Aiden

Clan Founder/Advisor
Passive/Hesitant/Persevering

♫

"The winds are ever changing."

Aiden clings to these words at times, claws aching with the effort to hold a breeze in place. They give him purpose, an excuse for his mercurial existence. He has carried them in his heart for as long as he can remember.

It has been pointed out that he can not remember as much as he would like.

Aiden has certainly changed. He doesn't know how he began, but he remembers his old selves clearly.

He has been bright-eyed and young, excited by the prospect of a life spread in front of him. His heart has been won by younglings- with even wider eyes than his- looking at him for guidance. He has fallen apart, pinned under the weight of a clan he never asked to lead. That unwanted power almost killed him. He cast it aside in fear and sorrow. He busted apart, a storm contained for far too long, lashing out at those who dared to keep him confined. It took so long for him to come back from that, but he did. The cyclone of his rage calmed at last with a familiar look from familiar red eyes. That is when he truly became Aiden, when he put his old name behind him and came back.

Aiden has been an advisor, toeing the line of panic as eyes were once again turned to him, responsibility eating at him like acid. He has seen his home crumble, seen it swept away and felt guilty freedom in its destruction. Old friends and loved ones were turned into refugees, seeking safety away from relentless tides and relentless gales. He followed them as they carved a place for themselves into an unfamiliar landscape. If there were more ventilation shafts and open areas than was common, he had no part in it, but was ever so grateful.

The old windchime hangs in their new entranceway, each branch and piece for a family or old clan member. No one is forgotten.

He found a strange peace, in this place that was so opposite and alien to his very being. Winds find their way into even the smallest cracks in the strangest places. When the earth colored markings appeared on his scales, it felt like acceptance. He stepped away from the center of the political eye, allowed the council he had helped create fulfill its purpose. He watched the younglings come into their own, and it felt like a warm breeze beneath his wings.

Old allies showed themselves to be good friends, trade was opened, relationships formed, squabbles for power were had, and sides were taken. Throughout it all, his clan stayed strong. Near-strangers united in the truth that this place was their home.

Then the Illness came. It started with a single drake in his prime falling, and -like dominoes- so many followed. Aiden was helpless to stop the ones who left, helpless to save those who fell ill. He could not leave. Windsinger curse his traitorous zephyr of a heart for even considering it. The dragons who remained afterward where so few in number that they could hardly be called a clan. They wandered in echoing halls filled with memories and tried to keep themselves sane.

The Windchime had grown huge and seemed cruel in its unflinching beauty.

When the first parentless group of newcomers came looking for shelter, they brought with them both dramatics and hope. Aiden watches them now and remembers who he was, long ago.