Their old lovers are gone, but they'll be living on for a while yet.
Implied Ike/Soren and Micaiah/Pelleas.
She stares at him wistfully, gaze fixed upon the mark that proves a curse for him even now. He swallows and turns away, hating to be a reminder of anything, of anyone. Mostly because he cannot bear to remind himself. Soren knows that with thoughts of Pelleas come thoughts of Ike, and he can no longer bear them. But nor can he bear to be without them.
He is here now because she begged him to stay, because he saw her eyes pleading in the same sorrowful manner that his had so often done before. He stayed because there was nowhere else to go but to the desert, to a man whose ‘I told you so’ demeanour would remind him of the pain a hundredfold.
She stays for some fleeting reminder of her old lover, of the false prince who won her heart. She traces his Brand sometimes, too, murmuring the wrong name, and Soren knows that he is more false to her than Pelleas ever was. Heritage means nothing to either of them, though it also means everything. Their ancestry is the curse that binds them here, confining them to a fate alone together.
They can never love each other. She has come dangerously close at times, her hand reaching for his in the night and sometimes even further, but it is never him that she is reaching for. Always, she murmurs the same name, the wrong name, and Soren is glad of it. His Brand offers her comfort, though hers does no such thing for him. In the cold light of day, she continues to fool herself with such tricks of the light, with such pretentions. There is some vague similarity between them, in their stature and structure, that is enough for her to maintain such facades. It is easier for her in the night, when she moans to him, clutching at his delicate frame and stroking his forehead for what she knows is there.
It is harder for him. She is too delicate, too soft, too polite. There are no similarities to be found, though he has searched with every waking moment. He envies the way that she is able to trick herself. He would give anything to be able to do such things. Instead, the harsh glare of reality remains with him even through the night. He lets her hold him because there is no longer anyone else to do so, and because away from her infamy as the Silver-Haired Maiden, she is a vulnerable girl who has lost everything else. Just as he would give his world to have Ike back with him, he is willing to give her world back to her, if he can.
The moans that occasionally escape her inform him that his efforts are not entirely in vain. He will give himself to her, time and again, as long as she asks for him. It is all the compensation he can give for what she has been through, and he no longer has any desire to keep himself now that Ike is dead. Most of him is likewise, though the small part that remains is enough to give her someone to warm herself against. He is dead to her, himself and the world, and he would have it no other way without Ike. He will let her use him for as long as she wishes, because he sees no other use for himself now.
There is no compensation for what Soren has lost. This haunts him long into the night and through the days that drag on without measure. One day, it will be over for both of them as well, though Soren doubts that the goddess will be lenient enough to see them reunited with their old lovers. In the meantime, he waits and clings to the fragments of hope that still remain. Beside him, she clings also, but onto him, onto the memory of her lover. Together, they will pretend that there is something still worth living for.