I drop my dull training claymore to the packed earth and extend an arm to my Wolfe, my companion in arms.

He’s bent on the ground, doubled over in pain from the blow that ended our match. After a minute he manages to catch his breath and, with a groan, clasps his forearm to mine. I work tired muscles to help pull him to his feet once more.

I lightly pat him on the back, then undo the clip of my helmet, removing it and carrying it under an arm while I brush the sweat from my clipped hair. Wolfe did the same, hanging his helmet on his shield, short, dark locks greeting the sun to match his boyish features. He’d never entirely grown out of them.

“You’re improving. It wasn’t that long ago I would have won without needing to shift stance.”

He grunts assent, massaging his chest. “Improvement sure seems to hurt a lot more against you.”

I grin back, the long scar on my cheek turning it into something of a scowl. “It just means I can’t hold back against you any more.”

He gives a loud, hollow laugh, then winces again with discomfort. “I have never known you to hold back my friend. You always strike first, and always to win. It’s just that most lose their swords to your blows before you try to run them through.” Another groan. “I’m going to have a welt where you struck! What will my lover think; a third puckered teat right between my first two!”

“I’m sure he’ll kiss it all better.”

It wasn’t at all uncommon for knights of our order to take comfort in one another. An open secret, some might say. It was not often spoken of outside our numbers, but no vitriol was tolerated from within.

Honestly, I was happy that Wolfe had found happiness in the arms of another. It was something I myself lacked and envied him. Perhaps companionship could fill that empty space in my chest.

We make our way to the side of the training field grounds, retrieving drinks from skins hanging on hooks outside the armoury.

I look past the palisade, to the fields used for cavalry drills, the forest beyond where some of our number sometimes venture to hunt game, and then above, gazing into the sky. The sun had started to sink. There would be time for one more match. Perhaps two if they were short ones, before we would need to start packing up the fields for the night. My muscles protest the thought, but I ignore them. I am their master and pain alone would not stop my fight.

“What is that?”

Wolfe looked up as well, but spotted something I had not. A twist of light in from the sun? No. It shimmers in a manner too consistent, and too high into the air. Perhaps against the ground it could be a trick of heat and air twisting light, but in the sky? So close to the sun?

As if sensing our scrutiny, the distortion begins to move. It is somewhat more obvious in flight, though still blending into nothing when not actively pursued by the eye; an orb, perhaps, of bent light. An illusion.

Or a glamour.

It comes closer at a rapid pace. It is all I can do to shout before it is practically upon us, hovering over the palisades.

Then it starts to unravel, threads coming undone only to weave themselves into glistening multi-hued butterflies which fly off in every direction and which disappear as soon as no one is looking at them.

Behind the broken glamour stands a figure in the air. Tall and lithe, with sword at hip and a chain shirt which shines like polished silver, links more fine than any armour human made. The figure is distinctly feminine, with wide hips emphasized by impractically tight-fitting trousers, tucked into slim, knee-high boots. Her hair is long and pale, the colour of ripe peaches, and is braided with flower stems woven into her lockes. The pointed tips of ears stick out from beneath them.

“Cordial greetings to all below here!” She bows deeply with a flourish, more butterflies taking flight from her arms, though standing in the air as she was, her head still remained well above us people below. “Witness as Lily of Spring does appear!”

Fae are capricious, chaotic, and powerful. Rarely are they malevolent, but so taken up are they in their games that they simply do not consider what harms they might do to the people who cross their paths.

“What brings you here Lily of Spring?” I shout up to the Fae, my comrades quiet and frozen in place, or else scrambling to get out of eyesight. Probably a fruitless endeavor, but one I could sympathize with. “Our order has no quarrel with your court!”

Whatever response I expected, it wasn’t that she would laugh. She titters in place like a spring breeze through cattails while songbirds chirp within.

“I was curious to watch you spar, fair knight; And curiouser still now I’ve seen your bite.” She tumbles and flips through the air and the next moment she hovers in front of me, no more than a meter from the ground and less than double that between us.

“Despite great skill, you lack value for life; The life of yourself, thrown away to strife.”

Oh. Oh.

This is much worse. Whatever passing interest brought the Fae here, now her attention is wholly on me. I feel my heart flutter with hollow fear and fight hard to keep it off of my face. It’s a task I am well practiced at but, judging by the Fae Knight’s knowing grin, one not successful in fooling her. Perhaps my face had paled to her statement.

“If-” I stop before I can stutter. Get yourself under control damnit! “If I could satisfy your curiosity, I would gladly tell you what you ask…”

Her grin grows wider and she nods once sharply.

Fuck. Okay…

“Umm. It is true that I am somewhat reckless in a fight. I sacrifice my defenses to overwhelm my opponents with aggression.” A pause to gather my breath and thoughts. “I have always been a skilled fighter and I have faith in those skills. I’ve seldom felt the need to prioritize defense over a swift end to the heat.”

And if worst comes to worst, little of value will be lost.

Those last words feel somewhat sour in my mouth. Perhaps another sign of nervousness from the situation.

Unfortunately, the look on the Fae’s face does not alleviate my symptoms. She wears a frown of naked disappointment. The Fae are not ones to hide their emotions, or so the stories go. They feel them fully and at times explosively. It is disconcerting to say the least to see anything other than positivity on this one’s face.

“The words you speak are not untrue young knight; Yet I sense there’s more you do not speak right.”

“I know it’s not the most interesting of answers, I don’t know what else to say.” I really don’t.

She continues to frown, though with a more pensive look than one purely of disappointment. “The problem is you believe that is true...”

She continues to stare at me for several more increasingly uncomfortable moments, then snaps her fingers and adopts a more devious grin. “I’ll just have to pry deeper into you.”

Before I have a chance to respond, she waves her hand with a flourish and butterflies and lily petals and the perfume of flowers all wash over me in a wave. Each sensation distinct and magnified and, the moment I think I might start to adjust, a new one taking its place to continue overwhelming my senses.

Behind it all I think I might hear whispering. The tickle of a breath upon my ear. The sparkle of deepest verdant green within my eye. The warm rubbing of soft fingers between my shoulder blades.

Yet for all I feel these phantom sensations, or for all I think I might have, they are all too soon washed away by the bombardment of my senses, all subtleties lost to the overwhelming nature of what surrounds them while I, my mind, my self, am totally consumed by nothing more or less than the experience.

And then it ends. I stand in the field, my eyes on the verdant greens of Miss Lily. My body sways, just slightly, in place and feels the aftershocks of whatever I had just experienced.

Miss Lily is smiling again. It is a nice smile. There is something about that thought that feels a little off, but I push aside the discomfort and just keep focusing on her eyes and face and smile.

Why do you fight without care for your life?

“Because I don’t care if I live or die.”

Did I just say that? It sounds like my voice, but it feels so distant, somehow. Better to keep staring into those beautiful greens…

Why do you not care if you live or die?

“I hate my body.” The greens are starting to blur together. Or perhaps my eyes were growing watery? It’s annoying because it’s getting in the way of watching Miss Lily’s face.

And why do you hate yourself so?

“I wish I’d been born a woman.”

Any thoughts from that statement don’t get the chance to form. I smile instead, embraced within by Miss Lily’s warm laughter. Also her arms? I’m not sure when that happened, but she is embracing me in body as well as mind.

She is so soft and warm. It’s nice.

I hear a snap, a pattern of three, all in quick succession, and stare for a moment longer before starting in place. What...just happened? Strange memories like dreams wash over me. I look to the Fae and I don’t know whether to recoil in fear or smile and lean forward to give her a hug.

What just happened?

She is grinning like she holds all my secrets in her hands, which she may well at that. I can vaguely recall the questions she’d asked and the answers I’d given, but as much as I wanted to deny them...I couldn’t. Perhaps it’s her magic. Perhaps something essential to my identity. But I cannot deny what I now feel to be true.

More words form on my lips. My own words. Words perhaps encouraged by Fae meddling, but very much my own to say and own. They are scary words. Words that could change everything, and which I’ve had so very little time to come to terms with.

I fall to my knees, weeping openly as I look up to the Fae Knight. I know what I want. Even if I hadn’t known only moments before, now I do. Am I the sort of person who will allow fear to stop their desires?

Perhaps, but not today.

“Can you make me a woman?”