Learania
"Hahaha, we sure showed them Daeins!"
The laughter was raucous, the people jubilant. The mercenaries toasted happily in the gently illuminated tent, permeated by the sweet scent of wine and rum as their respective drinks sloshed around in their goblets. Boyd was downing them as quickly as his cup was filled, rum dribbling down his hardened square face while he leaned back in his seat. The red-tressed Titania shook her head at the performance. Ike raised his goblet, laughing with the others, Oscar chuckling and squinting as always, Gatrie grinning and snickering as he propped his elbows against the table. Shinon had passed out on top of the table from sheer intoxication. Mia slapped her hand against the back of his head, praising their exploits with utter abandon. Mist wore her sunny smile as she watched her comrades and Rolf nodded excitedly. Rhys glanced around almost uncertainly at the others with one man already slumped in unconsciousness.
Soren had his arms crossed, seated by Ike as he observed the scene before them. He could see that Ike was truly enjoying himself. The others were as normal as could be, almost as if the old days had returned to them, the prosperous age before the war when they lived the simple lifestyle of battling bandits and collecting modest sums of money. All the tension had been swept away after the final battle. They would soon go home, away from the cities and the people, back to the secluded and tranquil countryside where they didn’t have to worry about reconstruction and political establishments. Soren was tired, truly and sincerely tired, but he was also at ease. Perhaps he was tipsy from the very nostalgia of the scene.
"A year! Can you believe it? We won a war in just a year," Gatrie exclaimed conversationally. "Ahh, if only I’d discovered a flowering maiden in that span of time, one who would have waited and wept at home for me as I heroically thundered across the battlefield!" Longing washed through the knight’s wistful eyes.
"Aahh, keep talkin’!" said Boyd as he pounded Gatrie on the back.
"Well it was quite the feat," Titania casually interjected. "To restore a hidden princess’s kingdom to her name in one year, as well as prevent a worldwide catastrophe and felling a mad king, is more than anyone can ask for. This is perhaps our proudest accomplishment as mercenaries."
"You mean as an army," Ike remarked. He leaned toward the table as he set his goblet down. "I’m sorry to say we have to hang around for a while. Elincia says she has plans for me that’ll get me stuck in Melior for some time."
"You mean she’ll grant you peerage," Soren stated matter-of-factly as he turned his head.
Ike flicked his head, strands of blue hair shaking with a glance toward the tactician. "Well, yeah."
Mist bounced a bit in her seat and said, "You’re not happy about that, are you, Ike?"
The commander shrugged and folded his arms upon the table. "Well, if I can help Elincia, I'll just have to suck it up."
"That's the spirit," said Titania with a smile. "Grin and bear it. Your father would have been so proud."
Soren cast the deputy commander a glance brimming quietly with alarm. However, Ike merely leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms under his head, looking almost dreamily at the ceiling. "Yeah..."
"What was he like?" asked Mia excitedly, drumming her fist on Shinon's unconscious head.
Soren pushed himself up, scooting his chair back. "I'll be right back, Ike." The commander nodded and Soren quickly dismissed himself, slipping out of the tent as the closing flap muffled the voices behind him.
All about him, soldiers bustled and conversed, some taking down their tents while others contently napped the day away. The sun yawned upon their heads as it cruised lazily through the clear, blue sky. He glanced around idly as men in armor and outfits of war milled to and fro, the atmosphere thrumming with chatter and the occasional clank of armor and weapons. He shielded his eyes from the bright sky as the white clouds reflected the brilliance of the sun. The timing was curious; the war had ended by the beginning of spring, a thing of poets and troubadours. Soren was no troubadour but he supposed he could not deny the appreciation of such coincidences.
He moved off, spreading some distance between him and the tent. The entire thing was still like a dream to the mage. He quickly reminded himself that he was more of a sage now, having attained the fluency of professional magic-users in the art of magic. His skills with wind sorcery were not to be trifled with. As he strolled away from the tent in search of fresh air, he traced his abilities to the past and followed his memories down into the farthest reaches of his mind. He seemed so formidable now and had just helped to end a war, whereas one year ago he would have found himself probably impaled on the battlements of the Daein Keep if he had been in the same situation. One year ago he would have never made it back to Crimea. One year ago he would have been lost to the sagas of war alongside the other mercenaries, one year ago he would have failed Ike.
One year ago, Ike gave him purpose.
Soren owed his entire existence to Ike. He really did. All those years ago, when he was starving and the laguz walked over him as though he was a stone, when he was staggering in search of a home and Gallian beorcs chased him out with stones and cries of "Devil!", Ike was the one stranger who offered him anything kind. They had been mere children too. Though it served as a weakness many times during the war, it was perhaps Ike's naivety that had saved Soren.
As he escaped the confines of the campsite, he cast his eyes out to the rolling plains and the elongated blades of grass bowing and bending to the wind's whim. Flowers just barely budding bobbed their heads cheerfully in the light of the sun. Soren glanced down at his robes, noting the dark and gloomy contrast of his dark clothing against the sunny fields around him. Soren trudged further into the plains to escape the constricted atmosphere of the campsite.
He was just one person and the world rolled on. No matter where the stood the distance remained unreachable, no matter how far he walked the farthest heights were unattainable, for the distance was always distant and the horizon remained on the horizon. There was no end of the world, for if there was an end then there was an end of potential and possibility. Soren wondered if he was ever really needed. Ike possessed such power and virtue that he could carve a happy life on his own. He had already achieved the unthinkable, so there was nothing that was beyond Ike. Soren had questioned his own worth from the start. He only seemed important because Ike had allowed it, because he had been given the permission to remain with the mercenaries as both a tactician and a mage on the battlefield. But he pondered what would have happened had he been removed from the equation.
Ike would have found a way to defeat the Mad King of Daein and suppress the dark god. Of this, Soren had no doubt. Titania would have been sufficient as an advisor in Soren's place. He was convinced he was not really needed.
Yes, the war had ended, and yes he had contributed to their efforts, but he wondered what difference it made in the end as he strode toward the indomitable horizon. There was something out there. The mercenaries could wait; they didn't need him around, after all. Soren quickened his pace as he attempted to leave his thoughts behind, but they trailed, persistent and stubborn as they clutched at his hair and robes. He suddenly found himself breaking into a run as the past dogged his steps, snapping at his heels with images of death and memories of liars. His feet pounded against the earth and crushed blades of grass in his hurry. But flexible as always, the grass uncurled as his fleeting shadow passed over.
Soren burst into the trees, chasing the phantom of what was yet to come as he fled further and further from the life and memories he knew. For a moment he was desperate to forget everything and everyone he had ever known. The frost collected again on his soul, reminding him of the days when he never existed, and for a moment he wished he could cease to exist. It was all bitter, all meaningless. Suddenly he didn't want the victory. He didn't want the attention. He didn't want the mercenaries, and he didn't want the world. He just wanted to pass into a different realm where he didn't matter to anyone but himself, where sight and sound and pain where merely tales, transient illusions of a higher existence: nothingness, a united existence without sentience. Soren forgot the reason for why he was running by then but he continued anyway. He slowed to a jog and then a confused walk as the trees thickened, then abruptly began thinning once more. The forest was larger than that, he was certain.
Where the trees were once cherry pink or barely clothed in green now stood trees blazing with the autumn raiments. Catching his breath, he stopped to take in the sights of a realm he thought he had known. Something was here. He knew. Soren trudged in, dead leaves crackling beneath his boots as his cape brushed over their withered carcasses and sent them aflutter. He was just one thing and the world rolled on. He wasn't human, but nor was he mere animal. He was swept up in the sights, the new world that had unfolded before him, the revelation of unending possibility and opportunity. For a moment Soren was entirely convinced he was meant to be there and he dashed into the fiery fields of the autumn. The coolness settled through his robes and onto his skin, the dryness sucking away the spring moisture as his garnet eyes swung up to inspect the dim clouds above.
He was awed.
And then he realized he wasn't home.
Unnerved, Soren whirled about and fled back into the trees at a greater speed than before, trying again to retrace his memories and return to the past. But it was there that fate ceased to listen, for as he sprinted on and on the forest thickened but never thinned. He lost himself in a labyrinth of shrubbery and foliage, sleeping owls turning their heads to follow the reviled abomination that was fleeing through their territory. The deeper Soren went the more desperate he became to find the grassy fields he had departed. The the thickness of the forest seemed to last forever, outdoing his endurance and eventually forcing him to his knees. The mage collapsed against a tree, head low as he cursed himself and the autumn around him.
He had never asked the gods to favor him and he didn't start there, for he knew they would never answer something as hated as him. Soren buried himself into the bed of decaying leaves, hangs wrung with anguish as he trembled. He stayed there until nightfall when he had finally stirred himself, but the autumn forest was endless and he had soon collapsed again.
With his past truly far behind him now, Soren spent his first night in Learania sleeping beneath dead leaves and a dying sky. He learned the true meaning of regret in those sorrow-filled hours.
The laughter was raucous, the people jubilant. The mercenaries toasted happily in the gently illuminated tent, permeated by the sweet scent of wine and rum as their respective drinks sloshed around in their goblets. Boyd was downing them as quickly as his cup was filled, rum dribbling down his hardened square face while he leaned back in his seat. The red-tressed Titania shook her head at the performance. Ike raised his goblet, laughing with the others, Oscar chuckling and squinting as always, Gatrie grinning and snickering as he propped his elbows against the table. Shinon had passed out on top of the table from sheer intoxication. Mia slapped her hand against the back of his head, praising their exploits with utter abandon. Mist wore her sunny smile as she watched her comrades and Rolf nodded excitedly. Rhys glanced around almost uncertainly at the others with one man already slumped in unconsciousness.
Soren had his arms crossed, seated by Ike as he observed the scene before them. He could see that Ike was truly enjoying himself. The others were as normal as could be, almost as if the old days had returned to them, the prosperous age before the war when they lived the simple lifestyle of battling bandits and collecting modest sums of money. All the tension had been swept away after the final battle. They would soon go home, away from the cities and the people, back to the secluded and tranquil countryside where they didn’t have to worry about reconstruction and political establishments. Soren was tired, truly and sincerely tired, but he was also at ease. Perhaps he was tipsy from the very nostalgia of the scene.
"A year! Can you believe it? We won a war in just a year," Gatrie exclaimed conversationally. "Ahh, if only I’d discovered a flowering maiden in that span of time, one who would have waited and wept at home for me as I heroically thundered across the battlefield!" Longing washed through the knight’s wistful eyes.
"Aahh, keep talkin’!" said Boyd as he pounded Gatrie on the back.
"Well it was quite the feat," Titania casually interjected. "To restore a hidden princess’s kingdom to her name in one year, as well as prevent a worldwide catastrophe and felling a mad king, is more than anyone can ask for. This is perhaps our proudest accomplishment as mercenaries."
"You mean as an army," Ike remarked. He leaned toward the table as he set his goblet down. "I’m sorry to say we have to hang around for a while. Elincia says she has plans for me that’ll get me stuck in Melior for some time."
"You mean she’ll grant you peerage," Soren stated matter-of-factly as he turned his head.
Ike flicked his head, strands of blue hair shaking with a glance toward the tactician. "Well, yeah."
Mist bounced a bit in her seat and said, "You’re not happy about that, are you, Ike?"
The commander shrugged and folded his arms upon the table. "Well, if I can help Elincia, I'll just have to suck it up."
"That's the spirit," said Titania with a smile. "Grin and bear it. Your father would have been so proud."
Soren cast the deputy commander a glance brimming quietly with alarm. However, Ike merely leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms under his head, looking almost dreamily at the ceiling. "Yeah..."
"What was he like?" asked Mia excitedly, drumming her fist on Shinon's unconscious head.
Soren pushed himself up, scooting his chair back. "I'll be right back, Ike." The commander nodded and Soren quickly dismissed himself, slipping out of the tent as the closing flap muffled the voices behind him.
All about him, soldiers bustled and conversed, some taking down their tents while others contently napped the day away. The sun yawned upon their heads as it cruised lazily through the clear, blue sky. He glanced around idly as men in armor and outfits of war milled to and fro, the atmosphere thrumming with chatter and the occasional clank of armor and weapons. He shielded his eyes from the bright sky as the white clouds reflected the brilliance of the sun. The timing was curious; the war had ended by the beginning of spring, a thing of poets and troubadours. Soren was no troubadour but he supposed he could not deny the appreciation of such coincidences.
He moved off, spreading some distance between him and the tent. The entire thing was still like a dream to the mage. He quickly reminded himself that he was more of a sage now, having attained the fluency of professional magic-users in the art of magic. His skills with wind sorcery were not to be trifled with. As he strolled away from the tent in search of fresh air, he traced his abilities to the past and followed his memories down into the farthest reaches of his mind. He seemed so formidable now and had just helped to end a war, whereas one year ago he would have found himself probably impaled on the battlements of the Daein Keep if he had been in the same situation. One year ago he would have never made it back to Crimea. One year ago he would have been lost to the sagas of war alongside the other mercenaries, one year ago he would have failed Ike.
One year ago, Ike gave him purpose.
Soren owed his entire existence to Ike. He really did. All those years ago, when he was starving and the laguz walked over him as though he was a stone, when he was staggering in search of a home and Gallian beorcs chased him out with stones and cries of "Devil!", Ike was the one stranger who offered him anything kind. They had been mere children too. Though it served as a weakness many times during the war, it was perhaps Ike's naivety that had saved Soren.
As he escaped the confines of the campsite, he cast his eyes out to the rolling plains and the elongated blades of grass bowing and bending to the wind's whim. Flowers just barely budding bobbed their heads cheerfully in the light of the sun. Soren glanced down at his robes, noting the dark and gloomy contrast of his dark clothing against the sunny fields around him. Soren trudged further into the plains to escape the constricted atmosphere of the campsite.
He was just one person and the world rolled on. No matter where the stood the distance remained unreachable, no matter how far he walked the farthest heights were unattainable, for the distance was always distant and the horizon remained on the horizon. There was no end of the world, for if there was an end then there was an end of potential and possibility. Soren wondered if he was ever really needed. Ike possessed such power and virtue that he could carve a happy life on his own. He had already achieved the unthinkable, so there was nothing that was beyond Ike. Soren had questioned his own worth from the start. He only seemed important because Ike had allowed it, because he had been given the permission to remain with the mercenaries as both a tactician and a mage on the battlefield. But he pondered what would have happened had he been removed from the equation.
Ike would have found a way to defeat the Mad King of Daein and suppress the dark god. Of this, Soren had no doubt. Titania would have been sufficient as an advisor in Soren's place. He was convinced he was not really needed.
Yes, the war had ended, and yes he had contributed to their efforts, but he wondered what difference it made in the end as he strode toward the indomitable horizon. There was something out there. The mercenaries could wait; they didn't need him around, after all. Soren quickened his pace as he attempted to leave his thoughts behind, but they trailed, persistent and stubborn as they clutched at his hair and robes. He suddenly found himself breaking into a run as the past dogged his steps, snapping at his heels with images of death and memories of liars. His feet pounded against the earth and crushed blades of grass in his hurry. But flexible as always, the grass uncurled as his fleeting shadow passed over.
Soren burst into the trees, chasing the phantom of what was yet to come as he fled further and further from the life and memories he knew. For a moment he was desperate to forget everything and everyone he had ever known. The frost collected again on his soul, reminding him of the days when he never existed, and for a moment he wished he could cease to exist. It was all bitter, all meaningless. Suddenly he didn't want the victory. He didn't want the attention. He didn't want the mercenaries, and he didn't want the world. He just wanted to pass into a different realm where he didn't matter to anyone but himself, where sight and sound and pain where merely tales, transient illusions of a higher existence: nothingness, a united existence without sentience. Soren forgot the reason for why he was running by then but he continued anyway. He slowed to a jog and then a confused walk as the trees thickened, then abruptly began thinning once more. The forest was larger than that, he was certain.
Where the trees were once cherry pink or barely clothed in green now stood trees blazing with the autumn raiments. Catching his breath, he stopped to take in the sights of a realm he thought he had known. Something was here. He knew. Soren trudged in, dead leaves crackling beneath his boots as his cape brushed over their withered carcasses and sent them aflutter. He was just one thing and the world rolled on. He wasn't human, but nor was he mere animal. He was swept up in the sights, the new world that had unfolded before him, the revelation of unending possibility and opportunity. For a moment Soren was entirely convinced he was meant to be there and he dashed into the fiery fields of the autumn. The coolness settled through his robes and onto his skin, the dryness sucking away the spring moisture as his garnet eyes swung up to inspect the dim clouds above.
He was awed.
And then he realized he wasn't home.
Unnerved, Soren whirled about and fled back into the trees at a greater speed than before, trying again to retrace his memories and return to the past. But it was there that fate ceased to listen, for as he sprinted on and on the forest thickened but never thinned. He lost himself in a labyrinth of shrubbery and foliage, sleeping owls turning their heads to follow the reviled abomination that was fleeing through their territory. The deeper Soren went the more desperate he became to find the grassy fields he had departed. The the thickness of the forest seemed to last forever, outdoing his endurance and eventually forcing him to his knees. The mage collapsed against a tree, head low as he cursed himself and the autumn around him.
He had never asked the gods to favor him and he didn't start there, for he knew they would never answer something as hated as him. Soren buried himself into the bed of decaying leaves, hangs wrung with anguish as he trembled. He stayed there until nightfall when he had finally stirred himself, but the autumn forest was endless and he had soon collapsed again.
With his past truly far behind him now, Soren spent his first night in Learania sleeping beneath dead leaves and a dying sky. He learned the true meaning of regret in those sorrow-filled hours.
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