#aedh the blackened

[thatonebirbnerd]

"Steady, Áedh. Steady."

"I'm trying, sir."

A small sylvari with a low, raspy voice speaks through gritted teeth to a Flame Legion charr. Both their bodies course with flame: the charr's rests within his heart, easily visible through bare skin. The sylvari's - Áedh's - is restless and wild, straining to escape from the singed roots on his head and a wedge of loose bark on his right cheek. He is visibly tense and terrified.

"Keep drawing it in - just like we practiced. Fire is easier to control if you let it live within you."

Áedh doesn't respond. His breathing is heavy, and he's desperately trying to focus. His body ripples with heat.

"I did this, every Flame shaman like me did it. I don't know how well this works with a sylvari, but we have to try..." The charr is trying to be reassuring; it doesn't seem to be working.

"Dacius, please - if it takes over again -"

Struggling to speak, Áedh braces himself against a tent pole. Memories flash through his mind, each one a fresh wave of relived fear and rage.

A familiar, searing pain surges upward from his hands and feet, and fire ripples out, cracking the bark above it into loosened shreds. It threatens to spread further, but the damage stops at his elbows and knees.

"Oh, no. Medic? Do we have a medic here? Áedh, are you-"

The sylvari whimpers. He knows what comes next. Years later, his body still bears the scars.

The heat reaches Áedh's face, and his eyes glow; a lick of flame nestles itself into his cheek, split and twisted long ago. He cries, a ragged cry -

And then, nothing. The fire doesn't overtake him, the way he thought it would - the way it did once.

"Áedh! I brought - oh, wow."

Áedh looks up at Dacius, wide-eyed, his breaths still shallow.

"I... I think you got it. Didn't end up in all the usual spots, but it's a part of you now. It can't hurt you anymore. I promise."

The flame in the sylvari's cheek drifts upward, obscuring his right eye. It seems to have taken root within him, rather than continuing to burn into his eye socket. He lets go of the pole, trembling but able to stand now, and looks down forlornly at his wrists.

Dacius continues. "I can only imagine what's going through your head. I'm not so good at comforting people - charr aren't big on it, and Flame Legion... ha."

Áedh looks up again, smiling a little and chuckling hoarsely.

"But if you need anything... just ask, in whatever way you can, alright?"

The sylvari hesitates for a moment, then reaches out with one hand. Dacius holds it in his paw, carefully so as not to break anything - fire makes wood brittle, after all. Then Áedh pulls toward Dacius, who kneels down to let the young elementalist's head rest on his thinly furred shoulder.

Áedh sheds no tears - they burnt away long ago - but he sobs, exhausted and relieved.

"What will they..." he whispers.

"It's not as gnarly as you think," says Dacius. "Look - the fire is dying down already. It hasn't changed that much. And I have to say, your face -"

Áedh flinches...

"- looks really, really cool like this. It's like the fire was supposed to be there all along."

...then relaxes. He wraps himself around Dacius in as much of a hug as he can muster, considering their sheer difference in size.

Such a leap of progress for a pyromancer is not an average day for Dacius, who is also even less used to hugs than he is to comforting anyone, so perhaps he will take this with him for a while to come. He might even recall it as "that time I figured out that holding someone very small feels nice."

But Áedh will always remember this as the moment he began to conquer his past and his fears. For him, it's a new beginning.

[thatonebirbnerd]

@commanderfloppy thanks for these tags, I definitely needed the laugh today :D

[thatonebirbnerd]

He knows there are parts of him that will never heal. But bit by bit, he gains the courage to try.

[thatonebirbnerd]

Firewood

Word count: 1481

Trigger warnings: Gender dysphoria, related self-harm (could be considered extreme), burns (to a nonhuman). Images of all three.

Sometimes, even the Pale Tree makes mistakes. For one volatile and distraught sylvari, the results proved catastrophic. 

I’ve been made aware during the beta read process that this story could be upsetting to people who have dealt with the emotions I try to capture in it. I drew on the experiences of some of my friends, and I apologize if it hits too close to home as a result.

Thank you to @resonatingfern​ for the inspiration to do this diary-style - I’ve been loving Nettle’s entries and decided to try a bit of that myself. It... got darker.

AO3 link

---

Day One

My name is… it doesn’t matter. For it is wrong, and I would lie to no one. I don’t know why, but I feel like… perhaps I should not be me. The mender taking care of me said I should start to write, using the skills I learned in the Dream to perhaps try to explain my feelings better. So here I am, writing in this little journal.

I feel this deep anger, and sadness. Perhaps… disgust. I can’t look at myself without having these emotions wash over me. Or perhaps that is an unfitting choice of words, because they burn within me instead. I didn’t feel these in the Dream. I don’t know why I must feel them now.

Day Two

I spent my day learning about the world around me from a mentor of my cycle. They say it is dangerous out there, but so long as I don’t stray beyond the nearby village of Astorea, I should be safe. 

That feeling of disgust is still tearing at me. I tried to harden myself to my reflection earlier, and I thought I saw flames creep across my palms. Writing hurts a little, from the burns. Maybe I’ll go talk to Mother, and seek her insight. For now, I must sleep.

Day Three

I did not sleep peacefully. I dreamt of an inferno roaring toward me; I woke up in tears and ran to a mender’s hut. Strangely enough, I am in a bit of pain all over. The mender said I’ve burnt myself in a few places. Was there some truth…? I don’t want to think about it. He also told me I wasn’t supposed to be having nightmares so soon, and that something must be wrong.

After I recovered from my exhaustion, I went to speak to our Blessed Source. 

---

“What brings you here so soon, sapling? Is something troubling you?”

“Yes. I don’t know what it is. I feel… wrong.”

“I felt your nightmare, and your hatred of your name. So soon… I’m sorry. But I also feel your fire. There is power within you. You may find what you seek by channeling it.”

“But… I sense something wrong with my body. I don’t know what it is, but maybe you understand how I feel.”

“I have seen saplings like this before, so deeply dissatisfied with their being. Some take action; others merely choose their own names and live their own lives. I only ask that you not do something reckless. You will find who you are in time.”

---

I can’t bear this for so long. Maybe I will try to learn to fight instead, and do something useful instead of despairing so much.

Day Seven

For the last few days, I’ve been training with an elementalist. Mother said I should try to channel my fire, and I’ve tried hard enough that it’s kept me too exhausted to write until now. Perhaps it’s kept the anger at bay, but it’s replaced that anger with the pain of the burns I’ve given myself. I’m only just starting to get used to it.

I’ve realized something new. Though my mentor knows to only refer to me as ��sapling,” for lack of a name, every time she treats me as a woman like herself, that awful feeling comes back. I haven’t worked up the courage to tell her how I feel yet, or what the solution may be.

Day Eleven

Mother told me not to do anything reckless, but I fear I’ve already disobeyed her advice. Late last night, I wondered what might happen if I summoned just a little bit of fire, and used the lessons I’ve learned to scorch the parts of my body I don’t like. And thorns… it hurt. It took so much effort to not cry out. I could see sap weeping from my sides for a bit, but my mentor told me that fire could seal a wound, so… I did that. I guess it worked. 

My mentor noticed. I was so worried she’d be angry, but somehow she wasn’t. 

---

“Sapling, you burned yourself in the night… Another nightmare? Are you okay?”

“Well… I…”

“Oh. Oh, no.”

“What is it?”

“I… I think I know what happened, though this is the first time I’ve seen this in one of my students. You never told anyone your name. Some saplings come out nameless, but I think I’d know by now if you were one of these. You simply… didn’t like yours?”

“Yes. What does it mean, to have a name I hate?”

“It means Mother made… a little mistake, perhaps. It happens, maybe more often than it used to. Some learn to live with it; others choose a new name; still others choose to transition physically. I promise, it is not your fault.”

“A mistake…?”

“I’ve seen the way you look at yourself. I can’t imagine how it must feel. But please, for your sake, don’t do that again. Let yourself grow into who you were meant to be. Now, do you want me to refer to you as a man, or perhaps one in between for now?”

“I don’t know yet. But… not whatever I am now.”

---

Yet I still wonder: why do I have to wait?

Day Nineteen

I remind myself every day that I must keep going. I cannot remain the loathsome way I am - damn the pain.

I’ve… scorched burnt away ...worked on a little bit of myself at a time, night by night, mostly on my hips and whatever’s supposed to be on my chest. I think it’s working. I hope it’s working. It’s so much faster than growth, at least.

I’ve stopped seeing my mentor. I’ve learned what I need to.

Day Twenty-Two

Making progress. More burns. More frequent nightmares. I can’t let them get to me. I have to keep at it.

Day Twenty-Five

I’m so close. I can feel it.

Day Thirty-Four

(The handwriting in this entry is more deliberate, perhaps a bit spidery.)

I write this from a hospital bed.

Six days ago, I tried to finish transforming myself, finish ridding myself of all I hated. The angrier I became, the more the flames threatened the rest of me. Yet I persevered.

Then something snapped, and fire enveloped me. I remember a fleeting moment of ecstasy, and then only searing pain.

I realized too late what the nightmares were supposed to tell me, and what everyone had meant by “reckless.” For just a moment, I despaired. Then I collapsed, exhausted. I don’t remember anything after that.

The menders found me, they say, after following the smell of smoke. They recall that I was glowing like an ember, and that I’m lucky to be alive.

I drifted in and out of consciousness for a while. I remember barely being able to see or hear. When I finally awoke, two days ago, my hearing was still murky. Apparently my ears had scarred over. It was hard to hear my voice, but it seemed raspier.

That didn’t prepare me to survey the rest of the damage.

Many of the things I hated are gone, yes, but… so is so much more. I’m told it will take me weeks to recover, to shed my charred bark so that maybe I can heal. The bark peeled from one side of my face, leaving a tender patch around that eye. Most of my body is still bandaged, but the menders said - with gestures - that I could write today. For now, every part of me is either stinging and raw, or numb.

Day Seventy-One

I’ve been recovering for a long time. It’s been a slow, frustrating process, but most of me has healed enough that the menders finally cleared me to train and learn control over my magic. Some things, however… I’ll have to get used to them. They say I’ve been flaring up again, at night. I can’t hear much anymore. More scars.

I’ve been losing faith lately. The menders are good people, and they try their best, but I feel I can’t trust the Dream anymore. After all, it was Mother who made me this way, with the only true solution to wait and see, trapped in a body I hated. 

Day Ninety-Six

I’m finally well enough to leave. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and I just don’t think I can stay in the Grove any longer. The Dream is simply suffocating. I managed to communicate in writing with someone at the Vigil posting in the Upper Commons, and they said they’d be able to take me in, though it may take a while before I’m able to see action.

I’ll leave this journal behind. Maybe someone else will find it, and learn from me. But to me, it’s merely a reminder of things I shouldn’t have done.

But the past is the past.

Signed, 

Áedh

[thatonebirbnerd]

Some more pics of Aedh

[thatonebirbnerd]

“I burned.

Or, well, what I was burned. What I was never supposed to be.

But the fire took... more than I could afford to lose.

It still flares when I get angry. I worry it will take even more.”

Aedh / he/they / Weaver / victim of his own power

--

Loads of tomes and some intense meta grinding (and a scavenger hunt) later, Aedh’s wearing what he should’ve been the whole time. So, have some fevered pics from the wee hours.

[thatonebirbnerd]

some spicy angst with #1 for the emotional prompts? ovo

Oh hey, thanks Rook! Guessing you mean #1 for Anger so here goes. Still warming the writing skills back up (and also a little emotionally wack right now, makes the anger prompts harder) so keeping it fairly short. Gonna put this under a read more; TW for self harm results and discussion that is frankly up to the reader as to whether it implies transphobia. (Hooray for well-intentioned misunderstandings.)

---

“Sapling. I felt your anguish -”

“You say that to everyone,” rasps Áedh. The scrawny, charred sylvari can barely understand the Pale Mother’s words; he almost has to strain to hear her at all.

“I... wouldn’t know what it’s like. Most of us don’t. But you hurt yourself so -”

“I - didn’t - mean - to.” He gasps for breath between each word, and points to the bandaged remains of his breasts with one shaking finger. “I only wanted this gone - what you gave me. I lost control.”

“You could have waited, and let your body grow, and this wouldn’t have happened.”

“I. Couldn’t. Wait. I didn’t want to suffer with this... this hatred of myself for years...”  Áedh coughs. “...and then still not be who I wanted to be.”

“I have made mistakes, and kept secrets, but to have one of my own turn so vengeful for it that he only hurts himself - I have watched that tale unfold so many times. Each one pains me. Pains the Dream.”

“Enough of that... drivel.” The sapling nearly spits every syllable. “You make a mistake, and blame me for hurting you with the consequences. You don’t get to say anything to me, Mother.”

“Then that is your choice, whether to listen. The most I can do is wish you well, as you leave me behind.”

Áedh simply storms off.