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.
Lucilaeh knows she shouldn't be doing this, knows she's just walking back into the danger.
But the haze calls to her, so she sneaks back into the depths in the dead of night.
***
2.6k words. On AO3.
What Lies Beneath made me completely unhinged.
Notes on AO3:
I should probably have waited for chapter 17 to come before writing this but I seriously needed to get this out of my system and I SWEAR I am Very Normal about MMORPG Guild Wars 2 Expansion End of Dragons Chapter 16 What Lies Beneath Final Instance Deep Trouble oughhhh
This fic has: Gavin from the White Stag personal story NPC, OC-specific Mordremoth-related trauma, and a little bit of my headcanons on thief/specter shadow magic.
There's barely a moon in the blackened night sky when she finally sneaks back into the haze after a week of enduring the urge. She's been recovering, letting her brother fuss and worry about her while she figures out what to tell Logan and Rytlock and Aurene regarding this recent adventure, and Lucilaeh knows she shouldn't be doing this, knows she's just walking back into the danger. But she doesn't even know why she wants to go back in, after the terrors that had awaited their team. Would she find the demon again? Or something else? Surely there is something better calling to her, compelling her, like a Wyld Hunt's push and pull.
She's supposed to be waiting for Gorrik to get his experiment together, but things had their way of working out...right?
She doesn't believe that.
Shadow magic comes easier than ever before here, as she ventures further and further into the depths. It hasn't been this easy since Primordus and Jormag, since before it nearly consumed her from within. Lucilaeh pulls at it, lets it enshroud her and take her presence away until she finds herself just walking past everything that would normally attack her. The haze makes the air thick, almost slimy. Even through her jade bot's filter, she can taste something harsher than oil and blood. It makes her want to retch as much as it did when they first came here, but even then, it had been enthralling, both repulsive and pleasing and she knows she can't stay away.
She stops in her tracks when the scent changes and she smells the sweet, clear air of Astorea. Not the same as when she was training freshly awakened Sylvari in the weeks after the engagement party, but older, cleaner, crisp. Like the first time she consciously took a deep breath before setting off on her first Hunt. As the edges of her vision darken just so, Lucilaeh feels once more like---like a---
"Sapling."
He's standing there amidst the cliffs of jade, the same as his last day on Tyria, armored in Nightmare Court livery and wearing that smile that had fooled her heart.
"Gavin," she breathes his name, and it's so foreign on her tongue that she steps back instead.
"Is that any way to greet your oldest friend?" asks the nightmare before her, spreading his arms in welcome. "After all the trouble you went to, to come save me? And such a naughty sapling you are, to sneak out in the dead of night where the menders can't catch you!"
She shouldn't engage. She can't. She has to go back. She's waiting for Gorrik. Her brother would worry. But his words aren't even right. She was never in Astorea long as a sapling. She walked away from that life and her brother as soon as she opened her eyes and felt the weight of the Dream on her shoulders and feet.
"I didn't come here for you," she tells him. "You betrayed me."
"No?" He quirks his brow at her and chuckles. "Why would you come here if not to see old friends again? Tell me, my dear sapling, aren't you here so you can see me outside your head?"
"You're wrong." And it's getting harder to remember why he's wrong. Why did she come here, if not to see him? Wasn't he right about that? But she does know. She does know what's wrong with his words and she's not going to let it go unsaid again. "You were never just an old friend to me."
Gavin pauses as if he'd never considered such a thing, as if he's thinking over her words. Did he know that this was the extent of what she could tell him on the matter? Lucilaeh had mourned him, had cursed him. She had spent long weeks turning over what she could have done instead for him, and that had only been because he had come so early in her life, before everything and everyone else that she would be responsible for and would never have time to mourn. She had decided back then: her love and pain for him could only ever be the same thing from then on.
He breaks the long silence with a sigh, but his smile grows, stretching ear to ear in a way it never did.
"I understand," he says, and gone is the friendly air, gone is the cunning kindness that always lingered in his eyes. "I was never just merely your friend. I am your dearest regret, the first of many you couldn't save. But you don't care about that, Commander."
"No---" She can't manage more than a whisper, not when it feels as if she's got an arrow in her side again.
"You came here because you want to be hurt, Commander." Gavin steps toward her, but her feet are frozen to the ground. He doesn't look like himself anymore. She's not sure in what way. "Deep down you're eager for something to fight. All these years, you've fought for a peace you never knew---and now that you have it, you're looking for a new monster to hunt because you're nothing without one."
"No...no, I---" Her voice cracks against the still air like a thundering Brandstorm, and it's this that startles her to alertness. Gorrik had explained the effects of the haze on her feelings last time, hadn't he, and that was why she isn't supposed to be here. She breathes in deep and lets the sharp scent of the haze startle the rest of her senses in turn. Lucilaeh squares her shoulders and straightens her back and gazes into the false Gavin's dark eyes and she thinks hard about her brother's firm voice as he warned her, after she had won her duel with Gavin their entire lifetime ago, to renounce their mother so that she would never be hurt by the Hunt again. She remembers balling her fists and squaring her shoulders too, back then, and telling him, she would never let the pain stop her from pursuing her purpose.
She has bled a thousand times for Tyria. She has died for her duty. This is no different.
"No, I know nothing but the fight," Lucilaeh tells the darkness around her, "but I also have known love of all kinds from the moment I awoke. That is how I know there is peace in this world, even if I may never have it for myself. And---I also know what I already told you: I know what you're doing."
Gavin's smile twists further, warps further in a way she's not sure her mind is comprehending. Shadows bleed from him, oozing outward and joining the darkness lapping at her vision.
"But Commander, there will still always be monsters of your own making," he says, "and may you always use your bloodshed to grow your garden."
"Stop." Lucilaeh rushes him, dagger out, and to the surprise of some small part of her he does nothing, instead opening his arms to her once more. She feels it when the dagger pushes into him and his arms wrap around her back, embracing her as if mocking her for what she never could have had.
"I will be remembered..." He trails off as he slumps into her arms, but she senses no life leaving him, only that continuous flowing and swarming of shadows.
She stands tall. Still as she can. Long lost feelings wash over her in waves, and she doesn't fight them this time, letting them pass through her. She imagines herself like Aurene for a moment. The Prismatic Commander of Confusing Emotions and Sad Memories.
No, Gavin. I will never join the Nightmare Court.
That's a pity. It grieves me greatly to turn predator into prey, Valiant---
"But you forgot me."
She startles as the corpse slumped against her speaks again, but this time it isn't Gavin's voice.
It's her brother's.
Lucilaeh looks down and finds Benedicuore gazing back up at her, exactly as he looked when she hunted him down in the heart of the Maguuma, features twisted by the dragon's corruption. He sneers as she leaps back, and he rises and rises to full height over her, towering over her in his corrupted body.
"How dare you," she hisses.
"Oh sister," he says, leaning down to look her in the eyes. "I should be the one to ask you that. You left me behind with my copies. Or maybe you did kill me. Do you even know if the one waiting for you on the surface was the real me?"
"He is," she tells him, and suddenly all the bravado she had worked up dissipates. She forged forth without it anyway. "He came back to me. Ben fought off the corruption when he heard my voice---"
"No, you'll never know." He starts to move, and she forces her feet to let her turn, if only to keep her eyes on him as he starts to circle her. "You turned your brother into yet another regret when you chose to save him. In the end, you forgot the real me because it was simply more convenient to let this copy take my place."
It's only when she tries to raise her dagger once more that she realizes she let go of it at some point, her hands shaking as she tries to do---anything at all. It was true. It was true. She hadn't tried with the other copies when they attacked her. She'd killed them because it was easier. Because fighting and killing was always easier. Because despite everything she claimed, she really did know so little of anything else.
"I'm sorry." Those wretched words wrench past her lips before she can stop herself, followed closely by a sob, then another and another until she is simply weeping as she stands there amidst the shadows and the jade. "I'm sorry. I never forgot. But he was the only one who listened...what more could I have done..."
She senses, rather than sees, the darkness enveloping her. It doesn't feel anything like her own shadow magic. It grasps her, swallowing her---
"No! Sister!"
She hears the shout through the haze but does not understand what it means until light floods her vision, chasing away the shadows and when she blinks, Ben is before her, holding up a hard light dome between the two of them and the demon.
"They're over here!" he yells and Lucilaeh coughs and sits up. She gasps for air, realizing all too suddenly she's been on the ground. Ben glances at her over his shoulder. "Stay, stay with me, sister."
"Ben, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she chokes out through damned tears she can't stop. "I left you, I left you behind so many times---I---are you...are you real?"
"A-as real as I've ever been," he answers sharply. Shadows slam against his shield, pushing down toward them both. He was never much of a fighter himself. "This, erm, doesn't seem like the best time for this, but you really, you really ought to know I've never once begrudged you for choosing your duty over me---"
Words she's never dared to dream of hearing, never quite knew she wanted to hear. She clings to them as she crawls to her dagger, laying just a step away from Ben. Lucilaeh musters up her strength despite its constant fleeing from her, and digs deeper into herself as she takes back her dagger and grasps it tight with both hands. It was fool of her not to bring her scepter, so this would have to do.
"W-where are they---I can't...much longer---" Ben hisses as the darkness presses him down to his knees, the shield just barely covering them both now.
The air around them has thickened to the point she can barely breathe, but she breathes, challenging the shadows that dare bear down upon them. The dagger's hilt digs into her palm as she takes a precious moment to concentrate and listen.
The demon isn't allowed to be stealthier than her. She won't allow it. She points the dagger in the direction of the demon, draws in a breath, and starts to siphon the shadows. She hears a growl, but little other noise, just her's and Ben's ragged breathing and the hum of his forge and the dome. But she's hurting the creature, she's sure of that. The shadows envelop her again, this time mingling with her magic and it's more than she's ever tried to draw in before and there's what she guesses must be the foreign magic Gorrik had mentioned, something woven into these shadows that stings and scorches her enough to draw out a cry of pain from her.
"Stay with me...!"
She doesn't hear Ben this time. She's too busy holding onto the shadows she's gathered from the creature and fighting through the pain. She grits her teeth and grips her dagger tighter, tighter, until she feels that pain in her hand instead over the magic, and then---
"Thanks for sharing," she whispers, as she lets the shadow magic wash over her and Ben both. Swiftly, she finds strength coming back to her limbs, hears Ben's breathing even out as well. Slower, she rises to her feet, properly shrouded in darkness, careful to shield Ben without giving him any of the foreign magic.
"It's weakened!" Someone shouts from beyond, followed by a cacophony of gunfire.
All at once, the darkness recedes.
It's not much brighter, with the natural tenebrosity of the cave, but finally her vision clears completely. Somehow, she's managed to wander all the way down to the shore of a jade pool. How had she not noticed the sickly green glow earlier?
Movement catches her eye. The creature is fleeing from them through the cavern ahead, back down to the leyline once more. Ben tugs on her arm.
"We should go," he says.
She nods, holstering her dagger and reaching for his hand. Lucilaeh's entire body aches, but the scar in her side protests the loudest with every movement as they start the trek back up.
"How did you find me?"
"I heard you leaving," answers Ben quietly. "I-I woke up Gorrik, then followed you. It seemed as if you couldn't hear me at all, then you just...disappeared."
"Ah."
They might have talked about something else, perhaps about the words of doubt she had expressed to him, if they did not quickly run into Gorrik with Rama and Yao and Finn in tow: their saviors from above, at the moment she weakened the creature.
Lucilaeh says little as they make the rest of the way up, only half listening to their concerns, both the ones stated out loud and the ones cloaked in ridicule and sarcasm. She knows it should be shame on her sleeve, for sneaking away like this, for endangering them all again, but now that they're leaving the depths once more, she feels only an icy detachment settling over her.
She ignores the whisper as she steps out onto the warming soil of the surface, where pale morning light reaches down past the outpost and the cave entrance toward her, caressing her. She ignores the whisper as she fends off the others' fussing and the commotion across the camp over her and makes a beeline for her tent. She ignores the whisper as she takes off her mask and drops into her bedroll, but she hears it once more just as she plunges into a welcoming blackness: the twisted voice of her brother, as inviting as it's repulsive, as kind as it's cruel, as warped by Mordremoth's touch as it's that of the liberated one carefully laying down next to her, and it's calling to her from somewhere deep within the haze, somewhere she hasn't gone, somewhere she wants to go, and it whispers like a long lost part of herself: I'll be here where you left me when you need to poison yourself once more.
Days pass. The next step looms. How to move forward becomes harder to see.
Or: Qirri struggles to cope with the reopened wounds of childhood trauma.
“Oh by the pinion gears- we’ll be overrun at this rate!”
It was strange, to have those thoughts rattling around in her head. Or perhaps “strange” wasn’t the exact right word. Perhaps it was better to say unsettling. It wasn’t as if she didn’t remember the events of Claw Island as clearly as if they’d happened yesterday.
Trying to breathe in the sickly mixture of briny air and the sour scent of rot and decay from the once dead shambling in their direction.
Struggling with shaking hands to try to put together a rifle turret, head down, breathing already labored, before being interrupted by someone screaming for her to move and looking up. A risen abomination. Massive, fast, barreling down on her with incredible speed.
She couldn’t move. Couldn’t react. Her rifle was right there!
Grab it, grab it GRAB IT-
Her grip tightened on the ventilator mask in her hand, checking over the crack that ran through it. No point in repairing this one- the damage was pretty severe. A total loss. Maybe she ought to consider Yao’s idea of using a modified breather like the ones some of the miners used out in the Jade Sea. She’d have to ask them to get her one she could take a look at.
Or maybe see if Joon had one. She tended to keep all sorts of tech lying around the mansion sometimes.
Deft hands began to dismantle the one she was holding, pulling out ruined filters and unscrewing the tubing that had led to the dispenser tank she kept hooked to her belt. That part seemed undamaged at least. It could be reused.
Damn ley abomination. Just her luck it would hit her just like that. Garrus’s voice crying out her name, concerned as always, still rung in her ears-
“Qirri look out!”
In the moment of time it could have taken for her to be trampled into the dirt, she found the wind knocked out of her as someone bodied her out of the way, turning around just in time to see the abomination slam into Garrus instead. She saw his arm crumple, watched him roll out of the way and hit the ground hard.
He hit the ground and he did not move.
Her shoulders curled tightly inward as she gave her head a hard shake, dispelling the memories as best she could. Of one of the charr Lionguard pulling Garrus up to get him out the gates. Of Forgal and Tybalt and dear, dear Sieran hurrying them all out to get them to safety. Of Sieran cradling her face and insisting it would be all right-
“I should have known I couldn’t rely on a child.”
“You were too little, ruby eyes. Too small, too young. I should have known you could never handle this weight. You could never be strong enough.”
“Poor, weak little ruby eyes…”
The gasp she let out was so sharp it sent her into a coughing fit. She’d been having more of them since that damn cave, harsher too, leaving a burning ache in her chest after each one. There was a doctor Rama recommended back in Seitung who may have suggestions on a higher dosage or perhaps some new medication that may soothe her lungs better.
Not that it would do much to soothe her mind. That had been Sieran’s voice, hadn’t it? But it hadn’t been Sieran. She had to remind herself of that. Sieran would never speak to her in such a way, would she?
Her ears twitched as she laid out the components of the device in front of her. Broken. Useless. Her hand went to her throat briefly, rubbing lightly, considering the burning sensation that felt as fresh and raw as it had when it was new. How much more could she push herself without her body finally giving out?
“You’re weak. Sickly and frail. You were never good enough to be my student. You were a failure as a student, and you were a failure in Maguuma.”
“You were never. Never worthy.”
She covered her mouth on another cough, only to this time be interrupted by a hand on her back, a familiar voice speaking softly as it inquired, “Chief?”
Immediately Qirri whipped her head around, blinking up at Yao as they looked back down at her. Their expression was one of clear concern, and their free hand held a small saucer on which sat a cup of steaming tea.
“Oh- Yao. I’m sorry, I- did you need something?”
“I heard you coughing so I figured you could use a break.” They moved their hand from her back, reaching over to arrange the components of her old ventilator out of the way to set the tea down in front of her. “Ginger green tea. It’s good for the lungs.”
Qirri turned her head back to look at the cup before reaching for it, pulling it closer to herself on the table. The warmth bled into her hands, and the smell of it gave her at least some small sense of grounding in all her unease and the bitter memories of the all too recent fight. “...thanks, Yao. I don’t think I’ve taken much of a break at all today.”
They chuckled at that, tugging one of her loose braids gently. “I figured.” Then, after a moment, they reached out to scrub a thumb against her cheek, brushing away tears Qirri didn’t even realize had fallen. “...are you sure you’re okay? We can see about getting you a train back. Rama, Gorrik, and I can make sure Garrus stays safe. You can get back with Taimi and Joon at the mansion.”
Her hands tightened slightly on the teacup, rasping out a gentle sigh. “No. I won’t leave Garrus alone like that. He… what if he needs me?”
“...I think he’d understand, chief. But it’s your decision. I’m not gonna press.” They stood straight after that, glancing around at all the devices and tools she had laid out around her. “...I was planning on putting on some Kaineng rice noodles for lunch. Do you want some? It’s got a hot broth. Might help your throat.”
Qirri nodded, watching for a moment as Yao started towards the door of the small room she had holed herself up in. Her ears perked, and for a moment, a thought rippled through her head. “...hey Yao?”
They blinked, then turned to look towards her, looking expectant as their hand rested against the door. “Yeah chief?”
Her mouth opened, then closed, considering what she wanted to say. She wanted Rissia. She wanted to cry. She wanted to go home. But none of those things came out. “...could you see if we can get our hands on one of those jade tech breathers the miners use? I want to tinker with it for a little bit.”
The disappointment that crossed Yao’s face was incredibly brief, and they gave her a lopsided smile in return. “You got it, chief. One breather coming up!”
They headed out the door, closing it behind them as Qirri turned back to her desk, picking up the teacup to take a good sip. It felt good going down, soothing against the burning sensation curling into her throat.
This time, though, she felt the tears start to roll down her cheeks, letting out a little hiccup before setting down the teacup and pressing her face into her hands, shoving her glasses out of the way. They were ugly, rough, painful sobs, racking her small frame as she curled forward, ears drooping, chest tight.
Summary: Commander is trying to recover from her last fight with her latest enemy. Unfortunately, it’s not a smooth sailing.
Content warnings: Mild blood and mentions of injury.
Spoilers: Heavy spoilers for What Lies Beneath (LWS6)
Title taken from José-Maria de Heredia’s sonnet, Les Conquérants.
It’s the first time she’s slept for the entirety of the night in days. Nyra’s well familiar with the blurred edges of working on interrupted, bad, or straight up absent sleep; this morning snapped into sharp focus that hasn’t left her since.
That’s all thanks to Trahearne, his calming presence and the spell he’d devised years ago to combat this very problem. With a frustrated sigh, she admits to herself she couldn’t have done it herself. Allies are a good thing after all, she jokes inwardly, though it fails to produce more than passing, brief amusement. These days, few things can.
Do you plan on organising any Wintersday related fanfic exchange, with prompts and everything, this year? 🤩🎄
Hello! Unfortunately I don’t have any plans for exchanges or prompts this Wintersday. The library has been quiet due to me having a toddler to chase around nowadays.
But if I see any fics tagging the blog I’ll be sure to reblog them here as I see them!
“Name,” said the clerk, with the drollness of someone who had been forced to say the same thing far too many times.
Dutifully, they gave her their name.
“Species.”
They opened their mouth. Closed it. “Sylvari?” they offered weakly. “Do you know what that–”
The clerk didn’t bat an eye. “Reason for travel.”
Oh, okay. I guess she knows what I am.
“...Business,” they decided.
“Date of birth.”
“1325 AE–”
“Mouvelian calendar?”
“Er, yes,” they replied, caught off-guard. “Do you use a different one here?”
The clerk ignored them, reaching to the side for some small, flat jade device, where she proceeded to type furiously. “1835 CC,” she concluded, her… calculations? complete.
“Uh… yes? I suppose?”
‘Hm,” she said, disgruntled—which was the first sign of emotion the Commander had seen from her thus far.
That did not bode well for them.
“Children seventeen and under must have the signed permission of a parent or responsible guardian in order to travel,” she informed them.
Nope, it did not bode well at all.
“You… are looking at me, right?” they asked incredulously. “Do I look like a child to you?”
“I’ve never heard of your species; I wouldn’t know,” she replied blandly. “Your date of birth says you’re under eighteen, therefore–”
“Uhhh, wait, wait wait,” they said hastily. “Did I say 1325 AE? I meant, er, 1315 AE. I am definitely over twenty–”
She leveled them with a stern look that made them feel like a sapling all over again. “Nice try,” she said. “Children seventeen and under must have the signed permission of a parent or responsible guardian in order to travel. Get permission before you come back.”
“But I don’t have parents,” they exclaimed. “Not like humans, I mean. I was born from the Pale Tree as a fully functional adult–”
“Then get the tree’s signed permission. Have a nice day.”
“She’s in Tyria, I can’t just…”
They trailed off, staring into the clerk’s dull, empty eyes. There would be no mercy to be found here.
“...Please,” they finished weakly. “Please don’t make me wait in line again.”
“Next. Number 184.”
They slunk away from the reception desk, dejected. Considered whether it would be worth the international incident if they simply broke into New Kaineng illegally. Surely they wouldn’t notice one sylvari, right?
…But no, they had already caused a heap of trouble that had necessitated an entire convoy of diplomats. They couldn’t, in good conscience, load any more onto Kasmeer’s plate.
Wait. Kasmeer. She was over eighteen, right?
They pulled out their communicator. “Kasmeer?” they asked. “Kasmeer, are you there?”
“Yes, Commander? Did you get your travel papers?”
“Kasmeer, would you describe yourself as a responsible adult human over eighteen years of age?”
“...I’m… a little afraid of where you’re going with this, Commander, but… yes.”
They grinned. “Perfect. Oh, this is perfect. Don’t move, Kasmeer, I’ll be right there.”
Librarian Ink has been hard at work dusting off ancient tomes and getting ready to stock brand new stories! She’s found a whole stack suited just for this time of the year, full of Wintersday fun and merriment (and maybe some angst hidden in there too).
For the rest of the month any Wintersday themed fic tagged with #tyriaslibrary or mentioning @tyrias-library will be reblogged here (and lovingly tended to by Librarian Ink!) Share what you’ve come up with and join in the holiday spirit!
Guild Wars 2 Creator Week is an open event running from July 10th to July 17th!
The goal is to provide inspiration to, and showcase, all the talented creators in this community! Every day will have a set prompt, although these are left open ended - I’ve provided a few suggestions for ideas below each but go wild with them!
Submissions can be in absolutely any format - art, writing, gifs, screenshots, videos, even just short personal thoughts on each prompt!
You can participate in as many or as few days as you like, and late submissions are more than welcome.
Prompts below!
July 10th - Dragon.
What’s your favourite Elder Dragon? How do your characters feel about the Dragons? Any headcanons about them? If you could design your own, what would its powers / influence be?
July 11th - Magic.
Magic touches the lives of almost all citizens of Tyria, even in the most mundane ways. How do your characters use magic in day to day life? What is your favourite profession? What new classes / elite specs would you like to see?
July 12th - Food.
Tyria is full of tasty (and not so tasty) food. Do your characters have any fun food related memories? Any traditional meals to their cultures? What food would you most like to try?
July 13th - Pact.
Is your character a member of the pact? If they are not the Commander, how do they feel about them? Do they feel the Pact is doing its job, or would they like to see change? What’s your favourite Order?
July 14th - Festival.
Got a favourite festival? Do your characters have any notable memories around them? Are there any festivals they can’t stand? What’s your favourite activity?
July 15th - Fauna.
A day to explore the many diverse creatures of Tyria! What’s your favourite? What one can you just not stand? Do your characters have any pets or mounts?
July 16th - Destiny.
Do your characters believe in destiny? What about Aurene, and how she fulfilled her destiny? Can destiny be changed?
July 17th - The Mists.
Do your characters worship any Gods? Do they ever visit the Mists? What do they believe happens after death? Do they have any unique religious / spiritual practices? On the other hand, this prompt could also be about PvP and WvW!
No one ever imagines they would get themselves in a situation, where they remember nothing. That does not happen in a regular daily life, or so I assume. Now it feels difficult to imagine what regularity even entails, to someone else, or even more, to me. I think it might be easiest to start with the things I do recall. I am Nettle, Valiant of Wyld Hunt and Magister of Priory. I also remember being recently appointed as the commander of the new alliance of the three Tyrian orders. Under Marshal Trahearne, we liberated the Claw Island, and began our quest to defeat Zhaitan once and for all.
The Dragon, one called Aurene, told me that she brought me back from a brink of death. I was shot by a magically imbued arrow, and somehow the aftermath of that caused me to lose significant amount of my memories. She told me many things, many I couldn’t believe were possible and that still need time to settle in my mind. To think, three dragons slain, yet one who is an ally, a friend? I do have to admit that this one is so far the most magnificent I’ve seen. The way the light shines on her crystalline scales reminds me of the purest jewels, and although she is a dragon, there is comfort, not terror, in her presence.
Although it’s increasingly frustrating that the smallest details of past escape me, and even the parts I do remember are as if behind a cloud of thick fog, not being able to remember is not the worst part about my current situation. It is the looks of other people, who come to me as if to ask something, but their words stop even before they are said aloud. They look apologetic, or pitying, and slink away at the first chance. I almost wish I knew what to say to them, just to avoid seeing that look, over and over again.
At least some of them still talk to me, such as the norn, Braham Eirsson. I only remember meeting Eir once or twice, but it’s clear that both keep their heart - and their guilt - at their sleeves. Still, I welcome his company as he tells me about the recent events, or the far past, how we came to meet. The vision pool that Aurene showed me is also a part of this strange re-learning, it is almost if I were truly there - which in an unique way is true, even if the real experience escapes my mind. Braham hardly talks about Eir, and when I one day ask Rytlock about it, I understand why. Some things are just too painful to recall. How many of my memories I will come to regret remembering again?
One thing that has been a vital help for discovering myself are the various notes and writings the past me left behind. Three bound journals, almost bursting with names, locations, happenings, weather report, conversations, thoughts, plans. Ze was methodical to the point it must have seemed unnecessary by other people, but I can’t help but offer my thanks to myself. I feel I would be even more lost without this guidance.
Tucked inside one of the journals, I find letters. They are all addressed to me, by someone I cannot recall, or not have even seen yet in the Eye of North, where I currently reside. Somehow, reading the letters feels like I’m prying into someone else’s life, as absurd it might seem. The writer certainly cares about me a great deal, that much is evident, and he must have been dear to me as well. Yet, I find myself at loss, surrounded by all the writing I do not know how to respond. Am I still the same person who fell in love with him, if I do not remember him?
I found a pouch of sweet-smelling tea in my things, and I can make out a faint smell of jasmine. Then, for a moment, I can see a face, gentle, peaceful, beautiful, and although I did read his name from the letters, now I also do remember it. Nisienn.
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.
Glaw was putting out metaphorical fires at the Eye of the North when the call came through the comms of the Commander’s return. The past week had been a harrying blur of doing menial tasks for the various Pact members at the Hall and taking missions to exterminate Primordus’ minions around Tyria wherever they cropped up.
All of them were being worn to the bone. Then Crecia had put in the last call, an emergency at Lake Doric, with not destroyers at the front line but icebrood. It had been a few hours before Glaw had heard from any of the four that had gone to handle the issue. Truth be told, he was beginning to get worried. When the comms finally buzzed with Rook’s tired tone, Glaw let the tension holding his shoulders stiff release. He set down the crate of supplies he was carrying and ignored the supervising asura’s squawking as he up and left. His feet took him to the asuran gate that sat in the courtyard, and it wasn’t long before the fluctuating purple split to spit out Rook and Rytlock.
Rook wore a troubled look on her face, and she murmured a few words to Rytlock before they went different ways. Glaw intercepted the Commander as she was heading towards the central hall.
The memories of Dubhan still, occasionally, haunt Aengus. The courtier's love that turned into twisted obsession. Tonight, the moon barely illuminating the world past the purple fog, was one.
He hadn't been able to sleep. He couldn't bring himself to go to bed. There was some comfort, though, in Kahedins joining him as he walked through the Grove. The luminary stayed at his side, smiling despite his yawn.
The mesmer wanted to stop hurting over the courtier, he wanted to be happy in loving his beloved firstborn. But the memories, the good times he had with his ex-beloved, still haunt. The times before he'd fallen to Nightmare, when he would laugh and happily pick up the raven…
His heart twisted at the thoughts, he couldn't keep walking. Kahedins' voice, gentle and loving, cut through the echoing memory of Dubhan's.
"Aengus," Kahedins said, reaching a hand to take his, "sit, dear. Sit down."
Into the slightly dew damp grass, the tall sylvari sat. His breathing irregular, trying to fight his mind from those memories.
Kahedins took his hand, gently kissed the palm and each finger. He moved to the other hand, did the same. He could sense the slow calming of his beloved, sense his mind coming back to the current.
The luminary pulled himself to sit upon his beloved's lap. He kissed him, quick and gentle. Aengus tilted his head down, to press his forehead into his shoulder. Their fingers intertwined.
"Thank you," The raven whispered, "I love you."
"I love you too, dear… and don't thank me for this, I promised I would help you."
Aengus shifted his head to gently kiss Kahedins' neck. "I'm... happy with you."
"I'm glad." The guardian smiled warmly, watching the gentle blend of their glowing hands.
His beloved had been hurt. But he would do anything to help... and he will, so long as his beloved lets him. Even small things, such as never calling him the term Dubhan used.
"Beloved," Aengus's voice broke his thoughts, "are you tired? We… can go back to our garden."
"Not yet," a response punctuated with a yawn, "I want to stay like this a bit longer."
Kahedins ended up falling asleep on Aengus' lap. They slept in the grass that night.
Have you wrote something in the past 5 months? Want it reblogged here for all the library’s followers to see?
If so, please dm or send an ask or submit a link to it! I’d love to catch up on the back log of fic I’ve missed but don’t have the energy to search so far back. And if you tag any new fic with #tyriaslibrary I’ll be able to see that, too.
I’m starting to save any fics I see as drafts until I can get the energy to read them, so hopefully we’ll be back up and running at least a little bit soon!
And those of you who have new ongoing stories I see you too 😌
Thanks to all still here, and I hope you can look forward to seeing more fic soon!
