You are a daughter of the snowy peaks and bitter winds. Blessed by Owl, a huntress, a provider.
But you followed Raven from the mountains, from your home and where did it lead you?
To love in the arms of a man who left you in the middle of the night seeking his story.
He left you only the baby inside you.
He died in the land of the dead and his best friend took up the mantle of father to a child you never got to hold.
A child stolen by those you called friends.
The betrayal should not have been a surprise. They were, as it came to light, children of the dragon.
So you did what you could to see the dragon ended. The sweltering jungle, the hallucinations as you used your tracking skills to recover those also betrayed by his children.
The relief to hear it was dead.
The pain that did not go away.
So you came back to the mountains. To let the snow soothe and the wind numb your pain.
He came with you too. To fight the Svanir. But it became more about the fight than family.
You dutifully hunted and provided. Supported while each Svanir he cut down slivered ice into his heart.
When he lifted a hand to you, you knew. It was frozen.
So you did what you had to.
You went with him into the woods.
You left him in the woods.
You returned to the mountains.
You wanted to be alone. To hunt. To track. To be what you were meant to.
But they were there and they were freezing and hungry.
Now they ask for your skill again.
Why are you here, daughter of the peaks?
Seeking soldiers in the woods that have lost their way?
Soldiers who followed that child here? Who he left behind? The child that cracked the tooth. The child that claimed the mantle that your child’s father died seeking? Who has no idea what his victory has cost you?
The child who seeks to slay what froze your love’s heart? To take that vengeance from you too? Who brought his friends here and left them. Left them for you to rescue.
They’d gone on ahead, jogging steadily to keep warm, each with a hand on the shoulder of the Pact soldier in front. Frost-rimed whiskers rattled as the lead soldier--a Charr with fur far too slick, too thin to endure the cold easily--shook her head and kept jogging.
Behind her, the tiger-striped Charr did her the favor of wiping snow from her burnt sienna fur before resting his hand on her shoulder once again. She squeezed it, turned her head slightly as he craned his neck. They touched muzzles, nudged gently.
From her position, last in the line, her hand too light, too cold to be felt on the shoulder of the heavily armored man before her, Narasen watched the exchange of subtle, gentle affection. She didn’t smile, but she did note it.
Her Dearheart had gone missing, but... At least love still existed in the world.
Snow drifted, dancing with spiteful glee before Narasen’s eyes. She didn’t watch the flakes. Hadn’t actually watched them since arriving in the Bjora Marches. Scenery held no interest for her any longer. One place blurred into another, each alike only in that they never showed her the one thing that would’ve brought the life back to her eyes.
In absence of evidence, Narasen’s conviction that Kona hadn’t died, but simply “gone exploring” had lost all strength. Pitying smiles, sidelong looks, gentle advice intended for someone whose heart hadn’t physically absented itself rained down for months as she searched Tyria.
And when she persisted, when she insisted Kona would return...
One by one, they dropped away, exchanging knowing looks, shaking their heads when they thought she couldn’t see. Even Bear, weary from months of constant travel, of Narasen’s curt refusals to listen when anyone tried suggesting she merely wait, finally fell away. Not, of course, without good reason. His daughter’s severe injury at the hands of Sons of Svanir demanded close attention; Narasen never thought to berate the Norn for leaving.
In truth, she’d fought hard to conceal her relief. With Bear gone, Narasen could really focus on trying to find her absent Dearheart, following the Pact from place to place. Kona, after all, didn’t care about humanity, but he cared about the fate of the sylvari. He would go when they called for aid. So she volunteered, trading sand for snow, dunes for the thick woods of the Aberrant Forest. Overt dangers exchanged for more subtle ones, for rumors of whispers luring the unwary into danger, for quiet things that skulked in the forest. They blurred together, all the same for Narasen.
All Pact service meant to her now was a chance to find her Dearheart.
Kona’s bow across her back--blackened and thin, withered from cold and neglect--rubbed against the dull grey leather she wore. Her petals, long since drained of color and scent, hung in her eyes, flapping against the tips of her exposed ears. Nightfall in the Marches came early, but only the faintest traces of white still outlined Narasen’s veins.
Her glow, it seemed, had died with Kona.
Sweet flower.
Ahead, the soldiers continued shuffling, hands on shoulders, heads down. Benumbed with cold, the last man, his Vigil armor thick with frost, didn’t notice the hand falling away from his shoulder as Narasen stopped.
For the first time in months, she felt the sap pulse in her veins. Actually felt something--a hot, wild joy that threw the cold into mere insignificance. Narasen spun, limp petals fluttering about her head, and shielded her eyes from the snow, fumbling steps taking her left, right as she turned, trying to find h-
There! Oh, there! There at long last and oh her hopes had not been in vain. Her faith rewarded by the sight of Kona’s silhouette, black against the snowy bank just before the thickest treeline, Narasen found all the strength in her body returning and ran.
Breath searing in and out of her throat, she called his name, casting a shadow of her own from her own vibrant glow, brighter than it had ever been.
Come and rest, my Dearheart. Come and let me watch over you as you rest.
“Kona!” In the bitter air, Narasen’s voice seemed to fall flat, unable to carry far enough for Kona to hear her as she heard him. She thought nothing of it. Her ears didn’t need to hear his voice; her heart could hear him, did hear him and Narasen ran with all her strength, leaping icy rocks, breaking frozen twigs without a moment’s pause.
He drew back, drew towards the treeline and Narasen fixed her eyes on the vague shifting of his silhouette. She didn’t slacken her pace, letting her breath tear through her laboring body, but held her hands out, beseeching him mutely to take pity on her. To wait. Just a moment. She’d need nothing more to reach him.
You need to rest, my Dearheart. Come rest with me. I’ve missed you so.
When the tears fell, freezing on her cheeks, Narasen realized her pace had dropped drastically. Stumbling forward, surrounded by snow-crusted tree trunks, she held her burning side and tried to gasp air in over the burning pain in her throat. “Kona?” She coughed, spat sap to the ground, didn’t linger to watch it freeze as she staggered forward. “Kona? Where are you?”
Dull agony bloomed in her chest as Narasen panted, scraping at her cheek where a loose petal had frozen to her skin. It broke away, was thrown carelessly aside; she stumbled forward, just able to make out Kona’s shape in the thick, grey shadows gathering. “Kona! Wait for me!”
Come, my Dearheart. A little further. Let me see your face.
Her lips split when she smiled; Narasen licked away the beads of sap, hardly feeling it as her wet skin froze, cracked and split again. Limbs shaking, the delicate sylvari pushed forward, clutching a tree limb here, a rock there. Patches of leather flaked from her gloves, freezing to whatever she grabbed and left behind when Narasen tore her hands away impatiently. “Kona! I’m here!”
Ice rattled as she caught a branch, unable to lift a foot to move forward. Breath steaming, Narasen coughed. Rasped. Finally leaned over, clinging to the tree, and vomited into the snow, her body heaving as she tried to breathe. Chest burning, she coughed again, forcing air in through her sap-slimed throat. Staggering a step or two away from the tree, Narasen leaned on her knees, swaying violently.
“...Kona?”
Forcing even that single word out between desperate gasps, Narasen wobbled once before spilling into the snow. She didn’t feel the shock of it against her cheeks; the surface of her body had gone entirely numb. Her limbs trembled violently; her chest ached almost as badly as it had the day Bear had silently brought her Kona’s bow.
And still, she turned her head, squirming in the snow to look about her, squinting against her abruptly blurry vision.
“Kona?”
Narasen laid her face in the snow, breathing in sharp, cold air, exhaling in body-wracking coughs. Sap beaded on her mouth, froze in glittering amber gems on the snow beneath her. She lifted her head regardless, pushed at the snow, forced herself to sit up. To breathe. To control her coughing enough to speak.
“Kona?”
A tangle of roots nearby offered a small niche, deceptively appealing. Narasen pushed herself up a bit more, collapsing with a muffled cry when her knees could simply not hold her up. Trembling, the sylvari crawled to the hollow between wrist-thick roots. One jabbed her ribs; another gouged her lower back. Narasen curled up between them regardless, eyes sweeping the shadows.
He must’ve gone for firewood. Seeing how cold she was, Kona had clearly gone to assemble what they’d need for a camp. And when he could reassure himself of her safety, they’d be able to talk. She’d hear his voice in her ears, feel his hand caressing her petals, rest with his arms securely around her.
Slowly, the trembling ceased, replaced by shivering. Narasen huddled down between the roots, filmy eyes shifting aimlessly, tracking the shadow moving past the trees as it appeared, disappeared, lingered out of sight only to reappear again.
The wait meant nothing. The months of silence, of absence... Nothing. She only cared that Kona had been waiting for her, all this time. And oh, how she would apologize for ever doubting him, for ever believing he’d forgotten her, abandoned her. Narasen felt her shivering ease into stillness, felt the cold wrap her in a numbing softness, and shifted only once to pull Kona’s bow onto her lap.
Lips moving, soundlessly shaping her Dearheart’s name, Narasen let her head drop onto a gentle, supportive root. Despite the weariness weighing her down, she didn’t close her eyes, unwilling to lose sight of Kona’s elusive outline for even the barest of moments.
When they found her, three days later, Narasen’s eyes were open.
