[July 9] [Fire Emblem] Kinesis
Jul. 9th, 2008 01:52 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
runicloreKinesis
Author: Amber Michelle
Day/Theme: July 9 - Alone in the pale blue morning
Series: Fire Emblem: Radiant Dawn
Character/Pairing: Soren, Mist
Rating: K
Words: 2342
Notes: based on the ending in which Soren doesn't have a high support rating with Ike. Absolutely gen.
I received some, ah, bad news, so I think I'll forego editing and get on with writing my ever-so-dramatic Begnion saga for its theraputic value. You don't have to forgive me for not editing this time. At least I spell-checked?
.............................................
Soren was late the first year, arriving at Mist's door somewhere closer to two years after he left instead of one. For once he had stopped counting the days, the weeks that passed since Ike disappeared, and the dusty libraries of Persis had been his companions. Deep, dark, distracting - he simply lost track of time. It wasn't as if he didn't have plenty to spare.
"I don't mind," Mist said when she welcomed him inside and went to boil water over the hearth. She didn't say she was surprised, but he knew what she was thinking: I didn't believe you would come back just for my brother, and the warmth of her smile was adulterated with a sliver of self-recrimination. "I didn't know you could be late to anything, Soren."
There were a lot of things she didn't know about him. He let his satchel drop to the floor with a heavy thump. "How are you? Where is Boyd?"
"Mmm, I don't know." She joined him at the table. "He asked me to marry him, and when I said no, he left with his brothers..."
"He-- what?" Soren tried to imagine what Ike would do; crack his knuckles one by one, comment on Boyd's imminent demise-- "Does he have a death wish?"
"Hey!" Mist kicked at him under the table, hit the other chair instead. "You're not going to go after him like Ike would, will you? I said no."
He would never go through so much trouble to find Boyd. Mist wasn't his responsibility, not really, and she was capable of taking care of herself. If not for that stupid promise he'd made, Soren would still be in Persis studying the ancient language. "The water is boiling," he said.
She went to fetch it with a frown and poured it into a porcelain pot painted with faded pink roses. Her tea was herbal, with some green mixed in, and he accepted a cup with a soft thank you. Tea in Begnion, especially to the far east, was roasted black and lacked the fresh forest taste of this one. It kept him awake to study, and that was why he drank it. Ike would cuff him upside the head.
That was one thing Soren never worried about now; there was no one strong enough to lift him out of his chair bodily, sling him over a muscular shoulder, and cart him off to bed. No one would dare.
"Will you be staying?" Mist asked. "Your old room is still open."
Soren looked at his tea. Bits of green leaf and rose petal collected at the bottom. "I have nowhere else to be," he said.
And that was it.
.
Someone else shopped for the mercenaries now, but Soren went to the market for Mist the first week, because he couldn't justify doing nothing when there weren't servants to carry the responsibility of caring for him. She cooked to his specifications, offered to do his laundry - it was the least he could do in return.
At a stand of oranges - from Persis, he read, with a twist of his lip - he was distracted from payment by a flutter in his peripheral vision. An urchin, sidestepping between the fruit stalls, wrapped in a tattered brown cloak. Their eyes met, and a grimy hand darted out to grab an apple. Soren turned away, handed his money over, and hurried back to the keep.
A war orphan, he told himself. The child was one of many who slipped through the cracks in spite of Elincia's good intentions regarding commoners.
Typical.
Mist loved the oranges, and told Soren he was welcome to do the shopping every week - just like old times. He shrugged, and found himself at the market again the next week for herbs as well as food. I trust you to make good choices, she'd said, as if he needed her praise. He obsessed over the fennel, the mint leaves, stalks of rosemary, nuggets of frankincense, because he refused to pay a premium for inferior materials. He went back to her without the cocoa butter she asked for because it was cut with animal fat, which would go rancid in a matter of weeks and compromise her blends. It was when he left the apothecary he'd visited in hopes of a substitute that he saw the flutter at the corner of his eye again. He ignored it, and the shouting that echoed up the street in his wake. His business was with his books.
"War orphans?" His room was mostly empty, unlived in, but the table was covered in paper. Mist shoved a book aside and set a bowl of clear dumpling soup at his elbow. "There are a few, but this area wasn't hit as hard as the southeast."
"Are they being taken care of?" Soren asked, marking his tome with a finger.
She rubbed her neck. "I assumed they were. Why?"
He shrugged, told her it was nothing, and went back to reading.
.
The empress was quite generous with her favors when Soren asked for access to the former Minister's archives. Whether it was his connection to Ike that inspired her respect, or one of his own accomplishments, Sanaki was accommodating in a matter he knew might be uncomfortable for her. If it exists, he surely has a copy. Sephiran was a master of the arcane. I'm sure he collected everything valuable on the topic.
If you take anything-- please care for it, and return it when you are able.
Sephiran's collection was everything a man of the art could want. The first treasure Soren stumbled on was a nine volume collection on the old tongue, annotated with the duke's own handwriting. Then he found a copy of primordial spells, the binding so old it cracked to the touch, and the collection was so ancient - indecipherable - it didn't have a name. It called upon the spirits of lands Soren had never heard of.
In a year he was able to compile a journal of the most relevant information on the old tongue and an appendix with the newer notations. He kept the book of spells, and another on casting techniques devised to reduce dependance on tomes. That, too, was in the duke's hand. Nonverbal casting, kinetic spells, a method for cracking the protection on staves that restricted their use - if Soren hadn't known the man's secret already, he would have wondered at the kind of material in his possession.
It was while reading the latter book that Soren considered going to Goldoa next, instead of returning to Persis right away. He was close enough. How many of the duke's books were copied from originals there? The manor was on extended loan to him while the empire debated the replacement of senators lost in the war. There was no hurry.
Soren went to the market with travel in mind, eyeing the prices of meat - still high - and the going rate for spices and extractions for food preservation. Crops were small this year, he was told. And there aren't so many left to cart extras in from the outer provinces, either. An outrageous price was quoted, and he left without buying anything.
Bargaining was well and good when using the company's money, which was consistently replenished by missions. Kill bandits here, escort caravans there, guard the town granary while new gates are built, escort immigrants from Felirae. Two months had passed since his arrival, and Soren still hadn't seen Titania in person, though he'd heard her bellowing orders one early morning when he was practicing a new casting.
His own purse was slim, and he wasn't going to join the group again just for a few coins. They would want a tactician, not a mage. Soren was finished with that line of work.
"Two oranges," he said, approaching the fruit vendor. "And a citron." He dug a few coins out of his pouch. If he waited a week prices might go down--
"You! Give that back!"
Yelling, an angry cry, a loud slap. Soren flung his hand out and his spell struck before he could think better of it - the corner of the next stall splintered and broke, and the woman flinched back with a yell, pulling the child with her. Splinters prickled on his hand, stinging.
"Hm." He glared at his hand, drew it back. "Never mind," he said to the girl getting his oranges.
"What do you think you're doing, flinging magic around like that?" The woman holding the child glared at him, prying a carrot out of the boy's wrist. She dropped him and scrambled up. "You could have killed someone! Violence like that has no place in a market--"
"I didn't ask for your opinion," Soren snapped. He tossed the coins at her. "Go find someone to fix your stall before I bring the whole thing down on your head." The kid was out cold - probably his fault. He flicked splinters from the boy's fair hair and tapped his cheek with the back of his hand. "Wake up."
"I didn't hit him that hard," the woman said, low. "You--"
"Go." Soren stared at the brat and sighed. His fault. He'd have to work on the precision of those kinetic spells.
.
"You're insane," Mist said.
"Maybe."
She turned the child's hand over, probing at something with a pair of silver tweezers. "What do you expect to do for him?"
Soren shrugged. "Give him some food, send him on his way."
"And put him right back where he started? I don't know why you bothered."
He didn't either. His back would probably knot up all night after carrying the brat in from town. "Was I supposed to leave him there?"
Mist set her tweezers on their tray and laid the boy's hand over his chest. "Get the juniper wash and some salve. And a towel."
Soren helped her clean the child's arms and face. He's so dirty she muttered, and a few seconds later, he should take a bath before he leaves, and he rolled his eyes. Bathing wasn't on the list of concerns confronting street urchins to his memory, and it didn't look like anything had changed. He searched for a mark, but didn't expect to find one. He would have known.
"Your turn," Mist said when they were done, and Soren extended his injured hand without a word.
.
Their charge started showing signs of life an hour past sundown, after they moved him into Soren's room to be watched. Soren bowed his head over a tome and watched the kid through a curtain of his hair. He sat up in increments, rubbing his head, then covering his eyes with a hand until they adjusted to the lamplight. His face was pale, and his arms were prickled with red. Mist was of the opinion he wasn't hurt badly enough to merit the use of a healing staff.
It took a full three minutes for the urchin to realize he wasn't alone. He froze, blinked, and tensed like he was ready to bolt.
"At least eat before you run," Soren said without turning his head. He pointed to the bedside table, where an apple waited, cored and sliced into wedges. "And get better at stealing."
His charge went limp. "Who asked you?"
Soren shrugged and pretended to ignore him. He hadn't been very skilled at stealing either when he was younger, but the mark made his face distinctive, while this child could have blended into any town or village without trouble. Maybe he was from the area; maybe the vendors at the market knew his face.
And maybe, he said to himself, snapping his book shut, I should stop worrying about it. I don't care.
The child was watching him when he turned toward the bed, a half-eaten piece of apple in his hand. The plate was empty. "Why? I'm not gonna do your damned chores or anything just because you helped me."
Chores? "That woman is a shrew," Soren said, taking his book to the shelf with his journal and writing case. "Don't get the wrong idea."
"Whatever. I'll just go--"
He was interrupted by a knock, and Mist opened the door. She looked from the boy to Soren, then to the plate. "You're feeling better? Then maybe you should take a bath."
The kid stared at her, slack-jawed. "What?"
Mist narrowed her eyes, hands going to her hips. "Your arms. They'll get infected if you don't wash up."
He looked at his arms. "This is nothing." The kid slid from the bed. "Look, no offense, but--"
"Just go," Soren said. And then he added, "You know where we are if you need something."
Mist hesitated, chewing her bottom lip, but moved out of the way to let the child leave. She watched him from the doorway while Soren retrieved his writing case and a piece of paper and took it to the table.
"How did you carry him all this way?"
Soren looked up in the process of uncapping his ink. "Over my shoulder. Why?"
"No help? Not even a cart?" She turned back to the door when he shook his head. "But he was so big. At least seven..."
"Does it matter?" Soren sat down. "Anyway, it's you he'll talk to if he actually comes back. I'm returning to Persis."
"What?" She spun around. "Wait a minute--"
"I'll be back for the winter," he said. "Probably. I'll have business here around then."
Mist stared for a few beats and threw up her hands. "Right. Whatever you say, Soren. Bring some black tea with you this time, or I'll make you sleep outside. Got it?"
"Of course," Soren said. She huffed sharply and flounced out, pulling the door closed loudly.
Just like old times. He dipped his pen into the inkwell.
Greetings to Queen Elincia of Crimea he wrote in a careful, cursive hand. I have some concerns about your provisions for veteran families in the provinces...
...................................................
Author: Amber Michelle
Day/Theme: July 9 - Alone in the pale blue morning
Series: Fire Emblem: Radiant Dawn
Character/Pairing: Soren, Mist
Rating: K
Words: 2342
Notes: based on the ending in which Soren doesn't have a high support rating with Ike. Absolutely gen.
I received some, ah, bad news, so I think I'll forego editing and get on with writing my ever-so-dramatic Begnion saga for its theraputic value. You don't have to forgive me for not editing this time. At least I spell-checked?
.............................................
Soren was late the first year, arriving at Mist's door somewhere closer to two years after he left instead of one. For once he had stopped counting the days, the weeks that passed since Ike disappeared, and the dusty libraries of Persis had been his companions. Deep, dark, distracting - he simply lost track of time. It wasn't as if he didn't have plenty to spare.
"I don't mind," Mist said when she welcomed him inside and went to boil water over the hearth. She didn't say she was surprised, but he knew what she was thinking: I didn't believe you would come back just for my brother, and the warmth of her smile was adulterated with a sliver of self-recrimination. "I didn't know you could be late to anything, Soren."
There were a lot of things she didn't know about him. He let his satchel drop to the floor with a heavy thump. "How are you? Where is Boyd?"
"Mmm, I don't know." She joined him at the table. "He asked me to marry him, and when I said no, he left with his brothers..."
"He-- what?" Soren tried to imagine what Ike would do; crack his knuckles one by one, comment on Boyd's imminent demise-- "Does he have a death wish?"
"Hey!" Mist kicked at him under the table, hit the other chair instead. "You're not going to go after him like Ike would, will you? I said no."
He would never go through so much trouble to find Boyd. Mist wasn't his responsibility, not really, and she was capable of taking care of herself. If not for that stupid promise he'd made, Soren would still be in Persis studying the ancient language. "The water is boiling," he said.
She went to fetch it with a frown and poured it into a porcelain pot painted with faded pink roses. Her tea was herbal, with some green mixed in, and he accepted a cup with a soft thank you. Tea in Begnion, especially to the far east, was roasted black and lacked the fresh forest taste of this one. It kept him awake to study, and that was why he drank it. Ike would cuff him upside the head.
That was one thing Soren never worried about now; there was no one strong enough to lift him out of his chair bodily, sling him over a muscular shoulder, and cart him off to bed. No one would dare.
"Will you be staying?" Mist asked. "Your old room is still open."
Soren looked at his tea. Bits of green leaf and rose petal collected at the bottom. "I have nowhere else to be," he said.
And that was it.
.
Someone else shopped for the mercenaries now, but Soren went to the market for Mist the first week, because he couldn't justify doing nothing when there weren't servants to carry the responsibility of caring for him. She cooked to his specifications, offered to do his laundry - it was the least he could do in return.
At a stand of oranges - from Persis, he read, with a twist of his lip - he was distracted from payment by a flutter in his peripheral vision. An urchin, sidestepping between the fruit stalls, wrapped in a tattered brown cloak. Their eyes met, and a grimy hand darted out to grab an apple. Soren turned away, handed his money over, and hurried back to the keep.
A war orphan, he told himself. The child was one of many who slipped through the cracks in spite of Elincia's good intentions regarding commoners.
Typical.
Mist loved the oranges, and told Soren he was welcome to do the shopping every week - just like old times. He shrugged, and found himself at the market again the next week for herbs as well as food. I trust you to make good choices, she'd said, as if he needed her praise. He obsessed over the fennel, the mint leaves, stalks of rosemary, nuggets of frankincense, because he refused to pay a premium for inferior materials. He went back to her without the cocoa butter she asked for because it was cut with animal fat, which would go rancid in a matter of weeks and compromise her blends. It was when he left the apothecary he'd visited in hopes of a substitute that he saw the flutter at the corner of his eye again. He ignored it, and the shouting that echoed up the street in his wake. His business was with his books.
"War orphans?" His room was mostly empty, unlived in, but the table was covered in paper. Mist shoved a book aside and set a bowl of clear dumpling soup at his elbow. "There are a few, but this area wasn't hit as hard as the southeast."
"Are they being taken care of?" Soren asked, marking his tome with a finger.
She rubbed her neck. "I assumed they were. Why?"
He shrugged, told her it was nothing, and went back to reading.
.
The empress was quite generous with her favors when Soren asked for access to the former Minister's archives. Whether it was his connection to Ike that inspired her respect, or one of his own accomplishments, Sanaki was accommodating in a matter he knew might be uncomfortable for her. If it exists, he surely has a copy. Sephiran was a master of the arcane. I'm sure he collected everything valuable on the topic.
If you take anything-- please care for it, and return it when you are able.
Sephiran's collection was everything a man of the art could want. The first treasure Soren stumbled on was a nine volume collection on the old tongue, annotated with the duke's own handwriting. Then he found a copy of primordial spells, the binding so old it cracked to the touch, and the collection was so ancient - indecipherable - it didn't have a name. It called upon the spirits of lands Soren had never heard of.
In a year he was able to compile a journal of the most relevant information on the old tongue and an appendix with the newer notations. He kept the book of spells, and another on casting techniques devised to reduce dependance on tomes. That, too, was in the duke's hand. Nonverbal casting, kinetic spells, a method for cracking the protection on staves that restricted their use - if Soren hadn't known the man's secret already, he would have wondered at the kind of material in his possession.
It was while reading the latter book that Soren considered going to Goldoa next, instead of returning to Persis right away. He was close enough. How many of the duke's books were copied from originals there? The manor was on extended loan to him while the empire debated the replacement of senators lost in the war. There was no hurry.
Soren went to the market with travel in mind, eyeing the prices of meat - still high - and the going rate for spices and extractions for food preservation. Crops were small this year, he was told. And there aren't so many left to cart extras in from the outer provinces, either. An outrageous price was quoted, and he left without buying anything.
Bargaining was well and good when using the company's money, which was consistently replenished by missions. Kill bandits here, escort caravans there, guard the town granary while new gates are built, escort immigrants from Felirae. Two months had passed since his arrival, and Soren still hadn't seen Titania in person, though he'd heard her bellowing orders one early morning when he was practicing a new casting.
His own purse was slim, and he wasn't going to join the group again just for a few coins. They would want a tactician, not a mage. Soren was finished with that line of work.
"Two oranges," he said, approaching the fruit vendor. "And a citron." He dug a few coins out of his pouch. If he waited a week prices might go down--
"You! Give that back!"
Yelling, an angry cry, a loud slap. Soren flung his hand out and his spell struck before he could think better of it - the corner of the next stall splintered and broke, and the woman flinched back with a yell, pulling the child with her. Splinters prickled on his hand, stinging.
"Hm." He glared at his hand, drew it back. "Never mind," he said to the girl getting his oranges.
"What do you think you're doing, flinging magic around like that?" The woman holding the child glared at him, prying a carrot out of the boy's wrist. She dropped him and scrambled up. "You could have killed someone! Violence like that has no place in a market--"
"I didn't ask for your opinion," Soren snapped. He tossed the coins at her. "Go find someone to fix your stall before I bring the whole thing down on your head." The kid was out cold - probably his fault. He flicked splinters from the boy's fair hair and tapped his cheek with the back of his hand. "Wake up."
"I didn't hit him that hard," the woman said, low. "You--"
"Go." Soren stared at the brat and sighed. His fault. He'd have to work on the precision of those kinetic spells.
.
"You're insane," Mist said.
"Maybe."
She turned the child's hand over, probing at something with a pair of silver tweezers. "What do you expect to do for him?"
Soren shrugged. "Give him some food, send him on his way."
"And put him right back where he started? I don't know why you bothered."
He didn't either. His back would probably knot up all night after carrying the brat in from town. "Was I supposed to leave him there?"
Mist set her tweezers on their tray and laid the boy's hand over his chest. "Get the juniper wash and some salve. And a towel."
Soren helped her clean the child's arms and face. He's so dirty she muttered, and a few seconds later, he should take a bath before he leaves, and he rolled his eyes. Bathing wasn't on the list of concerns confronting street urchins to his memory, and it didn't look like anything had changed. He searched for a mark, but didn't expect to find one. He would have known.
"Your turn," Mist said when they were done, and Soren extended his injured hand without a word.
.
Their charge started showing signs of life an hour past sundown, after they moved him into Soren's room to be watched. Soren bowed his head over a tome and watched the kid through a curtain of his hair. He sat up in increments, rubbing his head, then covering his eyes with a hand until they adjusted to the lamplight. His face was pale, and his arms were prickled with red. Mist was of the opinion he wasn't hurt badly enough to merit the use of a healing staff.
It took a full three minutes for the urchin to realize he wasn't alone. He froze, blinked, and tensed like he was ready to bolt.
"At least eat before you run," Soren said without turning his head. He pointed to the bedside table, where an apple waited, cored and sliced into wedges. "And get better at stealing."
His charge went limp. "Who asked you?"
Soren shrugged and pretended to ignore him. He hadn't been very skilled at stealing either when he was younger, but the mark made his face distinctive, while this child could have blended into any town or village without trouble. Maybe he was from the area; maybe the vendors at the market knew his face.
And maybe, he said to himself, snapping his book shut, I should stop worrying about it. I don't care.
The child was watching him when he turned toward the bed, a half-eaten piece of apple in his hand. The plate was empty. "Why? I'm not gonna do your damned chores or anything just because you helped me."
Chores? "That woman is a shrew," Soren said, taking his book to the shelf with his journal and writing case. "Don't get the wrong idea."
"Whatever. I'll just go--"
He was interrupted by a knock, and Mist opened the door. She looked from the boy to Soren, then to the plate. "You're feeling better? Then maybe you should take a bath."
The kid stared at her, slack-jawed. "What?"
Mist narrowed her eyes, hands going to her hips. "Your arms. They'll get infected if you don't wash up."
He looked at his arms. "This is nothing." The kid slid from the bed. "Look, no offense, but--"
"Just go," Soren said. And then he added, "You know where we are if you need something."
Mist hesitated, chewing her bottom lip, but moved out of the way to let the child leave. She watched him from the doorway while Soren retrieved his writing case and a piece of paper and took it to the table.
"How did you carry him all this way?"
Soren looked up in the process of uncapping his ink. "Over my shoulder. Why?"
"No help? Not even a cart?" She turned back to the door when he shook his head. "But he was so big. At least seven..."
"Does it matter?" Soren sat down. "Anyway, it's you he'll talk to if he actually comes back. I'm returning to Persis."
"What?" She spun around. "Wait a minute--"
"I'll be back for the winter," he said. "Probably. I'll have business here around then."
Mist stared for a few beats and threw up her hands. "Right. Whatever you say, Soren. Bring some black tea with you this time, or I'll make you sleep outside. Got it?"
"Of course," Soren said. She huffed sharply and flounced out, pulling the door closed loudly.
Just like old times. He dipped his pen into the inkwell.
Greetings to Queen Elincia of Crimea he wrote in a careful, cursive hand. I have some concerns about your provisions for veteran families in the provinces...
...................................................
wow
Date: 2009-08-01 10:35 am (UTC)im astounded... its a great piece of work
you captured Soren perfectly. I only wish it was longer, and maybe included more of the characters.
i'd like to read some more stories from you, email me at jonnyofthefunk@yahoo.com if you find the time.