Chapter Text
Soren had screwed up a lot of times throughout his life. Thankfully, most were missteps made in his foolish youth, when living up to his father’s name was what mattered most. Needless to say, for all the age and wisdom he accrued with his 24 years, Soren may have found himself in the midst of his biggest screw-up ever. His singular saving grace? The collateral damage would be minimal…hopefully. The closest settlement was a small human town along the border between Katolis and Xadia, but that was a considerable hike through dense and dangerous forest.
Dense and dangerous. Sounded kind of like Soren.
The Captain forced himself to refocus on the situation at hand, eyes narrowing at the figure across the clearing. By Soren’s side, like his promotion to General never stood in the way of them, was Corvus with his weapon lazily swinging from his hands. Behind the two of them was Pyrrah, a deep rumble tearing through her bared teeth. The figure’s head was tilted to the side in an unnatural manner, his human features were a familiar sickly grey. His eyes looked fixated on Soren, but Soren honestly couldn’t be sure where those inky black eyes were looking. The man had a satchel, belts, and pouches, no doubt filled to the brim with magical ingredients.
Denying it was out of the question. The man was a dark mage – one that Soren had been tracking down…without permission.
Did he fail to mention that? It was a big part of why he classified the ordeal as a screw-up. Soren foolishly dragged Corvus and Pyrrah into an unsanctioned mission, which meant no one knew where they were or what they were doing. As far as King Ezran and the council knew, the three of them were checking on the Moonstone Path to see whether it had resurfaced after the last use.
He was thrown from his thoughts by the mage’s laugh. Beside Soren, Corvus tilted his chin and hardened his look.
“Stand down, by order of the Crown, and we promise you will be shown leniency,” the General commanded.
The mage paid Corvus no mind, eyes still trained on Soren. “You’re him, aren’t you?” he asked, though Soren got the sense it wasn’t a question so much as a declaration. “Our Lady told us all about you.”
Soren gritted his teeth, his grip tightening around the blade in his hands.
“The cowardly monster who runs from family.”
A personal slight like that would’ve provoked the old Soren into attacking, but rather than jumping into battle, he looked out of the corner of his eyes to Corvus for guidance. Corvus was looking back at him with an unreadable expression.
His companion mouthed, “I’ve got you.”
Soren nodded and mustered up some faux arrogance to accompany his very real hurt.
“Your…Lady,” he spat, “is a traitor to the Human Kingdoms and Xadia. Tell us where she is, and we’ll make sure you won’t share her fate.”
For a moment, it looked like the mage’s cheeks were splitting at the seams, and a maniacal grin overcame him. The dulled nerves down Soren’s spine prickled with dread. Still, he kept his cool and shifted his feet – standard second position. Defensive.
“I’m afraid we’re at an impasse. Unlike you, I will never turn my back on one who saved me.”
Faster than Soren had been anticipating, the mage grabbed a small item from his belt and crushed it in his hand. The words he muttered were too low for any of them to catch, but the effect was instantaneous. Out of nowhere, thick mist overcame the clearing. Soren could hardly see Corvus and Pyrrah, even though they were right next to him.
In the mist, the mage called out to them. “My Lady will surely reward me when I return with the broken body of her wayward brother!”
Soren was inclined to disagree, considering the last time Claudia had the opportunity to off him at the Storm Spire, she choked. Then again, maybe it wasn’t Soren dying that was the problem back then so much as it was Claudia being the one to kill him. Maybe she’d be grateful to the creepy dude for finishing the job?
“Let’s move in a flanking formation,” Corvus muttered to the group. “Soren, you take the left, I’ll take the right. Pyrrah, get some air and let us know if you see anything.”
Ever since Corvus took over Amaya’s position in the Standing Battalion, he’d grown far more confident commanding others. No more right-hand manning for Ezran, Opeli, or even Soren! Corvus was a leader in his own right.
It looked good on him.
Suddenly, Soren was thankful for the mist – or else the blush that spread across his face would’ve been far more embarrassing. As quietly as he could in his armour, Soren began stalking the left side of the clearing. Every sense was on high alert, searching for a sign of the mage.
It didn’t take long for said mage to be revealed. High above them, Pyrrah roared in warning and beat her wings, pushing enough of the mist aside that Soren had their enemy in his sights. Training and instinct took over as he rushed forward, a growl of focused anger uncontained.
Soren barely registered the dagger the mage had produced, bringing his own blade down in a heavy arc. The sheer force of his swing was enough to send the small weapon skidding across the grassy clearing with a muted sound, swallowed by the mist as it retook their arena.
Sword beats dagger.
“You can’t beat us,” Soren growled lowly. “Now, tell me where my sister is; this is your last chance.”
“Never,” hissed the mage. Soren raised his blade again, pommel forward to knock his enemy out. They’d get more answers out of their foe when he was locked up in a dungeon. The mage held out his hand, and seemingly without a word or spell ingredient, Soren felt a powerful blow land in the centre of his chest – sending him flying.
The next sensations he felt were the ground against his back and his body crumpling inwards from the very familiar kind of pain. Soren felt his chest spasm as he heaved in and out, trying his hardest to recover from the sudden winding.
“Soren!” he heard Corvus yell in concern. Before he could stop himself, Soren’s mouth fell open in a wounded call – driven by a need to respond to Corvus.
Swooping overhead, Pyrrah’s wings scattered the mist once more and Soren caught a glimpse of the scene about to unfold. Corvus was sprinting across the clearing in Soren’s direction with a look of grim determination. The mage had reached his dagger and was smearing some paste over it, mouth moving with words Soren was too far away to hear. For what purpose was anyone’s guess, but Soren knew whatever it was, it wasn’t good.
Soren could add that to the list of reasons why he wasn’t a fan of magic. Battles and wars were simple when they were about which side had superior weapons, soldiers, strategists, or environment. Whenever mages enter the scene, though, they change the rules! All it takes is a few weird words and weird staffs and weird ingredients and weird whatevers – and suddenly whatever side the mage is on would be winning! Sure, whenever magic was used for the good guys, it was great; but it didn’t change the fact that the average soldier wasn’t prepared for tidal waves to crash through an inland city square (Soren had that talk with Callum already). Even friendly magic had its drawbacks for non-magical folks.
With Pyrrah’s wings constantly moving, the mist kept at bay long enough for Corvus to reach him in record time. Worriedly, he got on his knees to appraise Soren. “Are you alright?!”
“I’m fine, help me up,” Soren pushed through gritted teeth. ‘Fine’ was subjective; both he and Corvus knew that, but when your enemy was grinning like a madman, you didn’t have the luxury of recovery time.
Just as Soren was aided to his feet, the mage barked a laugh and flourished the blade in his hand. The intentions were obvious with each micromovement. The mage was going to throw the dagger.
Led by pure instinct, Soren twisted his body so that he was between the mage and Corvus. Whatever was on that dagger, Soren could handle. Corvus yelled in warning and Soren watched as the blade soared through the air, not towards the men on the ground, but the dragon in the air.
“Dliw tsaeb emat siht ekam, ssendam fo edalb!”
For a moment, it was like nothing happened. The dagger wedged itself into the scales of Pyrrah’s neck in a spot Soren weakly hoped was nowhere near an important artery. For what it was worth, she didn’t seem too bothered by the injury for a few seconds.
Then those few seconds ended.
Soren’s gut lurched as thorny vines of deep purple magic sprouted from where the dagger met flesh – wrapping, constricting around Pyrrah’s neck. Her body language shifted. She snarled low and deep, her eyes more…Soren hated to say it but, well, primal. Pyrrah began thrashing in the air as fire erratically burst from her mouth, her movements growing more savage by the second.
“Pyrrah!” Soren shouted, hoping she could still hear his words and follow instructions. “You need to calm down or you’ll burn down half the forest!”
Pyrrah’s head snapped in his direction, though her eyes were darkened with that same deep purple as the thorns.
“I don’t think she’s in her right mind!” Corvus argued from Soren’s arms. A perfectly timed roar from Pyrrah drove Corvus’ point home as she shifted to face them off.
A new plan pieced itself together in Soren’s head. “Corvus, you take the mage. I’ll help Pyrrah.”
Corvus balked. “I came here for you – not some random dark mage! There’s no way I’m letting you face her alone!”
“We need him, Corvus,” Soren retorted, “And besides, I need to do this for Pyrrah. To make up for the last time I got her hurt with dark magic.”
He knew his companion would try to argue more, so Soren made the hard decision for them. He pulled away and started running further into the clearing, waving at Pyrrah to lure her closer. She responded in kind, roaring as she dove to land in front of him.
Soren had been in this situation before, but he knew killing a dragon wasn’t on the agenda this time. Soren sheathed his sword and wisely kept his eye on Pyrrah’s thrashing tail.
Her teeth parted again, and a new fire jet sent him leaping. That damn tail was waiting for Soren, forcing him to press his body into the grass until it had finished its sweeping movement. As fast as he could, Soren sprang to his feet and leapt at the tail, clinging with all his might.
It wasn’t a well-known weakness, but Soren’s time with Ezran taught him that most dragons had a dulled sense of touch along their backs; something to do with their thick hides and resilient scaling patterns? Soren didn’t know the fancy mumbo jumbo of it all – he was just thankful for the knowledge in the moment. He scrambled up Pyrrah’s spine as fast as he could, keeping his movements as light as possible so she couldn’t pinpoint exactly where he was. If she were rational, she’d be strategically twisting her body to find out and strike Soren. But thankfully whatever mind-altering spell had been cast on Pyrrah had left her confused and thrashing out in everything except herself.
When Soren reached the shoulder blades, he craned his neck to spot the embedded dagger through the tangle of sinister vines. It’d be a difficult reach, leaving him open for attack, but if he was lucky Pyrrah would recover from the spell the instant he pulled the blade free.
His body coiled like a snake ready to strike. With a sudden burst of strength, Soren jumped, grabbing the dagger before gravity could drag him too far from his prize. The force alone wrenched his target from Pyrrah’s neck. Just as Soren began to plummet, her claws wrapped around his midsection.
“Ah, thanks Pyrrah,” he began – but the vines hadn’t yet disappeared. Her eyes were still wild and unrecognisable.
“…Pyrrah?” Soren smiled nervously.
She howled in anger, and before Soren could react, her talons were replaced with teeth and she tossed Soren through the air. Time slowed as Soren registered his trajectory, his body flying towards a thick tree on the edge of the clearing.
The last thought Soren could remember having was the stupid question of whether hitting wood would hurt more or less than hitting stone.
Consciousness crept in slowly, Soren’s senses returning one at a time. Weirdly enough, smell was the first thing he noticed – it was far too musty for him to still be in the forest. Hearing followed soon after, moments of agonising silence disturbed by faint conversation. That was good! He wasn’t alone; there were others nearby. When Soren finally pried open his eyes, he was greeted to four wooden walls. His body was covered in a thin bedsheet that hid the extent of his injuries. Curtains to Soren’s left covered what he assumed was a window, leaving him curious as to the time of day. A small shelf covered in all kinds of trinkets was installed next to a plain wooden door. All of that seemed fine.
What frightened Soren was how weird his sense of touch felt. His heart began to pick up speed as he took stock of how each limb was prickling and buzzing, simultaneously hot and cold. Without meaning to, Soren’s cracked lips parted in a whine of fear as his mind started jumping to conclusions. Could hitting the tree have reinjured his spine? That couldn’t be quite right, because he could still feel everything – but maybe this time had been a smaller accident that would torture him with sensation despite his immobility?
When the first accident happened, Soren had been relieved, since it kept him from doing bad things to good people. But now? He was good. He was a hero. Everyone needed him to be the strong Captain of the Crownguard: the council, Corvus, Ezran. If he was paralysed again, sure, he’d be fine. But would everyone else be fine? The next time danger came knocking Soren wouldn’t be there like he promised he’d always be.
Tears started running down Soren’s cheeks as he tried to compose himself.
No. He wasn’t paralysed. He just had to get up and start walking.
Soren was so caught up in psyching himself up, he barely noticed the door open.
“Soren, you’re awake!” came a familiar and welcome voice. Soren’s eyes snapped to Corvus, registering the relief in the man’s eyes through his own blurred vision. Corvus must have noticed Soren’s distress because, in three long strides, he was at his bedside.
“It’s okay, Soren. You’re safe, I’m here.”
“N-no…it’s not that,” Soren whispered, surprised by the emotional rasp to his voice. “It feels tingly, i-is it – am I…?”
“No,” Corvus spoke with assurance. Soren didn’t need more than that one word. He knew Corvus understood.
The man pulled back the bedsheets and made a show of prodding Soren’s legs and feet, each gentle touch another reminder that Soren’s body was okay. Eventually, after a few lingering moments, the tingling faded and Soren found it in himself to sit upright.
Corvus smiled sympathetically. “See? You just needed a minute, that’s all.”
“…what happened?”
“The mage got away after that hit to the tree knocked you out cold. Evrkynd was too far, so I had Pyrrah drop us off at the outskirts of the closest town and I carried you the rest of the way here.” Corvus guided Soren’s legs over the side of the bed. “I figured she wouldn’t be welcome in town since civilians around here are still wary of Xadia. So, I sent Pyrrah to tell Ez that you were hurt but stable, and she’d bring us back when you were on your feet again. We’ll head out once she’s returned.”
With Corvus’ help, Soren stood and hobbled out the door and into the next room. To Soren’s surprise, they weren’t in an infirmary or apothecary, or anything of the sort. It was…a regular home. A small kitchen was nestled across from a small table with three chairs, and a weathered piano sat against the wall next to them with no bench to sit at. It was remarkable how such a humble home could look so spacious.
That was when the stranger rolled in from another room. She was an older woman with dark skin decorated in beautiful smile lines, her hair tied back so those kind eyes could survey Soren from her place in the wheelchair.
The woman didn’t let a moment of silence pass. She immediately clasped her hands to her chest and grinned from ear to ear.
“My son was right; you are as tough as they come!” the woman exclaimed. “I was under the impression you’d still be out of it for a few more hours, dear.”
Soren gaped at her, only one word registering. He looked to Corvus incredulously. “Son?”
The General nodded, detaching himself from Soren’s side so he could place a hand on the woman’s shoulder.
“Yeah, uh, Soren,” Corvus sheepishly began, “this is my mother, Nisreen. Mother, this is my – this is Soren.”
Nisreen opened her arms and Soren crouched down to embrace her, mildly confused but always up for a hug. When she pulled away and noticed Soren’s perplexed expression her smile turned sympathetic.
“You look like you’ve been crying, hon. I thought you could do with a hug.”
“Oh! It’s nothing, I’m fine,” he babbled, “I was just scared I’d been paralysed again –” Soren suddenly remembered he was talking to a woman in a wheelchair, and his face felt hot with embarrassment. “N-not that being paralysed is a bad thing! I just had a lot of big scary feelings and, damn it, Corvus did I just screw up meeting your mother?”
“Sweet boy, you’re fine. I felt the same way for a while after my accident,” Nisreen waved a hand. “Your anxiety doesn’t offend me; it’s a perfectly natural reaction.”
Noticing Soren’s lips pursed with unasked questions, Corvus explained matter-of-factly, “My birth caused some complications.”
“Oh.” Soren frowned sympathetically, but he plastered on a grin, not wanting to bring the mood down. “But hey, that’s over two decades in a wheelchair, right? You must’ve learned some cool tricks with all that practice!”
She laughed. “Of course, I’ll have to show you next time you visit – I can’t believe it’s taken Corvus this long to finally introduce us considering how much he writes of you.”
“He writes about me?” Soren pressed eagerly. The idea filled him with a unique combination of feelings that roiled in his stomach like moon moths. Corvus’ face grew ruddy as he refused to look Soren in the eyes. “What kinds of things does he write?”
Corvus shot Nisreen a stern and desperate look, which she must have picked up on because, in spite of the smirk stretching across her face – she shrugged.
“Lots of things I can’t remember off the top of my head. I do know he’s mentioned wanting to duet with you sometime. Corvus has heard you playing the piano when you think no one is around.”
Soren’s eyes shot to the piano against the wall, thinking of all the times he hid out in the ballrooms of Katolis and Evrkynd’s castles, a ghost echoing songs he was never taught to play with feelings he’d never share. He thought he’d been sneaky about it, but he should’ve known Corvus would catch him. He was smart like that.
“Corvus was being nice in his letters, then,” Soren told them. “I’m completely useless when it comes to music –”
“I don’t think that’s true,” interrupted Corvus. “In fact, I think you should play something for Mother. As thanks for housing us while we recovered?”
Corvus was baiting Soren with chivalry; they both knew it. Soren couldn’t resist repaying someone’s kindness, and the way Nisreen was beaming at them both, he figured she wouldn’t accept any other form of compensation.
“You’re a cruel man, Corvus.”
The man glanced down at his mother, who winked at him. “I learned from the best.”
“Go on, hon, give it a try,” Nisreen told Soren kindly. “We’ll love it regardless.”
Soren, bolstered by Nisreen’s encouragement, hobbled over to the old piano. He wasn’t sure if he even knew any proper songs – as much as his mother had tried to teach him to read sheet music, he never grasped the unfamiliar language of lines, dots, and strange symbols. All Soren had was muscle memory.
Carefully, he placed his right hand on the centre key then lightly dragged his hand to the right; four, then five white keys.
The lullaby that Soren performed for Corvus and Nisreen on that old piano was simple, far simpler than he remembered it being as a child, and bad. There were countless times when he stuttered and slowed, trying and failing to recall the melody his mother played. At some point, Soren screwed his eyes shut and relied entirely on muscle memory to continue playing his rendition of the song (it was not because his vision was blurring with unshed tears).
Soren wished he could say that his performance had a beautiful finish, but the last memorable note was left hanging in the air – the rest of Lissa’s lullaby, forgotten. He stayed there, breathing softly for a few more seconds before the Crownguard finally opened his eyes and cast his gaze to his audience.
Nisreen smiled warmly and offered a polite round of applause. “Bravo, Soren,” she marvelled. “Corvus, that was lovely, wasn’t it? And the boy claimed he had no talent!”
Soren watched as Corvus stepped towards him wordlessly, face contorted with emotion Soren couldn’t dare to believe was real. Gently, with all the care in the world, Corvus reached up and held his cheek, caressing it softly with a thumb. Soren mentally kicked himself as he realised some of the tears he’d been fighting back had slipped past his defences.
“Soren…” Corvus breathed, and Soren would face an army alone if it meant Corvus would say his name like that again. “I…you…that was beautiful.”
An odd silence fell between them. Corvus’ hand was still resting on Soren’s face, yet neither of them made an effort to pull away from the contact. It wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable in any way; it felt more…restless; like they were standing on the precipice of something more. They were so caught up in each other that Soren hardly noticed Nisreen had disappeared into another room.
Corvus broke the silence. “The mage didn’t get away. I let him go.”
“Corvus!”
“No – just – no,” Corvus sighed heavily. His hand dropped from Soren’s cheek to his shoulder, gripping tightly. Desperately. “Soren, I saw you on the ground and my only concern was making sure you were okay. I was scared.”
Soren’s eyes fixated on Corvus’ lips, drinking in every word that came from them. It was easier to focus on something tangible like that, rather than parse the emotion behind them. “I got the dagger out. You didn’t have to fear Pyrrah, she wouldn’t’ve hurt me anymore.”
“It doesn’t matter, I was still scared I’d never get the chance to tell you that…” Corvus’ voice trailed off.
“Tell me what?” Soren pushed.
“I’m not very good at words.”
“I’ve always found if words are too hard, you let your actions do the talking for you.”
It was at that moment Corvus’ hand shifted once more – from the shoulder, back to Soren’s face. This time, however, his hand was delicately grabbing his chin, forcing him to look Corvus in the eyes.
There were no words. But then again, there wasn’t a need for them. That was how they were, rough hands and gentle fingers, tender embraces and wild sparring sessions. Each…shift in their dynamic was marked by a new way to speak without words.
One such silent conversation passed over them in the span of a few heartbeats.
‘Is this okay? Holding you like this? I can’t tell anymore.’
‘What are my actions telling you?’
‘You’re not moving.’
‘Exactly.’
As Corvus leaned in closer, Soren exhaled shakily. Those moths in his stomach must’ve had some hot brown morning potion, they were so intense. Their lips barely brushed against each other’s, and Soren melted.
They kissed.
It was quiet. And gentle. And Soren was ninety per cent sure that the odd sound in the background was from him half-sitting and half-leaning against a group of piano keys behind him as he fell back in either exhaustion or relief.
Evidently, Corvus was more attuned to the movement and strange noise. He took the arm not currently occupied with holding Soren’s chin and wrapped it around his bruised back. Gently, Corvus lifted him up and away from the instrument, which forced their lips to break apart slightly.
“You should sit and rest some more…” Corvus whispered, pressing their foreheads together.
Soren cracked one eye open and coughed to disguise his sly chuckle. “Yeah,” he muttered, “it’s such a shame the chairs at the table are so far. I fear I’m too weak to walk all the way over there.”
Corvus’ eyes were still shut but he was grinning. “Too weak to walk a couple feet? Are you sure it’s not just an excuse for me to carry you?”
Soren had been craving so much of Corvus for years, but always felt it crossed a line. Now, though? The line had been moved and Soren had every intention of taking advantage of it. He looped his arms around Corvus’ neck and gave him a chaste peck on the lips.
“Sweep me off my feet, Chain Man.”