HI IM POSTING SOMETHING! more aydin and a lot of symbolism %^) esp. on the war vs peace front
/this takes place in the past, before the lions arch attack
The training field is mostly empty now, nearing the end of the afternoon. Itâs a miserable hour, the downpour having finally simmered to a fine mist. Still, someone Aydin doesnât recognize hasnât left yet. The stranger didnât even catch his eye while heâd been training his contingent- Â they let anyone pass through the fort these days -
They stay just outside the awning in the rain, abroad from shelter. A soaked martyr they remain, surrounded by pots of soaked dirt. The flowers caged in the soil sag- upon closer inspection, the outsider is holding one enduring perennial in their hands, itâs smell permeating in saturated air. Bundles of dirt sinks between their fingertips, oozing unto gravel.
But- flowers canât live in the same fields as weapons do. Magnetized, Aydin steps close, slowly probing with his eyes.
Aydin doesnât know how long he stands there. Seconds? Minutes? Hours?
âI was told to take this.â The stranger says to their new company.
The Warmaster has to swallow a few times before he can speak. âWithout a pot? Anything?â
The stranger looks up, and Aydin wishes they wouldnât- anywhere but the line of his own shoulders, a pillar already easy to follow- âThey told me to find a new home for it.â
The pounding in his chest is uncomfortable. Enough time had already passed for the Warmasterâs dismissal from duty for the day- he could be inside. He could be warm. He could be anywhere else. Heâs still here.
âDo you want it?â
âWhat?â Aydinâs voice is sharp, but ever still an ember puttering smaller and smaller into smoke, useless smothered- âWhat? No.â He balls fists into his coat. Deconstructs his outline, by hunching. âNo.â He tries to concentrate forward, hard. He can't.
He fails as heâs pulled back towards the strangerâs eyes, their hands a cradle. âIâm afraid itâll die.â They are wide, and painfully green, like the earth. An earth that Aydin could see, if he looked far enough. âI donât want it to die.â
Aydin does not have an answer for why he walks back towards Fort Marrinerâs doors that evening with a pocket full of dirt. A white daffodil is tucked against the black of his coat, the mist trailing behind him like a long sigh.












