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Though she died many years ago, he still had strong memories of his mother. He remembered her as a cold, closed-off woman, only happy when reminiscing about her late husband (though she was far more likely to be lamenting his death).
“You look just like your father, [].” She would often say whilst brushing his hair, which meant he never grew it too long, nor cut it too short.
(There were some memories he tried to forget, where in a sleep-deprived state she held him tight, crying out her husband’s name. At times, he found himself wondering if she saw him as her child at all, or only a new incarnation of his father.)
“If you had been a boy, we would have named you Ares Eldigan Nordion, after my father and yours…” She admitted to him another night, as they stared at the stars.
“Do you wish I was a boy?” He’d asked, though at the time he didn’t understand why.
“It never mattered to me. You carry your father’s spirit, his blood flows through you, you will one day wield his holy blade… that is what’s important, dear.”
So Ares knew, if his parents could see him now, they would accept him wholeheartedly.
One day, Grahnye told him to hide. In a cramped hidden room, he clutched Jeanne and Tristan’s hands, trying to block out the screams outside.
They were found the next day, by a man named Javarro. He was the leader of a mercenary group (though on this day they were merely scavengers). At the time, Ares was surprised they weren’t handed over to the empire as sacrifices. Now, he knew that it was his holy mark that had saved him. (And it was only by his insistence that Jeanne and Tristan joined them as well).
The mercenaries had very little in the way of children’s clothes, and what they did have was made for young boys. Jeanne would often complain (when they were out of earshot), that she wasn’t able to be pretty like this. But it never bothered Ares. In fact, he liked the dark clothes he was given - the trousers and the tunics.
Quite frankly, he could have figured out his feelings a lot sooner, if he’d known living as a man was an option. Men were more likely to be hired, that was the way of the world. (His aunt Lachesis had been one of the fiercest warriors in the nation, but that didn’t matter. She was remembered as a healer, a sister, a potential wife.)
Javarro told him, if word got out the wielder of Mystletainn was a woman, it’d be marriage request after marriage request, the greedy nobles of the land fighting for any scraps of power. But if he was known as a man, he would be able to gain respect in his own right.
(And he was right. Hoðr ruled over all of Agustria, but as it was his daughter that gained his major blood, the bloodline had been bound to her husband’s house alone.)
“Ares Eldigan Nordion.” The name was out of his mouth before he’d processed the way his stomach raced at the thought of it. “That is my new name.”
Javarro laughed, patting him on the back. “Good lad!”
Though he adapted to the change quickly, Tristan and Jeanne didn’t understand the extent of his transformation. It was Ares in public and [] in private. He couldn’t fault them for this, but the longer it went on, the more his stomach began to turn at that name. But it was only when they were passing through the Rados markets - a shadow of what used to be a thriving city - that his feelings came to a head.
“How do I look?” Jeanne asked, trying on her third dress of the day. This one was very pink, with an orange cape that complimented her headband.
“You look… good.” Ares responded, he’d never had an eye for this sort of thing.
“Thanks.” She smiled. “I think I could wear this on a horse, don’t you?”
“Ah, yes. It’s befitting of a troubadour.”
Once he’d said that, Jeanne went up closer to him, and whispered. “Why don’t you try one of these on, []?”
“No.”
“You don’t have to wear it in public, []. But it’s been so long since I’ve seen you in girly clothes, I’m tired of being the only one…”
To that comment, Ares simply walked away. And he continued walking back to where the mercenaries had made their base. And he didn’t talk to anyone until the evening, just sitting alone with his thoughts.
(It was then he unlocked the final piece of the puzzle. Jeanne, a girl, had refused to pretend to be a boy at every turn, even when it made life more difficult for her. Whereas he, had jumped at the opportunity.)
(Ergo, he was not a girl.)
(Ergo…)
That evening, he found it in himself to apologise to Jeanne. Then, he sat with her and Tristan, and tried to explain the depth of his feelings. What he referred to as his ‘transformation’ was not simply an act, it was a reflection of the self.
The self that was firmly, definitely, a man.
His friends couldn’t fully understand, but they accepted him fully.
Later in life, when he joined the Liberation Army, he met many people who were also able to accept him. He found some individuals who’d had similar experiences, and eventually he was able to find love…
-
When the war had ended, and peace had settled, Ares was declared the new king of Agustria. The coronation had seemed so far away as he and his comrades made the trek back to their homeland. As it approached, Ares decided to visit all the major cities of the land. Devastated by the empire’s occupation, he made a vow to make his people happy.
(And the people seemed happy for his visit. Though that was more likely happiness that the storm had passed, not in adoration of his character.)
Tomorrow, they would reach Sylvale, the castle where his father lost his life. Tonight, they slept under the stars, on the land that marked his final battlefield.
Ares could not sleep, so he left his lover’s side and wandered through the plains. He did not know where he was going, nor why he was going there, but he knew it was where he was meant to be.
“Ares…” A voice called out to him, a voice so familiar yet so distant.
“Who’s there?” He called back, and a brown-haired woman faded into his view.
“Even now, you look just like your father…” She smiled, clasping her hands in front of her. Ares wanted to hold her, but was afraid she’d slip away if he tried.
“Mother… how are you-”
“How I wish I could have been by your side… though perhaps I’d only have held you back. You’ve grown into such a fine man, Ares…”
“I am very proud of you, son.” A second figure appeared. A man, older than Ares but distinctly the same.
“Father?”
“In life, I made many mistakes. I prioritised my loyalty over doing the right thing. In my final moments, I cursed Sigurd. And in death, I feared you would go down the same path…”
“Lord Seliph is a fine man.” Ares said. “A valiant companion, I’m grateful to have him.”
“Treasure him, son.” The man - Eldigan - replied. “I met Sigurd and Quan under the best of circumstances, and their company got me through all the worst times… though I wish you could have met Seliph and Leif under different circumstances, you share the same bond we did.”
“Tristan, Jeanne, Diarmuid, Nanna, Lene, Laylea.” Grahnye listed off his other close friends. “All those that you love, treasure them too.”
“I will.” He replied.
“You will make for a fine ruler, in time you will surpass what I was capable of. A knight cannot choose his master, but I believe that you can be your own master. Bring peace to Agustria, Ares. May the Black Knight bring a bright future.”
“I understand. Thank you, father…” Ares held back tears as his father faded away.
“Goodbye Ares, I will always love you…” Ares closed his eyes as his mother kissed him on the forehead. The touch was gentle, as if a butterfly had landed on his face. When he opened his eyes, he was alone again.
He never told anyone what he’d seen that night, but he took their words to heart. He was his father’s son.