Snapdragon

In all my moons, I have never witnessed a gemstone crack under pressure.

And Ayre did it with a gemstone of Derision - meant to contain a sense of diminishment. It is far from the first emotional resonance most think of when a sudden intensity of emotion is needed.

I was not the target of Ayre’s binding stone. So I cannot be entirely sure what Ayre subjected Mel’Viora to.

But I can tell they poured everything they had to give into that stone.

Theriya would not have constructed an implement that could not contain the size of the gemstone. Which means the gemstone cracking was all Ayre’s doing. That alone should speak volumes about the depth of the burdens weighing them down.

We all felt the intensity of it to varying degrees. For the many Lunarians lingering at the edges of the stone garden, I can spot the sudden sense of weariness and discomfort.

My sisters and brothers among the Howling Watchers were quick to discard their spears, despite only experiencing glimpses of the worst of it.

Just seconds of experiencing the loss of limbs is enough to reduce most to screams. It is a worse pain than most suffer without a disabling injury that costs most their assigned role.

For most Seedlings, there is no greater fear than losing their place in a grove.

Those of us closest to the Grove tender, myself and my two attackers, are all still struggling to put weight on our own limbs.

I’m the first back on my feet, but that isn’t saying much.

I try to tell myself I have lived through this kind of misalignment with my own body. I should be stronger, more experienced at dealing with this kind of pain.

Every time I dare risk a look in their direction, I can’t decide whether I see Ayre or Lenore.

And I can’t stand seeing Lenore.

Doing so twists my stomach into knots and nearly brings me to tears over the guilt of being in some way responsible for the loss.

Internally, I am fighting back a need to know the full extent of what Ayre experienced. What kind of foolishness is it when I feel an insatiable need to know more about something I can barely stand glimpses of?

Ayre hasn’t moved in the slightest. Their arms remain extended with a hand placed firmly upon a cracked gemstone. A look of grim determination remains set in their face as if it were carved from stone.

If I look past the scars and the terrors that caused them, can I imagine a destination beyond the safety of themselves and their dolls? What could they become if given the space and opportunity to redefine their sense of self beyond what has been done and continues to be expected of them?

Behind that mask of necessary cruelties, how does Ayre truly feel in comparison to the rest of us?

What do they need?

How can I help?

Ayre needs to be my focus, but why do I care so much?

The reality of being known by the wrong entities will be our undoing, if we are not careful. And yet...

Four arm lengths away, Grove Tender Mel’Viora bends over an arrangement of roots beckoned from the ground to support herself. Both pools of amber infused eye stones shake in their sockets. She lets out a guttural growl the moment I step closer to her and Ayre. “Howlers! Leave us!”

When the recovering Watchers struggle to leave in a timely fashion, Mel’Viora turns the intensity of her gaze on those still unable to move. Whether impaled by my hurled javelin, or unable to stand on their own feet, all are motivated by a need to escape the Grove Tender’s stare.

Those lingering on the fringes get the message without being specifically addressed.

Her gaze turns to me.

“You. Strip this… Ayre of their gemstones and implements.”

I note the use of their name, and not any variation of unproven Seed Prince or depths spawned wretch.

It is enough to motivate me to push through the aftershocks of pain that come with every step. My legs feel less like mine than usual and I don’t fully understand why.

How much does a need to be known guide my every step?

I would not dare be the whole of myself. Not in front of Mel’Viora.

“I am not blind.” Mel’Viora says, her voice a bitter drone. “You think you know better than the one who planted and nurtured you. I know not what purpose guides you, but I am not ignorant to why you would choose to endear yourself to those who might one day envision planting groves of their own.”

Doing my best to ignore Mel’Viora, I focus on Ayre’s unsteady breathing. It is like they can’t use the entirety of their lungs for some reason.

“It’s okay.” I say. “You can let go now.” I take my time coaxing Ayre to release their grip on the tourmaline implement. Stripping them of the other implements and gemstone pouch is something I do with great care. “We’re safe now. It’s over.”

Ayre is in a delicate state. There isn’t much I can do about Mel’Viora, but I can avoid touching Ayre after what was likely an incredibly draining experience.

“I had a mind to teach the both of you a lesson.” Mel’Viora says, her voice growing strained. “But some growths are best cut to preserve the whole.” The Grove Tender turns away from us, beginning to stride off as if nothing happened. As if unaffected by bearing the full weight of what has left Ayre petrified in place while others struggle to stand on their own feet. “Pass on word to the Seed Seers. You are to see to it that no moon touched or blighted creature enters the grove.”

“I will.” I say, in part because I am unsure if Ayre is capable of talking.

“Achieve that,” Mel’Viora whispers, so that only I can hear. “And I will release you from your role as Watcher.”

It is the first thing Mel’VIora says that gets a reaction out of me. The idea that I might be willingly released from my torment is nearly enough to leave me unsteady on my feet.

There is of course some plan already forming in Mel’Viora’s mind. But this is still a step in the right direction. She has merely presented it as giving up on me is all.

I flinch as Ayre suddenly leans against me, their body shaking.

“Shhh. It’s okay. I have you.” I whisper, unsure what else to do until I can get a response out of them.

If I can’t get them to come out of their shell, I’ll take them to someone who can. Cerya or Astraea? Fia? Maybe not Fia.

I could envision an outcome where Cerya correctly guesses where Ayre's pain is coming from and how to address it.

No.

I’m passing off responsibility.

Ayre doesn’t need me to be Third. They have their own protector.

Cerya has put herself out enough already, for me and Ayre both.

Ayre needs me to be the Snapdragon I long to be.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Cerya forgive me, I should be tired of pretending to be anything else.

I close my eyes, imagining only the comforting sound of my head voice.

I have seen Ayre let down their guard before.

If they are going to heal from this, I need to convince them that I am truly on their side.

My eyes open, and I take in every tiny detail of Ayre’s slowly faltering expression. “Ayre?” I say, drawing out the sound of their name.

No response.

I search Ayre’s gaze.

Their eyes are unfocused enough that I’m not even certain if they can hear me.

Still, it probably would not do to shout.

“You’re… not a disappointment.” I say, as gently as I can.

Ayre’s fingers tighten on my shoulder.

For a moment, I think of them as Lenore’s fingers.

Suddenly it is me who is leaning on Ayre for support.

I quickly correct this, adjusting my stance until I am better positioned to support Ayre’s weight.

“Sorry.” I say. “For all of this. I’ve been hard on you, saddling you with expectations and suspicion when we should be helping each other.”

Ayre’s shoulders make a weak shrugging motion before sagging.

It’s not much, but I’ll take what I can get from them in this state.

“Can you walk for me? No. It’s fine, you can keep leaning on me.” I offer Ayre an amused smile before orienting us back to the barrack. Cerya is likely the closest, if nothing else. “You’ve strained yourself enough.”

The streets of the grove are oddly empty.

Then again, we did just upset the Grove Tender.

What is important is that I’m comfortable saying something potentially sensitive.

I take a deep breath. “I know I’m not… one of your dolls. And Mel’Viora is not any of your siblings who did this to you. For what it’s worth, I think she would be proud of you for being willing to subject yourself to all of that again to protect me.”

Ayre nearly causes us both to stumble. “She was right.” They say all of a sudden.

“About what?” I ask, keeping my voice tender and inviting. They need to hear me genuinely care right now.

Now is not the time to be harsh or overly observant.

They don’t need that. And I don’t want to fill that role anymore.

“Lenore.” Ayre’s thready whisper of a voice is a delicate thing, as if her name alone is something to be treasured. “I think… She struggled with giving up a lot. It’s… Not something I’ve made peace with, now that a lot of her thoughts and body are mine.”

Oh, Ayre you poor thing.

“She had you to lean on.” I say with a frown, unsure how much more it is my place to say. “Do you not think she would have taken your strengths were she in your place?”

Ayre falls silent at that. Their eyes fall to the ground and the pace of our walk picks up.

I offer them another verbal nudge. “I don’t imagine it’s easy being saddled with a body and thoughts that don’t feel like they belong to you. But you haven’t given up. I think that’s worth praising.”

“Doesn’t make me any stronger.” Ayre says, and I can’t help but eye the flexing of one of their hands into near fists. They don’t allow their finger tips to scrape flesh.

Beyond the relationship with the Vylian blood parasite in their chest, what kind of history does Ayre have with harming themself? Or was it Lenore? If it was present, was it hidden or is Ayre only now realizing it after being compelled to do the same?

"No. I don't imagine it does." I glance at the tourmaline in my hand. A crack running down the center of the polished red gemstone cuts straight through both of our reflections. "But it is no excuse to let them convince us we are weaker for it."

Ayre’s eyes begin to close. They take the deepest breath they can, before sighing with a weariness that upsets me.

"Weaker for what?" Ayre finally asks.

My eyes spend too long wandering up the many winding scars of Ayre’s stitched together form that I almost hesitate. "Daring to not be defined by what you or I see in the mirror."

Ayre doesn’t flinch.

Instead I am treated to the small betrayal of the corners of Ayre’s lips rising at what I hope is the notion that they might not be alone anymore.

“Yeah. Something like that.” Ayre says, and it feels like an admission.

My world comes to a stop for a moment.

It is one thing to see parts of myself so rarely reflected in another.

As a Watcher, it is especially difficult to resist projecting my own biases.

But it is another thing entirely to admit such and have another validate that feeling.

It would be best to be sure.

I bring us to a stop before offering Ayre my hand.

“What does being stuck in the wrong body feel like for you?” I say, making it an invitation.

I see the involuntary flinch. The doubt follows it by stealing away those tiny traces of a smile. And then I hear it, something hammering hard against the confines of Ayre’s chest.

Two of Ayre’s fingers brush against my hand.

Ayre holds their gaze steady, tightens their lips into a line, and their stance straightens.

They take my hand in theirs, squeezing tightly. Before I can even react, Ayre realizes their own overcommitment.

And then comes that moment where everything about them softens.

It is this honest self reflection and critique in everything they do that I can’t stop seeing in them. It would be a lie to not call it refreshingly endearing.

Before Ayre can even open their mouth to speak, I feel my cheeks warming up as I find myself once again eager to give them the benefit of the doubt. Whatever it is that they want done about their ability to live in their own head and skin is something I want to support.

But then Ayre speaks, it feels like they are seeing through me. “It is like a hunger for something I have never had. A need to break down walls that I cannot give into, for the walls are my own flesh.” Ayre’s hand retreats, but only slightly, leaving them to squeeze just two of my fingers.

I recognize it as a steadying gesture.

I want to claim that their willingness to share this kind of vulnerability with me means more than they know. But their family is just as much of a numbered of a hierarchy as mine. If anything theirs might be more volatile.

Ayre continues. “I claim to have only ever known the depths of the Castellan’s dungeon, but sometimes it feels like I carry another imprisonment with me. The rules and confines of this unseen sentence are only discovered when I have admitted some observation that makes it clear that I am still a prisoner. There is always this moment where it becomes clear I have reminded someone of a forgotten agreement to limit my expression. Even if I lock myself away and refuse to hunt for an escape. Others like you or Astraea admit casual truths that everyone else would condemn as falsehood and instantly punish if overheard.”

Ayre says all of that to me, before again weakening their grip. Visible fear or hesitation causes them to tense up.

“I think I know what you’re getting at.” I say with reassurance, like I could ever be the one to shove them back and into the depths of not understanding how they can go on knowing they are not like other people. “It is always unpleasant to be treated like you are intrinsically different in a way that others think is offensive. This is especially true when you are unsure of how or why such behavior is a problem in the first place.”

I am struck by how delicate this moment was for me.

How little of a mess would I have been capable of making if I had quietly been disposed of and replaced if Theriya or Cerya saw me as a threat to their delicate positions?

By contrast, how much damage could someone like Ayre do if pressed?

I sigh. “I just want you to know you’re not alone in this. Unfortunately, turning this kind of emotional resonance on Grove Tender Mel’Viora is not likely to go unpunished.” I give two of Ayre’s fingers a reassuring squeeze. “You’re not going to sway or give pause to those who need us to function in the roles assigned to us.”

Ayre goes a little still at that, but they do right their stance and stop leaning on me for support. After a few deep breaths their breathing returns mostly to normal, if still a little weary. “You’re probably right. I’ll settle for her entrusting us to fulfill the task that Theriya and you wanted to convince her and the Howling Watchers to fulfill. Although I would appreciate knowing your thoughts on the matter.”

Ayre breaks the contact between us.

I take it as a reminder to be vigilant about how we might be perceived. Slowly, word by word, I allow my voice to sink back into the depths of authority and intensity required of a Third Watcher of the Thorns. “I told Theriya this was a bad idea.” I finally admit, having held back this particular thought from the moment I heard cries of pain coming from the Thorned Watcher barracks. “Allow me to officially catch you up on what you have missed.”

The two of us are nearing the Barracks now. No Cerya in sight yet, but that could change at any moment.

“Whenever there are heightened emotions, the Seed Seers are soon to follow.” My words fall into a steady rhythm as I recount details Ayre might need if they are going to face these creatures in my stead. “Last night we had to contend with blighted creatures that are otherwise territorial enough to remain in their caves. Between the Cinder Blight causing them to recklessly attack alongside a host of other infectious creatures and all of them being in a frenzy under the moon’s influence, it was a bad night for us.”

Ayre gives me a thoughtful look that I suspect hides some sense of praise. “Fighting without self preservation, in such large numbers, and an added worry of infection from any wounds inflicted, I think I can see why most of the Thorned Watchers were bedridden.”

“We were nearly overrun.” I say. “Theriya spent much of the night trying to accommodate you by crafting what we thought you might need. Luckily for her, she had an entire planting of injured Watchers ripe for harvesting!”

“Oh.” Ayre says. “I… didn’t know.”

I allow my voice to soften a touch here, not to the level where any would question it. But hopefully it is enough to signal to Ayre that I have genuine concerns about how they conducted themselves. “So. Yeah. I was a little upset over the idea of Cerya and you bonding over torturing my fellow Thorns.”

“Theriya didn’t give me much to go on.” Ayre expresses through tight lips. “And Second is never forthcoming. But none of that was an excuse to do more harm than was necessary. I need to stop treating you all like Vylians.”

“I wish I could help you there. Moon knows the Thorned Watchers are a miserable lot. Despite being Third among them, they’re pretty happy to dismiss me at a moment’s opportunity.” My voice falls to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’m not asking you to care about them, but I do think we’re going to need them intact.”

“Can you do me a favor?” Ayre says and if I squint, I can almost see the thought slowly forming in their mind through their features.

I find it endearing that I can already read the favor as Ayre mouths out what they want to say.

“Of course.” I say.

“Can you find the former Nineteen of the Thorned Watchers and bring him to the Seed Seers’ spire?” Ayre says, voicing the next thoughts aloud as they spring to mind. “It would be best, I think, to pose some of the questions I have to someone who might be comfortable loudly expressing them all of a sudden.”

It is a good idea. “Of course.” I say.

As loath as I am to part from Ayre, I’m content with the state I am leaving them in.

By way of apology, I’ll be sure to bring them a fresh change of clothes.

The mix of bindings and flowing shawl makes me wonder if I can get away with suggesting a dress of some kind.

Ayre strikes me as the type who would appreciate something tight in the chest but loose fitting elsewhere. Maybe I can even find something in the right shade of red that they don’t need to worry about getting blood on.