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seasaltmemories · 2 years ago

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Learning to Lend a Helping Hand

Rating: T

Summary: After disappearing without a word three years ago, Sothe writes to Tormod for a favor. In return Tormod learns he doesn't know as much about his friend as he assumed he did. For @queenlua and @nagamas

Being back in Daein made the hairs on the back of Tormod’s neck stand on end.

He knew that it had its fair share of decent folks, but it wasn’t as if a country changed over night. For all the crimes the Empire had committed, he knew Laguz who swore Daein wasn’t even safe enough to spend one night in. Even if this time he was helping their army rather than fighting it, that kind of warning was a little hard to shake off.

“Good thing you’re not Laguz then.” Vika liked to comment. She made the observation with the same wry sense of humor she used most every time she opened her mouth, but it annoyed him for her to act as if he had somehow forgotten his own race. It wasn’t a coincidence that as the three of them traveled further and further north, he made it a point to take the lead on chatting up innkeepers or buying supplies. As leader of the Emancipation Army, he had to step up when his men couldn’t.

Still, every time Vika ruffled her wings beneath her cloak, or Muarim adjusted his bandanna, it was hard not to hold his breath and prepare for the worst.

“We came along to make sure you stayed safe, not the other way around.” Muarim reminded Tormod as they settled in for another night’s rest. “Whether we reach your friend or not, he’ll learn the results of our investigation soon enough.”

While a solid chunk of wisdom, something about Muarim’s words rattled around in Tormod’s head when he took the first watch. Given the rate imperial messengers traveled, they might beat the news only by a week or so. Pride alone couldn’t trump simple math and logistics.

On instinct, he reached down and pulled out the letter he received a little over a month ago. The chicken-scratch penmanship was muddled to the point of incomprehension, but even now he could make out the fine quality of the parchment and the simple signature at the bottom.

—I’m counting on you, Sothe

By the end of the war, he knew his irresistible charm had started to wear down the quiet little grump. Sothe had started to chuckle a bit at his jokes and stopped shaking off his touch whenever Tormod slung an arm around him. But once the fighting was over for good and they received their wages from General Ike, Sothe disappeared without another word. Even if work with the Apostle hadn’t consumed most of Tormod’s waking hours, he had no clue how he was supposed to track down a guy like that, or if Sothe even wanted to be found.

For him to be the one to reach out, and from the base of another Liberation Army, he couldn’t ignore that, could he?

Tormod looked up to see both Muarim and Vika curled up against the foot of a large tree. As cozy as they looked, he chose to stay on his side of the dwindling fire. If they were ambushed, he could distract any bandits so they’d chase him instead.

He could already hear Muarim scolding him for coming up with such a reckless plan. While at this point he’d be more concerned if the old tiger wasn’t worrying, Tormod wished Muarim would realize that he had learned how to take care of others from the best. He’d kept his promises, no matter what.

Of course, when they finally caught up with the Liberation Army, it was during the middle of a prison break.

Not that he was complaining, freeing prisoners was what he did best. Plus, considering these cells and restraints were only made to hold normal Beorc, his team ended up smashing them open in record time. If any of the prisoners noticed the claw and bite marks left behind, they were smart enough to keep the observation to themselves.

The only hiccup came when they reached the upper level and a dark shadow descended on the group. On instinct, he flipped for a fresh page of his tome, but the blur was faster than his fingers, closing the gap and—

“Hey!”

Tormod blinked, and messy green hair and a winding scarf came into focus.

“Sothe!” The dread transformed into relief and then outrage at such a dizzying speed, Tormod nearly saw stars. “You scurvy traitor!”

There’s not much time to exchange more than a few words confirming that yes, they did have news, and yes, how dare he grow taller than Tormod. But it was worth it to wait until they were back at the Liberation Base; otherwise, he wouldn’t have believed Sothe could smile so much.

“That’s just what we needed to hear. Can we depend on having you three around for at least a little while?”

“Just try getting rid of me!”

“I can only try!” Then the craziest thing happened. Sothe actually reached out to hug him. The gesture was so alien, Tormod had no wits to react with when it turned into a noogie.

Tormod broke free just in time to see Muarim badly attempt to stifle his laughter.

“Go catch up with your friend, little one.” He waved towards the mage girl standing next to him. “She’ll make sure we get settled safely.”

On any other evening, Tormod would have puffed his chest and insisted he wasn’t a kid having to be dropped off for playtime. But after weeks of travel, a break did sound nice.

“Alright then!” He slung an arm around Sothe, dragging him down a few inches. “Show me this fancy new army you’re running!”

As they trekked across camp, the weird giddiness started to fade away. Yet what lingered in the air was just as electric. Their path was aimless, stopping by the armory and checking up with old Mad King’s War buddies with equal frequency, but a prideful glint sparked in Sothe’s eye with each introduction he made, no matter how flat his tone might have been.

In general, he seemed to carry himself differently now. He had always been a nimble thing, but now there just seemed to be more control to his movements. The clenched hesitation from the war had evolved into a more subtle wariness. Still quiet, but not afraid to speak first or lead the conversation when it came time to grab their dinner from the canteen.

“Man, talk about growing up.” Tormod smirked as Sothe handed him a bowl of soup. “I’m glad I could be such a good role model for you.”

Sothe rolled his eyes. “I probably shouldn’t entertain whatever weird little story you have brewing, but I’ll bite.”

“Making friends? Fighting for the downtrodden? It’s clear I’ve had an influence on you.”

“I’m not one for causes.” Sothe shrugged. “If they stopped paying tomorrow, I’d be out of here within the hour.”

“Oh, come on! People don’t just join two armies by chance!” Tormod waved his spoon. “Whether you admit it or not, you’ve really changed.”

Sothe studied him with the same look he had when trying to pin down where a man kept his coin purse. But rather than make any attempts to swipe at him, Sothe just lifted his bowl to his face.

“And you’re exactly the same as ever.” As he slurped the last of its content, a lazy grin spread across his face.

“That’s it!” Tormod snapped his fingers. “That’s what’s so weird. You smile more now!”

Sothe’s eyes flitted open. “If you don’t want to bring up my height again, that’s a bad lie.”

“No, I mean it! It took me three entire months to get one out of you before. Now we’re up to two in one day.”

He didn’t expect to be stepping on any toes with more teasing, but rather than shoot off another bit of banter, Sothe grew really quiet. It was an unfamiliar kind of silence, the kind that made his insides shake.

“Well...” Sothe furrowed his eyebrows. “...maybe it’s because I’m not having the worst year of my life anymore.”

Tormod winced. Goddess, of course most people didn’t look back on the war fondly.

“How could it be the worst year of your life when you met me?” He spat out in a overdone sing-song voice.

To his credit, Sothe started to perk up a little. “You don’t think you’re the reason?” He shoved at Tormod’s shoulder in what should have been a playful gesture. But once more he was too caught off guard to brace himself, so both his soup and he went flying.

“Shit!” Sothe stood with a start, looking even taller now that Tormod was face down in the dirt.

“If you’re gonna treat me like that, I hope you know my services are gonna cost extra next time!” It was hard to gauge how his punchline hit with a layer of broth and veggies blinding him, but he thought he heard a little grunt or something as Sothe helped him up.

“I’ll be sure to bill ya properly next time. For now, will another bowl do?”

“I’ll accept it.” Tormod made sure to smile extra goofily so Sothe wouldn’t think he was being sarcastic. They fell back into their games of barbs and jabs, but even on their third helping, he noticed Sothe never grinned again that night.

The rest of the week passed slowly.

The fact of any war was that when you weren’t dodging arrows or stuck in the medical tent, the biggest threat you faced was dying of boredom. The whiplash drove most new recruits crazy until they had more important things to worry about, but Tormod had always had a knack for making his own fun. Just cast a few spells in a crowded enough place and someone will stop by to watch. From there, all it took was the right conversation to transform an audience member into a friend.

But that second magic was hard to grasp in Daein. Most of the younger recruits were friendly enough, but once they got past discussing the food and weather, the conversation would turn bitter, with grievance after grievance building off each other. While they wouldn’t be fighting if there wasn’t anything left to fix, it still made his skin prickle when he heard them reminiscing about the pre-war days.

Sometimes it was left at that; sometimes they tried to lighten the mood by asking more about him, but either way, it always left a bad taste in Tormod’s mouth. Most days, it was simpler just to stay back with Muarim and Vika on the outskirts of the camp. But they made it too easy for him to run his mouth, and by the end of the week, Vika started groaning and asking for at least fifteen minutes of silence.

“Don’t tie yourself down when you don’t have to.” Muarim would say with a pat of the head. “Enjoy the time you have to spread your wings.”

There was such gentleness to his word, it seemed stupid to argue that “No clearly, I am having a blast staring at this piece of canvas.” So when Zihark stopped by to drop off some rations, Tormod flapped right behind him.

“If you’re so starved for attention, come to our King’s Court nights.” Zihark conceded as he polished his sword. “As long as you bring some gold to gamble, you’ll make plenty of friends.”

“Can you call them friends if they just want your coin?” Tormod picked up Zihark’s bag of sword powder and fiddled with its strings.

“I sell my sword; can’t fault anyone for trading their ear for a drink.” Zihark plucked the bag from Tormod’s hands before he had time to react. “Besides, when has someone not wanting you around ever stopped you before? How else did you get Sothe to tolerate you?”

Tormod rubbed the back of his neck, trying to keep from asking about him like some moony-eyed schoolgirl. “He seemed busy here, and I figured it would be best to wait for him to drop by when he was free.”

“Hmm,” Zihark dragged the cloth all the way down to the hilt of his blade. “Don’t let me discourage you from learning a bit of patience, but waiting for an invitation to bother someone rarely ever works.”

“I didn’t come here to be a pest.” Tormod snatched up Zihark’s empty sheath and tested its weight. “I want to be allowed to help for once.”

Zihark looked up from his sword, and for a moment there was something cold and mechanical to his gaze, like a watchmaker pulling apart its creation gear by gear.

“Stop playing with my things.” For as gruff as his words were, there was something gentle about the way he wrestled free the sheath from Tormod’s hands. “And if you get tired of waiting for your suitor to call, he’s usually trailing Micaiah as her little shadow.”

Tormod scrunched his nose as he tried to remember who that was. Sounded like a girl’s name. “Shouldn’t he have more important things to do?”

“See, there you go, that’s a reason to talk to him.” Zihark pushed himself up. “I’m done babysitting, though.”

Tormod considered taking the chance to swipe at the pair of gloves left behind in Zihark’s seat. But this time he was quicker than him and shot an awfully ugly look before taking off. Sometime like caution finally started to sink in.

But to his credit, Tormod didn’t immediately slink off for Sothe. It was only after another two days of slow nothing in particular that he decided he had waited long enough to deserve a quick update on the next mission. Carefully, he traced the path towards the center of the camp, trying to figure out a way to keep his eyes peeled without having to risk running into that creepy tactician.

Just when he was worried he would have to start sneaking past a few flaps, he caught a trailing scarf peeking out between the war room and general quarters. On instinct, Tormod dove behind a nearby tent and waited to see what would emerge. And sure enough, after a few minutes, that silver haired mage girl Muarim had talked with stepped out, hair frazzled, and hurriedly glancing everywhere but back. It took another minute or so for Sothe to poke his head out, but the discretion didn’t keep Tormod from pouncing on him almost right away.

“Psst,” he whispered out as he slung his arm around his neck. “If we bolt now, we can probably make it to the next town by sunset.”

It was the kind of irreverent joke that he expected to get dismissed with an old, familiar groan, but instead there was nothing but tense, clenched silence.

Tormod tried to steady his racing pulse. “Blink twice if you’re buried beneath way too much paperwork.” He pivoted to Sothe’s other side to at least get him to face him, but golden eyes simply stared ahead with a razor’s edge.

“What do you know?” In contrast to his glare, Sothe’s words were painfully soft.

“Nothing.” Tormod took the time to slide off Sothe and give him some space. “Give me the latest plans. I’m raring to go wherever you send me.”

Sothe crossed his arms, his jaw set and firm. For the first time in his life, Tormod wondered if he had gotten too used to antagonizing people who specialized in stabbing others.

“We’ve got another rescue mission planned, but we can’t pull in official Liberation troops for it. Think you can step in?”

“Sure!” Tormod stepped back, prepared to wait for the ice to melt before pushing for further explanation. But in the brief moments he looked away, Sothe slipped by, disappearing again without another word.

The rest of the mission details came in hastily scribbled notes. We’re leaving tomorrow at sunrise. Hope you don’t mind getting dirty. Be prepared for an ambush.

To be honest, waiting in a swamp wouldn’t have been his first choice when looking for ways to assist the war efforts, but the prep time it took to get everyone where they needed to be gave him the chance to stretch his investigation muscles again. When there was lots of hustle and bustle, people usually let a few nosy questions slide by.

It didn’t take all that much effort to dig up that the Silver-Haired Maiden even peasants raved about was that same girl he had seen with Sothe. To be honest, it was hardly a secret; probably should have figured it out earlier. Just even with the hair color it was hard to see her as some goddess or saint or something. It wouldn’t have been the first time a legend didn’t live up to their tall tales, but the more he asked about her, the strangeness started to trickle in.

Like the fact that she had only recently joined with the Liberation Army yet had come to head it almost instantly. Or that some claimed she could heal others without even touching a staff.

“There’s just something about her that puts me on edge.” Vika confessed as they waited for their sign to attack.

“You shouldn’t talk about her like that.” Muarim shook his head. “She’s a kind person and hasn’t given us any reason to doubt her.”

It was hard to argue against Muarim when he got all sentimental like that, so Tormod kept quiet. But he couldn’t help but notice that the Maiden’s rise in power would have lined up with the same time-frame as Sothe sending out his letter.

Their signal came soon after, so the three of them flew into a flurry of claws, talons, and fire. But whenever there was a lull in the action, Tormod couldn’t help but let his attention drift to the front of the pack. Just like in camp, Sothe stuck to Micaiah’s side with a priest’s faithfulness. Each flash of light was followed by a knife strike, and when an enemy came to attack, he’d dance in front to shield her from harm.

Even if she was a kind person, he had to know how she ended up pulling Sothe’s strings so tightly.

They win, as expected. But something about this victory seemed to set the entire base on fire. He didn’t know what was different about this prison break, but when people started pulling out the beer and ale, he knew that this could be his chance. He let Vika and Muarim take care of themselves and dove into the party.

Tormod usually wasn’t one for the taste of alcohol, but he worked up a buzz to make the crowds more tolerable. Besides, there was a rhythm to investigations. You couldn’t just immediately run up to your target. So he stayed back for the first hour or so, biding his time.

Then, as the energy of the celebrations started to pick up, he made his move. “Where’s the maiden of the hour?” He asked the nearest soldier. The best she could give was a shrug, but it was exactly the kind of answer Tormod wanted. He let their chitchat fade so that he could slink over to another group. “We need to thank our hero tonight, shouldn’t we?” More murmurs, but no definite answers. Whenever he found someone new, he made sure to pump them with that same question. “Where could the Silver-Haired Maiden be?”

When he started to hear his own words repeated back in the conversations of passersby, he knew now was the time to strike. “Bring out the Silver-Haired Maiden!” He yelled before ducking back into the crowd. A few rallying cries followed behind, but he waited until he had made it to the other side of the clearing before repeating it again. After the fifth or so cheer, the call grew legs of its own. It was real satisfying for him to watch, but it was also probably what allowed him to let his guard down enough to get jumped.

He wrestled against his captor, falling free only once they were back on the outskirts of camp.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Sothe glared down at him with a simmering rage.

“What the hell are you doing?” He tried to stand, but Sothe pressed his foot against Tormod’s shoulder, pinning him down.

“Are you drunk? No, this is the kind of plan you’d come up with completely sober—”

“What’s so weird about wanting to celebrate at a party?” Tormod rolled away so that he could finally push himself up. “Miccy should have some fun too.”

Sothe scrunched his nose. “Don’t call her that.”

“Then why can’t Miss Silver-Haired Maiden take some time to grace the common-folk with her presence?” Tormod waved his hands in an imitation of a Begnion senator.

“Don’t act like this is just about tonight. You’re not exactly subtle when you want to get into other people’s business.”

“What crimes have I committed!?” Tormod could tell he was yelling, but it was hard to rein in the heat building in his face. “Am I supposed to wait at your beck and call, never getting to know anyone else on my own? What could be so wrong with wanting to know more about the leader of the army you dragged me to join?!”

“Don’t cause Micaiah any trouble.” Sothe stepped forward with a dangerous look in his eyes. “I don’t have time to babysit you as well, so just...” He seemed to waver between something tame and something unspoken. “...don’t.”

Tormod could feel the last bits of his self-control starting to fray. “What’s your deal?” This time, he sounded so much weaker than he wished he could be.

Something sarcastic started to twist at the edges of Sothe’s lip. “What happened to having that all figured out?”

He was the first to leave again. Not that it changed anything, but it left Tormod feeling somehow more alone than before. From the noise the party made, maybe they did get their beloved savior to appear, but it is hard for him to work up the effort to care. Whatever warmth and ease he felt had been drained dry, so he turned for their tent. Once there, Vika informed him that Muarim had to turn in early to sleep off a headache. So Tormod planned to wait until the next morning before suggesting they hightail it out of there before things got worse.

But then, when he woke up to growls of pain, any plans Tormod could have conjured flew right out the window.

The fact that Muarim kept his mind after the drug incident was a blessing Tormod couldn’t ignore, but just knowing that didn’t do anything to lessen the ball of dread that had taken root in his chest. For the next few days, the only way he could keep from going crazy was to stay by Muarim’s side and keep an eye on him.

For once, the three of them were all in agreement. When he was conscious, Muarim seemed to appreciate the company, and Vika took things further by spending most of her waking hours sitting out guard outside the tent. This time she made no effort to hide her wings when Beorc passed by.

“Let her work out her rage in her own way.” Muarim responded when Tormod brought up the risks of such a maneuver. “I suspect our presence no longer needs to be hidden so thoroughly.” He made the observation with the same neutrality someone would use when commenting on the weather, but it was hard for Tormod not to take it personally. If he had done his job of looking out for them, then they never would have been in this position in the first place.

But for all his magic, he couldn’t turn back time, and for all his fire, Tormod knew that he shouldn’t burn this place down, so he had to figure out his own way to quell his anger as well. And for the most part, the best bet seemed to be to keep running.

Maybe it was the kind of coward’s choice he would have faulted in others, but when Micaiah and that prince came to apologize again for the incident, he just couldn’t stand to stay and listen. Her cloying pity might have been sincere, but it couldn’t make up for his spineless passivity that night. Tormod knew the best way to keep from demanding Izuka’s head was to simply step out and let Muarim decide what to do with the apology.

In general, Tormod didn’t know what to do with this army. For all his promises, he didn’t know if he’d be able to fight for a cause that had almost taken away his dearest friend. Even if it had been just one man who hurt Muarim, he didn’t know how he could look at any Daein soldier and not see the same killer when push came to shove.

He didn’t like the idea of leaving this sort of hatred festering in his chest, but he didn’t know what else to do with it. So he kept watch with Vika, rested with Muarim, and only left when necessary to get their rations.

“Hey,” A sudden nudge at his shoulder shouldn’t have had him wanting to swing a fist, but it was only recognition that kept him from going for it.

“Think of warmth, not destruction,” he chided himself. “Hey!” Tormod returned, the edges of his face straining to fit a smile.

As usual, Sothe was less concerned with niceties, missing the entire sad attempt as he scanned the rations line. “What are you doing?”

Tormod raised an eyebrow. “Getting food, shouldn’t take divination to figure that out.”

“I mean after you eat.” There was a hint of something rushed in his reply, like a messenger trying to look busy after goofing off in front of their superior. “I need to practice my throwing skills. Wanna run through some drills together?”

Tormod could practically hear warning chimes ring in his mind. “Muarim’s doing bad enough as is. I don’t need to return to them with a knife sticking out of my forehead.”

Sothe blinked in silence for a moment. Then as the words sunk in, he furrowed his brow and hissed, “I wasn’t planning to use you as a dummy!”

“Just trying to stay safe. You’ve seemed kinda high-strung lately.”

The furrow turned into a frown. “What do I need to do to get you to move on from your Micaiah thing?”

Heat rushed to the tips of Tormod’s ears. Shit, this wasn’t the type of fire he had wanted to channel. “Listen...” He took a deep breath, hoping it would keep him from having to swallow the rest of his pride. “You don’t have to do anything for me. Really, I should be the one waiting on you hand and foot.”

This time, he wasn’t forcing goodwill. Even if their previous argument hadn’t been dwarfed by much more serious and important things, he had gotten his answer. The Silver-Haired Maiden wasn’t some magical healer. She had been just as lost and confused as any Beorc when faced with a feral Laguz. The only saviors there had been that night were Sothe, his quick thinking, and the eldest Heron prince.

“I think even Makalov would make a better manservant than you.” Sothe words shook him from his thoughts.

“Wow!” Tormod recoiled. “Might as well just slit my throat if you’re going there.”

“You’re the one thinking I’d ever want to be some stuck-up noble.” Sothe combed his bangs back the same way an old schoolmaster might. Probably was just as exhausted as him with all this not-arguing.

“I gotta keep an eye on Muarim, really.” Once Tormod admitted that, the rest came falling out. “I’m not making excuses, I really would polish your boots if I had to, I just can’t—”

Sothe shut him up with a sudden whack to the head. This one wasn’t so strong as to knock him over again, but the oddity of it all still stunned him into silence.

“Gotta work on your reflexes if you’re trying to keep track of stuff.” This time he seemed more like a student reciting a poem he had memorized.

Tormod stared at Sothe and wondered if wartime camaraderie had made him miss if he had always been like this.

The serving woman at the front of the canteen yelled something about a pipsqueak, and this time he didn’t mind the dig at his height.

“I gotta get deliver this back to the others.” He turned to grab his share and wondered if he’d have to dodge blows while juggling three sacks of grub.

The fact Sothe didn’t stick around long enough to wait for a goodbye somehow stung worse than the welt.

When news of the inspection team reached Daein, Tormod felt some of his usual self return to him. Brooding wasn’t his style, and truly, he was happy for Daein to start to see some peace. But as talks of feasts and celebrations bubbled up, a different sort of relief started to take center stage. Rather than look forward to the festivities, he found himself longing for home above all else.

The Empire wasn’t perfect, but he knew what to expect from it. And once they were back, Vika could wander more freely, Muarim wouldn’t have to check his meals anymore, and he’d know that even if others looked on at him in disgust, they’d at least be able to understand that they were family.

A night of dance and drink would be a good note to end on. Then, as dawn approached, the three of them could leave without rocking the boat any further.

He really tried to have a good time. He ate his own weight in food and joined in with the war ballads. It wasn’t fair that this time he wasn’t the one to point out that the Silver Haired Maiden wasn’t around, and that this time not even the higher ups could locate her.

A search party was organized in a flash, but it didn’t leave much for the rest of them to do. And with no victory left to celebrate, it didn’t take long for the crowd to start getting restless. Tormod knew how Beorc got when they needed a villain to bring to heel, and so he started going over escape routes in his head. But before he could put anything into motion, a clear voice rose above the crowd.

“I’m starting up a game of King’s Court if anyone wants to join!” Zihark stepped forward as if he were simply announcing a change in dinner plans. He lingered long enough for people to connect him with the call but drifted back into the crowd before anyone could question him further. The only way to figure out what he had planned was to follow him.

So naturally, Tormod took off like a bolt after him.

He was so caught up in the chase of it all that it took him until they were all but outside his tent before he realized Zihark’s destination.

“What are you thinking?!” Tormod hissed as he cut in front of Zihark. “You need to leave now before—”

“—Muarim asked this of me.” Zihark coolly responded. “He said next time I hosted a game, he wanted to be included.”

“I don’t think he meant at a time like this!” Tormod pushed himself up a little higher. He could already see a few of the men peel away from the group as they realized just where they were.

“If you don’t trust me, you can ask him yourself.” Zihark rested a hand against his hip, drawing Tormod’s attention to the blade resting there. That lit a fuse. Tormod whipped his head back up, ready to rip into Zihark for threatening an old friend, but it was only then that he noticed that the motion had also drawn the attention of the rest of the group.

Suddenly, it occurred to him who the gesture might have been for.

“Ok...” Slowly, he ducked inside the tent. Both Vika and Muarim were already sitting up and expecting him, wings fluttering and ears pulled back. “Umm...Zihark has some guests for us?”

“It’s King’s Court night, isn’t it?” From the look on his face, he must have heard every word they spoke and then some. “Sounds entertaining. Let’s welcome them.”

Tormod waved Zihark in, and a stream of soldiers flowed through. Once they were all settled, they had about twelve bodies crammed into their tent. Because he didn’t want to lose his spot next to Muarim, Tormod ended up getting dealt a hand. But he didn’t really absorb any of the rules or much of the game because he was more concerned with following the crowd.

Two or so women clearly had never seen a Laguz from the way they watched Muarim’s tail swish back and forth. It was unlikely he didn’t notice their attention, but he kept his eyes firmly focused on his cards. Later, one of the gals started to study Vika, who was seated outside the game’s circle, but the glare she returned was enough to make the soldier bury her face in her hand.

Meanwhile, three or so men seemed determined to go the whole night without making eye contact with either Muarim or Tormod. At some point the rules demanded they all swap hands, and one of that group only made the switch because he pressed his cards to the ground and pushed them across to Tormod.

But the rest of them just acted like any other group of gamblers, throwing around their pocket change. Tempers flared quickly but died down just as fast. The loudest voices were the most likely to yell for someone to be taken down a peg but also provoked the most cheers when they faced defeat. And between every big win or foolish bet, Zihark conducted them all with an uncanny charisma. Even Tormod found himself temporarily carried away by a particularly funny story about another merc who had wandered the entire continent yet couldn’t locate any of the countries on a map.

By the time news came back of Micaiah’s return, Tormod had lost about five silver pieces. But he was happy to see the rest of the soldiers fall over themselves to be the first to leave. In the matter of minutes, the tent emptied until the only visitor that remained was Zihark as he tried to piece together his scattered deck.

“Well, that was fun.” He almost resembled a Tiger Laguz with the way he agilely pushed him to stand.

“Next time you’re in the Empire, I’ll treat you to dinner.” Muarim leaned forward and offered his hand. Zihark gave a hearty shake and made his exit. But before he could figure out why, Tormod found himself chasing him once more.

“Wait!” This time he waited for Zihark to turn around and acknowledge his hand tugging at his coat. Tormod expected to get another earful about touching things that weren’t his, but Zihark was surprisingly unaffected as he regarded him.

“How do you do it?”

He expected such a weak question to be brushed off with a pointed jab, but instead Zihark glanced to the side with a pensive look.

“People are always people, even if they aren’t particularly good. Give them something to entertain themselves with, and they’ll either enjoy it or work out whatever they’re on about somewhere else.”

When he returned to their tent, Vika cut in with, “that could have gone really bad.” She breathed hard, as if it had hurt to keep the thought to herself for so long.

“It could have.” Muarim replied. What he left unsaid spoke enough for him.

That night, as he tried to calm down enough to get a few hours of sleep, he kept circling back around a particular memory of trying to get a moping childhood friend to play tag with him. When he recalled how he pulled on her tail and had to spend the rest of the day sitting on his own, his eyes flew open in realization.

He really couldn’t figure out who was the bigger idiot.

“Hey?” Despite the darkness, he could sense Muarim start to stir at his question. “Can we put off leaving for just a bit longer?

The next morning, he found a haggard looking Sothe staring blankly at the morning fire.

“Hey!” Tormod wacked him on the head, earning a handful of curses and Sothe’s full attention. “Show me those training drills you were talking about?”

Exhausted anger transformed into something like baffled surprise. It was kinda cute that he could still draw out that look from him after so long.

“I’ll get you about an hour before supper.” Sothe knitted his eyebrows, clearly running some mental calculations through his head. And for the first time in a long time, Tormod realized he could pick out some of the scrawny little thing he had first met all those years ago.

Sothe was frustratingly true to his word. When he came to Tormod, he was all but ready to drag him out of the tent.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Tormod swatted away Sothe’s killer grip. “Give a guy a chance to wake up fully!”

Considering how rough he still looked, maybe he was jealous that Tormod got to laze about for an afternoon. He got one more good smack in before finally letting Tormod go.

“Have fun.” Muarim waved goodbye, unable to hide the edge of amusement that crinkled around his eyes.

And it was an immediate improvement not to be hit anymore, but Tormod wouldn’t describe that as fun. Boredom better fit most of their journey out of camp, with the lightest bit of stimulation finally peaking through when they reached an abandoned pasture.

“So what’s this drill you have all planned?” While the change in scenery was nice, he still wasn’t sure what the point of visiting what looked to be an abandoned homestead was. Wild grasses ran high, and a sad little fence lay in disrepair.

“I throw knives. You sling spells.” Sothe grunted as he emptied out a few empty bottles from a sack slung around the post. Carefully, he lined them up across the last standing section of the fence. “Here, nobody can complain about us practicing our aim.”

From the way he had talked about it, Tormod had imagined flaming hoops and a tightrope. Still as quaint an exercise it was, it’d get the job done at least.

“So—” He pulled out a wind tome and waited until Sothe had finished placing all the bottles. “—do I do this?” He threw a wide, arcing gust that knocked the entire row over. Sothe shot back a dirty look.

“I’ll let you see how fast you can go through them.” Tormod stuck out his tongue in one last bit of playfulness before joining him in resetting the bottles.

“I’m not aiming for speed.” Sothe lifted a bottle to show the scratches lining its side. “Going up against unusual materials means having to rethink how you use leverage and force.” He placed it back along the fence and stepped back. “If I throw a knife like this—” He tossed one out, and it bounced harmlessly off to the side. “—nothing. Gotta aim it like this!” This time there was a bit of spin to the blade, and the bottle went flying.

“There we go!” Tormod pumped his fist. Quickly. he reopened the wind tome. “Let me try something!”

The bottom of Sothe’s lip twitched slightly, but ultimately he said nothing as he stepped back. Tormod took center stage, and as he conjured up a new gale, he focused on crafting it to be as thin as the target, closed his eyes, and let go.

The bottle rustled a bit but remained upright.

“Not so easy, is it?” This time Sothe didn’t even try and hide his smirk as he stepped up and took down another bottle.

“I’m doing pretty well for my first time!” Tormad’s pride returned to him in a frenzied rush. “Like, how often do you get out here?”

Sothe hummed for a moment as he twirled a dagger in his hands. “Well...” He drew his throwing arm in close. “...whenever I feel like murdering someone.” The dagger lodged itself into the underside of the fence. “Shit,” Sothe muttered. Somewhere far away, Tormod remembered they were having a conversation.

“Huh...” was his eloquent response. He remembered all the ways Muarim’s body twisted itself as it shifted between forms again and again. “...Izuka bothers you that much?”

“Yeah.” A second knife joined the first. Sothe cursed again before approaching the fence and returning them to his belt. “The Black Knight’s worse. Needs to be put back into his grave.”

Tormod’s eyes widen. “Since when has he left it?!”

“Last night.” From the way he spat out the words, Tormod figured there had to be an entire story behind it. But Sothe seemed stuck entirely in his head now. The only sign of life was the way his eyes followed the light reflecting off the last standing bottle.

Tormod didn’t like to think of himself as someone who looked forward to hunting down folks, but as much as Sothe creeped him out, a dangerously tempting vision had taken root in his mind.

“Here’s what we can do if we ever face him again.” Really, it was Izuka who he pictured doing this to, but as he pulled out his fire tome, he figured they probably both needed to let off some steam. The heat in his face that always came with anger started to travel down to his hands, melting into a burning need to know.

He knew with a snap of a finger he could ignite a fireball in his palm, but instead he held back and focused on the bottle. He breathed, and the fire ignited inside it.

In one moment, a rush of exhilaration flooded his body.

In the next, he finally remembered his target was made out of glass.

Tormod fell to the ground as Sothe crashed into him. Between the stars that followed and the shard that whizzed past his ear, his brain didn’t start working again until he felt a drop of something splash against his cheek.

Tormod looked up to see a thin gash cut across Sothe’s right temple.

“Shit!” Tormod pushed the two of them up. “Shit, shit!”

“I’m good, I’m good—” Sothe waved him away. “Just a head wound; they always look worse than they are.”

“I’m an idiot,” Tormod’s voice wavered. “There must be nothing between my ears. Can’t just put myself in danger, I gotta drag everyone else down.”

“Will you shut up if I give you a matching one?!” Sothe roared so suddenly that it nearly scared Tormod speechless.

“What’s done is done...” Sothe’s voice softened into something almost gentle. “... you are an idiot but there’s no use acting all guilty over it.”

Tormod had to open his mouth to make sure he breathed. “Ignoring it doesn’t fix anything. I shouldn’t be making dumb decisions like this anymore. I got people to take care of.”

Sothe pressed his hand against the gash. “How about you think of this as another training drill? I need to get better at protecting others.”

“I’ve given you enough practice as is.” Tormod flopped back against the ground. “Next time, you should let me explode myself.”

“It’s not enough.” Sothe looked as if he hadn’t heard a word Tormod said. The blood smeared as he ran his hand down the side of his face. “I need to be strong enough to take down the Black Knight. I need to show her I can protect her on my own.”

Somewhere between the broken glass and everything else that had gone wrong in this goddess-forsaken country, a puzzle piece snapped into place.

“Wait a minute.” Tormod angled himself up. “Micaiah...she’s like your Muarim, isn’t she?”

In all his time knowing Sothe, he had never seen him look so small and helpless.

“...yeah.”

Tormod sighed. When had learning become such a painful thing? “You did say you were looking for someone. Just thought it would be someone older than us.”

“She’s been with me almost my entire life.” Sothe pulled out a clump of grass. “I can’t give her more problems. Not anymore.”

This was way too many times in one trip to regret never learning how to wield a staff. Tormad couldn’t stand being this useless. “How did it happen?” He asked because he wasn’t sure what else to say.

Sothe fell back with an exhausted grunt. “She was just trying to be kind the only way she knew how. It was cold so it made sense, but when she held me I could feel her breasts and—”

If he said anything more, it was hard to catch with how Tormod’s entire body burned with embarrassment. She didn’t sound anything like Muarim.

“—I shouldn’t be complaining.” Sothe’s voice drifted back in. “I’m sorry for just talking about myself. I’m sorry for what happened to Muarim.”

Tormod didn’t know what to say. He wanted to tell him that friends should be able to talk about each other. He wanted to ignore what he had heard and go back to believing people weren’t that hard to understand. He wanted to tell him that he could die for him and still his debt would never be repaid.

“Let’s try to keep the bottles all in one piece this round,” was all he could string together.

That night, as he tried to get to sleep, he was haunted again by a faint memory of the past. But this time when he tried to grasp it, the only clarity he found was in the icy cold shivers that crept down his spine.

“Muarim?” Once more, he perked up at the mere mention of his name. “Can I sleep with you tonight?”

“Of course, little one,” he murmured warmly.

As he scooched over to join him, Tormod’s mind wandered. He wondered if Sothe and Micaiah were doing the same. Tormod grimaced. No, if they were with each other, they might be doing more than just sleeping together.

“Sleep tight.” Muarim wrapped his arm around Tormod’s shoulder, and despite its roughness, the weight brought a sense of comfort as well.

Tormod leaned into Muarim’s side. “You sleep tight too.”

There was one more fight left for the Liberation Army, and so Tormod figured there was one more fight left in them as well. Vika grumbled something about making up his mind, but it was the kind of complaining he couldn’t help but agree with. Even if their next mission was to save a litter of puppies, they had to move on to their own lives eventually.

But for now, there was still a war to win, and even if this might not be the best time to make a social call, he didn’t know when he’d get another chance to do this. So with two hours until departure and Sothe spotted occupied at the convoy, Tormod let himself into Micaiah’s tent.

He didn’t know what he expected to find, but it wasn’t for it to be so similar to theirs, minus the silver-haired maiden curled up with a pad in hand.

“How are we looking on lances? I think if we—” She looked up and flinched. “—oh, pardon me. I thought you were someone else.”

“Hello!” He wasn’t quite sure what to do with his hands, so he gave a little wave. “I know you must be busy and all, but I wanted to see if you had a few minutes to chat with me.”

Micaiah gathered her fist against her chest. “You must see this as an important issue to come at a time like this. What is it that I can help you with?”

Tormod blinked. Out of all the responses he expected, somehow such a direct one had slipped his notice.

“I guess I’ll be blunt. I wanted to talk about Sothe.” Tormod held his breath and prayed he wasn’t stepping into any unknown war-zones.

Micaiah’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, I’m so glad he has a friend. He’s told me a lot about you since you’ve arrived.”

“Huh—” Tormod raised an eyebrow. “—Sothe telling a lot?”

“Well, maybe a lot for him.” Micaiah gave a quiet giggle to herself. “I know you two traveled together during the war. He said you wouldn’t stop pestering him until he finally said a word back.”

“That’s accurate at least.” Whatever script he had come in with was lost to him now. Talking ears of folks was his strong suit but for some reason it was the normalcy of it all that left him useless.

“Listen...” Tormod cradled his temple. “...are you like his mom or his girl?”

All that good cheer that had seemed to flow so effortlessly from her evaporated in an instant. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not trying to be insulting, but I know my limits, and maybe I’m not an expert on mothers, but like, most people can guess a little, you know?” This was a strategy he was used to. As long as he kept talking, the words would somehow find their way out. “But I don’t know anything about girls, and I don’t want to make things worse.”

“Well, I’m curious now. What would you define as worse than this?”

Tomord narrowed his eyes. From anyone else, that would sound like a jab, but with how fervently she stared at him, he couldn’t be sure.

“This isn’t anything he told me to tell you, so don’t hold it against him. I just know that winning a war is exciting business. With all the celebrations and stuff, it can be easy for a quiet guy like that to slip between your fingers. I don’t want that to happen again.”

Micaiah looked like she either wanted to disappear or for him to. “...I agree with the sentiment. I don’t want to let it happen again.”

“I’m not accusing you of wanting it to happen or something.” Goddess, he couldn’t afford to personally piss off the general of the entire army. “Sothe just likes to do things on his own. But that doesn’t mean you’re not the most important person to him in the world. Like even I can tell that.”

He must be on the right track now, because her amber eyes started to soften a little. While it still wasn’t comfortable to have to bear the intensity of her gaze, surely if she had tolerated him for this long, something must be sinking in.

“I can tell this comes from someplace sincere.” Micaiah started to look down at her pad. “I’ll keep that in mind; however, do know that I’m going to have to charge you with treason for speaking against a commanding officer like this.”

“What!” He whipped his head forward. “I’m not even—I was just trying—” It was only then that he caught her expression. She wore Sothe’s clever smirk like it had always been her own.

“I’m sure he wrote to you knowing this was one of your strengths. He deserves his own powerful allies he can call upon.”

“I’m not trying to be some ace up his sleeve.” Tormod waved his hands. “Just trying to be a half decent friend.”

“I need to return to my strategy preparations, but yes, even I can tell.”

Somehow he survived the conversation and made it back to Muarim and Vika. Once that was secured, surviving the final battle was a piece of cake. So was winning it. After all he had seen the Liberation Army do, he hadn’t doubted it, but they celebrated with the same enthusiasm they would have for their first win.

In the end that didn’t matter though, as long as the third’s party was the charm. While the rest of the army made feasting plans, Muarim focused on packing supplies for the road, and Vika talked about the things she missed from the Empire.

He sent a message to Sothe, saying they needed to talk. He didn’t want to make his goodbyes too early or over parchment, but that seemed enough for him to pick up was going on. Tormod didn’t expect Micaiah to come along or for her to somehow not figure out what was going on. But even as she started to get all emotional about it, he couldn’t hold it against her. In his head, he wondered if one day they could be friends as well.

“Tormod?” He looked up to see Sothe step forward, looking like a lost little kid in the crowd.

“Hey.” They hadn’t talked since that night with the bottles, so Tormod wasn’t quite sure what to expect. “Listen...you can write me whenever you need me again. Forget what I said about bills and stuff.”

A flicker of amusement passed over his face. “You’re not gonna try to run me out of house and home with meal costs?”

“Of course I am, but that’s just part of having guests,” Tormod grinned. “Really you can even write to me even if you just need someone to burn through the rest of your rations or if you just feel like it.”

Getting all torn up now would just be a hassle for both of them, so he offered his hand and hoped it was a good enough peace offering.

Sothe stared at it like it had just grown there. “Huh...” He hummed to himself. “...that’s...it’s good.” He gave a firm nod, as if agreeing with himself. “that’s good you’ll come to help us.” He lifted his own hand, but rather than shake Tormod’s he rubbed it against the back of his neck. “...thanks.”

Tormod stared at him. He tried to say something mature and composed, but when he opened his mouth, a sharp laugh clawed itself out instead.

“Thankng me? Now you’re gonna make me weepy.”

A look of betrayal struck Sothe. Then in transformed into anger. “You little—”

He still didn’t like that their height difference left such perfect room for a noogie, but this time he was thankful he wouldn’t have to be the first to let go.

#tormod #sothe #tellius #fe tellius #muarim #my lame writing #nagamas #fantasy furry racism #they are so stupid your honor #like understandably so for teenage boys who had to grow up too fast but so frustrating adorably stupid

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