#saeryuart

Elincia watched Ike devour the meat pie with gusto. He was always like that--not caring how he looked to others or what they thought--even while he was eating--no, especially while he was eating. What a slob! Elincia couldn’t help but giggle at him.

“What?” he said, looking up.

The queen grinned. “You’re always hungry, aren’t you?”

“You should be hungry, too. We’ve been traveling ceaselessly.”

“Oh, I’m alright. Marching is easier when you’re riding a pegasus.”

Ike turned his attention back to his pie as Elincia tried to think of a way to keep the conversation going. A pleasant melody suddenly hit her ears. She looked up and saw that a mandolinist had begun playing an upbeat tune.

“How nice,” she said.

“Things sure have been great since everyone turned back from stone,” Ike added. Elincia turned to look at him. There was a smile on his face, and he had finished his pie already. An idea struck her.

“My lord Ike,” she said, “would like to dance with me? Just like we used to, when…” When he was a noble of Crimea.

There was such surprise on his face, she worried for a moment he would refuse. But he stood up, pushed back his chair, and held out his hand for her to take.

“You always did take well to dancing,” Elincia said, admiring Ike’s careful steps.

“I’m amazed I still remember how,” he replied.

“Muscle memory,” she told him with a smile, and he smiled back. She remembered training with him during the Mad King’s War, and how she told him her fears that she wouldn’t remember her techniques during battle. That was what he had told her: muscle memory.

“Elincia…” Ike said suddenly. The queen looked up at him. He smiled again. “Do you remember when you told me to call you that? Just your name, with no titles or honorifics…”

She felt herself grow warm, just like she had used to. Was this old, silly crush really coming back? “You were already calling me by name,” she pointed out. Did that mean he liked her back? Or was it just Ike being Ike?

Ike’s smile slowly disappeared. “I guess that’s inappropriate now,” he said.

“Aren’t we friends, Ike?” She baited him.

“Of course we’re friends!” he said. No hesitation. Was she disappointed? She wasn’t sure. “But… you’re the queen now. The implications of a common mercenary addressing you so familiarly…”

So he was aware. But how did he feel? They danced in silence for a while. A second song began.

“Ike…” Elincia took a deep breath. “Why don’t… why don’t you stay here in Melior?”

The question caught him off guard. He was silent, his face unreadable in the dim light. Then he sighed. “You know the entire nobility hates me.”

“Maybe they did,” she said, “but you’re our hero now--everyone’s hero. They’ll be all over you!”

He sighed again. “You know I can’t stand that kind of attention.”

“Then no one has to know you’re there. Hardly anyone here has seen you in years--they won’t recognize you now! And we could call you by a different name. You don’t have to be a noble again--you could set up here as a mercenary, and the others could stay with you.”

“They won’t agree to that. The people here won’t hire mercenaries--they have the Royal Knights to protect them. And I’m not going to change my name just to be somewhere I don’t even belong.”

It was quiet again. Did he truly not return her feelings? Or was he just that opposed to living in the city? She thought of suggesting he join the Crimean army or even the Royal Knights themselves, but thought better of it. Clearly, no good result would come from this conversation.

“Elincia--Queen Elincia,” he began, surprising her, “you don’t need me.” (Again, what did he mean? That she didn’t need him as a lover, or didn’t need his strength? Both?)

But I want you, she thought. Or did she? This was just a crush from summers ago. Maybe it was the ale talking all along…

He seemed like he was about to say something else, but she cut him off--“Well, we should sit back down and conserve our strength for tomorrow’s march. Shall we order dessert? I heard they have sweet pies here as well.”

Ike smiled, seemingly grateful for the change in conversation. “You know I don’t eat sweets.”

“Well, why don’t we share a pint, then?”

“...Only if you promise me it’ll be your last. You’ve been acting strange all evening.”

“Have I been?” she asked nervously.

“And your face is all red, too.”