As with many of my fics, this one revolves around a central character but will never be from his point of view. (That's at least half because I find it too awkward to write from Soren's perspective.) But it's also because Ike's disappearance would affect more than just Soren... though I think his would be the greatest loss.

~~ Chapter One: The Mercenaries ~~

The fire in the common room was blazing furiously, as it always had on evenings when some of the mercenaries were out, and might return late. Oscar, his arms wrapped around himself, shivered and stepped closer to the hearth. How could it be so cold in October?

Looking around the common room, he sighed, knowing perfectly well why he felt so cold. Rhys was the only other conscious occupant, and upon meeting Oscar's glance, gave a tired smile. Hesitating for a moment, the knight walked over to where Rhys was sitting, thin hands wrapped around a steaming mug of completely untouched tea.

"Are you all right?" Oscar asked. "You look exhausted."

The priest waved a negligent hand, but didn't offer any assurance that it wasn't true. Oscar wondered what had really been going on at the base lately: he himself, newly re-instated to the Royal Knights, had just left Melior two days before, and had stopped on the way to a recruitment mission just to say hello to the other mercenaries.

He had stopped first, though, at the grave of his former commander, just as the sun had set. Before even leaving the woods, he had heard the crying. Mist, the rain falling fast on her uncovered head, was kneeling at the marker that bore Elena and Greil's names, weeping and praying. Oscar had run to her, covered her with his cloak. "Something… something terrible has happened," was all she could get out as he led her back to the Greil Mercenaries' stronghold.

It was difficult to get any information out of Titania, who was shell-shocked into silence. Eventually, by making use of gentle comforting, Oscar had gathered that she'd known this was coming. "Goddess… I'd just hoped it wouldn't," she said, strong shoulders bowed, her arms around him. "But you know… you know it's impossible to talk to Soren. What would I have said?" He had not missed the emphasis in her voice: what could she, Titania, have said?

Oscar had just hugged her, unable to find a response. Something fishy was going on. It was one thing for Mist to be so upset, because she was naturally empathetic; the same went for Rhys, who almost always got emotionally involved with his convalescent patients. But what about Titania? She seemed to have taken the event as a personal failure. Oscar, who had spent a lifetime attempting to quietly observe and understand people, still wasn't sure he knew why their tactician had tried to kill himself.

Some small voice in the back of his head, though, told Oscar he wouldn't have done any better than Titania in trying to help Soren with anything. He made a mental note to ask Ike what on earth had happened, as soon as the commander showed up.

"You should really stay for awhile," Rhys said suddenly, and Oscar turned his eyes away from the small figure, lying on the cot placed to one side of the fire, and to the priest. Rhys's tea was obviously cooling quickly: Oscar got the feeling it was more for aromatherapy purposes than for drinking. "When did you say you're setting out tomorrow?"

Shrugging indifferently, Oscar sat down at the table. "I don't know. With this weather, it could take another week to get where I'm going. The general has asked me to recruit a former lieutenant for tactical purposes."

Or some such nonsense. He stared down at the scarred wood of the table, feeling uncharacteristically moody, but hesitant to complain about a job that Elincia had practically laid at his feet. The fact was, Oscar didn't really know a lot of the other Royal Knights, and adjusting to the return had been more difficult than he'd anticipated.

"Well, take your time. We're all happy to have you back, even for a day or two." Rhys was obviously sincere, but the tiredness in his voice carried through. His mild eyes searched Oscar's face. "Sorry you had to come back to… well, you know. Usually we'd be swilling beer and singing to the Royal Family's health by this point."

The thought of the Royal Family sent a pang of achingly painful longing into Oscar's chest, as it reminded him forcefully of a particular knight, who served Elincia and Renning with almost fanatical verve. He'd been in Oscar's recruit class, then in the Mercenaries for a while, back during the Mad King's War: now he was a general. But Oscar hadn't spoken to the man quite literally for years (probably since before Greil's death), and saw him only distantly. He wondered vaguely what it would be like, to have a friend in Melior.

The urge to ask Rhys if the Mercenaries needed him back for good, and not just for a few days, was almost overwhelming… but Oscar resisted. He had his duties now: he'd left the Knights once, and it would be bordering on treason to do it again with even less reason.

Sighing, he shrugged again. "Well, que sera sera. Maybe I should at least stay long enough to help Mist with the kitchen tomorrow. She seems pretty upset."

He saw Rhys's head droop ever so perceptibly. "She is upset," the priest said quietly. "I am too… we all are… but I think Mist took it the most personally. I'm sure you understand."

Oscar just stared for a moment, trying to think. "Er… no, I really don't know why. I mean, she's very sympathetic, and it really is awful. But I didn't know she was close with Soren… or that anyone but Ike was. I'm sure he'll know what happened."

There was a long pause; Rhys heaved a deep sigh. "Well, no. Thought I'm sure you're right. Sorry, Oscar, I forgot you haven't been here for a while." He leaned forward, almost conspiratorially, face full of grief. "Ike left. He's been gone for almost six weeks."

Oscar couldn't think of any response: his mind was blank. Well, that explained a lot of things: their assistant commander sounding crushed and defeated, Mist sobbing at her father's grave, and the pervasive feeling of gloom that lay over the whole base.

"Oh," he finally managed to say. Something was seething in the pit of his stomach, and Oscar realized it was indignation, and a growing anger.

"Yes," said Rhys, sounding more confused than upset. "He just… he said he had to leave. And that was only to Mist. The rest of us had been searching the base all morning, trying to find his dead body, before she told us."

It was enough just to imagine that, Oscar thought. Mist had probably been hysterical: even though she was almost eighteen, she'd already lost a mother and a father. To lose the very last of her family without a word of explanation… Oscar thought of his brothers, and knew he would be a wreck in Mist's place.

And Soren. It all made sense now. Probably no one had ever thought to talk to the tactician: but he was the only person in the Mercenaries who had relied so completely on the presence of their young commander. Probably Soren was the only person Oscar had ever known whose life revolved entirely around someone else's. Knowing even so little of Soren's history, Oscar finally understood why he'd tried to take his life.

"Goddess," he said, feeling ill. "No wonder… it must have been festering for all this time. Has he… has anyone been able to talk to him yet?"

Rhys shook his head. "No, not coherently." Oscar was surprised to see the priest's mouth curve in a bitter smile. "Didn't even glare at me or anything. Just said Ike's name a couple of times, and fell unconscious again." Rhys looked as if he were trying to decide whether to laugh or cry: Oscar understood perfectly. Interacting with Soren and not getting glared at was like trying to eat without opening your mouth. It was a fundamentally alien concept.

Oscar felt his breathing quicken, and a white-hot burst of fury was beginning to blind him. This was all so surreal: four hours ago, four days ago, or even four years ago, he would never have pictured himself angry at the commander on anyone's behalf. And now, to be perfectly honest, he was tempted to demand where in the hell Ike had gone, so he could ride out and beat the younger man senseless… on account of Soren.

Rhys had stopped speaking, staring down into his lukewarm tea; at last he added, "I feel terribly about this, but I'm hoping against hope that he'll be furious when he wakes up."

Anything, anything to prolong his outer calm and bury the rage. "Why?" Oscar asked.

The priest hunched his shoulders, looking towards Soren as if afraid he might be heard. "He… um… it's hard to describe, but he… er, damaged the tendons in his wrists when… you know. But I didn't actually heal those. Just the, um, bleeding." Rhys's face had abruptly turned bright red, and Oscar was beginning to understand. "I just couldn't bear the thought of him trying it again."

Oscar managed to ever so slightly laugh. "You're not joking. Will it help, do you think?"

He'd left the rest of the sentence unexpressed—will anger help him through his wretchedness?—but Rhys understood, and shrugged. There was a short silence, and the priest finally laughed, more miserably than with any amusement. "I hope so. Goddess, it's just my hope that I can do anything to help. I just couldn't stand the thought of him waking up and trying it again. I'm hoping he'll threaten to kill me at least once."