in Sienne?” He gestured in the direction of the Mainal Cathedral. “I’ve been studying while we awaited the Silver and Greil Armies to arrive.”

“Fascinating,” Soren said again, trying to distance himself from Pelleas’s fanaticism. He took a step back. “If that’s all you wanted to know, I’ll be going.”

“Right, right,” Pelleas bobbed his head. “Thank you.”

Soren hesitated again, taken aback by his strange behavior. “I trust you won’t go telling anyone about this,” he said suddenly. “It is a private matter.”

“Right, of course,” Pelleas promised. “Thank you again.”

Excerpt:

That morning, Ike made an announcement to the rest of the Greil Army: “Be advised,” he said, “General Zelgius of Begnion is the true identity of the Black Knight of Daein and the man who killed my father.”

The Greil Mercenaries were aghast and outraged, while Jill, Haar, Ena, and Rafiel looked appropriately sympathetic and Aimee looked downright offended. Kurthnaga, on the other hand, merely looked nauseous (as usual), and neither Nailah nor Volug seemed to particularly care.

“We may encounter Zelgius among the Disciple of Order,” Ike continued, “and if so, I ask that you all proceed with absolute caution. In his red armor, he may be wounded by mortal means. But in his black armor, he is impervious to all attacks save my blade. No matter his raiment, however, he is a dangerous opponent who has left both Skrimir and Ranulf within an inch of their lives. Neither King Tibarn or Lord Nasir of Goldoa have been able to defeat him in battle. Therefore, I beg you not to engage. If you see him, escape at once and come to me. Mist and I will face him, and we will succeed where others have failed. I promise you that.”

A cheer met his words, but Soren remained silent. Ike’s announcement left a sour taste in his mouth. Even if Ike was right about the power of his sword, that was no reason to reject aid entirely, but he was still concerned with the purity of his revenge—even while they prepared to fight an actual goddess and prevent the end of the world. His lack of prioritization made Soren furious.

“Does anyone have any questions?” Ike asked, moving the announcement along.

“Um, actually—” Rolf raised his hand “—how the heck did he get from Begnion to Daein so fast all the time? Or back and forth from Crimea during the Mad King’s War? Or even that time at the river… He was behind us with the Central Army, so how did he get in front of us with the Daein Army?”

By Ike’s suddenly blank face, Soren had to assume he’d even asked himself that question. In truth, Soren was equally guilty of not considering it. He didn’t have an answer.

Fortunately, Rafiel did. “If what you say is true, I may have an explanation,” he offered tentatively, and Ike gestured for him to continue. “I believe a Rewarp staff may be responsible for the transportation of your foe, as I believe Rewarp staves moved the Disciples of Order last night.”

“A Rewarp staff?” Ike repeated in confusion. “I’ve never heard of anything like that.”

“It is an invention of the senate,” he explained meekly. “The enchantment was not yet perfected at the time of the burning of my home, but during my…capture, I did learn of their experiments.”

“Your capture…” Ike repeated, his voice and eyes tender with sympathy.

Nailah laid a reassuring hand on Rafiel’s arm, as if encouraging him to continue.

“I was in the custody of the senate the night of the Serenes Massacre,” Rafiel continued, “My wings were already broken, but one senator took pity and sought to free me. It was by an incomplete Rewarp staff that I was sent to Hatari.” He shook his long, white-gold locks. “I am sorry. I had not realized the senate had perfected their enchantment, or for that matter, increased its power such that they could move so many people at once. But when I saw the lights last night, I knew what they were.”

“Thank you.” Ike allowed a moment of silence for everyone to digest this new information before raising his voice and saying: “There you have it. The Disciples of Order have the ability to transport their units anywhere, completely sneaking up on us. And they have General Zelgius on their side, a man who won’t be easy to beat… Unfortunately for those Disciples of Order, however, it’s going to take a lot more than that to stop us! We’re marching straight to Sienne, climbing to the top of the Tower of Guidance, and we are going to slay a goddess and return all of the stone people back to life! Zelgius and the Disciples of Order might have given up on this world, but I’m never going to! Are you with me?”

Cheers and calls of “Yes!” and “We’re with you!” immediately met his words. Even Kurthnaga smiled weakly and raised an old-fashioned-looking salute. Soren couldn’t help but smile too, his anger forgotten. Every once in a while, Ike had a halfway decent speech in him.

Excerpt from the end of a long conversation in Ike’s tent: 

Ike suddenly roared in frustration, rubbing his hands into his face and whispering hoarsely: “How can everyone pretend the Branded don’t exist if they’re central to everything that’s going on?”

“Wait,” Soren said, suddenly confused. “You know about Micaiah?”

Ike dropped his hands and stared at him. “What! Her too?”

Soren realized he’d spoken out of turn. He hadn’t meant to spill her secret. Then again, keeping other people’s secrets seemed rather pointless when facing the potential extinction of every person in Tellius. “Apparently not…”

Ike shook his head again and groaned. “This is too much; I’m going to bed.”

“I apologize,” Soren said, although he wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt apologetic. Perhaps for taking so much of Ike’s time after a difficult battle. “You should rest.”

“No, I was joking,” Ike said hurried. “It’s fine.”

“But you’re right,” Soren argued, suddenly feeling his own exhaustion. “We do not have much time until dawn, and we have another long day of marching ahead. I will leave you alone.”

“Wait…” Ike reached out his hand but stopped halfway and used it to smother a yawn instead. “You can stay here if you want.”

“What?”

“These tiny tents Daein gave us are fine and all,” Ike explained, seeming suddenly embarrassed, “but I don’t have a double, and I kind of miss being around everyone else. Plus it’s freezing outside, so I just…wanted to offer…”

His pinkening cheeks were making Soren embarrassed now. Ike’s exhaustion and emotional distress about the Black Knight may have caused him to make an offer he regretted, to show a vulnerability he usually hid. But surely Soren’s transgression was worse—because he desperately wanted to accept. He knew he shouldn’t, but Aimee words echoed in his mind: ‘It’s not like you were ever going to do anything,’ she’d goaded him. Well, now Soren was going to do something.

“Very well,” he finally answered. “Your feet do smell far less vile than Gatrie’s, so I do not see why not.”

Ike gave a small, almost pained smile, but at least he didn’t retract his offer and ask Soren to leave. Instead, he laid out an extra blanket beside him. “There’s plenty of room.”

“Yes, I see that,” Soren replied dismissively. “I am sure you were given this tent because of your position of authority. Most people would appreciate the privacy.”