Hey guys. Umm...I have always liked the Stefan/Sourn pairing, but I couldn't find any stories about it so I just made one myself.

Oh! and for people who don't like shounen - ai...BOY x BOYfor those of you who don't know..then don't read! Or else you'll getangry and say mean things to me and make me sad :(

So yea, no reading if you are against shounenai, or if it makes you uncomfy or whatever.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Fire Emblems or any of its characters.

Soren could always tell when a battle was about to start. There was a certain sort of energy, a sort of feeling he received among the small – and in his opinion – makeshift army. Whether it was anxiety, or fear, or even eagerness, he could never tell, but whatever it was sent his nerves on edge and the hair on the back of his neck stand straight. Not that he'd ever tell anyone, not even Ike. Showing nervousness meant to be weak.

Pushing some ink-black hair from his eyes, he checked his supplies and scanned over the army's status once more. Twenty-one was the headcount. Hopefully it would stay that way over the next battle. He glanced over in the distance and frowned as he looked over what was to be their battlefield. A bridge. He'd never been too comfortable on those…in fact, he'd never been too comfortable around water at all. A slight shiver went through his spine. He closed his eyes, silently berating himself for showing any signs of his anxiety.

When he opened them again, he found himself staring into a pair of deep emerald eyes. Soren flinched and jerked back before he could stop himself.

"At all nervous, Soren?" Stefan asked, a soft smile on his lips. How he'd gotten so close so silently was beyond him.

The dark-haired mage opened his mouth and closed it again. "I – I have no need for your concern," he managed to stammer once he'd recovered somewhat. "I'm fine."

"I just thought you looked a little pale for a moment," Stefan chuckled, straightening to his full height. He towered over Soren, something the mage hadn't noticed before; they hadn't talked that often in the past, but…there had been moments where he felt a sort of connection – talking without words, if you will, as if they were the same…kind.

But that was impossible, wasn't it?

Soren snapped back into reality when he realized Stefan was talking again. He had a deep voice. Soothing, almost. "We can't have your nerves getting the better of you before a battle, you do realize that, don't you? You would hurt yourself out in the field if your mind wandered, and we can't let your talents go to waste." He smiled smugly, and turned his head so he was looking at him sideways, never losing that smirk. "After all, we of one kind must look after one another. Don't you agree?"

It was like being dumped in cold ice. Was he talking about – his hand reached for the mark on his forehead before quickly dropping it down to his sides again. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," he snapped, a little too defensively. "We are not of the same kind. I am beorc."

Stefan just raised an eyebrow, looking pointedly at his forehead.

"It's a mark of the spirits!" Soren snapped again, taking a step back from him. His eyes narrowed angrily.

"I see. It's a secret then, is it?" Stefan sighed with that ever-present smirk. "Then keep it." And, before the mage could stop him, he reached out and ruffled his dark hair before walking away in his own self-confident swagger.

Soren could do little more than watch him go, and without realizing what he was doing, he reached up and tentatively touched the spot where Stefan's hand had been a moment before – and quickly covered it up by pretending to smooth his hair down.