Aden was made to look inside himself during his first dragoon trial, and what he saw deepened the indelible mark on his heart.
![[Image: tumblr_nzosx0UbEK1v0ltaqo2_r2_1280.png]](https://40.media.tumblr.com/ad3bee96533553de4327d8fcd1defd67/tumblr_nzosx0UbEK1v0ltaqo2_r2_1280.png)
Darker Hours
The strain across all the muscles in his arm was as good as the ache after a long day of training, the moment his knuckles met flesh more gratifying than any blow he’d ever struck–and the sight of blood pouring out of his own mouth, of this mirror-self, was satisfying.
His mirror-self’s head whipped to the side, and blood dribbled down across his lips, and he stayed like that for a second, “Of course you would….†but only a second before he turned back, gaze neutral, confident. “Because you’re only afraid of one thing, aren’t you?†He was, for just a moment, the perfect image of a stoic, blood oozing from his mouth and yet impassive, unaffected. “Not knowing who you really are.â€
Then his mirror-self threw his head back and laughed, hollow and ringing through the cathedral like some dark, lone bell. Aden flinched, ears pinning back, as that sound struck some resonance inside him.
“Pathetic.†Still his mirror-self spoke with no vitriol, only confidence, the unwavering surety of stone. “I’m the man you should be. The man your father would have raised.†His mirror-self finally took a step forward, drawing so close Aden could all but taste the blood in the air. “Not this…†and for the first time his face showed a hint of emotion, wrinkled in disdain as he gestured at Aden with one hand, “shell of a man.†Closer still, close enough that Aden could see fine detail in this mirror of his own eyes. “You were meant for more…. But you’re nothing now, and you will continue to be nothing… To have no purpose.â€
And finally his mirror-self closed the distance, leaning up to whisper into Aden’s ear, breath icy cold as the air on that day not so long ago in the fallen keep, “To not truly exist….â€
His heart seized, breath would not come, and for an instant the whole world stopped. Nothing moved, no sound issue, not the little motes of dust in the light across the hall nor his lover’s image choking out his last breath behind him. Only this mirror-self moved, a cold, confident smile as he drew away, slid his helmet back on. His footsteps echoed through the hall.
But this time Aden’s breath did not return, his heart did not start up again in a panicked, staccato beat, and he found no courage to shout back his denial.
He woke instead heaving for breath, legs entrapped, and when he hauled himself out of the tangling net slammed down to cold hardwood. It at least jolted him to proper awareness, and he fumbled with the sheets. Finally free of them he sat there on the floor for a moment, staring into the darkness.
His heart spoke those words, too, in the darkest, loneliest moments. He’d been discarded, and he would be so again one day by those he loved most. He had only the hope that he could improve, and someday perhaps be worthy enough to keep around.
But I will be better–what kind of promise was that? Hollow. One he could not fulfill when he could barely keep up with his comrades, when he could not figure out what to be to his lover, honest or stoic. And because he could not decide who or how to be, he did not even have himself.
Only one thing had not betrayed him, could not discard him. Aden stood, searched for the padding he kept under his armor, went for his lance.
He wouldn’t permit himself peace in oblivion, so he would find it in that weightless moment at the apex of a jump, and again and again until he knew it so well he could call it to himself in the darkness.
Darker Hours
The strain across all the muscles in his arm was as good as the ache after a long day of training, the moment his knuckles met flesh more gratifying than any blow he’d ever struck–and the sight of blood pouring out of his own mouth, of this mirror-self, was satisfying.
His mirror-self’s head whipped to the side, and blood dribbled down across his lips, and he stayed like that for a second, “Of course you would….†but only a second before he turned back, gaze neutral, confident. “Because you’re only afraid of one thing, aren’t you?†He was, for just a moment, the perfect image of a stoic, blood oozing from his mouth and yet impassive, unaffected. “Not knowing who you really are.â€
Then his mirror-self threw his head back and laughed, hollow and ringing through the cathedral like some dark, lone bell. Aden flinched, ears pinning back, as that sound struck some resonance inside him.
“Pathetic.†Still his mirror-self spoke with no vitriol, only confidence, the unwavering surety of stone. “I’m the man you should be. The man your father would have raised.†His mirror-self finally took a step forward, drawing so close Aden could all but taste the blood in the air. “Not this…†and for the first time his face showed a hint of emotion, wrinkled in disdain as he gestured at Aden with one hand, “shell of a man.†Closer still, close enough that Aden could see fine detail in this mirror of his own eyes. “You were meant for more…. But you’re nothing now, and you will continue to be nothing… To have no purpose.â€
And finally his mirror-self closed the distance, leaning up to whisper into Aden’s ear, breath icy cold as the air on that day not so long ago in the fallen keep, “To not truly exist….â€
His heart seized, breath would not come, and for an instant the whole world stopped. Nothing moved, no sound issue, not the little motes of dust in the light across the hall nor his lover’s image choking out his last breath behind him. Only this mirror-self moved, a cold, confident smile as he drew away, slid his helmet back on. His footsteps echoed through the hall.
But this time Aden’s breath did not return, his heart did not start up again in a panicked, staccato beat, and he found no courage to shout back his denial.
He woke instead heaving for breath, legs entrapped, and when he hauled himself out of the tangling net slammed down to cold hardwood. It at least jolted him to proper awareness, and he fumbled with the sheets. Finally free of them he sat there on the floor for a moment, staring into the darkness.
His heart spoke those words, too, in the darkest, loneliest moments. He’d been discarded, and he would be so again one day by those he loved most. He had only the hope that he could improve, and someday perhaps be worthy enough to keep around.
But I will be better–what kind of promise was that? Hollow. One he could not fulfill when he could barely keep up with his comrades, when he could not figure out what to be to his lover, honest or stoic. And because he could not decide who or how to be, he did not even have himself.
Only one thing had not betrayed him, could not discard him. Aden stood, searched for the padding he kept under his armor, went for his lance.
He wouldn’t permit himself peace in oblivion, so he would find it in that weightless moment at the apex of a jump, and again and again until he knew it so well he could call it to himself in the darkness.
