Title: Frills
Series: FE10
Character/Pairing: Ike/Soren, ensemble cast
Rating: PG-13
Author's note: fic_promptly: Author's choice, author's choice, wedding dress.

Happy birthday, Sara.


One night, after the chores and jobs of the day were done, Ike retired to his room where Soren was already waiting. There wasn't a ring, none of the romance cliches which Soren could never stand. He just knew, a certainty that went beyond words or logic.

Ike took Soren's hands in his. "Let's make it official."

"You're saying—"


Soren's grip tightened on his. Soren's reply was a wordless embrace.

Ike knew what Soren would say–or wouldn't say–but it was good to get it out in the open. Ike was always forgetting to actually say the obvious stuff like I love you or I appreciate you. Mist had started to make it her mission in life to remind people to keep saying this sorts of things. It was one of those little life-affirming gestures she'd taken up after the war. A lot of them had, from getting married and having children, to not putting off those plans the war had put on hold.

And, well, this was his. This was what he wouldn't let go of.


The first mistake was mentioning it at all. Soren wouldn't have if he'd had the choice, but Ike let it slip in the kitchen. Not even one day had passed since the proposal.

Mist's eyes lit up. "You're getting married? Really?"

And then she said the damning words I'll plan it!

And that was the beginning of the end of the private ceremony without any flourish or even worse, frills.

Ike had to admit, Mist had really gotten a little too into her making everyone else live their lives to the fullest thing.

Before long, this whole big party and event was planned for their own good.


There was so many flowers, and Soren wasn't reacting well to them at all. White blossoms, wrapped in ribbons and hung up all over the place. He sneezed and stepped back from the overpowering fragrance of them.

"Mist really went overboard on the decorations," Ike said. He craned his neck to look around. She'd even gotten ribbons on the ceiling, and that was some feat, considering that it took a really long ladder just to clean the cobwebs up there.

"You think?" Soren said. He motioned to the monstrosity she wanted him to wear. A robe like the Heron's garb, made with gold braid and a most unsettling amount of frills.

"It doesn't look too different from your usual robes," Ike said.

"There's frills, Ike," Soren said. "Frills."

"Still," Ike said. "Kind of makes you wonder whose wedding she's planning, though."

Soren shook his head and gave a murderous glance to the hated frippery. More than a few people whispered about it being the 'attack of a bridezilla'. Bridezillas were an old tale—He'd heard Shinon talking about it, once—where the bride to be would apparently be taken over by a fire breathing beast and frighten all her family with screaming about how the flowers were wrong.

Except, with Soren, it was different. It seemed that the flowers were wrong because they existed at all.

Ike patted Soren on his shoulder. "Let her have her fun. She really just wants what is best for us."

"What's best for us is that I not walk out there looking like a walking pastry especially with Ilyana being on the invite list."

"Well, don't fall asleep in the pantry and you should be fine," Ike said.

Soren shook his head. He was too grim for humor at the moment, even with Ike.


Maybe he should've expected as much when Gatrie decided to throw him a 'bachelor party,' but he honestly didn't suspect a thing. He even wondered why there was a pole in the middle of that floor.

As it was, he didn't think they even noticed he left. Probably right, as no one told him this party involved dancers who mysteriously lost their clothes for some reason. Also, no one had informed him that the dancer that was hired was Aimee...or that she moonlighted as a dancer, at all.

He stole into Soren's room and pulled the covers from the bed around him.

"If anyone asks, I'm not here," Ike said.

Soren turned from the ledger he was looking through. "Something wrong?"

"Some party Gatrie threw. It's some old tradition," Ike said.

"...a tradition of what kind?" Soren said.

"Something involving a woman dancing. The woman in question was Aimee, so I left," Ike said.

"And you would've stayed if it hadn't been her?" Soren said in irritation.

"No, but that made me get out of there a lot faster. I might've stayed long enough to take some of the food with me when I left."

There'd been a great buffet, too.

"Hmmm," Soren said, still sounding irritated. He set the book aside.

Ike opened up the covers and patted the bed beside him. After a moment's hesitation, Soren climbed in next to him.

"This is proving to be such a hassle," Soren said.

"Tell me about it," Ike said. "We're almost there, though. Think of it like a war we're fighting."

"A war against ruffles?" Soren said.

"Sounds good to me," Ike said.


The next day, Ike woke late to the sudden brightness of curtains being thrown open.

"Get up, get up! We can't find the wedding robe anywhere, and Ilyana is in the kitchen with a stomach ache!"

Maybe telling Soren to take things tactically wasn't the best idea


When the day arrived, things happened in a flurry. Ike washed up and dressed with the new tunic Mist had sewn together for him. He caught sight of Mist before Soren's door, fixing Rolf's shirt. Rolf smiled, and waved before walking down the hall.

"I'll go find Master Shinon," he said.

"You're not supposed to see the groom before the wedding, you know," Mist said with one hand on her hip.

"I'm not supposed to do a lot of things," Ike replied.

Mist just put her hands up and sighed, giving up for not the first time on her brother. Ike went past the door to where Soren prepared. Instead of the horrible robe Mist had tried, he wore his usual mage's robes. Soren looked up, his hairbrush held loosely in one hand.

Technically, there wasn't going to be a best man or a maid of honor, just his fellow mercenaries and an small gathering, but Mist had been having a little too much fun planning the wedding, and then it just spiraled into control.

"We're almost through this," Ike said. He touched Soren's shoulder.

"I'd withstand anything for you, Ike. Even wedding receptions," Soren said with a wry smile.


The chairs had been brought out for an outdoors ceremony, only to be pulled back in for the rain. In the common room, Rhys set up his things to officiate the ceremony.

They were mercenaries; they were used to improvising.

The ceremony was somewhat abridged, as Soren put it, because there was no one to give either of them away, no special vows.

Looking in Soren's eyes, Ike knew it was all worth it. All the trouble, the mistakes, the misunderstandings through the years. It had all led to this moment. And he knew exactly what he wanted. He heard someone laughing in the back when he lost track of the vows, and only managed an II do/I when prompted.

"And now, should anyone have reason why they should not be wed, let them speak now or forever hold their peace—"

Soren looked out like he might cut down anyone who dared said anything. The doors were flung open, and Shinon staggered in.

"Greil was the best leader of all time!"

He was going to say more—maybe to wax poetic on how Greil was a better leader, dancer, fighter and possibly lover than Ike when it was broken off. He bent and retched all over Soren's boots. It was very blue–apparently that was where the missing blueberry wine had gotten to.

"...so, does that count as something old, or something blue?" Ike asked.

"I told you having an open bar was a bad idea," Soren said.

Rhys cleared his throat. "Hopefully the goddess won't destroy us all for vomiting during the ceremony."

"She already tried and failed once," Soren said. "I doubt this will bring her ire."

It was Soren's ire that he was more worried about.

"I'm pretty sure it's bad luck to kill a guest on their wedding day," Ike said in an undertone. He'd hoped to get a smile out of Soren, but Soren just narrowed his gaze at the intruder who'd made the day.

With the look Mist was giving Shinon, if Soren didn't give him the tongue lashing of his life first, she certainly would. And Mist could give a damn good tongue lashing—as Boyd had found out many, many times.

"Anyone else?" Rhys said.

Shinon moaned from where he had collapsed on the floor.

"I now pronounce you, ah... wed," Rhys said.

The stench of the vomit was a little distracting. All in all, it could have been worse, though. At least no wars broke out during the ceremony.

"How about an I owe you?" Ike said.

"Granted," Soren said.


He met up with Soren in his room as Soren changed out of his clothes. Soon enough he was dressed again. Ike patted the bed beside him. "Sit a while," he said.

"There were drunken people at our wedding," Soren said. He was not usually one for stating the obvious, except when the obvious was particularly vile.

"I think that's a wedding thing, Soren. All of them are like that," Ike said.

"Shinon vomited on my shoes," Soren said. "I told you we should've eloped."

"There's still time to elope," Ike said.

"We're already married, Ike," Soren said.

"It kind of got away from us, like when I got granted the title of lord and found out that I had to attend a lot of parties as well," Ike said.

"You'd marry me again? Even when it was like this?" Soren said.

"I'd marry you a thousand times over, even if it was worse than this," Ike said. He smiled at bit at the thought. "Hey, Soren. Will you run away with me?"

Soren took Ike's hand in his.

"I'd be glad to, Ike," Soren said.