And this is where the stories begin to separate a little. Firstly, the appearance of another character! Ahaha, I love Tormod. He's so brash but happy. As opposed to Soren, who's brash and angsty. I love them both. ^o^ I also love the contrast within the similarities of the two characters - they're both curious, but whereas Soren's happy to seek answers in books, Tormod wants to get out and see it for himself. Which is why I think he'd get on Soren's nerves a lot. So that's pretty much where the inspiration for that came from, and you can expect Tormod to reappear in later chapters, too.

Secondly, I'd like to apologise for a small canonical mistake last chapter. I said that Soren was eight when the sage died, because I thought he said it was a few years. Turns out I was wrong, and he specifies two years, making him just six. So, apologies for that. Though I'm not quite sure how hellishly amazing Soren's memory must be for that canon to be correct.

Thirdly, another apology for delaying updates until today. I wasn't feeling too great when I got home from work yesterday, so I bunked off updating. I know, I know. Shame on me. I've also got an art exam this Tuesday, so I've been a little panicky. But I think the time was well-spent, because I really am sure where I'm going with each plot now. I think there might be a slight contradiction in Sellsword that I'll have to correct, or at least justify, but we're getting there.

And I shall stop waffling on now. Sorry.

For the next few days, Soren did everything in his power to avoid Ike. Whenever he cast his mind back to their conversation, it whirled in such confusion that more than once he had had to lie down and wait for the headache to slowly ease off. He didn't want to risk talking to the commander again, not while he was in such an emotional state. It was as if nothing had ever changed. Once again, Soren found himself hating everything that he was - why did he have to be so weak all the time? He pinched the bridge of his nose. There was absolutely no point in getting het up about all of this. He could trust Ike, in so far as the commander had nothing to gain by betraying his secret.

All the same...it sickened him just that Ike knew. That Ike knew, and didn't care...That hurt far more than was intentional, Soren knew. With Ike's reaction resurfaced memories of Gallia all those years ago. Four years of being ignored, of being treated as though he had no right to exist. Four years of being glared at, scowled at, then passed by without a word or a care.

And then...and then there was Ike. Soren remembered the hand that was held out, the gift of food that he'd been so suspicious of. He couldn't help a small smile forming on his lips at the memory. That was the first time that he had ever been shown any kind of love. That little token gesture of friendship, of reaching out to someone who needed help. That faded memory of what it was like to be treated as an equal, as a fellow human being. Not that he was.

The smile quickly disappeared, and Soren sank against the wall of his bedroom. He had long since given up asking why - what point was there in asking questions to which there were no answers? Yet he couldn't help but wonder what had happened to Ike to harden him so much in so few years. Perhaps the years were longer to short-lived beorc, but Soren knew that it was more than just time that had changed the caring boy into a hardened mercenary. It had to be. Soren wasn't willing to accept that the only person to ever take notice of him could become so indifferent just like that. It didn't make logical sense. Possibly it was Greil's death that had changed him. Could the death of a parent truly affect someone that considerably? Soren wouldn't know. So far as he knew, both his parents still lived. Not that he would have particularly cared either way. He doubted that beorc usually had such...volatile relationships with their parents. Certainly Ike and Greil had been close enough as to be obvious even to an outsider.

Soren's thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. "What is it?" he said irritably.

The door opened and a familiar red-haired mage entered. "Hey, Soren. I haven't seen you around all day. Where've you been? It's no good you being holed up like this all the time, y'know. It's not healthy."

Soren glared at him. "Tormod, do you have any sense of privacy whatsoever?"

"Nope." Tormod grinned. "C'mon, I mean, if you're gonna leave your door unlocked like that-"

"Fine." Soren knew it was best to interrupt the young mage early, or he could natter on for endless hours. "What is it that you want? This had best not be 'memory sharing time' again." As soon as Tormod had found out that Soren had grown up in Gallia, he had been unrelenting in his efforts to share what it had been like growing up near laguz. Soren's obvious hatred of both the subject matter and being disturbed had done nothing to dissuade him from such pursuits.

Tormod's grin fell a little. "Actually, it's nothing of the sort this time. Ike wants to see you."