He’s four when he realises he isn’t quite like the other children his age. His frail hands, yet unmarked by war or weaponry, shake when he reaches for his mother’s own, and he stumbles and trips over himself and has trouble carrying anything too heavy.

He often goes to bed exhausted and wakes up cold and shivering, and some part of his young mind wonders if there’s something wrong with him. Why isn’t he as strong as his peers? Why isn’t he allowed to play with them yet?

He does not know why he’s so tired but he wants to become stronger one day.

—

He’s six when he sees his father cry for the first time. He wakes in the middle of the winter night, awkwardly waddling to the door of his tiny room, his favourite blanket in tow. He peeks around the wall and sees his father sitting by the hearth, head in his hands, his shoulders quaking.

He doesn’t understand that he will never see his mother again. He doesn’t understand that every time his father looks him in the eyes, he sees the woman he loved so dearly. Oblivious to his father’s grief, he throws himself into the man’s lap, and stares up at him.

Why are you sad, he asks, his green eyes wide and round. His father doesn’t respond, instead falling silent and then embracing him fiercely, as if his son is the last thing keeping him alive.

He’s not sure why his father is crying but he wants to make him happy again.

—

He’s fifteen when he realises the body he was born in isn’t his. He quickly learns to avoid his reflection, to change quickly, to hide himself and the inner turmoil he’s feeling. He begins to despise bathing, seeing his bare skin and face in the water becomes distressing.

He wishes he could tell someone but he’s too afraid. His mind harkens back to feeling as if there was something wrong with himself, even as a child. Why does the very thought of being in front of a mirror petrify him?

He wishes he understood why his body now feels like a prison but he’s not sure he ever will.

—

He’s eighteen when his world is turned upside down. His father takes his last breath as he screams, begs, pleads for him not to leave his son behind. He sits by the bedside for hours more, his father’s voice now silent and his hands, stone-cold.

Everything hurts. His mind becomes a whirlwind of dark, pained thoughts and he spirals over and over and over. He forgets to eat, he isolates himself, he refuses to leave the home his family once shared.

He begs and prays for a miracle to bring his father back but deep down, he knows his cries will ultimately be unanswered.

—

He’s twenty five when he loses the last things he held dear. He’s dragged off across the river by his bound wrists, and he hangs his head, blood dripping from his brow from the strike of a halberd. His chest aches and his eyes sting with tears.

He doesn’t know what to say. He’s seemingly forgotten how to speak and he closes his eyes, shaking his head, berating himself for being such a failure. How could he let the people he vowed to serve go unprotected?

He tries to find the words, a sorry, a reassurance, anything, but he can’t.

—

He’s not much older when a merciful death comes for him and he wonders.

He wonders if it was all worth it.

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