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They never liked falling under the gaze of others. The mere knowledge that someone had laid eyes upon them was enough to elicit a panic response. This fear had coalesced into an uncanny ability to sense when they were being watched.
It was their anxiety that interpreted the watch of others to be malicious, hateful -- judging.
And so when the purple-haired girl that had walked behind them for some time would simply not stop looking, they felt unease. They’d risk glances back, and across likely an hour of travel, her eyes never peeled away.
They couldn’t understand what her interest was. Were those dull eyes tracing their faint figure beneath their clothing, her thoughts aligning the same critique they brought on themself? Perhaps she thought they were gloomy, as many in the past had remarked.
They pulled their cloak around themselves tighter, the urge to bury the body beneath in layer after layer of fabric growing each second.
Finally, their stress peaked and they whipped around, facing the girl from under their broad-brimmed hat. They noticed two others in their peripheral vision, but chose to avoid looking at them.
“May I help you?” they asked, attempting to sound polite, but their voice warbled.
The girl doesn't reply immediately, but the plain-looking boy beside her in red speaks up first.
“She wants to know why you’re choosing to wear a cloak in summer. It’s bothering her.” his tone was bored, clearly uninterested in the reason himself.
She looked at him with a pout, clearly feeling some sort of betrayal. He only shrunk under her glare, but they ultimately turned their gazes back to them.
They shrugged helplessly.
“I get… cold?” their voice is little more than a whisper.
The flat stare that came in return suggested that their excuse was not viable.
At that moment they finally met and looked at the third and final member of the party. A short statured, white-haired elf. It was as surprising for any human -- this was the first elf they’d ever seen before, after all.
Her gaze was intense. So much so, they averted theirs, turning around and continuing the walk. If they could keep to themselves the rest of the journey to the first class mage exams, then it wouldn’t be much of an issue. They were clearly a party of friends, they would keep to themselves.
Which is what should have happened, but it was not long before the elf approached them, skipping up to them like they were childhood friends. They’d wished she didn't, but couldn’t deny their own curiosity, either.
The other two, the purple and red one had moved up to walk side-by-side with them as well. The elf speaks, her voice surprisingly low. They don’t look at her.
“Are you a thaumaturge?”
They understood it was likely due to their heavy cloak that she would think they used ice magic, but it was not the case.
They shook their head, unwilling to hear their own voice.
She was looking at them expectantly, they could tell out of the side of their vision. Their eyes stayed trained upon the ground.
They sighed, speaking quietly and softly, “I use weather magic.”
They could practically hear the gleam from the elf. It seemed she was very interested.
She attempts to question more about it, but they keep to themself as much as possible, letting the party bicker among themselves all the way to Äußerst. They wonder to themself if they could pass the exam -- the highest testament to the strength of a mage. The greatest heights a human can achieve, supposedly. They had their doubts.
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It’s not long before the group finally reaches the city, a point at which they assume they’ll have split from the strange group from before, but it quickly becomes apparent they’d been abducted to an extent. Against their will and protests, they’re led to an inn and find themselves seated at one of the dining area’s tables.
Their cloak is drawn as far over their face as possible, and they stare down at the hardwood table with longing. A long walk was not meant to be followed by an even more exhausting task of socializing. They’d planned to be asleep in a room by now, not spending their time with a group of strangers.
They jolted as fingers came into view, pulling off the cover of their hood before they had time to react.
And they saw the elf properly for the first time.
The warm light of the lanterns lining the walls of the inn washed over her features. Timeless and beautiful, the epitome of an elf. She’s ethereal in a way they can’t place.
And as she draws their hood behind them to rest on their shoulders, they realize who she is.
Frieren, the legendary mage.
She seems satisfied with exposing them, and the magic of the moment fades, leaving only the raw feeling against their skin, and the stares from the other two.
Through their bickering in the walk, they’d come to learn their names.
The red one, Stark, broke the silence.
“Hm, not a bad face for a guy. Pretty.” Their heart sank, and their stomach dropped.
The purple one, Fern, elbowed him. They weren’t sure why she did this. Did she somehow know that they didn’t like being referred to as a guy? That seemed impossible. Was she jealous that he was calling someone else pretty? More likely.
They hardly even processed the argument that came, their eyes lingering between the table and Frieren.
Like, the Frieren. The mage they learned about in magic school at an early age. The one with statues in the capital. How had they not noticed immediately?
How were they meant to respond to her? Grovel at her feet? Apologize and incinerate themself? They couldn't figure out what to do, so they didn’t at all.
A waitress came by to take everyone’s orders, and with food and drink, the tension died down, and the conversation took to a comfortable cadence -- aside from when they were asked for their name. Instead of answering, they ate their food until the topic moved on.
A beer or two in, they conclude they did, in fact, not dislike this party of people. They just couldn’t stand to interact with anyone. Fern and Stark continued to argue like an old married couple, and Frieren and them ate in companionable silence. But once they'd finished their boorish dish, there’s little excuse left to not make conversation. Their mind scrambles to figure out what to say.
Frieren spoke first.
“Hey,” her low voice so frustratingly smooth, “teach me weather magic.”
They’d feared this question from the moment she’d taken interest on the walk from before. It was not a new question, and certainly one they tired of. They opened their mouth, ready to explain their usual spiel on how that most were not capable of weather magic -- that the concepts and practical application were so talent based that most didn’t have a chance.
But they closed their mouth. It was Frieren they were addressing. It was said she’d spent the hundred years since the defeat of the demon king traveling and learning all sorts of magic. They had a hard time believing there was something she could not learn.
“Please.” she says with no hint of actual politeness. Her expression is so blank that her plea can’t help but make them crack a hint of a smile.
They look into their lap, holding on to this moment of warmth.
“Okay.”
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The next day, they’re up early, ready to teach Frieren. However, they aren’t out in a field outside the city until noon, given Frieren isn’t ready until that time.
The walk out had been relatively pleasant. Although making conversation was not a talent they possessed, Frieren didn’t seem to mind much. They appreciated that. They did end up in conversation, but one without small talk and related to only magic. The exam, its contents, and even a riveting discussion on the principles of arcane mechanics. Frieren had an exciting amount of knowledge on the topic, having watched humans develop magic over the past millennia. They found themself smiling by the time they reached the open area.
The wind was calm, the sun high in the sky without a cloud in sight. Frieren looked at them expectantly.
“Are you ready?” They asked. She nodded.
They were nervous about teaching, especially someone who should be considered their ulta-senior when it came to matters of magic, but they jumped into it.
“Weather magic is like any complicated spell -- you must understand the sum of its parts. In this case, it’s how weather occurs in nature.”
Frieren nodded, expression as blank and unfeeling as ever. They tried to not get distracted.
“Um. Most weather comes down to three main components: temperature, the weight of air, and the season. Each of these combine in different ways that create different weather.”
And they went on, and on, and on. They’d not a clue how much time had passed, but the elf listened intently, never interrupting. They couldn’t remember a time when they had the chance to speak so passionately about the magic they’d always loved.
Once they’d concluded their explanation, Frieren smiled. Her face was warm, and they felt their very being melt.
“You’re a better teacher than you think you are.” she told them.
That compliment would likely stay with them forever.
They shook their head, moving on before they started drooling.
“I’m going to manipulate the temperature to make clouds here. Then I’ll have you do the same.”
They summoned their staff, and began making vague motions. They found it easier to do when they closed their eyes -- feeling the invisible mechanics of the world around them being put into motion. A breeze picked up, their cloak billowing around them.
The air grew warm, and lifted, their hat flying from their head. The air began to smell humid and heavy. Rain began to patter against their hood.
They looked up, seeing the sunny, clear sky had transformed into a miniature storm, the circle-like formation confined to their space only, not reaching the nearby Äußerst. They turned to Frieren and vaguely gestured to the dramatic display. She gave a thumbs up.
They turned back, heaving their staff in a great circle, summoning a wind to disperse the clouds.
It was Frieren’s turn, and like any one person would have expected from the mage, she executed it perfectly. They’d half-expected the display to go over-the-top and destroy a farmer’s field, but her control was better than theirs.
They walk through more spells, theory, and sharing of silly magic they’ve learned.
“What’s your favourite spell?” they asked her. It was something of an icebreaker among mages.
She simply motioned her staff to an empty patch of grass, and blue flowers began popping up out of nowhere. It was beautiful.
Once back in the city, it was already nighttime, so they returned to the inn. Their doors were near each other, and they took one last look at the elf as they opened the door. She seemed off -- nervous? She was usually so cool and calm they hadn’t expected it.
“Hey.”
They waited for her to go on.
“Why do you wear the hood and hat? Even indoors. It seems inconvenient.”
They’d become somewhat bonded with her throughout the day. To the point that they didn’t feel right brushing her off, or lying. Their eyes peered out from under their coverings. She was gorgeous, something they could never have, never hope to be. There wasn’t a chance she’d understand if they tried to explain, so they shook their head.
“I don’t like how I look.”
They fled into their room, slamming the door behind them.
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They’d learned Frieren was not exactly an early riser from Fern -- an issue she seemed to scold the mage about often. They played it to their advantage, leaving the inn at dawn, slipping out into the cold morning.
They didn’t want to face Frieren, or any of the others. Not after last night, not after Frieren had started to pry.
Outside of town once again, they found a river bank to settle into, idly tossing rocks into the water. They reflected.
They kept a distance from others as much as possible. They didn’t speak to their family, they didn’t have friends, and they most certainly avoided people they found attractive. They should have never dropped their guard the day before, letting themselves enjoy Frieren’s company, yammering on and on about their magic. It was embarrassing to think about in retrospect.
They hated that Frieren knew them. That anyone had the misfortune of meeting them. They thought it a crime that anyone had to look at them.
The tears were already rising to their face, the imminent break down creeping up before they had a chance to stop it. They clutched the body beneath their cloak, the cloth no longer protecting them from feeling their own body.
They hated it they hated it they hated it they hated it they h.
It was too much. They held their knees, rocking back and forth as their body was racked with sobs. They could never become who they wanted to be. They tugged at their mop of hair they’d been trying to grow out, desperate for any sort of pain to draw resolution from, but none came.
They collapsed onto the moist grass of the riverbank, eyes wide and staring at nothing in particular. The river continued its flow, the breeze rustled the tall grasses, and they felt their tears cascade down their face sideways. Uncomfortable, but deserved.
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They felt a vague movement -- a shaking. A voice told them to wake up. Soft and low, it was pleasant. They could fall asleep to a voice like that.
They jolted, realizing they’d fallen asleep, shooting straight up to snap their head to look at who woke them.
Frieren. They avoided meeting her eyes, and took a minute to get their bearings. It had to be around evening time, and their eyes were puffy from crying. They felt better. Not good, but better.
They drew their hood up, and then looked at Frieren.
“Why’d you avoid me this morning?” she asked it plainly, but they were instantly on guard. She must have woken up earlier than expected. They don’t answer, turning back to the river bank.
She joins them, sitting beside them. She sits back on her arms, staring up at the sky. They mimic the pose. The sky was coloured beautiful shades of orange and purple by the setting sun. There’s a long period of silence before Frieren inhales.
“In all the millennia I’ve lived, I’ve never once doubted my appearance. My body was simply there.This isn’t a struggle I can understand, but -- “
“Stop,“ they interrupt, “I don’t want to hear it. Like you said, you don’t understand. Where’s this even coming from?”
Their voice has more bite than they expected, any kind of outburst kept hidden away from others. It was infuriating, that Frieren had to see them like this.
She shakes her head. “I know. I heard your muttering earlier, before you fell asleep.”
They seize up immediately. She’d overheard them. Talking about how they’ve always longed to be a woman, to be anything but what they are now. The secret they’d shared with nobody. They felt themselves descending into another spiral.
To their surprise, Frieren reached out, placing a hand on their shoulder. To just about any person in the world who would try to touch them, they’d flinch away. Instead, it grounded them. In the short time they’d known her, they never truly felt judged. She was infinitely curious about people and the world. She saw the same thing they saw in people: complexity. She had more sway on their feelings than they’d like, but they let her calm them down.
They took deep breaths until they were ready to speak -- with the voice they hated.
“For as long as I can remember, I’ve never felt quite… right in my body. That something was wrong.”
They looked sidelong at her to see her reception. She nodded for them to go on.
“Any mention anyone makes of me being a boy sends me into despair easily. I’ve never been the person I need to be.”
They poured their heart out to Frieren, about every little detail they’d kept to themself. Maybe it was the crying from earlier, but they felt so tired, and weak. Too much so to inhibit themself from telling her these things.
And just as they thought they’d made a total fool of themself, voice trailing off, Frieren embraced them in an uncharacteristically warm act. Talking like this was exhausting, but Frieren’s kind demeanor encouraged them.
“... so that’s why I wear this cloak.” they finished.
Frieren simply nodded, thinking. They could not possibly predict the things she said normally, which only made this volatile situation scarier as they awaited reply.
The mage faces them with a blank expression across her face.
“You just want to be in the body of a woman, right?”
They shrugged. That more or less summed it up.
“We can do that, then.”
They blinked at her. Once, and then twice. “Pardon?”
She nodded like it was obvious. “The magic for that exists. I learned it… not that long ago? Five-hundred years or so.”
The elf’s out-of-touch nature with time aside, their mind was abuzz. The idea that this desire to be the person their body didn’t match had an actual cure was a wish they’d made for years. And to just be told one day that it was possible? They weren’t sure how to react. But most importantly, a light of hope flickers on inside them for what feels like the first time in their life.
“Okay. Do it.”
It was not a very simple spell, and required incantation, even from Frieren. She’d said it was due to her having only used it once. They supposed even the best mage alive needed practice sometimes.
They stood, facing away from the river bank towards Frieren. The mage hefted her staff, swinging it in a circular motion, and the ground beneath them pulsed with magical energy, the air itself feeling charged. Their very form shifts beneath them. Uncomfortable, but not painful. They felt the accelerated transition, and after some time, the light faded, leaving them feeling entirely different.
Before even looking, they could feel the change. Their body felt rearranged -- weight in places it wasn’t before, their entire posture shifted.
And when they looked down, well… There was a girl. And they smiled to themself, looking and feeling over the new form, admiring. It was a stark difference to what they were before, but it was undeniably them.
Undeniably her.
She smiles wider than she had in years. She was a girl. She turned excitedly to the river, looking for an eddy to find her reflection in the water. She didn’t feel the need to shy away from her own face. She turned back to Frieren, who nodded.
“Mm.” a small smile from the elf, “pretty.”
And the compliment had her soaring. Her own cheeks flushed, and she detected a minute dusting of pink on Fireren’s.
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Explaining the situation to Stark and Fern was easier than expected. It was mostly thanks to Fern, who was able to accept it easily. Her expression indicated a silent exasperation of ‘traveling with Frieren means bizarre happenings.’ Stark seemed to have a harder time understanding how gender can change, but with a shove from his purple-haired lover/not lover, he seemed to accept it.
Even in the short time she’d known these people, she felt like they were… friends.
Frieren was a distinction from that, of course. Their bond over magic. The glances they’d started to steal at each other during conversation. She finally felt she could freely laugh at the elf’s deadpan humour and behaviour.
She was falling in love.
Walking down the streets of Äußerst, hand-in-hand with Frieren, she thought for once, that a hood wasn’t necessary.