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#tyriaslibrary
ashalsdream · 2 years
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❝  i’m only really living in the moments when we’re together.  the rest is just existing until you look at me again.  ❞
For Canach and Tomomi?? 👀
@scribesofcalamity
HI sorry this took so long LMAO but have some soft fluff of them <3
(will also post the images in a separate post because I love the edit but yeah! Enjoy the boys)
@scribesofcalamity - Ao3 link in reblogs.
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Canach hadn’t even heard the footsteps down into his office within the club until a voice he had not heard in what felt like years broke him from his paperwork. 
“Well, I suppose I should stop doubting Ashal when she tells me where you are” the elegant form of each word made Canach’s heart ache, the elementalist in front of him stood with such grace and pride that it was almost befitting of a proud king. Each movement was timed perfectly like he knew all eyes were on him even if it was only the two of them. Everything about him was planned and perfected. Apart from the way he looked at Canach. That had never been planned, that had never been perfected. Each time he seemed to catch eyes with his husband he acted as if he was caught off guard - like he had been blessed and told he was beauty incarnate. 
Tomomi tilted his head when Canach just stared at him and rolled his eyes, a quiet giggle leaving his lips as he walked forward towards the desk, “a ‘hello, my dear lovely husband’ or a ‘I have missed you oh so dearly in our time apart’ would have done just fine” he teased as the other laughed snapping out of his trance on the elementalist. 
“All true words, not that I would admit them in front of you” he smirked, pushing the paperwork aside knowing that he would get murdered for not finishing them but in that moment he didn’t even care anymore. “How did you find me?” he asked curiously, he went to stand up but was interrupted by the purple sylvari simply hopping onto his desk and swinging his legs over so he was sat facing him, leaning down to steal a kiss before he sighed, stretching up. 
Tomomi seemed to stretch to attempt to relieve the stress of the day, “Surprisingly, Ashal’s new boyfriend seems to want to get on my good side and managed to get me transport to Cantha. So, here I am. I’m here on ‘official guild business’” 
Canach hummed in response, smiling at his lover. “I am glad you’re here, look, my love, I am a billionaire now.” he snorted, he knew Tomomi would love him either way. They had been through the worst of times together, he at least hoped he could give him some better times now. But he was concerned on why Tomomi was with them, he had found a peaceful place to live in Vabbi, he had been happy. Why did he leave? He knew it was partly because Canach had left but Tomomi had sacrificed so much for him, he had promised he’d go back home after Cantha - another promise broken. “I’m sorry. I know you were happy there.” 
“Yes, I was. But I am happier when you are with me” The elementalist smiled sadly, he had been happy - for a time. Vabbi had been home. After Jormag he struggled with colder temperatures and while the desert night air had been a struggle, he had gotten used to it. “I was not truly living. I was waiting, waiting for you to come home, waiting for letters from Ashal, waiting to prove myself again - to prove that I am not the monster Jormag made me.” the phantom pain in not only his missing leg but also now the eye that the scion of Jormag had ripped from his skull seemed to ache again as he closed his eyes. He could still hear their voices, tormenting him. 
He gasped when Canach placed his hand on his cheek, “you are safe. I am truly only living in the moments when we are together. The rest is just existing, waiting, until I am able to see you again. See the way you look at me. You are my husband, Tomomi. You are not a monster” 
Leaning against the others hand, he pressed a kiss against his palm. “I am yours and that is truly enough for me. Promise me this will be it?” he looked at him again, he was tired of the fighting - tired of moving, tired of running. He wanted to settle down and he’d had that for a short while in Vabbi. Canach felt guilty for making him move again. But they would be stable here, the commander had others to help her. He can finally give Tomomi the peace he wanted. 
“I promise.”  
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Ascended Reborn: Knight of the Thorn (chapter 2)
Chapter Two: The Power of a Broken Blade
(Prev | Next)
Oksuré meets with Ridhais in Caer Aval in Fort Trinity. Oksuré remembers numerous times she had reported back to Trahearne after a mission, with Ridhais standing professionally in the background, hand on blade, always ready to chime in with her youthful suggestions, always ready to fight for Trahearne’s safety. It had been her Wyld Hunt. And she’d failed.
"Commander Oksuré,” Ridhais greets.
“Valiant Ridhais,” Oksuré replies. “Are you well?”
“I didn’t succumb to Mordremoth, if that’s what you’re asking,” Ridhais answers with a tight smile. “But… well, I heard you fought Mordremoth with Marshal Trahearne.” Ridhais’ eyes drop to the ground. “And that you used Caladbolg to end his life.”
The words pierce Oksuré’s heart like a blade; she almost flinches away from Ridhais, stiffening slightly and squeezing her eyes shut against the memory. She swallows and takes a deep breath. “Yes,” she murmurs softly. But the tight feeling in her chest doesn’t go away. “It’s my fault,” she whispers, not meeting Ridhais’ eyes. “I didn’t get there in time.” She realizes she is about to cry.
It’s not because she cares about Ridhais and her Wyld Hunt. It’s because she had failed to save Trahearne. It was she, Oksuré, he was depending on, not Ridhais. She’d known how much danger Trahearne was in and she chose to go after Caithe and the egg anyway. She knew and she decided to turn aside to Rata Novus.
And now he was dead. All because of her Spirits-cursed pride that she’d killed a dragon once and could do it again.
“The cost to kill the dragon was higher than any of us expected,” Ridhais says softly.
Oksuré nods quietly. “So… what of your Wyld Hunt? Are you… “
Ridhais grimaces. “Well, actually… I was wrong. My Hunt hasn’t finished.”
Oksuré blinks. She can’t possibly think Trahearne is still alive… she doesn’t know - hadn’t seen… she blinks away sudden tears again and takes a breath. But she can’t quell the sudden, desperate hope that Ridhais might be on to something. After all, if her Hunt hadn’t ended… “You think he might - “
But Ridhais is already shaking her head. “No. Remember, I Dreamed of Caladbolg. I heard it was broken… I think I’m supposed to heal it. I trust you brought the sword out of Maguuma?”
“Yes, of course… but it doesn’t look very healable.”
Ridhais nods seriously. "The Pale Tree's thorn may be broken, but I believe its spirit is not that easily slain. May I see it?"
Oksuré draws the broken shard of Caladbolg out of her pack. It is not all wilty-looking, as one would expect from a dead, planty sword, but still lush and green. The glow Oksuré is accustomed to seeing around it when in Trahearne's care is missing, and the plant matter decorating the flat of the blade, while not wilted, is limp and no longer twined tightly around it.
The shattered thorn brings back the harsh memory of Trahearne's last moments, and suddenly her heart is pounding again and her breathing is shallow. Oksuré takes a deep breath and tries to focus.
…Mordremoth had stolen even Trahearne last words from him. The world is cold and hard already without Trahearne… this is just one more on top of everything else (Trahearne is no longer here. dead. gone) but Oksuré feels like weeping.
"I can tell if it can be healed, Commander," Ridhais tells her. "May I hold it?"
Oksuré nods numbly and hands it over. She watches Ridhais examine it, but her heart isn’t in it. She isn't exactly sure if she wants to heal Caladbolg - what would become of it then? Would the Pale Tree give it to somebody else, like Caithe? Oksuré doesn’t know if she would be able to stand seeing the blade in use by somebody else… it is Trahearne's weapon, and it just wouldn't be right.
At the same time, Oksuré knows she can't just keep such a powerful relic of the sylvari, and she couldn't possibly stand in the way of anybody's Wyld Hunt.
After a long pause, Ridhais hands the blade back to Oksuré. "Though it is wounded, life remains, thank the Pale Tree. Caladbolg is dormant now, like a seed in the winter, waiting the coming of spring."
Oksuré takes it and nods slowly. This blade had had the power to kill an Elder Dragon, even in this condition. Whole… no wonder it was capable of being the focus to cleansing Orr. Truly a powerful weapon.
"How can it be healed?"
"Two tasks are necessary," Ridhais instructs. "We must gather as many fragments of Caladbolg's blade as possible, along with sources of power to bolster its energy. Additionally, a new wielder must be bonded to the weapon."
"A new wielder?" Oksuré asks, curious. "Why? I don't think what’s-his name, Waine, 'bonded' it - he wasn't even a sylvari - and I can't imagine somebody like him bonding Caladbolg, anyway."
Ridhais shrugs. "Waine doesn't matter - I do know that nobody suspected his weapon as being the source of his victories in the fighting pit. A sorry state indeed for the focus that cleansed Orr - if it were properly used, Caladbolg would have been found much sooner, just thanks to the power it advertises."
Oksuré remembers something. "Trahearne also said it was the only thing that could save him. I didn't know, then, what he meant, but…" Ridhais' eyes widen. "Caladbolg defeated an Elder Dragon… like this?" she whispers.
Oksuré nods. "I'd never appreciated how powerful it was. It would have had to nullify every last shred of corruption in Trahearne, or I am half-convinced Mordremoth would have simply risen again."
Ridhais nods. "Perhaps you are right. Well, we should start the healing process. Caladbolg has been instrumental in the defeat of two Elder Dragons, I don't think we'll get away with trying another without it."
"Two?" Oksuré queries, frowning.
"Oh, yes," Ridhais says, nodding quickly. "Elder Dragons eat magic, and the Artesian Waters is the most magically powerful place in… well, most anywhere, I think, and certainly in Orr. Caladbolg's magic is the Pale Tree's magic, which we now know to be purified dragon energies from Mordremoth. I don't think Zhaitan would have taken kindly to its main food source being poisoned by another dragon’s magic - it probably was extremely sick by the time the airships confronted it."
"I never thought of that," Oksuré notes in awe. "Maybe it can cleanse the Brand or something." Then she frowns. “I don’t suppose Orr was just… corrupted anew by Mordremoth when Trahearne did that?”
Ridhais is already shaking her head. “No, Caladbolg draws its magic from the Pale Tree. Its magic is no more corrupted than the sylvari are. Yes, it’s Mordremoth’s domain of magic, but it doesn’t carry Mordremoth’s corruption.”
Oksuré nods. “That’s good.” She frowns slightly at the shard of Caladbolg in her hand, not sure why Ridhais had given it back, then glances back at the sylvari. “What’s the first step? Is there anything I can do to help?” She doesn’t have anything else to do. And…. she doesn’t want to relinquish the last part of Trahearne she still has.
Ridhais nods. “Yes. The first step is to find the other pieces of Caladbolg. I have one piece - it led me to you, or rather, the fragment you possess. Take it, and the two together will lead you to others.” Oksuré nods slowly. "Alright. What else do I have to do?"
"You'll need spiritwood scion, a vision crystal, and an orb of natural essence," Ridhais tells her. "I have a vision crystal, and scion of spiritwood is naturally attracted to Caladbolg. I have a list of places where I can obtain the natural essence we need. I believe you are more experienced and equipped to brave the jungle, so you can do that and I will seek out these places of power. Send me a message when you’re on your way back, and I’ll meet you here."
Oksuré nods. Ridhais had clearly made good of her time with Trahearne during the Orrian campaign. She’d spent the whole time diligently pursuing her Wyld Hunt and learning all about Caladbolg. She’s… a lot like Trahearne, in fact.
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Bad Trip
As a soldier of Ash Legion, Bato was always on the alert for any sign of trouble.
The first sign was when Gheli answered the communicator instead of Feyn. This was not uncommon; usually it simply meant the Commander was busy doing something important. The second sign was that Gheli asked her to meet them right away, which made Bato worry Feyn’s current task had taken a turn for the worse.
None of this prepared her for the sight of her sylvari friend prancing among a forest of strange, gigantic mushrooms with a wide-eyed grin on her face and constantly babbling to herself.
“My guess is the spores,” Gheli commented as Bato stared in confusion. “The biology of this fungus is so foreign from this reality that even just breathing in the air around them produces some sort of mind-altering affects.”
The charr crossed her arms. “So it’s like she’s drunk, or something?”
“Have you ever noticed how SOFT Rytlock’s fur is?” Feyn mumbled loudly, before making a noise that Bato assumed was supposed to sound like growl but ended up more like she was drowning.
“Or something,” Gheli confirmed.
“Well, we can’t just leave her over there,” Bato said. “Why not just run over and drag her away from the mushrooms?”
“Oh, what a great idea! Then we’ll have three grown women blubbering like idiots. No, I’ve got a plan.” Gheli held up her tools so Bato could see her work. “I’m working on reconfiguring my aquabreather to filter out toxins in the air instead of converting water to oxygen. It should counteract the spores and keep me from getting…whatever Feyn’s going through.”
Feyn’s uncontrollable giggle fit echoed throughout the cavern. “Faren, wait! You – hee hee – you forgot your pants!”
Bato nodded slowly. “But you said these mushrooms aren’t from Tyria.”
“Uh-huh. Completely unknown organisms! Would be fascinating, if it weren’t for present circumstances.”
“So you don’t know anything about them.”
“Yes, and thanks for stating the obvious?”
“So you won’t know if it works until you test it. On yourself. In the field of spores.”
“…you really know how to take the wind out of a girl’s sails, don’t you?”
*~*
In the space between two asura gates, do you cease to exist?
Feyn giggled as she sprinted around the cave. What a silly question for the mushroom to ask. She had travelled through plenty of asura gates, and here she was safe and sound. Silly Mr. Mushroom!
Is the "you" who returned from the dead the same as the "you" who died?
“That’s the same thing but different words,” Feyn mumbled as she climbed the side of one of Mr. Mushroom’s friends. The tops of their heads looked terribly bouncy, and she was dying to see how high she could go.
Can Palawa Joko Awaken himself?
Feyn fell flat on her back but burst out laughing. Now THAT was just a ridiculous notion; Joko was dead, he couldn’t possibly Awaken himself! What a silly, silly mushroom.
Are they truly your friends, or do they follow you out of obligation?
Well, that question was decidedly less silly. Her giggling died down as she noticed the rest of Destiny’s Edge were not running around and jumping and laughing anymore.
Does everyone in the Pact really believe in you? How could you ever be sure?
She stood up as they closed in on her. Was it just her imagination, or were thew growing bigger? And taking out their weapons? “Stop, please,” she asked Mr. Mushroom, but he didn’t listen.
After what he has said and done, can you really trust Braham? Can you trust Caithe? Can you trust any of them?
How can you be sure Aurene won’t end up like her grandfather?
Will all this fighting ever really end? Or will you die first, never knowing if your work meant anything?
“Stop it.” Feyn took a step back, again and again, trying to get away from these devils that wore the faces of her friends. She felt her back meet the cave wall and took out her dagger. “Stop it!” She swung once, twice, again and again to keep them at bay. Her blade met armor and flesh countless times as she flailed but her attackers continued on relentlessly. “STOP IT! LEAVE ME ALONE! LEAVE ME ALONE! LEAVE ME ALONE LEAVE ME ALONE LEAVE ME ALO –”
A shadow grabbed her and for all she thrashed and flailed she couldn’t break free. She screamed at the top of her lungs for what seemed like hours until suddenly something shifted inside her head. She dared to open her eyes – the mushrooms were far away now, and the attacking shadows were gone. Looking up she saw Bato holding her with one arm and holding a comparatively tiny aquabreather to her snout with the other. Below, Gheli cautiously stepped forward, her face a combination of concerned and terrified.
“Feyn? Are – are the spores wearing off? How many fingers am I holding up? Name all of Ventari’s–”
“I’m alright,” Feyn said abruptly, wriggling out of Bato’s grip. She cautiously scanned the cave around them. “They’re gone. It was just – I’m fine.”
“You were…prancing around over there by the mushrooms,” Bato explained calmly. “Then you just started yelling and throwing your weapon around. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine –” The sylvari spat out before taking a quick breath. “Taimi and Blish need more data from these rifts. We need to keep moving.”
Bato and Gheli shared a look before falling in line behind her determined walk. Feyn kept her eyes straight ahead, taking in every detail to distract her from the voice still ringing in her head.
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tyrias-library · 3 years
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An Update about the Future
Hello! First of all, thank you to all who follow and support this blog! It has meant a whole lot to me (mod Ink!) for quite some time.
Sadly, both myself and mod paper have decided to take some time away from this blog for personal reasons. This doesn’t mean it’s gone forever, but as of right now it will be on an indefinite (mostly) closure. There may still be some reblogs of fic now and then, but there will be no expected schedule or further events at this time.
It’s been an absolute pleasure reading all the wonderful fic the gw2 community here on tumblr has produced. I’m so happy to have been able to supply at least a bit of a platform to further the reach of your creations.
And because it bears repeating (again and again and again): you are all such talented, creative, lovely people. Your work is inspiring, unique, touching, and important. Please keep creating! The world very much needs it.
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the-three-idiots · 2 years
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Mrs and Mrs Tieran
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Three hours after Lisbets and Lianas wedding
Tieran residence, the Grove
10:12PM
The Tieran residence, a small place in the grove. Much like most buildings in the grove, it has been grown from a plant. The interior is decorated with various trinkets and treasures from Ashals travels. The living room is a rather cosy room, a large sofa of human design, resides in the centre of the room near several lamps.
Ever sits down on the Sofa, holding two mugs of hot chocolate. Ashal has the top few buttons of her uniform undone, Ever offers one of the mugs to Ashal. Ashal smiles and takes one of the mugs.
“Hot chocolate with powdered chocolate and nutmeg on top of some whipped cream I made earlier with a small chunk of that asuran chocolate Taimi gave us.” Ever explains
Ashal smiles.
“After all that norn food and blood wine, I am looking forward to this.” Ashal says, taking a sip from the mug.
Ever smiles as she drinks from hers.
“I’m surprised you managed to drink the blood wine, i took one sip and threw it away” Ever states
“Did you find out if it was actually blood in the end?” asks Ashal
Ever shakes her head.
“No, just some wine with a lot of spices in it.” Ever takes another sip “Apparently the real stuff would kill anyone who wasn't norn.” causally says Ever
Ashal turns her head in concern and raises an eyebrow.
“That probably explains why that norn bartender laughed at me when I asked him for some.” Ashal says
Ever and Ashal smile at each other, Ever takes Ashals hand.
“It was nice, what you did for them today.” Ever says 
Ashal nods and unbuttons the rest of her jacket. Ashal places her mug down on the floor and reaches for the pips on her collar, she takes them off. She feels the weight of the pips.
“I had to.” Ashal says
She passes the pips to Ever, she takes them and looks at them. The pips are scratched and heavily dented, the edges are slightly rusted.
“I asked around, none of the Norn priest’s wanted to.” Ashal explains.
Ashal sighs as she picks her mug back up.
“Their excuses were all the same, Lisbet wasn’t worthy.” Ashal takes another sip from her mug “Not even Braham or Eir couldn’t convince any of them.” Ashal explains
Ashal looks up and sighs. Ever puts the pips on the sofa and takes Ashal’s hand.
“They’re pretty heavy,aren’t they?” Asks Ever
Ashal nods and looks up at Ever with a frown.
“I got a lot of flak for marrying those two.” Ashal sighs
Ashal begins to look exhausted, Ever looks at the pips carefully. Ever puts her mug down ,takes the pips , stands and walks over to a cabinet. She opens a cabinet which is filled with various artefacts, treasures and pictures of the guild. 
Ever puts the pips in the cabinet and takes out a glass box. Ever sits down and presents the glass box to Ashal. Ashal puts her mug down.
“Remember this?” Ask Ever
Ashal looks at the glass box, inside it is a worn patch, heavily discoloured and dirtied with threads coming out of it. Faded letters at the top read ‘Tales of Thedas’, Ashal looks at with a nostalgic smile.
“The first of five…” Ashal replies
Ever smiles, seeing the joy on Ashals face.
“If I remember your words exactly, nothing good is ever easy.” Ever says
Ashal opens the lid of the glass box, she touches the worn patch. It’s unexpectedly smooth and feels flimsy. Ashal moves hand to the patch on her left arm, which feels stiff and coarse.
“So it’s been that long.” Ashal whispers.
Ashal closes the lid on the box. She stands up and walks over to the cabinet, putting the glass box back into it. Ashal turns to Ever and puts her hands in her trousers pockets.
“You created the guild to give everyone an equal chance, I’d say you’ve done a pretty good job of doing that.” Ever remarks
Ashal looks around, she inspects the room. 
“Everyone looks at me for the solutions ” Ashal puts her hands in her pockets “I’m just not quite sure what to do sometimes I’m just...I’m just tired.” Ashal says rubbing her eyes
Ever smiles and points towards the bottom of the cabinet.
“Second to last shelf on the left.” Ever says with a calm demeanour.
Ashal looks confused as she kneels down to the bottom of the cabinet, she smiles and pulls out a large fluffy blanket and a couple of cushions. Ashal turns around to Ever, who has a book in hand. Ashal relaxes her shoulders and her smile widens.
“Ah you're like, the best wife.” Says Ashal in a tired tone.
Ever smiles and tilts her head a little.
“Well I hope there isn’t any competition.” Ever jokes
Ever pats on the empty space next to her. Ashal puts the blanket and pillows on the sofa, takes her jacket off and throws it over the back of it. She lays down, her head resting on Ever's lap.
“What book is it?” Asks Ashal
Ever looks at the cover of the book.
“Journey to the cove by lord Faren” replied Ever
Ashal rolls her eyes as Ever open the book. Ever pulls the blanket over Ashal and the two settle down as she begins to read the book out loud.
Understanding is an essential part of any relationship. When two people become that comfortable with each other, both parties learn the other's habits, annoyances and guilty pleasures.
Ever is often overlooked by the greater context of history, though it's these smaller moments of kindness and understanding that helped Ashal through both thick and thin.
That is the greater meaning of understanding, knowing when someone just needs a hot drink and a story to tell. Maybe, that small action will help a person go on to do greater things. You never know how important just talking may be.
As regardless of what history says, everyone is important to someone.
(Based on the characters by @ashals-dream )
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intern-seraph · 3 years
Text
just a nightmare
hi i wrote some post-hot trahearne lives nonsense! enjoy a morning with fina :)
CW: Body horror, implied mutilation
Breathe in.
Her sap rushes in her ears, so loud that she can hardly think.
Breathe out.
She curls in on herself. Presses her forehead against her knees.
Open your eyes.
Her chest hurts.
Open your eyes.
There’s a burning in her back, a searing down her spine. She opens her eyes. Around her, the cage of vines pulses and thrums, the air humid and thick like a blanket. She gasps, but it’s like trying to breathe in honey. The pain is worse, now, as if great chunks of her flesh are being cut away bit by bit. She howls, hot hot hot tears streaking down her cheeks and her nails sinking into her naked skin.
Something bursts forth from her back. Great teeth, sharp and cruel and somehow, somehow, ravenous envelop her.
And she hears the dragon laugh.
Fina wakes up drenched in sweat and trembling like a leaf. Still caught up in the throes of panic, she grasps blindly at her back, fumbling for the wings she’s sure she’s lost control of and that she’s sure have finally burst free to truly begin her transformation—
But there’s nothing there, and she collapses back to the mattress in relief. Her breath bubbles out in a pitchy laugh that peters out into a sigh. She stares up at the ceiling, tracing the leaves’ veins and listening to Trahearne’s soft, steady breathing. Oh! That thought jolts her back up. She looks across the room and sees him still buried beneath a pile of blankets. Thank the Blessed Mother, she hadn’t woken him with her nightmare.
(It still stirs something sour in her heart every time she invokes the Pale Tree’s name without thinking.)
She knows that, now that she’s awake and alert, she won’t be able to fall asleep again. So, she resigns herself to it, decides to go about her morning errands before Trahearne wakes up. A note on top of her rumpled bed sheets—”Out to market, will be home soon!”—a fresh change of clothes, her heavy winter cloak draped over her shoulders, and she’s outside.
Caledon Forest, while being far more temperate than other parts of the Maguuma Jungle, still hardly has what anyone would call a proper winter. Even so, the early morning breeze is sharp and cold and nips at Fina’s heels. She quickens her pace, intent on reaching Mabon Market and returning home before Trahearne has to read her note. This, the walk to the market, is probably her least favorite part of running errands. To be alone with her thoughts, alone with the steady hum of dragon magic heavy in her chest…
She greets the local artisans with a cheery smile. They return it with greetings of their own, the calls of, “Commander Fina!” marking the real start to her morning. As always, she’s swarmed by curious saplings and reverent locals who ask questions and offer her goods and beg for her to stay just a little longer! And she, as always, laughs and shakes her head and says that she needs to be home in time to make breakfast. By the time she manages to leave, her arms are laden with food. There’s some sort of berry pastry held between her teeth—a gift from Myrtle, who had insisted that Fina try her new recipe. Somewhere in her baskets is a scrap of parchment with that same recipe scribbled down. Hardly legible, she’d observed as it was written, and it would be a miracle if she managed to be able to read it if she ever wanted to try to bake it herself.
She knows that she’ll definitely try to bake it someday.
Trahearne is awake when she gets home. He’s just entered the kitchen, wheelchair squeaking on the way (Fina notes that she’ll have to get oil for the wheels next time she’s in town). He looks up at her and smiles. Even the side of his face still weakened from Mordremoth’s corruption manages to scrunch up in that way that makes Fina’s gut all warm and fluttery.
“Good morning, dear heart,” he says.
“Good morning.” She sets the groceries down and strides across the kitchen to give him a peck on the cheek. He turns and tilts his head so that he can capture her lips in a short, sweet kiss. “I woke up early.”
“I can tell.” His eyes soften, and she knows what he’s thinking. Like always, he doesn’t comment on it. They both have their nightmares now, and speaking of them has done neither of them any good.
She draws back. “I’ll make breakfast. Your favorite.”
A thank you for not pushing further. He smiles again, concern still brewing behind his eyes, and nods. “Thank you, love.”
“Of course.”
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thatonebirbnerd · 3 years
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After
Word count: 476
Trigger warnings: Flashbacks/PTSD, death, implied suicidal ideation, depiction of burn scar (on a sylvari)
Eirwen comes to terms with the events of Path of Fire, while also having to continue onward into its aftermath. In part inspired by this incredible work by @antariies​ ​. Spoilers up through PoF.
This is at its heart a story about Eirwen’s experiences, but due to a recent and sudden traumatic event, the emotions are unfortunately my own.
AO3 link
---
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Whenever something happens that changes you forever, it’s never that thing itself that shakes you the most.
I don’t remember dying… at least, not the process proper. The Domain of the Lost, er, scattered my memories for a bit. I wasn’t even sure who I was; I had to be reminded, as I walked by all the ghosts of my past and the things I’d done.
But I remember screaming. In pain, in terror… in grief. For my friends. For Aurene. For myself. 
Every time my mind rests idle, it takes me back to that moment - like it never left that day. And then my throat goes suddenly raw, and I gasp for breath, and the knotted scar throbs and burns… when it’s at its worst, I can’t move, and the world blurs.
I can’t get Balthazar’s voice out of my head, either: And now, you die.
Over and over and over.
And all I could do was scream, until I couldn’t anymore.
Sometimes merely using my voice at all reminds me of screaming. I wonder, briefly, if going silent would make it stop.
There have been… so many other moments like this. Lyri, taken from me before she had the chance to live. Xenia, the human who nearly taught me to love and trust again, dragged beneath the waves before my eyes. Trahearne - having to put my eldest brother out of his misery. 
But none of these hurt me. I grieved everyone I lost, deeply, but the pain faded, and I could move on.
And now I’m the one left broken and scarred and somehow alive again, and I only have myself to blame, for falling into that trap, thinking I could ever win… 
It almost doesn’t matter that I came back, that I succeeded in the end and that son-of-a-bitch fallen god is gone for good. 
Because every time my mind falls back to that moment… I wish I hadn’t.
It doesn’t stop. I wish it would stop.
I’m afraid to try to fall asleep most nights. I don’t want my mind left to its own devices, to loop everything again and again and again, in waking or in sleep. And we’re moving through hostile territory, so there’s nothing I could use to numb it. I’m not alone; but I don’t have enough constant company, let alone company I trust. I can talk to Taimi on my communicator all I want, but it isn’t enough. I can’t feel safe, so my mind doesn’t stop.
We have a war to fight. A lich to confront, a dragon to chase, people to save… 
And for the first time in my life, I realize I don’t want to. 
Because I don’t want to keep going. Because I don’t want to keep feeling. And because I think the one who needs saving the most… might just be me.
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mystery-salad · 4 years
Text
A Plea of Mourning
High above the Grove, the omphalos chamber glows bright against the night sky. While most had gone to bed, the few wardens tasked with guarding from the nightmare as others slumber can hear a fight as fiery as the sun itself.
“My child-“
“No! No, by the dream you will stop and listen to me for once! I did not come here for platitudes and consolation for my grief! There is nothing you can say that will make this right!”
Trahearne stands tall before the shining avatar of the tree that made him, the being he called mother who’d sent him on his journey. He looked back and saw years spent on an unachievable Hunt that in the end couldn’t be done alone anyways. A fools errand at best. And he saw…
“We all trust you upon emerging from the dream, you tell us good luck, you send us off to our destinies. But you don’t even seem to understand what it is you’re condemning us to! I spent years in Orr mother! I spent a lifetime away from my siblings, away from home, and by the time I returned I was but a stranger to them! And it’s all a means to an unreachable end, a goal I’ve yet to truly complete as the lands slowly heal!”
“And yet you’ve done so well with it Trahearne,” the Pale Tree reaches a hand gently out, an offering more than anything of kindness and acceptance. One that is shunned as the firstborn steps back to remain out of reach, her light reflecting off the tears running down his face.
“I said listen! Listen to your child you sent off to a life of solitude, because when you finally deigned a newborn’s Hunt to be worthy of accompanying me, it was a man sent to-!” His voice breaks on a choked sob as a hand clutches his chest. A warden standing guard steps forward intending to help before the Pale Tree gestures silently for them to step back.
“...give him space. I will hear him on Cinnuit.”
The name brings Trahearne back up to full height as his stare bores into his mother. “You even remember his name. You sent him to die and you have...the gall to stand there speaking of him. You gave me a friend and told him it was his duty to follow what the dream told him, and he. Did. Do you even actually understand what you caused? We look up to you not unlike the humans look to their gods. And you told him to find me so he could die in my place.”
“I was merely repeating the dr-“
“Yes, you were repeating the dream’s blasted prophecies! Again! Like you do to every Valiant that passes through your chamber! How many don’t even survive to fulfill theirs and yet you saw fit to send one out with the goal of death! You can’t keep doing this Mother! The Dream can’t keep getting away with this!”
The avatar of the great tree they stand within nods solemnly, eyes fixed gently on her grieving first child. “...what would you have me do, my son?”
He’s taken aback, having come to grieve and yell but not possibly expecting any actual headway with her. Silently, the tears stream down his face more gently now as he thinks over his response carefully. “Do not create Valiants. Even if the Dream sees fit to send them to you, let them live their lives with a distant possibility they can choose to ignore. Let them live like we never got to. Perhaps in time they will learn to make their own decisions not based upon the only being they can’t say no to.”
She nods again, extending her hand for a second time, though this time it does not come with words of comfort but a promise instead. “I will endeavor to change this. I do not control what the Dream shows my children, but I can try to...soften the blow. This I promise, and I wish it could be more.”
“...it’s...enough I suppose. More than I expected.” Trahearne fixes her with a serious state as he walks within reach to take her hand. “Don’t send another child to die afraid and desperate…don’t let them believe that’s all they are.”
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kerra-and-company · 3 years
Note
From the I love you prompt list, “Please don’t.”
It's been a bit, but I got a fic done for this prompt! Sorry, I have been having some fun writing block issues, but hopefully you enjoy this @mystery-salad and thanks so much for sending it in! :)
Warnings: angsty conversations, but nothing else, I don't think
Rel snuck out of his room in the Priory keep in the early hours of the morning.
He thought he’d managed to avoid notice at first. The only sound he could hear was his own soft footfalls on the cobblestone. The lights were dim, casting faint shadows on the walls. He’d just reached the arch when he heard it: his name, just loud enough to be audible.
“Rel.”
He spun around to see his sibling staring at him. Nisha’s face was empty, blanker than Rel had ever seen it. “You’re leaving,” xe said.
“Yes, I am.” He wanted to take a step towards xem, but his feet were rooted to the ground. “I’m sorry—”
“Don’t.” Xyr voice broke on the word, pain flashing in xyr eyes for a moment. Xyr throat bobbed, and it vanished again, xyr next words deadpan but forced. “You are my brother. Stay.”
“I can’t stay.” Understand, Nish, please, please understand. “I’m not—I don’t belong here.”
The glass expression on Nisha’s face shattered, replaced by an utterly lost look. “You’re my brother. You belong with me.”
“I’m not happy here, Nish. You are.”
“It doesn’t matter if I’m happy,” Nisha snapped, straightening so xe stood at xyr full height. “It matters that I’m there for you. If you won’t stay, I’ll come with you.”
“It matters to me if you’re happy, you absolute—” Rel broke off in frustration. “I don’t want to argue! I need to go where I’m happy. You need to stay where you are.”
“I need to keep you safe—”
“I can keep myself safe!” Rel almost yelled, lowering his voice to a hiss at the last moment. His right hand warmed, and he clenched it into a fist to snuff out the tiny flame. “I am leaving on my own. And you. Are. Staying.”
Rel took a step back, out into the cold and the weak, grey light of dawn. His boot splashed as he stepped in a puddle of melted snow, but he didn’t notice. Nisha took a step towards him as if xe was magnetized to xyr twin.
“Don’t—no, let me—don’t leave me,” xe whispered, and Rel saw, to his utter shock, that xe had started to cry. Something inside him twisted.
“Nish, I have to leave.” Rel laughed, but it was choked off by his own tears, and it had no humor in it to begin with. “I have to, don’t you get it? I can’t stay here; this isn’t where I belong. But you love it here. You go to the library and read for hours, and you come back brighter than I’ve ever seen you.”
“I don’t belong here either.” Nisha’s voice was small.
“But you are happy here. Being happy is important.” Rel searched Nisha’s face. “You know that, right?”
All he got in return was a stare from very wet eyes. He saw no agreement, and his heart hurt.
“I love you,” Rel said, trying to put all the emotion he could into the words.
Nisha blinked at him. Xyr hand twitched as if simultaneously wanting and refusing to reach out. “Please.” Barely audible, this time. “Please don’t.”
“I love you, Nisha. And I’ll send you letters. And I will come back. You won’t—”
“Do not promise me that I won’t lose you,” Nisha snarled, but there was no heat to it. “You cannot promise that.” Xyr voice grew louder. “No one can promise that, and you know it!”
“You will not lose me,” Rel said anyway, putting as much emphasis into the words as he could. “You will not.”
“Rel, please,” xe tried one last time. “Please, please, please don’t leave.”
“I’m sorry, Nish. I have to.” Rel hiked his pack higher on his shoulder. “I have to. I love you.”
He turned, finally breaking away from xyr gaze, and walked away. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to run or drag his feet, but he did neither, even steps taking him down the stairs to the asura gate.
I’ll write, he thought. This isn’t forever, it’s just for now. I need this. So do you. I wish you knew that. I wish I wasn’t terrified to be wrong.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
Please don’t forget it.
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storm-called · 3 years
Text
Broken Oaths [35]
Includes spoilers for Champions: Chapter 2: Power
[First/Previous/Next] || [AO3]
Glaw couldn’t hear the screams.
He shot Braham another look of concern. Braham had been mostly quiet for the length of the journey, but every so often, his expression would twist, and he would throw a look over his shoulder with words of screams and phantom brushes of pain on his tongue.
Owl. The Spirit of the Wild  had shown herself to still be alive and kicking back in the northern territory of Drizzlewood, but neither Glaw nor Braham had heard hide nor feather of the Spirit since. At least, not until now. Not until Braham heard her. Glaw wrenched his thoughts away from the worry twisting his stomach as Svanir swarmed from the woods.
“Svannijem Hold,” he heard the Claw snarl over the crunch of Svanir that were felled beneath her weapon. Through the snow-shrouded copse, Glaw spied the Svanir camp decorated in dragon corruption.
“Jormag isn’t making new Frozen from the dead. What are their lackeys doing here?”
“The Hold is an old Svanir stomping ground, weeded out by the kodan for many a moon,” the Claw shouted to the Commander over the din of battle, “but they have come back like a persistent thorn in the past few nights.”
The rest of the conversation was lost to Glaw as he narrowly avoided the kiss of an icy blade to his neck. Blood rushing in his ears drowned out the hum of words, and acting more on instinct than reason, he summoned a dagger of ice in his hand. The weapon sat familiar and cold in the curve of his palm, and the Svanir he faced died with a wet gurgle as he shoved the frozen shard into the concave between his neck and his chin.
Glaw fell back with a muffled gasp, spouting steam in short bursts of breath. His nerves tingled with the use of the ice magic he had ignored for so long, and his corrupted hand ground sharply over itself–ice against ice–as he closed the frozen digits into a tight fist. He didn’t have the luxury of getting lost in his head. The Svanir he downed was replaced by an angrier, larger brute.
“Fuck off,” Glaw snapped, placing his good hand on the Svanir’s bare chest. The Svanir, caught halfway in a downswing with his axe, fixed Glaw with the most perplexed look. His surprise was short-lived as fire began to lick from Glaw’s hand onto his skin and clothes of unwashed furs. Glaw could hear those screams, and he swallowed a wince at the shrillness of them. The Svanir abandoned his axe to the snow and turned tail, half slipping and sliding in the slush as he rushed to extinguish himself. He only made it a few steps before his screams were cut short by an arrow piercing his unprotected back. The snow almost swallowed him completely where he fell.
That one appeared to be the last of the Svanir from Svannijem Hold, and the woods howled eerily at the sudden emptiness. Glaw shivered. His hand fell to the comforting familiarity of his sword’s hilt as he slogged through the snow to join the rest of his companions.
“Braham.”
Glaw stopped cold as the faint voice–so faint that it was only not passed off as his imagination when the others stiffened in place as well–wafted over the landscape.
“I heard that one.” Kasmeer was the first to break the silence.
“Owl?”
“I feel you near.” Owl’s voice strained, almost fading out entirely. “Hurry. I cannot hold against Jormag’s champion much longer.”
“Is there a village nearby?” Kas’ question was directed at the Claw. The kodan shook her muzzle.
“There are no living out this way–only the memories of one who once was.”
Braham’s unease was palpable. His hand curled around the shaft of his mace until his knuckles bled pale of their color. “We’re almost there.”
With the Spirit’s desperate words to bolster them, they walked with haste to their step. The haste turned to fretful jogging–full running on Braham’s part, but there was only so fast even a norn could travel in thick snow–when a shriek split the air, foretelling of pain and suffering. Pins and needles prickled at Glaw’s exposed skin.
The visage of a half-collapsed shrine, all rotting wood and frozen bolts, crested the hill at the end of the path, and Braham raised a hand to point out the structure. The twist of his brow looked unnatural on his face. “There. It’s coming from there.”
Their arrival was far from sneaky, and as they neared the shrine, more Svanir with icebrood charr at their sides appeared from the wrecked longhall.
“I didn’t ask to be the Norn of damn Prophecy!” Braham’s declaration was accompanied with the sound of steel against steel–and then a bellow as the weaker blade gave way under sheer determination.
Glaw swallowed the words bubbling up in his chest and prepared himself for another fight. Thankfully, the Svanir weren’t as populous as they had been at the Hold, and once their numbers dwindled, the remaining began to flee. The charr lingered, sharing glances with each other, before retreating into the shrine.
“Voices have no say when a higher purpose calls.” The kodan Claw let her weapon dip into the overturned slush underfoot. Her shrewd gaze was pinned on Braham. “They allow the honor the mold them–just as you must.”
Braham scoffed, and Kasmeer chimed in. “Or, maybe he’s the Norn of Prophecy because of everything he’s done. Spiritual direction–I get it.” Kas shifted. Her expression wavered. “But it’s your choices and actions that mattered, Braham. They’re what made you who and what you are. Not some destiny or prophecy.”
For the first time that day, Glaw saw Braham smile. It was small and worn at the edges, threatening to dip back down into a frown that would inevitably put another crease in his brow, but it lingered for a moment. “Thanks, Kas.”
The smile was wiped away as another heart-rending scream rang across the icy vale, and they remembered where they were. Why they were here. Braham hefted his mace and started into the dilapidated shrine. Glaw followed, fingers still curled around his hilt. Somehow, the interior of the longhall was chillier than the arctic air outside. A miniature blizzard wailed at the shrine’s center, shrouding the totem of Owl from view. The Spirit’s voice still pierced the air.
“I exiled myself once!” The voice tapered off into a sound of agony. Glaw’s heart clenched at the noise. “—but I will go even further if I must, to keep power from Jormag.”
Through the blizzard, Ryland’s timbre also rang loud and clear. “You’re gonna help us, one way or another, so why not make it easier on yourself?”
“There is no ease in corruption,” Owl hissed.
“He’ll pull the life from her!” Braham echoed notes of Owl’s pain in his words, and Glaw thought back to the way he was acting earlier. As if he could feel the Spirit’s anguish. Glaw pressed his lips into a thin line.
Ryland seemed to realize he had an audience, and the blizzard cleared enough for Glaw to find him amongst the swirling snowflakes. He stood towards them with his arms spread, the chained spirit of Owl cowering behind him. “This one promised herself to Jormag once. Jormag is merely collecting on an old debt. My dragon doesn’t take promises lightly–ruse or not.”
His eyes seemed to linger for a moment, cold and burning, on Glaw. The look sent something horrible burrowing for Glaw’s core, and he shivered again. In an instant, the blizzard picked back up.
“We’re not going to be able to bring him down,” Kas called over the gale.
“We can’t leave Owl like this!” Braham protested, “Jormag can’t have her.”
Rook rested a hand on Braham’s arm. “We don’t have to kill him. Focus on the connection, Braham. We’ll split his focus.”
Braham pursed his lips before nodding. Rook’s touch fell away from his arm, and she turned to address the rest of them. “Kas, you and the Vanguard take care of the remainder of the charr. Don’t let them anywhere near Ryland.” Kas dipped her head with a wry smile and waved a hand at the company of human soldiers. The sounds of battle began to fill the cramped space. “Claw, you, Glaw, and I are going to make Ryland’s life a living hell.”
Glaw couldn’t help but give a small grin as well, and he drew his sword. “With pleasure.” The Claw murmured similar sentiments, and Glaw would be lying if he said he didn’t get enjoyment out of the way Ryland’s eyes bugged from his skull as their trio bore down on him. The charr split from Owl with a growl of frustration. With an alteration of blades and arrows, they drove him away from the chained Spirit, and Jormag’s champion was forced to duck and weave between the rotting columns of the shrine.
Their force dwindled to two–Glaw and the Claw–when Rook split off as Kas gave a call of alarm. The vanguard soldiers were scattered, and a hulking brute of a charr bore down on those still standing. Ryland laughed, a grinding wet noise like two frozen stones rubbing against each other. “A whole company of men is no match for Jormag’s finest,” he jeered.
Baring his teeth, Glaw swung at the gloating charr. Ryland stayed out of reach, and Glaw’s sword sunk into the snow-sodden wood of a pillar. The structure shook, and displaced flakes wafted from the patchy roof. Glaw tugged his blade free with a grunt. It was replaced with a frozen axe that had been destined for Glaw’s neck. The corrupted charr it belonged to howled in annoyance and was beaten back by the kodan Claw.
Then there was one.
Glaw sized up Ryland, sword held loosely at his side. In his other hand, he allowed a long shard of ice to form. Ryland eyed the elemental weapon. His lips pulled up in a smirk. “Your little icicles will do nothing to me.”
“Spirits, don’t you ever shut up,” Glaw said. He crossed his sword with Ryland’s own. The charr’s was heavier and spat ice magic that licked at the corruption of Glaw’s own right arm. It might have been his imagination, but the frozen limb began to feel leaden. Glaw parried the sword with the length of ice; fine shards sprayed in his face as the blade carved down the glacial pike. Ryland was growing frustrated, and Glaw barely had time to block the charr’s next blow as it came bearing down at his unprotected head. The ice shard caught the larger sword at an angle, and Glaw gasped as something in his wrist went crack. His moment of weakness earned him a clawed boot to the chest, and he sprawled backwards into the slush.
He brought an arm up to protect himself from a killing blow that never came, and when he pushed himself upright with a throbbing limb, Glaw saw that he had lost Ryland’s attention as soon as he was down. Jormag’s champion made a b-line for Owl Spirit–and Braham. Gritting his teeth, Glaw pulled himself upright and snatched his sword from the ground. He rolled his right wrist, biting out a hiss as it smarted. Not broken but likely sprained. Useless.
Rook joined him as he hurried towards the central shrine. She was as breathless as he felt. As they moved closer, Glaw heard Braham speak to Ryland. “What you’re doing is cruel.”
“What I’m doing is necessary,” Ryland replied in an indifferent tone. Rook’s arrows met him before he could land any blow on Braham, and his attention snapped back to them. His unnaturally-blue eyes blazed with anger. “Like annoying little flies,” he spat.
Neither Glaw nor Rook said anything in response. The exhaustion saturating the air was palpable, oozing from all parties. They began the dance anew, sprays of melting snow coming up from their muddied boots as they side-stepped, dodged, parried, lunged. At some point, Rook had switched her bow for twin daggers. Her dark face was twisted in concentration. Ryland kited them, and somewhere along the way, he had picked up a limp from some stray blow. As they neared the totem again, Braham joined the fray, only slightly more lively than Glaw or Rook. A sneer contorted Ryland’s muzzle as he knocked aside a heavy stroke from Braham. “Maybe if you stopped whining about yourself, you’d actually be someone worth fighting.”
Braham seethed. “You entitled bastard...”
Glaw’s step faltered as Owl’s voice, nary more than a whisper at this point, drifted to meet their ears. “Don’t stop now–he’s winning.”
“If I force a break–” Braham stumbled back from a sweep of Ryland’s sword, his attention divided between Jormag’s champion and Owl. “—I won’t be able to control the backlash!”
“Free me. It’s the only way.” A great fatigue painted Owl’s tone. “The Wild together can direct the fall. You are the harness, Norn of Prophecy. Tell them.”
Braham screwed up his face, looking between Ryland and where Owl was pinned. With a yell, he raised his mace and brought it down on the Spirit’s bindings. A blast rang through the molding shrine. It buffeted Glaw back a few steps, and he watched as Rook and Ryland staggered as well. Glaw’s eyes widened as Owl burst free with a shrill cry–for once triumphant rather than pained–and all of the air in the shrine seemed to follow her ascent as she disappeared in a burst of blinding light.
Glaw dragged in a few ragged breaths and levered his sword once more, but Ryland was backing away from them. A look of nettled defeat held his expression in a vice. “Just stop,” he spat, “You’ve released Owl. Take the win and go home.” He pulled up a lip to reveal a blackened fang, a ghost of a smirk. “We still have three more corrupted spirits we can leverage. Might take longer, but we’ll get there. Soon, Jormag will be strong enough to face Primordus head on–and win. I’ll see you in the world that comes after.”
Before any of them could get in a word of protest, a rift opened behind Ryland, and he disappeared. Glaw let his sword dip into the snow as the extent of his exhaustion made itself known in his limbs.
“Owl’s actually gone... for good.” Braham’s hollow words filled the void in the air.
“Willing to sacrifice herself. Again.” Kasmeer joined their small group, the Claw and a handful of remaining vanguard soldiers trailing her. “Shouldn’t be in vain.”
“I opened the gate under Jormag’s ice citadel. That’s what brought Owl back. Made her vulnerable.” Glaw remembered the elation and fear of realizing Owl was still alive. He swallowed and stared at the frozen ground.
“You aren’t responsible for Ryland–or Jormag,” Rook reminded Braham gently.
“Not their choices, maybe. But I am for mine.”
Glaw bit his lip. He raised his gaze, chewing on his words before he spoke. “What did Owl mean, the Wild together can direct the fall?”
Glaw’s query deepened the lines on Braham’s face, and he instantly regretted asking them. “I don’t know,” Braham murmured in a hushed tone. His volume picked up alongside the frustration in his voice. “Why can I sense destroyers? What does Owl’s message mean? How do we fight two Elder Dragons at once?”
“Calm down, Braham,” Rook, ever the level head, chimed. “We’ll figure it out together–we always do.”
“Together, yeah.” Something turned in Glaw’s stomach at the disbelief on Braham’s breath. He murmured another string of words, too quiet for Glaw to hear, and his expression shifted. Settled like stone. It only heightened the unease squirming in Glaw’s gut. Setting his lips in a thin line, he put a hand on Braham’s arm and walked alongside him out of the old shrine.
During the ride back to the Eye of the North, Glaw kept himself pressed next to Braham, always with some point of contact. If it garnered any looks from Rook or Kas, he found he didn’t care. The pang of malaise never left him, unable to shake the chill no matter how warm and alive Braham felt under his fingertips. No one spoke on the journey, as if uttering a word might break whatever gentle respite they found themselves in. That it might kick the next cog into motion.
Once they reached the Eye of the North, Rook and Kas drifted away like water, exchanging quiet promises to keep each other updated. Glaw tailed Braham as he started towards the central chamber like a norn on a mission.
They were in the antechamber by the time Glaw caught up. “Braham–Braham, wait!” He ignored the flutter in his chest when Braham actually stopped and turned. “Where are you going?”
A shadow darkened Braham’s face, and he glanced towards the chamber where Aurene rested. “I wanted to ask Aurene some things.”
“Can’t it wait? Until tomorrow at least.” Surely Braham was as drained as Glaw, if not more.
That dreadful expression was back. Glaw wanted desperately to smooth the lines of worry beneath his thumb. He settled for grasping Braham’s forearms; his sprained wrist twinged as he tightened his grip. The pale green of Braham’s eyes softened. “What if Jormag attacks tomorrow? Or even tonight? Or Primordus? I think–I think I have an idea about why I can sense the destroyers.”
Glaw grimaced. “You heard Ryland; it will take Jormag a while to wrangle the other spirits. But–” he sighed, “what about the destroyers? I thought you said you didn’t sense them back on the mission.”
“I didn’t, but Owl’s words made me realize something.” Braham paused. There was silence as he mulled over his thoughts. A swallow, then: “I think I’m meant to wake Primordus."
“No.”
“Glaw–”
“No! How did you get that from Owl’s words?” Glaw broke away from his grasp, running his good hand through his tangled hair. “Braham, that’s ridiculous. That’s–that’s... suicide."
“Owl called me the harness; we’re going to need power, lots of power, to bring down Jormag. If I can harness the Spirits of the Wild and channel it to wake Primordus, then that’s a hell of a lot of power and a whole Elder Dragon to boot. More than enough to bring down Jormag,” Braham said in a rush before Glaw could interrupt, “and maybe, I don’t know, I’d even be able to help take down Primordus too. Why else would I be able to sense the destroyers?”
Glaw’s fingers caught in his hair, and he clenched his corrupted fist. He brandished the icy limb in Braham’s face, expression tightening as the sprain in his joint throbbed in protest. “This is what happens to people like us who try to harness that power. You’ve seen what happened to Ryland and Bangar. What almost happened to me. We don’t win from it; we get fucked up. You can’t do that to yourself Braham, ability to sense destroyers or not.”
Silence stretched between them, and Glaw’s heart leapt into his throat as Braham slowly took his raised hand. Gentle, calloused palms encircled around his own icy one, and the tell-tale sting of tears wet the corners of Glaw’s eyes. He allowed Braham to close the distance between them and hold Glaw gently against his chest. “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid,” he muttered into the other’s skin, Braham’s warmth dampened by his tears.
Braham’s voice rumbled in his ears. “Nothing stupid. I promise.”
Glaw was pulled roughly from her dreams the next dawn. She tossed a bleary good morning to Frigg as she extracted herself from her small sleeping nook. Something in the air felt... off. Glaw danced aside as an asura weaved past her, muttering to themself. Squinting after the small being, Glaw made her way to the central chamber. In it, she found Rook talking with Aurene. The dark look on Rook’s face and the way Aurene worried the stone underfoot with her claws exemplified the feeling blossoming in her chest like a rotten bloom. “What’s wrong?”
Rook’s lips twisted, and she held Aurene’s gaze before turning to Glaw. “Braham’s gone.”
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where-is-caithe · 3 years
Text
slides this across the table and lays on the ground
~
“You don’t have to do this.”
Rhowan glanced behind her, at the woman who had spoken, “I do, actually.”
She scoffed and took the few steps needed to stand beside her. They stared out across the darkening horizon together, across the vast ocean and the fading light of the sun. It was starting to get cold. The morning would bring a battle that neither would ever forget.
Rhowan was calm as she stared, her thoughts circling the events of the past day, Aurene’s resurrection and Yden’s flight through the Mists with her. The island they stood on trapping an Elder dragon. She could feel his fear, his anger, his burning rage and anguish, buried under rock and soil, she could feel his emotions as clearly as if they were her own.
But in the midst of this, she also felt Yden, and Aurene. Both of them were scared, both of them had hope. It was their hope and Rhowan’s confidence in the two of them that kept her grounded, kept her without fear of her own.
Yden was silent beside her for a long time, gazing over the ocean, listening to the waves crash.
Rhowan broke the silence eventually, “you should get some sleep, Yden. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”
She shook her head, “I couldn’t sleep even if I wanted to.” Yden took a shaky breath, “you don’t have to follow me. Tomorrow, I mean. You can stay up here and command the Pact.”
“Almorra has the Pact command under control,” she smiled ruefully, “and besides, I made a promise. A long time ago.”
“You made a promise to a dead woman,” Yden’s reply was harsh and angry, Rhowan felt it in the middle of her chest.
She didn’t look at Yden when she replied, “I made a promise to Aurene.”
“Oh.”
Yden looked chastised, ducking her head and glancing away.
“Why did you?”
Rhowan hummed and crossed her arms over her chest, closing her eyes and feeling Yden’s presence beside her, the pull of her. There were so many ways she could answer. She wasn’t even sure if she would, truthfully, but she supposed this was something that Yden wouldn’t let go. There had been something bothering her all day, something on her mind. A certain... agitation she could feel.
The words that came out of her mouth were not what she’d intended to say.
“I love you.”
Rhowan heard Yden’s breath catch and she shuddered next to her. No turning back now.
Yden closed her eyes tightly, keeping her head turned away. Rhowan wouldn’t look at her either, didn’t want her to see what she could clearly feel, her heart thundering in her chest and the blush across her cheeks. She could feel Yden’s conflicting emotions as well, she knew she loved her, but she also knew that it was complicated. Yden felt guilty.
“You loved me before,” Yden said in a whisper, so quietly Rhowan’s not sure she heard her at all. “You don’t love who I am now.”
Interesting. Rhowan chuckled softly, she didn’t understand. She looked down at her fondly.
“Yden,” She let her name hang in the air for a moment, gathering her thoughts, “I loved you, when you were with me. When we lived in Snowden, in my family’s home, before everything with Zhaitan and the Pact.
“I loved you when I thought you died. I loved you so deeply I almost couldn’t think of anything else. And when I found you again,” she huffed out a laugh, “I was so happy to see you.”
“I remember,” Yden murmured beside her, leaning into her side.
It must have been strange for her. Rhowan had tried to ask but Yden never wanted to talk about it, she always deflected, shifting the conversation to something else. She didn’t press. Yden would talk to her eventually.
“You’ve changed a lot since then. You’re braver, you know more, you can handle yourself and you can fight, you can defend yourself. Your magic is so strong it’s almost tangible. You’re confident.
“You also drink your coffee the same. You still frown when you read, your glasses always slide down your nose and you never fix them. You shake your hands when you get excited or if you need to calm down. You can never sit in a chair with your feet on the ground.” Rhowan smiled softly into the horizon. “You still talk to me for hours and hours.”
She looked down, away, away from Yden, “I love you, Yden. I will always love you. I loved the woman I knew then, and I love the woman you’ve become.
“I do not love an echo. I love you.”
Yden was quiet. She reached up and laced their fingers together, resting her head on Rhowan’s wrist. Rhowan took a deep breath, tilting her head back, feeling Yden’s contentment, her relief and... surprise. She hadn’t been expecting her to say that. Then again, neither had Rhowan, but once she’d started she couldn’t stop. She wished she could show her, hold her close.
But that was Yden’s decision. For now, she was content watching the waves crash on the cliffs below, with Yden’s presence at her side. Holding onto this small moment before the coming battle.
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ashalsdream · 2 years
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❝ you’ve stolen my heart, the least you could do is tell me what you intend to do with it. ❞ for Ashal/Rama
Kinoosss <33 thank u for the ask my love!!! It's good to hear from u i missed you a lot :D have some soft lovers not knowing how to express their true feelings
Ashal sat on the soft bed, a simple silk fabric across her shoulders as if it was meant to be a blanket. She was looking out over the city, watching all the colours and the people go by - it was so much more than she was used to, seeing all the technology was something she had never experienced. Not even when she had visited Rata Sum, it fascinated her, intrigued her. 
His hand slipped up under the blanket, wrapping around her arm as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder, “It’s late, come to bed” he spoke quietly as if he didn’t want to break the peaceful silence that had overtaken the room. Ashal turned to look at him without realising how close he had gotten, she smiled as he turned to meet her kiss - it had always made her heart flutter at how Rama always chased after her lips when she pulled away like he was starved and wanting more. 
“Just a moment, the lights will start to become brighter soon” she had memorized exactly when it was just dark enough for the lights to register when it was time to guide the lost souls in the pitch black just so she could watch them. He laughed softly as he pulled away, squeezing her arm and walking around behind her, she didn’t pay much attention as he moved - completely focused on the view in front of her. He didn’t have the best view, those views were expensive and yet the rather awful view seemed to be enough for her. He sometimes wished he could give her more of what she wanted, despite how content she seemed - he always assumed she deserved more, she was the commander! She deserved a mansion or a castle! And yet Ashal seemed completely content in his shitty little apartment in the not-so-nice areas of the city. 
“I will never understand why you love the lights so much, you glow brighter than all of them combined” Rama remarked, causing Ashal to laugh as she stood up and turned to join him. Before he had time to think about anything, she’d dragged them both onto the bed and was already getting comfortable at his side, “I like them because I glow brighter than them, I don’t see myself glow the same way you do. I like the lights. I…” Ashal paused, hesitating which was unlike her. She sighed and just rested her head against his chest, “And I have to go back to Tyria again. So I want to remember them. And you” Rama frowned at her voice crack towards the end. He knew she was tired, she had done everything and yet she never got to rest - they ignored the fact she had said she wanted to stay in Cantha and still dragged her around as if she hadn’t saved their world multiple times. This wasn’t living and he felt awful for her but it was also affecting him, it felt like  he was constantly waiting for her to come back and that every moment together was fleeting. 
Rama gently stroked his fingertips up her back as he leaned over to cup her cheek, “Then stay, you can see them every night” he knew it wasn’t that easy but he was tired of the hiding, tired of the waiting and he suspected that she was as well. Before she could even argue with the usual excuses of the fact that dragon’s watch needed her, he spoke again, “You have done enough for those people. They will not shun you for taking time to live your own life. You’ve stolen my heart, the least you could do is tell me what you intend to do with it.” 
She stared at him, her mind working around those words as if she wasn’t sure how to react. He had never said that he loved her and she had never said them either but it had been implied. Heavily implied when they were alone but just out of reach. “I…” she smiled and wrapped her hand up around his own, closing the gap between them in a chaste kiss. 
“I love you” she whispered just for him, just for them. “I’ll stay. If you’ll have me” 
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"Commander of Death" Part I: A Meeting of Souls
POV: CEERA
TL;DR - The end of Ceera's story - or perhaps the beginning of a new chapter. (We'll see if I feel like continuing it.)
A Meeting of Souls
Ceera is not in Pact Command on Dragonfall, like she is technically supposed to be. She is in the Mist Warden camp. She’d already led several expeditions to recover mist essence and even managed to revive a few fallen soldiers. No point in adding to the ghosts populating the camp.
Once, upon return, she’d come face-to-face with the Pact Commander, who had seen her frigid stare and turned away without a word.
Now she marches in to the camp, orders a wounded Vigil recruit into a makeshift bed in a tent, and is overseeing the distribution of mist essence, when she hears her name.
“Ceera? Are you Ceera?”
The voice comes from high above her. Ceera turns and looks upward to a norn. “Yes, I am.”
“Someone’s looking for you. Ah - a ghost.”
A terrible, motionless agony seizes Ceera. She can’t speak. She hardly dares to connect the dots. Finally she manages to rasp out, “where?”
She follows the norn through the camp as if only her steps and the path to her destination are real. Everything else is frozen, irrelevant - she’s walking through another world.
And then she sees him.
Tonn.
Her husband.
Her love and her life.
She flies into his arms, but he is incorporeal; but she holds his hands and tears fall down her face and he is speaking to her gently, softly, repeating words she hadn’t heard for eight years.
“Tonn,” she murmurs, just to hear his name on her lips again. “Tonn.”
“My Ceera,” he replies, and she hadn’t heard him say her name in so long, even the slight distortion of his voice is irrelevant - he is here. He is speaking to her. “I found you.”
Ceera closes her eyes and just revels in the sound of his voice. “Yes,” she murmurs.
“I won’t ever leave you again,” he promises.
“Can you?” she asks wonderingly, opening her eyes to look into his face. “Don’t you have to go back - after?”
“Not if I don’t want to,” he smiles at her. “Now, tell me what you’ve been up to. News of big things comes in to the Mists now and then, but I’ve only ever heard bits and pieces about you.”
So she tells him. The mist essence distribution can handle itself for a few hours. Or days...
~oOoOo~
Next (Pt 2)
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The Witching Hour
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Everyone in Kryta knew the old tales of the Witch of the Wilds. She was the classic bedtime story villain, a conniving boogeyman to scare children to behave themselves during the day and stay in their beds at night. The definition of a classic character, if there had ever been any truth to the tales, it certainly had been lost over generations of telling and retelling the tales of her schemes and the children who thwarted her.
It came as no surprise that, when smoke started rising from the Godslost Swamp and travelling merchants brought word of a ramshackle hut deep in the fog, that the children came to believe the witch had somehow escaped the confines of their storybooks and come to life. The adults didn’t mind these rumors, as they supplemented their own efforts to keep their kids in line and encourage them not to venture into the swamp alone. But for all they assured themselves that the hut probably belonged to some eccentric Priory Magister performing some sort of study, none of them could deny the aura of unease that penetrated the swamp. Best to let sleeping dogs lie, and hope the mysterious owner would pass on soon enough. But for some, the siren call of curiosity is undeniable, and only matched by desperation. *~* Despite the endless shroud of night, the inside of the hut was bathed in warm light, the smell of hot food and the comfort of heavy blankets. Somewhere deep in Samuel’s mind he knew he should be terrified – he had made it farther into the swamp than even the older kids had ever dared, and yet the witch had not harmed him. In fact, he had begun to wonder if she was even a witch at all – she was a sylvari, clearly, dressed in all manner of leaves and branches that matched the dark, muted greens and browns of her skin and hair. Her red eyes had been piercing in the dark, but now they complimented her small smile as she handed him a bowl of broth and a wool blanket far meant for someone far larger than either of them. “What brings you to my home at this hour?” she asked, and all of a sudden, the guilt of trespassing in someone’s home fell upon him. He almost thought to apologize and leave before causing her further bother, but that would mean braving the dark again without what he came for. “My home, Triskell Quay - ” he began, before taking a deep breath, and letting all the words fall out at once. “We keep getting attacked by bandits, and usually it’s fine because the Seraph are there, but they’re all busy now with the vines and everything, and the attacks keep happening and people keep getting hurt and – and Mom and Dad are – ” He hated that he was powerless to stop his tears; at least the other boys weren’t here to see it. “Please, you have to help them. I don’t care if you’re a witch or evil or anything, I’ll do anything as long as you stop them!” The witch was silent for a moment before standing up to gather his now-empty bowl and offer a mug of warm milk in return. She stood in front of the fire for a long while, as though lost in thought. “I cannot ask anything of you,” she said, “for it would be far too cruel to take from a child. But I also cannot do this for free.” She walked to an old wardrobe stained with rot and moss and began selecting various items from within. “In exchange for their safety, your parents will owe me a service, of a sort and time of my choosing. No matter if they refuse or forget, I will come to collect when the time is right.” The witch stepped away from the wardrobe, now adorned with new, strange clothing composed of more moss and sticks and leaves, all the color of murk and decay without any of the weakness of rot. Her belt, previously bare, was now laden with a dagger, hand axe, and various pouches. Finally, she took a worn straw hat and gently placed it on her head. She walked back over to her guest and, kneeling down, gave him that same small smile from before. “All I need from you,” she whispered, gingerly holding his chin, “is to sleep.” Caught under her spell – or perhaps the influence of the lateness of the hour, a warm blanket and a mug of warm milk – Samuel granted her request. *~* When he awoke the next day, Samuel was back in Triskell Quay. The sun was shining, the docks were filled with the smell of the ocean and the sound of ships preparing to set sail, and his parents were watching over him as though they hadn’t been captured by bandits the previous day. They didn’t talk about what happened, saying he was too young to hear about such things. All of the adults in
town kept quiet about the whole thing, but that didn’t stop rumors from circling the mill. The details were always different: some spoke of monstrous hands springing forth from the ground, dragging its prey down into the cold and dark earth; others claimed terrifying creatures of flesh and bone charged down the hills and left none of the bandits alive. But every story agreed on the lone, strange sylvari standing amongst the chaos, with blood red eyes peering against the darkness and the ghost of a cold smile on her face. When the bandits were gone, they rumors claimed she spoke only to Samuel’s parents in hushed whispers, who in their terror could only nod in agreement as the sylvari faded into night. The townspeople eyed the family suspiciously for weeks, waiting for some curse or another to spring forth from their quiet home, but life continued on as normal. The people knew peace; without bandits prowling the highway, business was flourishing, and for a long while even Samuel forgot about the fee for the witch’s service. One night long after, he awoke at the sound of the front door opening below. Quiet as he could, he stepped down the stairs, peaking around the corner to see his parents in the torchlight outside. The witch stood just beyond, deep in darkness, and her deep red eyes caught with his for just a moment, as a small smile spread on her face. The boy sprinted back up the stairs and into his room, diving under the covers. He sat awake, even as the sounds from below assured him that his parents came back inside and returned to bed unharmed. Try as he might, he could not banish the witch’s shadowy face from his mind.
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tyrias-library · 3 years
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Wintersday Fic Event
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It’s that time of the year again! Spread the holiday cheer by participating in the Wintersday Fic event! We’ve got four prompts to inspire you, but feel free to take them in any direction you’d like!
When the time comes to post just add the tag #tyriaslibrary or #tyriaslibrary event to make sure your fic gets featured here! And don’t worry if you’re not perfectly on time – anything posted for this event will be reblogged here no matter the date.
Prompt Schedule: 
December 20/21 - Holiday Decorating: What type of decorations do Tyrian’s put up? Write about your characters decorating for the holiday!
December 22/23 - Winter Activities: What do your characters get up to in the winter season? Write about them enjoying whatever that means to them!
December 24/25 - Gift a Fic: Write a fic for a friend, or someone on tumblr you admire! This doesn’t have to be Wintersday themed, just something to make someone else smile! 
December 26/27 - Quality Time: This is what the holiday is all about! Write about your characters spending time with the people they care about.
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the-three-idiots · 2 years
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Tomomi and Canach
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Five days after the icebrood crisis
The Hayashi residence, Gilded Hollow
6:32PM
The Hayashi residence in Gilded Hollow, a blend of classic tyrian furniture mixed with ancient architecture. Most of the decorations in the house were chosen by Tomomi, most of the fire damage was caused by Canach.
The bedroom was equally as extravagant, An oak double bed with burgundy sheets and pillows. Royal blue rugs litter the floor with a large empty wardrobe, with only coat hangers inside.
Tomomi is sitting on the bed, his right arm covered in bandages. Tomomi looks at his bag, filled with unpacked clothes. Tomomi stands up and looks at a picture of him and Canach, which is partially covering a charred wall.
Tomomi strokes the frame of the picture, Tomomi hears the front door open and close. Tomomi sits back down on the bed. 
“Here we go.” Tomomi says anxiously
Canach walks in through the door, he sees Tomomi. 
“Your back then?” asks Canach as he crosses his arms.
Tomomi nods, Canach looks over at the wardrobe and back at Tomomi.
“I see you haven’t unpacked.” Canach states
Canach walks over to the other side of the bed and puts his hand on the pillow.
“I only just got back, Doctor Meoli cleared me to-” Tomomi is interrupted by a pillow hitting his head.
“YOU LEFT WITHOUT EVEN LEAVING A NOTE!” Shouts Canach.
Tomomi nods as he stands and looks at Canach.
“Canach I can explain.” Tomomi says walking over to Canach
Canach throws another pillow at Tomomi, it hits Tomomi in the head. Tomomi doesn't react to it, he stops walking and looks at Canach with a saddened expression.
“I had to go Canach, Ashal needed me.” explains Tomomi
Canach rubs his temples and stares at Tomomi.
“For once why couldn’t you say no?” asks Canach 
Tomomi looks surprised.
Canach raises his finger to Tomomi, Tomomi’s expression drops.
“Do you know how many times we've gone on some near death crusade?” asks Canach
“To be fair you were the cause of one of them.” Tomomi sassily replies with a smile.
“This is not the time!” exclaims Canach
“There wasn’t too much much danger.” says Tomomi
“THERE WERE TWO ELDER DRAGONS!” Shouts Canach
Tomomi nods and shakes his left hand.
“Wasn’t much danger to me.” replies Tomomi.
Canach rolls his eyes, grabs another pillow and walks towards the door brushing past Tomomi. Tomomi sighs as he walks after Canach. They both walk into the lounge, Canach throws the pillow on the sofa and turns to Tomomi.
“Canach we both have responsibilities.” argues Tomomi
“Ok fair enough but it would be nice not to be blown up once in a while!” Remarks Canach
“Canach we can’t just ignore what happens outside.” Replies Tomomi
“And I accept that but you left and nearly died. I was here helping cleanup and you just got up and left to fight the ice born or whatever.” Canach snaps.
Tomomi grits his teeth.
“They're called iceborn.” Corrects Tomomi
Canach gives Tomomi a death stare, Tomomi nods in acceptance. Canach walks over to a cabinet filled with various bottles of liquids. Canach grabs a bottle, pops the cork and chugs half the bottle.
“People call me the reckless one and I can accept that, you usually help keep in check but what in the hell am I supposed to do when you go off the rails for some ad hawk adventure to some gods forbidden ice covered land?” Canach puts the bottle down. “All I knew for a while was an empty bed and a missing husband.” Canach explains
Tomomi walks up to Canach and puts his hand on Canachs.
“I had been alone for so long, cast aside by scarlet briar, imprisoned, judged…” Canach looks at Tomomi, his eyes welling up “…when we got married you promised I wouldn’t be alone again and you went back on that to go gallivanting across some frozen tundra!” Exclaimed Canach
“I would never…” Tomomi says, tightening his grip on Canachs hand.
Canach turns to Tomomi.
“I would never leave you like that.” Tomomi whimpers
Canach shakes his head.
“What about next time? How will I know you will come back?” asks Canach
Tomomi smiles and pulls Canach in and kisses him. He kisses Canach like he wanted to be kissed, like no one had ever kissed him, soft and passionate, not trying to win a battle but seeking union and closeness and the sharing of one breath, one sensation, one timeless and passionate moment.
“Canach Hayashi, If for a moment you think that I would leave you forever. Then I am the one to blame for making you think that  I could ever leave you. When I married you, I said I would stay with you no matter what happens.” Tomomi lifts his hand up, showing his ring. “This ring on my finger is a promise to both of us and I swear that I can never break for as long as I breathe.” Tomomi states
Canach strokes the side of Tomomi’s face and the two smile.
“Really?”  asks Canach?
“Really.” affirms Tomomi
The two look at each other and they kiss each other, both of them not wanting to move away from each other.
Tomomi and Canach embrace each other, neither one letting go.
“You can still be the reckless one if you want?” offers Tomomi
Canach chuckles.
“Only when you're around.” replies Canach
Tomomi and Canach display the challenges of all relationships, the need for adventure versus the needs of the couple. Tomomi was in the wrong but understood that had wronged Canach in such a way, not in any malicious way of course.
‘The needs of the many, outway the needs of the few’
This mindset took over when the icebrood crisis began, leaving Canach alone. Canach was hit heavily by this, he had been a man who was alone most of his life. This fear of being alone only confirmed once he came back from being stranded in the crystal desert.
It is, however, Tomomi and Canach who show how these issues can be overcome. The foundation of any relationship is not knowing all the answers to the problems straight away but trying to fix the problems together.
No relationship is perfect, there will always be problems but in the end, with time and patience, the love between two people can fix anything.
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