Alright! Here's chapter three!

Ivan: Are you finally getting to me here?

Yes. Here you are in all your four-year-old glory.

Ivan: Oh.

Disclaimer: I disclaim Golden Sun. And this is the last time I'm doing this for this story. I hereby disclaim for the rest of the fic.

Ivan walked through the square, avoiding the many pairs of legs that were there for the same purpose. Being small wasn't fun, not really. Sure, people didn't notice you so you could sneak into Places You Shouldn't Be In, but it was a pain sometimes, too. Like now. He hoped he wouldn't be small forever. He was pretty sure he wouldn't be. Papa kept speaking about 'when he was small,' so Ivan supposed it was a passing condition. Papa knew lots of stuff.

Papa, however, did not know he was out here; this was a Place He Shouldn't Be In. Ivan wanted to keep it that way. The wind tugged at his clothes, and Ivan wrapped his arms around his body to shield himself. The wind was chilly. He didn't like it.

A man walked past, rubbing his head. (Or poking at his eyes. From this angle it was hard to tell. That seemed like a weird thing to walk around doing, though.) He wanted to find the palace; he wanted to talk to Hammet. Ivan tugged at his trouser leg and pointed north.

"Hammet is that way," he told the man. The man jumped back, startling Ivan, before he shook his head and ran off. Northwards, Ivan was pleased to note. That man had an odd voice, though. It hit his ears funny. Almost as if the man was talking in his head. Ivan shrugged and kept exploring.

What an odd man.

It kept happening over and over and over. Someone wanted to find the blacksmith, or the weapon shop, or the stable, or the town gates, and Ivan told them where they were. Then they jumped about a foot in the air, or looked at him with very wide eyes and ran off. People were very strange. If everyone was like this, Ivan could see advantages to staying in the palace all the time. Was it that odd for a four-year-old to offer directions? Maybe he was a genius four-year-old. That would explain it.

A woman walked by. She was looking for an item shop to find some metal polish. Ivan tugged on her dress.

"The item shop's that way, but the armor shop has polish—" he stopped as the woman stooped down to face him.

How did this boy know what I was thinking? The voice came into his head suddenly, almost a shock. He stepped backwards quickly. Not seeing his discomfort, the woman patted him on the head, thanked him, and set off for the armour shop. Shaking his head—he couldn't have actually heard what she was thinking, could he?—he ran off for the palace, wanting to speak with Papa. This needed explaining.

Papa wasn't there. Papa was in a meeting with someone. On second thought, it probably wasn't a good idea to let Papa know about this, anyway. He didn't know what he'd done, but he also didn't know if he'd done it at all.

There was only one thing for it. He had to test this new skill. He made his way to the kitchens. "Hi, Miss Maeve," he greeted the head cook. She turned, startled, to face him. Maeve was in charge of watching him when Papa and Mama couldn't.

"Ivan! Where were you?" she yelled, sweeping him up to look him in the eye. "I was worried! …You're all dusty. Where have you been?" Ivan took advantage of her tirade to try to find out what she was thinking. He searched in his mind for the feeling he'd had when he'd heard the other people's thoughts. He didn't find it, though, and Maeve put him back down, remarking that he was outgrowing his clothes. He caught an idea from her that it was about time, too, but then she moved away. He sighed.

This would take more time than he'd thought. No matter. He'd keep trying.

And that was what he did. Every time he saw someone, he tried to use his new ability on them. This continued for a month, by which time he was fairly confident of his ability to read minds whenever he tried. He didn't do it too often, though. It made his head hurt. Over that time, he made several interesting discoveries.

First, whenever he read people's minds on purpose, he began to glow. He began to glow bright purple. The light licked at his body like a fire, except it wasn't hot. (He had found himself, recently, beginning to develop an irrational liking for that colour.)

Second, other people could not see this glow. No matter how he tested them, in the dark, right in front of them, they never saw it. He had concluded that they were crazy and, because of their insanity, they could not see him glowing. Alright, he didn't know. What explanation was there that made sense? For that or the fact that he could read minds?

Third, having a small boy stare at them for prolonged periods of time creeped people out. He tried to do other things while he read their minds, but really, now, when he was concentrating that hard on something, it was hard to think of anything else, let alone do it. So he read their minds anyway and let them be creeped out. It really was kinda weird that something they didn't even know was happening was creeping them out.

It didn't take long for the idea that 'Ivan is getting creepy' to reach Papa, though. He came to speak to Ivan one day. While he was going on about Ivan doing something-or-other and about how he needed to give people space, whatever that meant, Ivan decided to find out what he thought of what Ivan was doing.

I knew this would happen eventually…How did I get myself into this mess? I can't handle this. Why couldn't those two take care of their own son? They could have handled this, but the gods know it's beyond me. How am I supposed to take care of a boy that reads minds when I don't even know if he's doing it?

Ivan stopped reading his mind abruptly. Papa must have seen something on his face, because he stopped and asked Ivan if anything was wrong. Ivan shook his head and after a while Papa left.

Ivan went to his room and sat down on the bed. He thought about it for a long time. (One hour.) He thought about it one way, and two ways, and three ways. He thought about it from every angle he could find. But, no matter what, he kept coming to the same two conclusions.

One: Papa knew about his new skill; indeed, Papa had known about it before he had. Papa had been expecting it. He'd been told about it by… people who'd had him before. Which brought him to the second conclusion…

His Papa…wasn't his Papa.

For the next few weeks, Ivan moped. At first, nobody seemed to notice. He was a quiet boy anyway; no-one expected him to be constantly underfoot. But after a week of his moping, Maeve came into his room and asked him if everything was alright. No, he told her, no and I wanna be alone.

"Oh, come on, dear. It's a beautiful day. Why don't you play outside?"

He did not want to play outside. Playing outside had started this mess. He told Maeve so. She was unfazed.

"Oh, come on, dear, why don't you go down to the riding yard? Your father—"

"Hammet," he interrupted, burying his face farther in the pillow. Maeve seemed surprised, but she recovered quickly enough.

"No, dear, you don't call your father by his name. You call him Daddy, or Papa, or—"

"Hammet."

Maeve seemed truly confused now. She was silent for a moment, and Ivan decided to see what she thought of what he was saying.

There is no way he could know…no way at all…unless he heard someone talking about it… I hope Lord Hammet knew what he was doing when he took this boy in.

She stayed for a little while longer, but Ivan didn't listen to anything she said. He stayed in his bed for the rest of the day and thought. It was true, then, wasn't it? If he'd heard it from two different people, then it had to be true. They wouldn't both be wrong…and Maeve didn't know he could read minds.

Ivan buried his head under his pillow and began crying.

Later that day, in the evening, Hammet came to see him. He wanted to talk to Ivan. Ivan did not particularly want to talk to him.

"Ivan," he called softly, coming into the room. "Ivan, are you here?" Ivan burrowed farther into the covers on his bed. Hammet saw it.

"Ivan," he said again, sitting down on the bed, "is something wrong?" Ivan shook his head. He heard Hammet sigh. "Ivan, if nothing were wrong, you wouldn't be doing this. What is it?" Ivan hesitated, and eventually spoke up.

"You're not…you're not my papa," he said, hoping Hammet would tell him he was wrong, comfort him, at the same time, hoping he wouldn't bother, would just tell him the truth.

Hammet sighed. Slowly, he spoke, as if considering his words while he said them. "No. Where did you hear this?" Ivan looked at him for a moment, deciding whether or not to say.

"You," he said. "I heard it from you. You…were thinking that…the people you got me from could do a better job of raising me than you…" Hammet nodded and frowned.

"Hmmm. That's where you heard it, huh?" Hammet scratched his chin. "Ivan…how long have you been able to read minds?" Ivan looked up.

"A week. How do you know what I can do? Can you do it too?" Hammet shook his head.

"No, I can't. And I can't tell when you're doing it, either. Which means, Ivan, that I will have to watch when I am around you, watch what I think. It's difficult to do that, so I don't think I will be able to spend as much time with you in the future." He paused and glanced at the boy. Ivan looked up.

"I won't read your mind again," Ivan offered. Hammet shook his head.

"You already did once. How can I know you won't do it again?"

Ivan hesitated, trying to come up with a good answer. "Because…Because I…I said I won't! I promise!" Hammet nodded, mock-serious.

"Ah, you're asking me to trust you. What proof do I have that I can trust you?" Ivan looked down.

"Ummm…I don't know. I only did it that one time," he said, lamely. "And I really do promise! Cross my heart! And besides, you've been lying to me all this time, and I never lied to you."

Hammet raised one of his eyebrows. Ivan hoped that meant he agreed with him. "I suppose you're right, although I'm taking your word for it on the 'no lying' claim. …I suppose I can give you another chance. But, you have to promise not to read my mind, or Layana's, again. Alright?" Ivan thought, as serious as any trader, and nodded.

"Yep. Promise." He thought a moment, and held out his right hand, balled into a fist with the smallest finger sticking out. "Pinky swear."

Hammet seemed surprised; Ivan did not know why. A pinky swear was the most binding promise in the world. Hammet had to know that. Everyone knew that. Surely he didn't expect to get out of the room without one. Hammet sighed and linked his finger with the boy's. Ivan took his away, satisfied.

Hammet sighed. "This means I'm trusting you now," he told the boy. "And if you ever give me a reason not to, I won't anymore. It's that simple. When someone trusts you, it means they have faith in you, that they know, deep down, that you won't let them down. And if you betray that trust, then you can hurt that person. You might lose their trust, or even their friendship. Understand?" Ivan considered the sentence, and nodded. He understood. This was important, and he had to understand.

Hammet watched him thoughtfully and went on. "Also…I want you to keep it a secret that you can do this. Because you see, nobody else can. The other children might be jealous, or…scared, and I don't want to see you getting hurt over this, alright?" Ivan nodded, thinking that it wouldn't be much of a problem when they couldn't even see it. Hammet kept going. "And, also, Ivan…people just naturally dislike things they don't understand, so…" Ivan looked at him, now confused.

"Why? Aren't they ever curious?"

Hammet began to falter. "Well, things they don't understand, they can't predict, and that scares them…" Ivan shook his head. He didn't understand one bit. Hammet shook his head back, as if mimicking him, and ruffled his hair.

"We'll talk about it later, when you're a little older." Ivan had a gut feeling that that talk would be long forgotten by that time. He supposed he'd have to learn it on his own. Hammet drummed his fingers on his leg—a nervous habit—and made a face.

"I don't suppose you'd approve of continuing to call me your father in public?" Ivan shook his head. He didn't want to keep poking at that hurt. Hammet nodded. "Then I'll have to come up for a reason for you to be here, or there will be rumors… Would you disapprove of being called my foster son?"

Ivan nodded vehemently. He did not know what the word foster meant, but he understood the word son. Honestly, he just answered this question!

Hammet sighed. "Alright…would…would being a servant in the palace please you? As an excuse, I mean?" Ivan thought it over, and nodded. He would not mind that. The palace servants were a very happy, carefree bunch of people. He would not mind having a job that made those people so happy. Hammet ran a hand through his hair. From his expression, Ivan could have sworn Hammet was confused by him. That was odd.

"Alright…when you're old enough, you can be my servant. …Goodnight, Ivan." Ivan watched him leave the room, feeling a little better. He had the feeling that he'd just done something very important, and it made him feel very proud of himself. Like a grown-up.

He went over to the window and looked outside. It was springtime, and the air smelled fresh and sweet. As he looked outside, he felt the breeze come in, tugging at his clothes and hair. He laughed softly. For some reason, the wind didn't seem chilly, or like an annoyance, anymore. It felt…nice. Almost like a friend.

He wondered why.

Ivan:...What was with the 'small' comment?

...Well, you are short. Admit it. Don't throw an Edward Elric-type spaz on me either, I'm not doing parody in this fic. Definitely not in the author's notes.

Ivan: -sighs-...alright...R&R!