Chapter Text
When his parents called his name, he cringed. When his parents called him daughter, he thought, 'I'm your son, too.' When his older brother called him a boy, pointing out his short hair and tendency to play in mud, he laughed at how right he was. When his younger sister called him queen or sorceress, asking him to play princesses and knights together, he smiled.
When his body began to change, he felt warmth underneath his fingers and vines growing in his lungs. His voice pitched higher than his brother's, his body an awkward height, his chest heavy, he was uncomfortable in a way he had never felt. He was used to feeling out of place in the language he heard; his body was supposed to be where he was safe.
When his sister fell out of a tree, she cried and cried, until he held her broken arm in his hands. He whispered a lullaby to her, voice too high to sing comfortably, as warmth washed over the fractured bone. She smiled, and said in amazement, 'You're a sorceress!' He asked her to keep it a secret, and she loved to be a part of a secret, so she did.
When he got into an argument with his brother, he stood in the barn, dry straw tickling his bare feet. His brother asked, 'When are you going to start acting like a girl? When are you going to stop acting like a boy?' He laughed and said, 'I do act like a girl, because I'm a girl. And I act like a boy, because I'm a boy.' His brother simply said, 'You're not a boy.' They yelled at each other, things he couldn't remember anymore, because all he could remember was the fire he started.
When the Templars arrived, his clothes were singed and his lungs full of smoke. His sister was crying, telling them he could heal his brother. His mother shook his head and held her, crying as well. His father yelled, holding his brother's burnt body and ignoring the way he winced at the screaming as well. The Templars looked at the burnt corpse of the barn, the crying children, the teenager covered in burns, and nodded.
When they left, he wasn't allowed time to change clothes. He was barely allowed time to grab his small pillow, slip on boots and a coat, and wish his mother and sister goodbye. They marched for hours, his feet felt like stones. He couldn't heal them, as the Templars had made him swallow some horrible tasting potion. They hadn't asked him or his family for his name- which secretly made him glad. Instead, they spoke about him, not to him, calling him a girl.