So… I got back into GW2… to have something ‘new’ to play with Tharash (we actually played it a few years ago, but due to a glitch with a cutscene we stopped abruptly and never returned until about 6 weeks ago) – and… well… I fell in love again at level 60. So I wrote about it.
I wrote, in fact, 20K words (so far) of random fluff and adventure about my Sylvari knight, Caoilfhionn the Orchid Prince, and his falling in love with the “””creepy””” (charming, nerdy, awkward, adorable) necromancer Trahearne. Caoilfhionn is pronounced “kee-lin”, according to the internet, because Irish (one of the Sylvari linguistic inspirations, along with Welsh) is like that. If you’re Irish or familiar with it (I am not?) it is actually a feminine name, because I was going to make a female Sylvari, but I didn’t really like the female Sylvari voice (and it’s Jennifer Hale? But it just didn’t fit the aesthetic I wanted (speaking of voice actors HOW is Matt Mercer the male Norn PC? It sounds nothing like him! He’s so good)) or most of the default faces as much as I liked the male Sylvari voice (much sweeter! Even if it lacks energy a lot of the time) and default faces. And I still liked the name, and have no gender associations with it, so I hope you can forgive me for using it anyway.
I’ve completed the basegame story, up to Victory or Death, so please no spoilers, I like finding out Caoilfhionn’s reactions in real-time. Scenes skip around because the actual story of GW2 is… spotty in quality and pacing, and I didn’t feel it was worth the effort to fix everything, so you will probably enjoy this fic more if you’ve played the game than not. This section goes up to the end of the level 30 Sylvari quest, with hints of other simultaneous level 10-30 questlines.
This story involves Tharash’s input and characters so heavily that it’s very nearly co-written – at least, all the non-fluffy parts are co-written. I have a good sense for Sylvari culture, but for example all the Asura dialogue is by Tharash, because I haven’t a clue with those hilarious little twerps. As you might expect, he has no personal interest in a romance with Trahearne, so those parts are ALL ME. (also here is a picture of his immediate siblings!)
Caoilfhionn probably listens to a lot of Enya.
It’s a nice break from Murlesson’s story! I’m not editing this too closely, I’m not trying to push it to a higher level (like with SWTOR or MEA), I’m just having fun putting some OCs in a really neat world. And Caoilfhionn falls in love at first sight, because of course he does. Like, that’s actually a Sylvari thing.
EDIT: Extended the Level 10 story snippet as it is romantic and is therefore relevant. : )
EDIT 2: I somehow missed that Trahearne is Cycle of Dusk, not Cycle of Night, because I was avoiding his wiki page for fear of spoilers. So some of my nice ‘night’ symbolism is messed up now, oops.
EDIT 3: I’ve been convinced to make these chapters a reasonable size. I’m not re-uploading them, but here’s the mini table of contents for this section:
– 1: Hope’s Just a Sunrise Away (Birth)
– 2: True Love (Level 10 quests)
– 3: Elementalists and Embroidery (Interlude)
– 4: Love at First Sight (Level 20 quests)
– 5: A Friend to All (Level 30 Human quest)
– 6: The First to Die (Level 30 quests)
– 7: A Valiant’s Quest (Level 30 quests)
– 8: Denial (Trahearne)
The Necromancer and the Orchid Prince
Fear not this night
You will not go astray
Though shadows fall
Still the stars find their wayAnd you can always be strong
Lift your voice with the first light of dawnDawn’s just a heartbeat away
Hope’s just a sunrise away
1: Hope’s Just a Sunrise Away (Birth)
He started up from lying down to sitting, disoriented by the change of setting – this was not a forest grove filled with the malicious shadow of a dragon! This was a hut built of leaves, and he lay on a bed of leaves, and dressed in simple brown clothes. “Where am I? I… I was fighting a great evil. Are we safe? Caithe – where is Caithe!?”
A kindly looking Sylvari bent over him, reaching out a hand to prevent him from jumping to his feet. “Steady, sapling. You just woke. You were calling out in your Dream. Caithe was just here, but she had to go speak to the Pale Tree. What’s your name?”
“Caoilfhionn,” he said. “Caithe and I fought side by side against a poison in the Dream. I saw the shadow of a terrible dragon, and I felt the Dream call upon me to defeat it.” Even now, the adrenaline, the darkness caught at his breath and made his hands tremble.
“By the Tree!” exclaimed the Mender. “A Wyld Hunt, so soon? And such a momentous task. To be a Valiant of the Wyld Hunt is a difficult charge.” He smiled at him. “Bear this calling with pride.”
That was right. If he was a Valiant, he was a knight – and a knight was his pride and his honour. “I will. But… how do I begin? One does not simply awaken and rush off to face a dragon.”
“Begin here,” said the Mender. “I am Mender Serimon. You will be in my care for the rest of the day, to recover and prepare to explore the world around you. Another is already here, perhaps you would like to speak with him. Or perhaps you would like something to eat – the sun is just rising.”
“The sun!” Caoilfhionn exclaimed. “I must see it. I have so longed to see it!”
“Mind your eyes, do not look directly at it or they will burn to blindness,” Mender Serimon cautioned him, and gestured to the door.
Standing was a little wobbly – for the first step, and then he walked – and then he ran to the door, barefoot, to see a glorious green wilderness soaked in golden light. Leaves splashing across his vision, vines curling about everything, gorgeous blue and red butterflies glittering amidst yellow and violet flowers. His eyes smarted just looking upon the brilliance of all the colours, perceiving these vivid hues for the first time, and he squinted for a few minutes. Did everyone have eyes this sensitive, or was it just because he was brand new?
A few minutes later he was on top of the hut, arms outstretched, eyes closed, feeling the incredible humid warmth wash over his fresh new skin. If this was The World, he could get used to this! The view that was revealed when he opened his eyes – indescribable! He’d dreamed too of far-off vistas, of seeing what the world was, and this first taste of it left him speechless. This place, on the upper edge of the Grove, must be the most beautiful place in the world, with a view of the Grove to the north, and the tangled lushness of the jungle to the west, and the ocean to the east where the golden sun had just crept over the edge of the horizon. And above them all, the Pale Tree towered, tremendous and beautiful, sheltering them all in her shade.
He heard a faint call and turned to see a couple Sylvari passing by below. “Happy birthday,” said one, grinning, waving.
“Thank you,” he said with a polite bow, barely able to contain the joy bubbling up inside him. He wanted to do everything, see everything, know everything, all at once! He wanted to dance, to sing as his Mother had sang in her song to him while he was still Dreaming, so though he knew no songs yet other than that one, he threw back his head and let it out. “Lift your voice with the first light of dawn!” They laughed with him, cheering good-naturedly.
It took him an hour to come back down, and then he discovered food, and then he discovered a mirror: so he could finally see what he looked like. He’d known he had blue skin, the colour of dark forget-me-nots, with peach streaks in the veins, but now he knew his large round eyes were also a pale peachy-pink, and his leaves the colour of purple orchids. His narrow chin tapered into tiny tendrils that might be mistaken for a slight beard on a Human, and his ears were like little buds newly opened. Quite frankly, if he only had proper clothes, he’d cut a rather striking figure. He preened for a bit, adjusting his leaves to lie just so – and saw them immediately spring back to their previous position. Oh well. They already looked handsome if he left them.
A low, resonant chuckle caught his attention, and he turned around to see another Sylvari, green, pinecone-headed, with pale green eyes watching him. “Are you about done, Brother?” He had much more of a tendril-beard, and a much fiercer face compared to Caoilfhionn’s soft and innocent look.
“For now,” he said, smiling at the newcomer. “I’m Caoilfhionn.”
“I’m Cathaoir. I was born some hours ago. I do not like to be kept here…”
“Nor I,” Caoilfhionn agreed, “but I have my doubts of starting a Wyld Hunt on my birthday…”
“You are chosen for a Wyld Hunt?” Cathaoir asked in surprise. “What is it about?”
“I believe I must slay a dragon,” Caoilfhionn said, eyes sparkling with delight. “I do not know if I can, but I shall certainly try, for what could be more glorious?”
“What could be more glorious indeed,” Cathaoir said. “I wish you good fortune! I have decided to become a Warden.”
“You would be suited for it,” Caoilfhionn said, looking at Cathaoir’s body with some admiration. He himself was quite slender, and thin-and-smooth-skinned, but Cathaoir looked strong and tough, with thick bark skin.
“Do you think so? Thank you. I may not see as much of Tyria as you will, but surely I shall prove my mettle ere long in service to the Pale Tree. And that is what truly matters, of course.”
And thus they talked throughout the day, walking about the hut and immediate grounds, gazing out over the sea that spread below them. Other new-borns came in – a female named Eithne, spring-yellow with lush green fern-like fronds, who apparently had not formed with a nose; a male named Ruadhan, withered-leaf-brown with scarlet brambles for hair, even more bark-clad than Cathaoir and a face so craggy it was hard to tell if he had a nose either, and a female named Blathnat, pale pink like a tulip with autumn-red and green grass upon her head.
They talked of many things, and shortly after Ruadhan came but before Blathnat had yet arrived, Ruadhan said: “We must title each other!”
“Why do you say so?” Eithne asked, putting her head to one side and letting her fronds hang like willow branches. “Surely we shall soon enough have titles anyway.”
“Ah, but anyone could be a Warden, or a Valiant, or a Hunter, or a Mender,” said Ruadhan. “I want us to have special titles, that we use amongst ourselves. Like the humans do.”
“Like nicknames?” Cathaoir said curiously. He did not seem to be nearly as set on the idea, yet he wasn’t speaking against it, either.
“I suppose,” Ruadhan said. “But – Cathaoir, you must be the Pine Marquess.”
Cathaoir laughed. “I accept. But only if you become the Briar Baronet.”
Ruadhan tossed his spiky vines. “I accept! Brilliant, Cathaoir! Thank you.”
“That was simple enough,” Eithne said. “What shall I be then, O Giver of Peerage?”
Ruadhan thought for a while. “Truly, I am not sure what to offer you, of the sun-touched bark…”
“The Sun’s Squire,” Caoilfhionn said.
“Ah! That’s it!” Ruadhan nodded decisively.
“That is lovely,” Eithne said. “I shall hunt in honour of the sun, for I was born full in her rays. And Caoilfhionn?”
They all looked at him and he ducked his head bashfully. “I dare not give myself a title, dear siblings.” But he was anxious to know what they would pick, all the same.
“He must be a Prince,” said a new voice, and they turned to see the one with pink skin being brought in to be with them. “Hello, my siblings, I am Blathnat.”
“A pleasure to meet you!” Caoilfhionn said, and they all introduced themselves. “But why a Prince?”
Blathnat smiled with a trace of smugness, gathering her leaves into a tail. “For I can see already, you have the look of a Prince, and the manner of one too. Even in such poor attire as you have now – not that I blame the Menders for this is all they have – your bearing and charm shine through.”
Caoilfhionn covered his face in embarrassment. “Oh, come. I am no Prince. But you speak of attire, would you help me with such?”
“The Tulip Countess!” cried Ruadhan, pointing at her.
“Splendid,” she said. “And my dear Orchid Prince, I would be utterly delighted to have a guinea pig- that is, model for what I plan to create with my needle. Oh, I have ambitions!”
“The youngest of us so far, and the most ambitious, even above the Valiant,” Eithne said, laughing. “Sister dear, were we not already so closely birthed, I should like to adopt you.”
Blathnat hugged her taller sister. “That is dear of you. Well, Caoilfhionn? You have not said that you accept yet!”
“Me, the Orchid Prince?” Caoilffhion protested.
“I actually think it suits you,” Cathaoir said.
“Come, give in,” said Eithne. “No one need know of it besides us.”
“Very well,” Caoilfhionn said. “I shall wear it in secret, and try to live up to it.” Once he got past the grandiose nature of the title, it was terribly romantic and he loved it.
“And we five were born this day,” said Cathaoir, looking out the window to see the sun had set. “Hail, siblings!”
“Hail!” said Eithne, dancing for joy. “Though our paths part us, ever shall we be close in spirit. Especially with Caoilfhionn, for he has the hardest part.”
Caoilfhionn laughed. “Oh, Eithne, I will not be the only one with challenges to overcome. But I thank you.”
Ruadhan reached over and messed up his leaves. “Ah, but you’re the scrawniest of us all, and you’re to go on a Wyld Hunt? For an Elder Dragon? Good fortune, my Valiant Brother.”
“You doubt him?” Blathnat said, resting her hands on her hips as Caoilfhionn patted down his leaves.
“Nay, Sister, only that if he were a little sturdier, he might find it easier.”
“Oh well, I cannot change that,” Caoilfhionn said. “And at least I have magic to aid me.” He twirled a hand, conjuring up a tiny spark of flame to illuminate the darkening room. He’d been experimenting with it ever since he felt the flow of magic within him. Everyone had a little magic, but it seemed he himself had a lot. He had already decided to be an elementalist. It had come so easily to him in the Dream, surely he could do well with it in waking life.
“That you do,” Blathnat said. “And once I get my hands upon a needle, you shall be clothed as you wish, as well.”
“For which I’m ever so grateful,” Caoilfhionn said. All his problems were solved! He hoped that they would ever be so easy – and in his newborn innocence, ignored the feeling that they wouldn’t.
Cathaoir clapped his hands. “Then let us to bed, brothers and sisters, for we have a busy life beginning tomorrow! Sleep well, all!”
2: True Love (Level 10 quests)
Caoilfhionn was only a few weeks old, fresh and new and brimming over with eager life – well, that wasn’t saying much, most Sylvari were, even many of the older ones. The world happened very quickly, but he was quick himself, and though he sometimes floundered, it never stopped him having fun and indulging his curiosity.
>For now, he was infiltrating a camp of the Nightmare Court with his new friend Tiachren, to rescue Tiachren’s lover, Ysvelta. The Court had taken in the two young Sylvari knights as new recruits, and Caoilfhionn stared all about him in fascination. The Courtiers looked like normal Sylvari, though they tended towards wearing brambles and sharp-edged leaves more than the Sylvari of the Dream, but he could feel their hearts were unkind. He… could not disguise his own heart, and hoped they would simply explain his demeanour to themselves as ‘fresh from the pod’. Their glances were sharp as they took note of him and Tiachren, but he really just felt emboldened. What a dare it was, to be walking plainly through a camp of those who would murder him instantly should they know his real plan!
Tiachren was looking in every direction as well, and as they reached the back of the grove near to a waterfall, he gave an exclamation and hurried forwards. “My beloved Ysvelta! Thank the Pale Tree, you’re all right. Quickly, come with me. We have to get out of here!” His face was a beautiful expression of love and hope, alight in a way Caoilfhionn had never seen on anyone before.
Ysvelta was a lovely woman, with skin a shade lighter blue than Caoilfhionn’s and dressed in beautiful clothes of lavender, green, and gold, with a face given to enchanting smiles and a voice given to bell-like laughter. She let Tiachren take her hand, but she shook her head and smiled, leading him towards the waterfall. “No, Tiachren. I cannot go with you.”
“But Ysvelta, I don’t understand. Don’t you love me?”
Ysvelta reached up to stroke his face tenderly. “With all my heart, dear knight! We will both stay. Come with me, and we will thrive in the garden of Nightmare.”
Tiachren gasped and drew back. “These people are evil. You aren’t one of them. Return to the Grove with me, and put all this behind you.”
“I cannot, love,” Ysvelta said, looking up at him pleadingly. “The Nightmare Court has shown me the truth. Ventari’s Tablet is false; the Pale Tree is lying to us. Don’t you understand?”
“I-I… I do not,” Tiachren said, his voice shaking. “Ysvelta, what are you saying!?”
“It is marvelous!” Ysvelta said, smiling more widely, even as she pulled away from Tiachren. “I have been chosen to lead the next attack on the village of Astorea. The Court will free them – and I will free you.”
“I-I… I…” Caoilfhionn could veritably hear Tiachren’s heart breaking as his voice cracked.
“So it’s true,” Caoilfhionn murmured to himself. “Once you join the Nightmare Court, you change. Ysvelta, you cannot return to the Dream, can you?”
“No!” Tiachren burst out. “I can’t accept that. I won’t!” He knelt before Ysvelta. “Please, my love-” Ysvelta laughed merrily and turned to leave. “Wait, where are you going? Come back!”
She turned to smile at him, but there was a hard edge in it. “If you love me, Tiachren, then meet me where our hearts began! You remember the place…”
“Ysvelta!” Tiachren jumped to his feet, reaching out for her, but she had cast an illusion and disappeared. “Where have you gone? What have they done to you, my love? Ysvelta!”
Caoilfhionn grabbed his arm. “Get hold of yourself, Tiachren! We must leave, now!” Caithe had materialized out of the shadows, daggers drawn, beckoning to them. “Come on, Tiachren!”
When they had killed Renvari and won free of that dreadful shadowy place, Tiachren stopped, running his hands feverishly over his leaves. “They forced her to say those things. Ysvelta isn’t evil. She’d never fall to Nightmare. If I could get her away from those courtiers, I know I could bring her back to the Dream.”
Caithe shook her head. “I warned you that we might be too late, Tiachren. Nightmare never relinquishes those it has enthralled. You must let her go. If you chase Ysvelta, you will fall into Nightmare as well. We must grieve her loss – and move on.”
“How can you be so certain?” Caoilfhionn demanded. “Surely some have returned to the Dream…?” His question faltered halfway through.
“I am certain,” Caithe said quietly. “You must believe me.” She turned away, brisk and stern. “Ysvelta said the Nightmare Court is going to attack Astorea Village. Are we going to risk innocent lives to chase Tiachren’s futile hopes?”
Tiachren drew himself up resolutely. “You must do as you think best, Firstborn. As for me, I will not abandon Ysvelta. Caoilfhionn, you’ve been a good friend. Please, be my friend now – help me save her. Whatever they’ve done, love can heal it.”
“Don’t throw your life away,” Caithe said to him.
“Caithe, I’m sorry… but Ysvelta is my reason for living. Without her, I am already dead.”
Caoilfhionn hesitated, but not for want of decisiveness. Tiachren’s belief was so strong, so overwhelming, it caught his breath. Was that what it was like to be in love? “I will go with you, Tiachren. I will help you bring back Ysvelta.”
Tiachren’s face lit up in joy. “Thank you, Caoilfhionn, for believing in love! Living or dead, I must go to Ysvelta. She is my world.”
Caithe’s hands clenched into fists; she did not normally let slip any emotion, but now Caoilfhionn felt a wave of pain from her. “A fool’s world, Tiachren, built upon delusions. Love until your heart breaks; it will not change the truth. I go to warn the villagers of Astorea.” She walked away, vanishing into the undergrowth.
“Come quickly!” Tiachren cried, beckoning to Caoilfhionn. “Ysvelta said I’d find her where we first fell in love. Let us go to her as swiftly as we may!”
But as they journeyed, he began to sober. “Caoilfhionn… if… if Caithe is right, and I am on a fool’s errand…” He paused, unwilling to speak on. Caoilfhionn waited. “Do not kill her. I… do not want to kill her, and yet I would not suffer any other to…”
“I will not fight her,” Caoilfhionn promised. At least, not unless Tiachren were dead first. “I will protect you against all else.” He paused. “What is it like to love so truly?”
Tiachren could not help a broad, beaming smile. “It is… indescribable, really. I’ve already told you how she is to me – my light, my world, my life. But how love makes me feel…” He thought. “It makes me feel like a better person. That I would ever do my utmost to make her happy, for her mere presence makes me the happiest among men. And she has said the same.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Caoilfhionn said, smiling back at him. “I should like to feel that way someday.”
“I wish you the best of fortune,” Tiachren said, patting him on the shoulder, sounding very wise for all that he was really only a few months older than Caoilfhionn.
A couple hours later, they came to a sheltered jungle garden. Tiachren breathed deeply. “This place holds many memories for us. Perhaps I can use those memories to entice Ysvelta back to the Dream. This was our private garden. Ah, Ysvelta! You still remember.” He nodded decisively. “We can save her! Love will find a way.”
There were several people inside, but Tiachren ignored almost all of them, pointing suddenly. “Look! There she is. My lady is so beautiful. Quickly, before I lose heart.”
Tiachren pushed boldly through the ferns to approach Ysvelta, who sat demurely at the top of a little hill, but Caoilfhionn found himself stopped by one of the Nightmare courtiers. “Welcome, stranger. Mistress Ysvelta waits for Tiachren, but you are also welcome to join Nightmare.”
“I’m not here to join you,” Caoilfhionn said sharply. “I’m here to save Ysvelta.”
The courtier shook her head and chuckled. “You speak so passionately, but you don’t know. She’s already saved – and soon too shall be Tiachren.”
“You won’t touch him,” Caoilfhionn said fiercely. “I’ll stop you.” Though the odds were against them; there was the two of them, against four courtiers, two with bows, two with daggers – and Ysvelta, if it came to that.
The courtier smiled. “We shall see.”
“My love, I knew you would come,” Ysvelta said to Tiachren, who knelt before her. “Do you remember? This is the clearing where you first said you loved me.” She smiled gently at him.
“I still bear the shield you gave me that day,” Tiachren said, pulling the Shield of the Moon from his back. “I still love you. I want you by my side again. Please listen to me – the tablet guides us. It bears wisdom, but encourages each Sylvari to decide their own path. It’s not evil, and neither is the Mother Tree. You’ve been deceived.”
Ysvelta rose gracefully to her feet with a laugh – and that hard edge was back. “Oh, dear heart. The Nightmare hasn’t deceived me. It has freed me! It can free you, as well. Leave behind Ventari’s shackles and take my hand.” She reached out to him, a proud, sinister light in her eyes that did not suit her. “Together, we will conquer Astorea, and then the Grove. We will bring Nightmare to the Pale Tree herself – and free our people, forever.”
Caoilfhionn pushed his way past the other courtiers. “Listen to her, Tiachren. Nightmare has changed her. Is this truly the woman you love?”
Tiachren’s head fell, his face crumpling with pain. “No. Ysvelta wouldn’t say such things. I… Forgive me, my love. I would give everything I have to bring you back, but I cannot follow you where you now stand.” He rose, and turned to go – even now, he would not fight her, would he?
Ysvelta’s face twisted with fury. “No! You can’t leave me. You mustn’t.” She lunged forward and grabbed his arm, clinging to it with impassioned longing. “I would die for you… and I will kill to have you!”
The courtiers turned on Caoilfhionn, and he flung himself forwards, desperately flinging up a shield of Earth around himself to ward off the initial strikes. Then he was upon the closest one, stabbing him with a blade of Earth and darting off again before they could catch him.
Ysvelta was struggling against Tiachren, who was holding her back from throwing herself at Caoilfhionn. “You took him from me! I’ll kill you!”
“Ysvelta, stop!” Tiachren cried. “Please, don’t do this!”
They would not attack Tiachren; Ysvelta still had hopes of turning him once she had gotten rid of Caoilfhionn, he knew. So for now it was time to zig-zag between the shrubs and try to get the others off his back. He heard Ysvelta cry out; Tiachren had pushed her aside to draw his sword and come to Caoilfhionn’s aid – and none too soon, for he tripped over a fallen log, landing on his side, a courtier standing over him with blades raised. Tiachren fell upon that one and stabbed him through the chest. Caoilfhionn scrambled up, sending a blast of fire out at the other dagger-wielding courtier, the first wave of a deluge of fire that caught the courtier and burned her entirely, screaming. Tiachren had raised his shield against the other archer, and now charged against him.
The three of them faced each other. Ysvelta’s face was dark with anger, but she softened it as she looked on Tiachren. “My beloved Tiachren. Love me as you once did, and all can be mended between us. I will fight to my last for you.”
Tiachren went to her and took her in his arms, and kissed her. “Ysvelta, stop. Come back to me. Let go of the Nightmare.”
She snarled suddenly and shoved him away, sending him tumbling back down the hill. As he picked himself up, she raised her arms. “Creatures of Nightmare, rise up, show your power!”
Spiders and wolves dashed from the undergrowth; whether they were real or manifestations of Ysvelta’s mesmeric power, Caoilfhionn couldn’t tell and it didn’t really matter. “I have them!”
“Right,” Tiachren said grimly. As Caoilfhionn laid down Fire and Earth before the bestial enemies before them, Tiachren drew his sword against and walked towards Ysvelta – and struck against the bubble shield that she had thrown up at the last moment.
For the first time, Ysvelta’s voice faltered. “Please, Tiachren. Why are you doing this?”
“I have no choice, love,” Tiachren said thickly. “Please believe me. I can’t allow you to hurt anyone.” Another blow, and the shield shattered.
Ysvelta cried out. “I love you! I always have… always will…”
Tiachren, already weeping, pulled her impaled form to him in a last embrace. “My beloved Ysvelta… Forgive me…”
Slowly, he lowered her still body to the ground, and knelt beside her, covering his face with his hands – and they were yellow with her sap.
Caoilfhionn slowly approached the young knight. “I’m sorry, Tiachren. I hoped that you were right. I wish we could have brought her back to the Dream.”
Tiachren sobbed, his handsome face creased with grief. “Caithe was right… My heart is broken. I… I can’t feel anything but pain and emptiness. I’ve lost my true love. I don’t know what to do.”
Caoilfhionn knelt beside him and gently reached out to him. He didn’t know what to do either. This was all far beyond his experience, and the grief radiating from Tiachren was drowning him in its intensity. He ached in sympathy, body and soul, but to understand the death of someone beloved… He could not comprehend it. At his touch, Tiachren turned and embraced him, his tears falling onto his coat, and Caoilfhionn pulled him close with his arms about his shoulders.
The words came slowly, softly, and he hoped they did more help than harm. “Try to remember Ysvelta as she was before all of this. Remember her sweetness, her light, her love. Tell others about her, and let those memories soothe you. The real Ysvelta loved you. She would be proud of you for standing strong. For trying so hard to rescue her.”
“You’re right,” Tiachren said. “She would want me to remember us as we were that day in the forest, when we sang beneath the sun.” He wept on. “But it is so hard…”
“Maybe we should speak with the Mother Tree,” Caoilfhionn said.
“Yes… yes. Perhaps she can ease my mind. Nothing will ease my heart… Let us return to the Grove.” But just for another moment, he had to lean his head into Caoilfhionn’s shoulder and squeeze a little harder. Caoilfhionn bore it patiently.
He had a lot to think about. He had not imagined that such pain could be possible – certainly, it was not that surprising, the Dream had hinted that the world was a dangerous and often cruel place, but he had just never bothered to think about it before. Why should he? He had no personal basis for comparison until now.
And yet to see Tiachren’s undying, loyal, believing love for Ysvelta… By the Pale Tree, he wanted that. To love someone so much you would die for them – as Tiachren would have, if Caoilfhionn hadn’t been there – was an idea that thrilled him from his leaves to his toes. To near-glow with joy, as Tiachren had when speaking of Ysvelta, upon seeing her, before learning of her transformation, to have someone to champion, to have someone to inspire him to great and valiant deeds… Even if he and his hypothetical love were parted and he experienced the same grief that tormented Tiachren, he still wanted it with every fiber of his being.
But who might he love? And who might love him in return? Anyone might do… but he wanted someone kind… someone gentle… someone whom he could admire in everything they did, someone as romantic as he was. Man, woman, Human, Norn, he didn’t care, only that they could be beautiful to him.
3: Elementalists and Embroidery (Interlude)
Caoilfhionn stared at the Asura. He’d never seen one before, and to see a being so small and yet so self-assured was fascinating, especially out in the jungles of the Brisbane Wildlands, bending over some device near-invisible in the undergrowth.
The Asura didn’t look up. “Yes, can you help yourself? I’m busy.”
“Ah, er, my apologies,” Caoilfhionn stammered out. “I suppose that was rude of me, wasn’t it?”
“Your chatter is also-” The Asura finally looked up, running a hand through his short, warm brown hair, and his pale blue-green eyes brightened. “A Sylvari! Of course, it makes sense now. You’re a rather poncy one, aren’t you? Are you sure you should be out here all alone?”
“You’re so tiny,” Caoilfhionn rejoined reasonably, a hand going self-consciously to his dark green cravat. The Asura wasn’t too badly dressed himself, in well-cut white and light blue. He carried a small sceptre at his side. “Should you?”
The Asura snorted. “Shows what you know, silly plant. I’m an accomplished geo-kineticist.” He looked up at the Sylvari’s blank expression, sighed audibly, and said: “I manipulate earth, fire, water, and air.”
“Oh! So do I!” Caoilfhionn twirled his dagger with delight, sending a spray of water arcing through the air above him like a rainbow. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Huh, woulda pegged you for one of those hallucinogenic jesters with all the purple you got going on. Fascinating! You should come with me as I collect my readings so we can discuss it more.” The Asura added sotto voce, “…And so I can study my first Sylvari. Stranger than I expected.”
“I would be delighted! My name is Caoilfhionn, pleased to meet you.”
“And I’m Wegaff. Right, so…” Wegaff began to poke at a… glowy pocket tablet thing, muttering as he did so. “Subject name… k…a…e…l…a…n.”
“I beg your pardon, it’s actually C-a-o-i-l-f-h-i-o-double n.”
Wegaff lifted his gaze to stare at him in disapproval. “You may as well call yourself Cauliflower with all those extra letters. By the Alchemy.”
“But-”
“Come along now. These readings won’t take themselves, even though I tried to invent a golem to do just that…”
It was a little exhausting, keeping up with the Asura through the caves and the forests; Caoilfhionn might have had a natural advantage in his familiarity with nature, but Wegaff had a different natural advantage at being small enough to easily pass through many places Caoilfhionn struggled to go. Wegaff fussed that Caoilfhionn would get his boots and coat muddy, but truly that was a small matter; Blathnat’s tailoring was good and strong, and resistant to the worst of stains. He suspected she used magic to aid her.
At length, they returned to a place Wegaff called Mrot Boru, where Wegaff strutted into a small lab, calling out for… a fork? “Forkk! Sporkk! Where in the heck are you?”
“Right here, right here,” came a chorus of exasperated Asura voices, and two more Asura appeared, who looked so like each other that Caoilfhionn struggled to tell them apart. “Golly, that’s an interesting specimen! Where’d you find it- him?”
“He looked lost, so I took him under my wing.”
“I wasn’t lost,” Caoilfhionn protested weakly. “I am Caoilfhionn…”
“Well, you sure looked it. You look like you ought to be in Divinity’s Reach, get-up like that.” Forkk and Sporkk nodded solemnly in agreement; Caoilfhionn couldn’t tell them apart.
But more importantly, his confusion was nearly overcoming his curiosity. “Erm… So… what do we do now…?”
“Why, I thought we’d continue our discussion. You really don’t compute your maginamics?”
“Er… no. It’s all in the feeling. The sun’s power, the flow of water… you can feel it all, can’t you?”
“Why yes, of course I can, but as I was just saying…” Wegaff’s gaze turned to his lab assistants. “Tell the Cauliflower about the Seventh Law of Maginamics.”
“Magic cannot be created-”
“-nor destroyed-”
“-and is infinite.”
Wegaff raised an eyebrow ridge. “Half answers don’t get you into college, boys. What can we derive from this?”
One of them waved his hand high. “Magic flows towards a state of equilibrium! Therefore-”
“-Any concentration will seek to dissolve itself and normalize the flow,” finished the other.
“Exactly!” said Wegaff. “And that is why you always calculate your stability matrices, Forkk.”
The younger Asura blushed. “It was just one time…”
Caoilfhionn had actually managed to mostly follow that, but he didn’t understand how it related to the actual casting of spells. “I still believe it’s the feeling that is important. To know where a stream flows, you need but put your hand in the water.”
“Well, most people can’t stick their hand into the flow of magic, but perhaps you Sylvari have a sixth sense for it, being magical in nature and all. In fact, you not all that unlike an elemental.” Suddenly Wegaff let out a short whistle of startled intrigue. “Now there’s a theory we ought to test! No, don’t worry, I’m not going to dissect you.”
“I wasn’t worried until you said so,” Caoilfhionn said, eyes wide. Did Asura really do that?
“Most test subjects are. And when the Inquest is involved, with good reason! But perhaps I should observe you in action some more. Take some readings. Would you like to come along for upcoming field tests?”
Caoilfhionn laughed. “Very well! I shall be delighted to join you, unless I am on an important quest.”
“You have more business than frolicking endlessly in the woods? If that’s the case, then I will join you.”
“You would do that?” A new friend! Truly! And his first new friend who was not another Sylvari. “My siblings would be glad to hear it! They worry about me, you know.”
“Siblings, hmm? I don’t suppose they’d want to visit my lab as well?”
“Perhaps they would, though this is a little far from civilization for them.”
Wegaff pouted and glared. “Excuse me!? This is civilization!”
“Ah… yes, of course. But there’s a lot of wilderness in between the Grove and Mrot Boru, and my one brother is a Mender, and my one sister is a Tailor…”
“I suppose that’s true. Although I prefer to think of it as a very large test field. Anyway, this isn’t my real lab. This is just a temporary arrangement on loan for me to parse my results quickly.”
“We’re actually based out of Rata Sum,” one of the others, possibly Forkk, said.
“You ever been there?” the other, maybe Sporkk, asked.
“No, not at all,” Caoilfhionn said.
“Of course not,” Wegaff told them. “He was staring at me like I was a specimen when I found him. But of course, you should come visit. You haven’t lived until you’ve visited Rata Sum.”
“I should be delighted! In fact, I am not on an urgent quest at the moment, so when you are finished here, I could return with you and you can show me everything.”
“Everything, hey? There’s a lot of off-limits areas, but I’ll show you everything the tourists see – and some of my own personal favourite bits. And my real lab, of course. It’s much more impressive than this one. Oh, and Sporkk, see if Professor Gorr is available for tea. I’d like to run this new theory by him, and I’m sure he’d love to meet our Cauliflower.”
“Done!” Caoilfhionn bent down to take Wegaff’s hand and shook it. “I’ll be in the neighbourhood, at the village of Watchful Source. I’m looking forward to it!”
It seemed Blathnat had a new outfit for him every month, nearly every time he visited. “Do you do nothing but work on clothes for me?” he asked this time, laughing as she eagerly showed him her latest creation.
“No indeed! I put this one out in a week, and then I go back to working on clothes that everyone else commissions me for. Do you like it? I left off the cravat this time, I decided a roguish open collar to show off your collarbone might work for a change.”
“I did like the cravat,” he said, “but this embroidery is marvelous. And the colours, beautiful as always. You’ve done a wonderful job, as usual.”
“Oh, well, it’s not like you can’t change clothes,” she said with a wink. “And yes, this colour combination is what suits you best – the dark violet and royal blue bring out your leaves, the emerald green grounds it all, and the royal rose and stream blue highlight and accentuate. In short: You are the Orchid Prince, at least to us your siblings, and you must look like a flower or I haven’t done my job correctly.”
Sylvari knights could look like flowers. He’d seen a couple of Human knights at one of the Lionguard’s fortresses and they didn’t look like anything. “How long do you intend to create clothes for me? Surely you can’t do this forever.”
“Perhaps I can and I will,” Blathnat said, giving him a haughty look. “I am the Tulip Countess. I can make whatever I want.”
Caoilfhionn laughed. “Then I shall wear whatever you make.”
Blathnat tapped his nose. “Pale Tree can only hope you don’t regret saying that.”
“By Ventari’s Tablet…” What was his sister getting him into?
4: Love at First Sight (Level 20 quests)
“I wish for Valiant Caoilfhionn to meet my eldest child,” the Mother Tree had said when all was said and done with the Quest of the Knight of the Moon. Caoilfhionn had instantly thrilled to the notion; he knew of Trahearne the Firstborn, the oldest even of the Firstborn, the scholar who had spent his entire life studying Orr, and looked up to such a person perhaps even more than Caithe, though she had mentored him so patiently during his first few weeks. She too knew what it was to be a Valiant, and to be an adventurer, someone who actively fought in the defense of others – Caoilfhionn was still clumsy at the actual fighting part, but he watched her and did his best, and she encouraged him.
But Trahearne, the scholar, the necromancer, surely there was so much he could learn from such a one as he! Even if what was rumoured about his Wyld Hunt sounded… so romantically, depressingly hopeless. So it was with great anticipation that he received and responded to a summons from Caithe asking him to come to the common house at the base of the Grove, a month or so later.
A Sylvari brushed past him to leave as he entered; Caithe was in the chamber beyond, speaking with – surely that must be Trahearne – yes, she had said his name. “While we’re waiting… Trahearne, it is good to see you once more within the Grove.”
“It is hard for me to return,” Trahearne said quietly. “Each time I do, I feel more and more distant.”
Caithe reached out to rest her hand on his shoulder. “Let the Mother shelter you. It will pass.”
Caoilfhionn hovered just outside the door. “Pardon me?”
Caithe looked up and smiled, dropping her hand. “There you are, Valiant Caoilfhionn. Come, meet Trahearne.”
“It is an honour, Trahearne,” Caoilfhionn said, smiling and bowing deeply to the man.
Bright yellow eyes regarded him solemnly, in a thin face overshadowed with neatly-kept leaves. “I’m glad to meet you, Caoilfhionn, but I’m afraid we have no time for proper welcomes. There is an urgent matter at hand.”
By the Pale Tree’s leaves, his voice! Many Sylvari had melodious deep voices, his brother Cathaoir for one, but he’d seldom heard one like Trahearne’s. And his face, and his leaves, and his bearing – wait a moment.
Caithe took up the tale, which was fortunate, or he might not have heard much of the rest. “Just before you arrived, a messenger brought news of three attacks by the Nightmare Court. None of our knights are in a position to help right now. I can aid one, Trahearne another…” She looked expectantly at Caoilfhionn.
Who needed no further invitation. “I’ll take the third. Where do you need me to go?”
Caithe relaxed her body slightly, though her face remained stern. “They’re besieging the Warden outpost of Falias Thorp. Make your way there as quickly as possible, Caoilfhionn, and lend a hand.”
“At once!” Caoilfhionn bowed again, and Caithe nodded and ran for the door.
Trahearne followed more slowly, at a brisk trot, and Caoilfhionn matched him – they were both magic users, and did not have Caithe’s stamina.
He couldn’t help casting a few sideways glances at Trahearne as they walked, from curiosity and… and… But Trahearne looked at him full on at the door. Oh no- Oh, he was simply speaking. “I am glad to meet you, Caoilfhionn. Caithe has had few friends since… I think you will be good for her.”
What about you? Could I be your friend as well? Could I be good for you as well? Caoilfhionn wanted to ask, but surely two moments after meeting was not the time – even a sapling like him knew that much – so instead he asked: “May I ask a question?”
“Of course. How may I aid you?”
“How well do you know Caithe?” Stupid question, they were both Firstborn, they’d known each other longer than any other Sylvari ever.
But Trahearne smiled patiently. “We are both Firstborn, tasked to face the challenges of Orr. She is a sister to me, in spirit and in purpose.”
“Ah! I have two sisters. And two brothers. My elder brother is a Warden. I hope he is at Falias Thorp, they will not fall if he is there.”
“I would sooner hope that he is not,” Trahearne said to himself, and Caoilfhionn looked at him with some confusion and concern. “Never mind. Here’s the waypoint; I will teleport from here. I hope to see you soon.”
“Fortune be with you!” Caoilfhionn said, and activated the waypoint himself.
He still had to walk a distance from the destination waypoint, which gave his mind time to churn over his confusion. He’d looked forward to meeting the most magically-inclined of the Firstborn, yes, but that his wits should be overcome like this at hearing his voice… that his sap should flow quickly in his veins at the mere thought of him now… His eyes were so complex and intelligent, an intense yellow stare that contained shades of gentleness, wisdom, patience, humour, melancholy…
It wasn’t confusion at all. This was… infatuation, was it not?
He’d fallen in love! The mere realization made his eyes sparkle, and his mouth to laugh; he near jumped for joy. The fact that he’d fallen for a Firstborn upon a minute of conversation mattered little to him. A Firstborn surely had no lack for admirers, but unrequited, unattainable love was as romantic as requited love, so long as it inspired one to great deeds and to be one’s best self. And the brief length of their relationship so far… Caoilfhionn was too young to pause at that. He was in love! This was the happiest moment of his life yet.
But this was no time for personal joy, for up ahead the village was aflame…
A lavender-coloured Sylvari stood in his path, eyes flashing, teeth bared, and a pistol pointed at him. “Who are you? Are you another of these murderers?”
“I’m a friend,” Caoilfhionn assured him. “My name is Caoilfhionn, and I’m a Valiant sent by Caithe to aid you. Who are you, and what’s going on?”
The pistol lowered cautiously. “My name is Malyck. The Wardens said these creatures are called the Nightmare Court. They’ve set fire to the camp, and cut down everything in their path. We’re outnumbered, besieged, and most of the guard has been injured. I’m all that’s left of the defense.”
“Let me fight with you, Malyck!” Caoilfhionn cried. “My brother is a Warden, is he here? His name is Cathaoir.”
“Cathaoir? He was taken by the fiends already. You are close?”
Caoilfhionn gasped, panic surging through him. No, he was a Valiant! He could not falter, just because his brother was in danger! “Yes, we are. I must help you! Please!” Was this what Trahearne had tried to warn him of, to be careful what he wished for? Would that he had been there sooner, to fight for his brother’s honour and safety!
“I was about to warn you that I would allow no harm to befall the Wardens, but it seems you have your own reasons to protect them. Very well. Help me drive back the villains still in the camp, and then we’ll speak further.”
Caoilfhionn brandished his focus and his dagger. “I’m ready. Let’s get them!”
This was the most dangerous thing he’d ever done, more dangerous than confronting Ysvelta and her guards with only Tiachren at his side, more dangerous than swimming to the bottom of the krait tower at Slaver’s Deeps, more dangerous than lingering in Wegaff’s laboratory – yet though there was such danger, he was alight with purpose and daring. He was disguised as one of the Nightmare Court, with Malyck beside him, and the prize for his deception would be his brother and the other Wardens kidnapped from Falias Thorp.
“I sent those fools to bring me the Harbinger, and instead they come back with whimpering Wardens!” The Knight of Embers, the captain of this band of traiterous courtiers, rounded upon him as he approached her, her autumnal garb rustling about her. “You there! You’re new. Can you follow orders, courtier?”
It was easy for him to affect ignorant surprise. “Uhm… me? Er… yes, my lady?”
“Then you’re in charge,” she snapped at him. “Make these wretched wardens talk. Do whatever it takes. Hit them so hard the Pale Tree can feel it. They will tell me where to find the Harbinger, or they will die feeding Nightmare with their agony.”
His sap was boiling, but he had to stay calm. “My lady knight? May I ask? What is a harbinger?” If they knew any more than Malyck himself did, he could bring news to Caithe and Trahearne.
The Knight chuckled darkly. “It is the Pale Tree’s Doom, and Nightmare’s vindication, and my Dark Hunt. When it is found, all will be made clear. Now go!” She strode off, to the upper reaches of the camp at Joy’s End; the prisoners were in the middle level and so Caoilfhionn did not hurry, intending that she should be well away before they executed their plan.
There were two guards before the thorny cage that held the captive Wardens. Caoilfhionn nodded to them both as he stepped forward as if to enter… and then stabbed one with his dagger, and Malyck shot the other.
The Wardens jumped up as the gunshot resounded deafeningly from cavern wall to cavern wall. “By the Pale Tree’s wisdom – Malyck! What are you doing here!?” The Captain of the group was the first out as the two opened the cage, and she gave Malyck a big hug – never mind his spiky disguise.
“Caoilfhionn!” cried Cathaoir in astonishment, treating him likewise. “You came for us!”
Caoilfhionn grinned up at his taller brother. “Of course! Malyck and I could hardly leave you to languish! He came up with this plan, he’s very clever.”
But Malyck’s gunshot had alerted everyone within Joy’s End, and now commotion arose all over. “The Wardens are escaping! Don’t let them get away!”
“Time to cut and run!” Malyck cried, ripping off the helm of his disguise and twirling one of his pistols. “Let’s go, Caoilfhionn!”
“At your side!” Caoilfhionn exclaimed, brandishing his dagger and his focus. Cathaoir grabbed the sword of one of the fallen Nightmare courtiers and followed him closely.
“Stay behind me, brother. I’ll show you how Wardens fight!”
“Haha, no need for me to hang back! I’ve learned much since we last met!”
Caoilfhionn was the last to arrive at Watchful Source, it seemed, for upon walking into the village, he caught sight of Trahearne by the fountain, talking with one of the Wardens – and heard whispers running around the edge of the clearing. There was a feeling of unease from most of them, and he wondered why. It was disquieting to witness such wide-spread dislike, and of someone he loved, and for no apparent reason, too. The odd one out was a young Sylvari woman who whispered to her companion: “Look! It’s Trahearne, one of the Firstborn. I’ve never met him.”
“He spends all his time in Orr,” said her friend. “Don’t you think he’s… strange?”
“Yes, but… in a good way!” The girl had felt Caoilfhionn’s curious gaze, it seemed, because she jumped and turned to see him – well, maybe he had been standing a bit close, and he’d stopped upon hearing the exchange… “Oh, hello. Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
“It’s all right,” he said, smiling. “You have a crush on him, don’t you?”
She giggled and clasped her hands to her cheeks, a burst of yellow luminescence showing faintly under the shadows of the trees. “I do! I know, how silly of me, right?”
“It’s very sweet,” he said. Of course, he understood exactly what she felt! Though he wasn’t admitting it unless directly asked! “I’m sure he’d appreciate such attention.”
Her eyes brightened, and she ran off in Trahearne’s direction. She gasped as she drew closer. “Oh, my. You’re really him. Trahearne.”
Trahearne jumped, looking up in surprise, then recovered himself, making a low, flustered bow. “Um… yes. I suppose I am. Hello.”
She skipped away again, smiling fit to burst. “Ooh. That was Trahearne! I dreamed I’d meet him!”
“What was that about?” the Warden asked Trahearne, who shrugged, still flustered.
Caoilfhionn swallowed his own giggles with much effort, eyes dancing merrily. “I think she likes you.”
“That is… most unexpected.” Trahearne looked away; if it had not been so broad daylight where he stood, Caoilfhionn was sure he would have seen a spray of luminescence flush across his face, leaves, and body. It was adorable! He was twice as in love as he’d been before. “Come, Caoilfhionn, let us collect Malyck and head out.”
Perhaps he could gently inquire… “So you… do not… have anyone to…”
“I do not,” Trahearne said, a little shortly, and Caoilfhionn decided to drop the topic. He’d learned what he wanted. Not that it changed anything.
Instead he called out to Malyck, who was on the edge of the village, looking out southwest down the Zinder Slope. “Malyck! Hello!” More Sylvari had been watching Malyck even more cautiously and uneasily than they’d been watching Trahearne, and several of them fled at their approach and Caoilfhionn’s shout.
Malyck turned, and smiled wryly. “It’s good to see a friendly face.”
“I’m glad to be here!” Caoilfhionn said. “I’m sorry I’m a bit late, but I’m here now! Where are we going, Trahearne?”
“It’s good to see Trahearne once more,” Amaranda the Lonesome said to Caoilfhionn when all was said and done at her hermitage. “He so rarely comes back to the Grove…”
“Really?” Caithe had suggested similar, before. “Is there a particular reason he stays away?”
She nodded sadly. “Oh, yes. Most Sylvari simply don’t understand his Wyld Hunt. ‘Impossible’ is a kind word. ‘Laughable’ is more common…”
His sap was growing heated at the thought. Surely this was what he had witnessed at Watchful Source. “How rude! Don’t they have any confidence in the Dream? That must be so hard on him.”
She favoured him with a smile. “Well put, young Caoilfhionn. I knew I liked you.”
He grinned at the compliment. “Have you foreseen anything about me, then?”
Amaranda’s gaze grew distant. “The Dream often whispers of you. Your choices will shape this world. You will know great sorrow… and great victory.”
“That’s amazing!” Caoilfhionn’s eyes were round with wonder. “A more glorious vision I could not ask for. I will accept both this great sorrow, and this great victory. Thank you for telling me.”
“I wonder,” she said, distantly. “You do not know… well, it is not for me to say.”
He bowed. “I apologize if I have offended?”
“No, no. Perhaps it is I who have offended. Go in peace, Caoilfhionn.”
“Thank you, Lady Amaranda.”
The Knight of Embers had fallen. Caoilfhionn straightened from his battle stance, gasping for breath. It had been a difficult fight, the Knight of Embers with her greatsword and her two subordinates, and the three of them – Malyck with his pistols, Trahearne with his sceptre, and Caoilfhionn with his dagger, none of them heavily armoured – all trying not to get cleaved in two by that fearsome sword. But now all three of the Nightmare courtiers lay dead before them, and sweat trickled into his eyes before he wiped it away.
“Well done,” Trahearne said to both of them, breathing nearly as hard. “That was not easy.”
“I didn’t expect it to be,” Malyck said, grinning, sheathing his pistols with a flourish. “But it was necessary, and we did it.”
“We fight well together!” Caoilfhionn said, trying not to let on how much of a limp noodle he felt now. “Malyck, you-”
“There you are!” Caithe’s voice rang out through the trees, and they turned to see her running up to them. “The Pale Tree told me where to find you. I have to tell you, Malyck’s tree…”
“We know,” Trahearne assured her. “The Nightmare Court nearly found out as well. We only managed to slay the Knight of Embers in the nick of time.”
Malyck’s face grew grim. “Still, this is only the beginning. Even if they don’t know the reason, the court will keep searching for their ‘harbinger’. If I stay here, others will try to convert me to Nightmare. They’ll discover my secret.”
“Oh,” Caoilfhionn said, wilting slightly.
Malyck turned to him. “Sorry. Were you about to ask me to stay?”
“I was,” Caoilfhionn said. “You are a good friend, and I… I know it’s difficult when the people who don’t know you stare at you, but I wish to spend more time with you.”
Malyck smiled broadly. “You are too kind, Caoilfhionn. I will certainly miss you, and Captain Banya, and Trahearne. But this is for the best.”
“He’s right,” Caithe said. “Faolain will hunt him, and I promise you: she does not give up.”
“Somewhere to the west, at the source of that river, there’s another tree.” Malyck glanced at the mountain west of them, then to the south, where the river lay. “Maybe even another city, with more Sylvari like me. My family. I’m going to find them. When I do, I’ll tell them about the Grove, and I’ll return with an army to help fight the dragons.”
“That sounds splendid, Malyck,” Caoilfhionn said. “Perhaps I should go with you-”
Malyck shook his head, though he seemed touched. “I do not know how long it will take, and you have duties here to your own people. I cannot ask you to spend indefinite time on something so selfish.”
“It’s hardly selfish, but… I will do as you say,” Caoilfhionn said. “I hope you are not lonely on the way, and that you have the best of fortune.”
Malyck hugged him, and Caoilfhionn eagerly returned it. “Don’t worry. We’ll meet again, some day. Caoilfhionn, you’ve been magnificent. You have truly shown me loyalty and honour, and I shall never forget it. I shall carry those virtues to my people, wherever they are.”
“Safe journeys, and may you find your home!” Caoilfhionn said to him. His eyes prickled, but he mostly felt glad for Malyck, and not so sad at this parting – and that surprised him, a little. It was sure they’d meet again, that must have helped. And Malyck knew he had a few good friends in this part of the world! The prospect of people like to their own, more similar than any other race could be, and yet different, was fascinating and intriguing and he dearly hoped to see what it would be like. Someday!
In the evening, Caoilfhionn wandered the Grove slowly, resting from the weary day, looking above him at the lovely branches of the Mother Tree. All about him felt peaceful and easy, and the first stars were coming out between the great leaves.
And he caught sight of Trahearne, alone, high up on a branch and still climbing. Curious, and heeding the desires of his heart, Caoilfhionn began to climb after.
He did not have the physical strength of his brothers or Eithne, and he was still tired from before, so he was rather out of breath by the time he came up even close to Trahearne. The Firstborn was half-way up the Tree, looking comfortable as he sat on a vast leaf, gazing out over the jungle valleys where the fireflies danced, hugging a knee to his chest. His luminescence was a vibrant magenta as it pulsed slowly through his dark green leaves and skin. Caoilfhionn knew his own was shining a lighter shade, the same peachy-pink as his eyes, contrasting with his dark blue skin and violet leaves. Caoilfhionn called out from the edge of the leaf: “Hello! Did you want to be alone, or may I join you?”
“Caoilfhionn?” Trahearne’s yellow eyes turned on him sharply, startled, and he looked troubled for a brief instant, and then he smoothed all negative expression away, from his face if not from his spirit. “Since you took the trouble to climb all the way up here, I can hardly turn you away…”
“No, no,” Caoilfhionn said easily. “I wanted to be with you, but I don’t wish to intrude. Please, as you wish.”
Trahearne shook his head with a little smile. “Come sit by me, then. You I don’t mind.” He turned his gaze up towards the stars again as Caoilfhionn took a spot beside him. “So many of the others… doubt me. I am the eldest, and the strangest, and it is… tiring, to deal with all that negative energy.”
“I understand,” Caoilfhionn said softly, though even he didn’t really follow, and what he did follow he knew he didn’t really understand, not the way Trahearne did. He watched his profile, angular and sad, and felt his own heart sigh in sympathy. He wanted to cast away that sadness, to see that dark face smile – Trahearne was beautiful in his lonely melancholy, but everyone was more beautiful when they smiled, and he had the feeling that if Trahearne really, truly smiled before him, he might die of happiness. “I wish Mother could do something about it, but…”
Trahearne nodded. “I would not have her trouble them on my behalf when I can simply go about my business in the rest of the world, where I need to be anyway, out of their sight and mind.”
“I wanted to ask, actually,” Caoilfhionn said. “Would you tell me more of your Wyld Hunt? I heard a little from Caithe, but you are the one who knows it best, of course.”
Trahearne smiled wryly. “I am challenged to cleanse the land of Orr. It is a mountainous isle of ancient history, that rose from the seas but a hundred years ago from its sinking two hundred fifty years ago. It is covered in cities of ruins, towering, beautiful, alien, sad… And they still will be, even when Orr is freed, but at least they will not tower over a black and blasted landscape of oily rot and blight. In my Dream, I saw it green and growing again, no longer a land of death, but of peace.”
Caoilfhionn brightened in wonder. That melodious voice rolled through him so… “That would be amazing. Is it even possible?”
“We don’t know yet. I’ve seen nothing to show that… Well, I must not lose hope.”
“I will believe in you,” Caoilfhionn declared passionately. “If anyone can do it, you can.”
“I must,” Trahearne said morosely. “And most of Tyria’s people take my studies to be something evil, as if my interest suggests that I should wish to enact another Orr rather than save the one we have. As if I became a necromancer to bring death, rather than to learn how to grant life. They do not know…” He trailed off with a face of pain, then shook himself. “But come, let us speak of more cheerful things. Tell me more of your brothers and sisters.”
He’d hardly heard enough about Trahearne’s quest, but he acquiesced to the request, and chattered on about his wise older brother, his devoted younger brother, and his skilful sisters, until Trahearne’s spirit relaxed for real. And that was magical to Caoilfhionn, to know that he’d been a real help to the person he loved, in his own small way. And not even through his mastery of the elements, not through valiant heroics, but simply through talking of light matters.
He’d run out of things to say, and and though to hear Trahearne’s soft, even breathing just over the cool, gentle wind made his sap sing in his veins, after a few minutes of silence he began to feel awkward. So he stood and stretched. “I had better turn in. It’s been a long day.”
“And you are of the Cycle of Dawn, are you not?” Trahearne asked, wry again.
Caoilfhionn laughed. “Aye, I’ll be up early again tomorrow. Can’t waste an hour of light when there’s a whole world to explore!”
Trahearne smiled, beautiful like a fox. “I shall stay here a while longer. I was born during the Dusk, and the calm darkness suits me. But you go on. I’m sure I shall see you again soon. And… Caoilfhionn, thank you.”
“Good night,” Caoilfhionn said, trying not to let his luminescence blush too strongly as he bowed and headed down.
5: A Friend to All (Level 30 Human quest)
“Wegaff? You wanted to see me?” Caoilfhionn said, cautiously sticking his head into Wegaff’s lab. This was only the second time he’d been to Rata Sum, and he still found the Asura city as incomprehensible as the first time. At least they respected the natural world around them, allowing moss and ferns and vines to creep over unused stone surfaces, though it just contrasted more starkly with the enchanted glass and glowing holograms.
“That’s right,” Wegaff said, ushering him further into the lab with an expression of extreme glee. Caoilfhionn came forward and saw four containment cells, each holding an elemental: fire, ice, lightning, and earth. “I’m calling these G.U.E.N.s. Aren’t they lovely?”
“Gwen?” Caoilfhionn echoed, admiring the graceful form of the fire elemental. “Like Gwynhyfar. That’s a lovely name!”
“What? No. G – U – E – N, Glyphic Unstable Elemental eNtities,” Wegaff said proudly. “I’m still tweaking the matrix parameters, but they’ll never reach true stability. Still, it’s a decent first result, and there’s some incredible potential. Who hasn’t dreamed of constructing a golem out of mere dirt, or whatever is at hand, in just a few seconds?”
“I… see.” He didn’t, but that was Wegaff all over. “My word, that is a lovely stone elemental.”
“Is it? I assume you’re talking about the physical aesthetic appeal again. Anyway, I’ve only run them through lab tests thus far, but I’ve been itching to take them out for a walk in Metrica. What do you say?”
“You know I can’t possibly say no to that. But don’t you think they each deserve a name of their own? Gwen is splendid, especially for the ice elemental, but the others…”
“I was going to call this one Mr. Sparkles,” Wegaff said, pointing at the lightning elemental, “just to ruffle Zojja’s feathers, but something’s got her aggravated lately… more so than usual, that is, and I like my lab the way it is: intact. Forkk and Sporkk wanted to give them names as well, but between them they have less creative imagination than a sun-dazed Skritt. You Sylvari have a feel for language, don’t you? Just make it sensible. Like… Plasma-based Hypodextralic Pseudoformation. But shorter.”
Caoilfhionn laughed, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “You are aware I am a Sylvari.”
“I know, I know. Just don’t give me word salad.”
“I shall try,” Caoilfhionn said. “Short names, hmm? Bryn, for this earth elemental, perhaps?” He thought for a while, looking back and forth at all of them. “Perhaps it would come to me easier were I to see them act – they are so joyless, held as they are! Ah, but I have an even better name for the ice elemental: Eira. Dai, for the air elemental, and Tanwen for the fire elemental?”
Wegaff shrugged. “Better than Cauliflower – at least, if the spellings follow any common sense.”
“I think you’ll be pleased by that this time,” Caoilfhionn said.
“Then… tell you what. If you can replicate them out in the field, I’ll use your names in my thesis.”
Caoilfhionn gasped a little. He’d never summoned a golem before, or even tried, and he had the feeling it was completely different from creating a leaf hound… but – “If they must otherwise be condemned to some awful Asuran name, then I must succeed for my honour.”
Wegaff rolled his eyes.
Caoilfhionn was itching to see new lands these days, and Wegaff was eager to accompany him, so together they had been adventuring north and east, through the dangerous wilderness of the Kessex Hills, through the quieter wilderness of the Gendarran Fields, until they came to the great city of Lion’s Arch. They’d been on the road for about three weeks, although they were not traveling quickly by any means. There was no rush to go anywhere, and Wegaff indulged Caoilfhionn in sticking his head into every grotto and pond, and helping every being who so much as suggested that they might want a hand with something. It was all very edifying.
Ah, but Lion’s Arch! Caoilfhionn could not be still in this fascinating city for a moment – the rickety-looking buildings made whole-sale out of ships, or at least in the manner of ships, the canals threading under it all, the great fountain with the clockwork ships, the festival-like energy surging through the air, the noise of shouts and laughter and gulls crying. And yes, also the stench, the filth, the roughness… more than once a drunken Human or Charr got in his way, slurring uncouth things in his direction.
He actually only lasted an afternoon before he was back out in Gendarrea Fields, in the little village of Applenook. It was much more to his liking – Human enough to be exotic, yet clean and green and full of the scent of apple trees and corn. Wegaff had been reluctant to leave the city, his unflappable self-assurance carrying him through it all with aplomb, but he saw how overwhelmed his companion was becoming, and acquiesced with good nature.
They were heading back westward in the growing twilight when Wegaff’s enormous ears pricked up. “I hear… undead.”
“Where?” Caoilfhionn asked anxiously, drawing his dagger and focus.
“And fighting. Up yonder, south of the bridge.”
And so they ran together, through the murky dusk, off the road and towards the beach on the river’s curve, where there was the flash of steel and the report of pistols. Several Humans, Norn, and a couple Asura were engaged in battle with a small army of undead. Caoilfhionn jumped into the fray with a shout and a blast of icy water, as Wegaff unleashed a lightning bolt with his sceptre.
It wasn’t until he’d heard his third “Yarrrr!” that he realized he was helping pirates. There was no way to know if they were friendly sailors from Lion’s Arch, or mere brigands who had been driven out for unconscionable crimes. At any rate, no one deserved to become undead, did they?
When they had fallen, a Sylvari suddenly appeared beside Caoilfhionn, all in black, and whispered “Better not to get involved here, Valiant. Take your friend and move on.” Before Caoilfhionn could respond, he had disappeared again. As he looked around to catch a glimpse of his mysterious brother, one of the humans stepped forward. “Ya with the other new folks lookin’ to join up with us?”
“No, good sir, we are only travellers passing through,” Caoilfhionn said, before Wegaff elbowed him aside.
“You’re talking too fancy for them, Cael. We’re not lookin’ to join anyone.”
“Actually, I understood your leafy friend there well ‘nough, but we’ll leave it at that then. The crew o’ the Ravenous don’t need any more – though I might be makin’ an exception for you two,” he said, turning to a Human and an Asura.
“Then we’ll be on our way,” Caoilfhionn said, bowing. “Best of luck!” He got the sense of danger from them, and had no intention of staying around or offending them.
Wegaff was slow to depart, and Caoilfhionn nearly reached down to drag him back to the road, but his friend gave him a considering look and spoke in a low voice. “There’s something off here, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely, and that Sylvari told me not to get involved. I think we should heed his advice,” Caoilfhionn said in kind.
Wegaff finally began to follow him away, but at a slower pace than he would have liked, gesturing at the fallen undead as he went. “Well, I’m curious where those Risen came from, and why they went for a few stranded pirates like progeny in a candy store. Also, I think I’ve seen that Asura, back in Rata Sum. Meaning that either some experiment went horribly wrong, or something far more sinister. Come, let’s hide under that bridge, and see what happens.”
“You want to spy on them?” Caoilfhionn asked, appalled.
“What, you think it’s ‘dishonourable’? You pull hoodwinks on your enemies all the time!”
“Yes! That’s being daring. This is hardly daring at all.”
“It’s called field observation, and you’re not supposed to disturb your subject of study.”
And so he reluctantly followed Wegaff as the Asura made his way over to the Lionbridge. There was a Human under the bridge, one who looked suspiciously at them over a drawn blade. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”
“Er… Curiosity?” Caoilfhionn said honestly, hoping that would be enough. This was ten times as suspicious as what the Sylvari had said to him, but now he wanted to find out what was going on. If there was something wicked here, it was his duty to stop it! “Who are you?”
“There is nothing for you to see here,” said the man. “Just move along.”
Wegaff frowned and folded his arms. “This bridge is property of Lion’s Arch, and you’re no Lionguard.”
“I’m not, but if I told you who I’m with, I’d have to kill you.” There was something chilling about how the Human said it so casually.
Caoilfhionn drew his dagger, but behind them, the water in the stream crystallized into large blocks of ice, which rose up to stand in a humanoid formation as tall as a Norn. Wegaff gave the shocked man a toothy grin. “Perhaps you’d like to introduce yourself to G.U.E.N. here instead?”
“Wegaff!” Caoilfhionn cried.
“What? This man smells fishier than Dawnside Quay on a hot day.”
“I concur, but her name is Eira.”
Wegaff huffed at the correction. “Told you I wouldn’t remember them.”
The man eyed the looming elemental with apprehension. “All right, remain calm. My name is Ihan. I’m waiting for my associates. If you want answers, you’ll have to ask the Envoy-”
Crash! A well-aimed arrow pierced the golem’s neck and it exploded into fragments of ice, raining down on them. Caoilfhionn turned, sidestepping as not to lose sight of the Human, turning to see two figures approaching – a Human woman with a bow, and an Asura with an axe and a dark aura about her that coalesced into several skittering figures. The same as they’d seen before with the pirates! “Get away from him!” called the Human woman.
And then something pounced on Wegaff, something that snarled. Wegaff yelled, holding his sceptre before him as a shield, but he was knocked into the shallows on his back, the lithe quadrupedal form pinning him to the ground.
The Sylvari from before materialized silently from the shadows. “I told you to leave.”
Caoilfhionn looked around at them all. Suddenly the odds had turned drastically against them – but… “What is it you do here?”
“I think you should be telling us what you’re doing here first,” said the Asura, pointing her axe at him. “Unless you really think you can take us all on.”
Caithe could have taken them on, but he was not Caithe – not yet. “Very well.” He sheathed his dagger and stood up straight, bowing politely. “My name is Caoilfhionn, Valiant of the Wyld Hunt, and my companion Wegaff and I were traveling back to our respective homelands when we heard the fight with the undead. I’m afraid your warning rather did the opposite of what you intended, and made us more curious – but if you are doing something wicked, I shall fight you.”
The other Sylvari chuckled, a gravelly sound. “Haven’t been out of the pod long, have you?”
“Long enough,” Caoilfhionn said, watching them all still.
“If you think you’re going to get anything besides an arrow to the face-” began the Asura.
The Human woman put up her bow. “Is he telling the truth?”
“He is,” said the Sylvari. “This Valiant, like so many of them, cannot tell a lie to save his life.” Caoilfhionn wondered if he should be indignant or proud of that.
“Then they’re harmless to us,” said the woman, and smiled. “Caoilfhionn, was it?”
“Well, if you’re not going to murder us and dump our bodies in the river, mind letting me up?” Wegaff called with a strained voice.
“Let him up, Velvet, there’s a good girl.” The jungle stalker pinning Wegaff to the muddy stones immediately left him and trotted back to the woman’s side; the woman reached down to pet it. Wegaff bounced to his feet and went to stand closer to Caoilfhionn, shaking water from his sleeves and grumbling nervously.
“Envoy, is it truly wise to tell them anything?” the man named Ihan asked.
“I think so,” the woman said. “A Valiant is like a… well… like Captain Thackeray, right?”
“That’s apt,” the Sylvari said.
“Then I trust him. The Asura…”
“I’ll vouch for my friend,” Caoilfhionn said. He wouldn’t even tell them that it had been Wegaff’s idea to nose about in the first place. “He fights for truth as I do.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Wegaff muttered, and shut up when everyone looked at him.
“I am Damara Biros,” said the woman. “I’m Queen Jenna’s Envoy to the Orders of Tyria. And my companions are…”
The Sylvari bowed. “I am Mabbran, Agent of Whispers, and my associate, Phiadi.”
“Excuse you, you are my associate,” the Asura snapped, her little nose in the air. “Also, I’m sure the Asura knows me, I’m the Snaff Savant this year.”
“Eh, I never pay attention to that,” Wegaff said, waving a hand dismissively. “I didn’t even enter.”
“What!?!?” shrieked Phiadi, her minions scuttling in agitation around her. “How can you- I oughtta-”
“He meant no offense, I’m sure,” Caoilfhionn said, stepping in hastily before the small necromancer could attack. “I beg your pardon, but what is the Order of… Whispers?”
“Not for you to know about,” Ihan said.
“Well… Ihan’s probably right,” Damara said. “But I’ll tell you what we were doing here, since that’s what you wanted to know – we were infiltrating those pirates to learn the whereabouts of a potential security risk to the Krytan monarchy.”
“Ah, so that attack must have been staged,” Wegaff said. “Gain their trust through the heat of battle.”
“Exactly,” Phiadi said, still glaring at him. “Can’t believe you don’t follow the Snaff Prize… our translocater was revolutionary…”
“Do you require any further assistance?” Caoilfhionn said. “I know little of Humans, but if the Queen of Kryta is in danger, I’ll gladly aid you.”
Damara nodded. “If you have nowhere urgent to be, I’d gladly welcome the help. Can’t have too many hands for this one.” Agent Ihan looked exasperated, but Agent Mabbran nodded in agreement.
And that was how Caoilffhion ended up working for Queen Jennah and Captain Logan Thackeray for a week. It was exciting, for of course Caoilfhionn knew by now how Captain Thackeray had been in Destiny’s Edge with Caithe! He ended up liking him a great deal. Damara as well, despite the awkwardness of their initial meeting. Phiadi and Mabbran he saw less of, though they were still frequently present as well. Phiadi and Wegaff would never get along, it seemed. Wegaff recognized her from Rata Sum, if not from the competition she had won, but refused to admit it because “It’s funnier to watch her fume about it.”
And Divinity’s Reach was a most glorious city, almost as beautiful as the Grove in a completely different way, far less natural and humid. It was brightly coloured, with banners and pennants everywhere, and at least there were many flower boxes in windows and tiny little gardens all over the city. The towers were great fun to climb and see the view from, and the feeling of sunny, down to earth activity that pervaded the city was a little intoxicating. Even its flaws, when Phiadi or Damara pointed them out to him, could not lessen his opinion of it. Humans came in as many varieties as Sylvari, it seemed! Despite the serious nature of his mission here, it still felt like a holiday to him.
They did save the Queen, in the end. How Kellach managed to summon that many undead in the throne room, Caoilfhionn could not hope to understand, but they froze just the same as they did outside. He forebore to use fire or earth, to avoid damaging the beautiful hall; between Damara’s arrows and Phiadi’s own small army of minions, and the Seraph guard and Vigil soldiers, Kellach’s assassination attempt was over nearly before it began.
The Queen thanked him and sent him on his way, loaded with a generous reward and gracious compliments. What a lovely adventure it had been!
6: The First to Die (Level 30 quests)
He’d been summoned yet again, an urgent missive from Caithe brought to him by a messenger pigeon, but he had not been far from the Grove at the time, only visiting with Blathnat in Mabon Market. She had relocated there recently to see more of the world in her own way, and sent him back to the Grove with an encouraging smile and yet another new outfit, this one natural-grown of the leaves that many Sylvari covered themselves with.
Caithe met him in the Upper Commons; she was pacing impatiently until she caught sight of him. “Excellent, you received my letter.”
Caoilfhionn tilted his head to listen. “Goodness. It sounds like there’s a commotion in the Omphalos Chamber.”
Caithe grimaced as she motioned him over to the seed lift. “The emissaries of the three Orders of Tyria are making that noise. There is a… situation. One that you are best suited for, Valiant Caoilfhionn.”
“Me? Why? What am I walking into?”
“Zhaitan’s might is growing,” Caithe said. “Its undead minions are rising rapidly on the beaches of Kryta and the Tarnished Coast. To the north, Overlake Haven is in danger. The Lionguard there are outmatched by the Risen troops.”
Ah, so he could take action against the dragon he was destined to fight. “But why are the emissaries arguing? Why don’t they just do something about it?”
“We think alike, you and I,” Caithe told him, the barest twinkle in her eye – he gathered she would have found that funny if the situation were not so serious. “But let us speak with the Mother Tree. You are about to take a step forward on your quest, Valiant.”
Trahearne met them at the entrance to the Omphalos Chamber, a faint look of exasperation fixed on his face. “Valiant, I’m glad you’re here. They’ve been going on like this for an hour.”
“I’m glad to be here,” Caoilfhionn said, a lovely feeling suffusing him at the thought that Trahearne was glad to see him, even if for practical reasons.
Trahearne nodded and led them over to where the Pale Tree’s avatar presided calmly over her squabbling children. “Everyone, please be silent! We are all assembed, and the Mother Tree wishes to speak.”
The three other Sylvari took notice of him and ceased their heated bickering, and the one in heavy armour saluted him cheerfully. He smiled back, and then the Pale Tree began to speak.
The attack had been repelled through intrepid force of arms, for he had chosen the Vigil’s plan of defense – he really didn’t see why they couldn’t do both plans, but since they wanted him to choose, he had chosen. He could feel them grooming him for leadership – but why not? He might be young, but his Wyld Hunt would demand much of him, and should it demand he lead, he sorely needed the experience.
It had happened too quickly to send word to Wegaff to ask for aid, but he did on his return, though he had yet more to do. “I have good news, Mother Tree. Overake Haven is safe, and the undead have been driven away.” He proceeded to elaborate upon all that had transpired.
“Well done,” the Pale Tree said to him with a gentle smile. “But your task is far from over.”
“Valiant Caoilfhionn, about this strange undead you saw on the battlefield…” Trahearne said to him. “I think I can help you there. The creature sounds like a lich. From the description you gave, I think I can identify it as Mazdak the Accursed.”
“Mazdak the Accursed?” the Pale Tree said, and a shudder went through her avatar, as if a cold wind had blown past her great stem. “I know that name. One of my Firstborn, Riannoc, went to destroy Mazdak many years ago. I armed him with a thorn from my own bough, a mighty sword named Caladbolg. Both were lost, never to return to the Grove.” She gave a sorrowful sigh, one Caoilfhionn nearly echoed – he knew faintly the tale of Riannoc, the first Sylvari to meet death. “Caoilfhionn, you have a chance to discover the fate of my lost son and perhaps even avenge his death.”
The Sylvari with the cocky air, Cai, raised an eyebrow. “Legend says that Riannoc chose a Human to be his squire. We know that squire survived, and though we lost track of him years ago, the Order of Whispers could find him. The Order is very good at tracking people down… even when they don’t want to be found.”
“I know it well,” Caoilfhionn said, thinking back to how he met Damara, Phiadi, and Mabbran. “But how would you find one Human in all of Tyria?”
“We’ll find out,” Cai said with a languid grin.
“Untrustworthy, as always,” Iowerth said with a sniff. “I have an alternate suggestion. This sounds like an exciting opportunity to experiment with a ritual the Durmand Priory uncovered. If cast, it lets you witness the last moments of a person’s life.”
Trahearne’s gaze turned towards Iowerth. “The mystery of Riannoc’s death has pained the Sylvari since the days of the Firstborn. Knowing his fate would help to heal that wound…” His own wound, from his body language – losing a brother, back before the Sylvari knew of death… Caoilfhionn could not imagine it. He had still not lost anyone close to him personally, but by now, twenty-five years after the Firstborn awakened, the collective consciousness of the Dream had given him a sense of death – enough to know that it happened frequently. Trahearne and Caithe had had no such knowledge at that time. “Ah, Riannoc. I warned you… I told you not to go aone. But you did not listen.” Trahearne sighed deeply. “We were all so confident. So unafraid of death…”
Caithe put a hand on his shoulder. “And still we are – but now we are wiser, too.” Trahearne nodded.
Caoilfhionn didn’t want to make a decision without having as much information as he could – for surely they were asking his opinion on how to proceed again. “Branthyn? Does the Vigil have any suggestions?”
His companion of the last few days smiled and shook her head. “Gathering information isn’t our strong suit. Instead, I’m going to go ask my superiors how to kill a lich. I’ll meet you back here when you’re done.”
“Mother, can you tell me about Caladbolg?” Caoilfhionn asked.
“It was the only weapon I ever made,” the Pale Tree answered, “and doing so took a great deal of spirit. It was meant to be the blade of heroes.”
“As he was,” Caithe said softly. “As valiant as the shining sun.”
“When Riannoc died, the blade was in his possession,” the Pale Tree said. “It has not been seen since.”
“Where was this?” Caoilfhionn asked.
“He traveled far to the north, to face an evil – to face Mazdak. When he died…” The Pale Tree paused, and both Caithe and Trahearne cast their gaze down in sorrow as fresh as morning dew. “The sun dimmed, and the Dream wept.”
“We all felt it,” Caithe said quietly. “It was like a part of the Dream was torn away… but we never knew why. Or how.”
He wanted to weep himself, and he’d never met Riannoc. “I’m so sorry, Mother. What can I do to help you?”
“Discover the truth, my son. Return the sword. That will bring me peace.”
He nodded. “I will, Mother. I swear it.”
“Very well. Caoilfhionn, the choice is yours.” The Pale Tree reached out a hand towards him.
“I’ll be waiting in the present,” Iowerth assured him, Wegaff standing by with several strange gizmos to record… whatever he could. “When you return, you may be disoriented, but I will do my best to ease you into consciousness.”
“What if the ritual fails and I die in the past?” Caoilfhionn asked, standing by the simple grave marker that they thought might be Riannoc’s final resting place. Iowerth had tossed out the possibility of dying a few minutes ago during preparation, and now it was on his mind.
Iowerth shook his head dismissively. “You are the Herald of the Pale Tree. The danger is real, but I believe you were meant to witness these events. You will return.”
“I appreciate your confidence in me,” Caoilfhionn said, his own confidence rising.
“Then prepare yourself, Valiant,” Iowerth said, and his voice grew slower, almost trance-like, lulling Caoilfhionn into a meditative state. “Focus on the image of a Wyld Hunter, accompanied by his Human squire. He faces his enemy, a vast army of corpses. His struggle is your struggle. His courage, your courage. You are as one. Your breath quickens and your sap flows faster. Your enemies surround you. Now, in this moment, you are with Riannoc.”
And he was, as he opened his eyes – Iowerth and Wegaff were gone, the swamp looked to be… earlier in the year, more spring than summer, and before him stood a tall, handsome Sylvari, chestnut brown and jade green, with a greatsword at his back, a sword that was definitely a thorn from the Mother Tree’s branches, one edge sharp as a razor. At Riannoc’s side stood a rather plain-looking, snub-nosed Human boy with a sword of steel. Caoiffhionn was no judge of Human ages, but the boy was definitely not past the Human’s… larval? stage. He seemed to be the same height and weight as the small Humans who said they were twelve years old in Divinity’s Reach, maybe a small fourteen. Strange to think… already so old, half as old as Trahearne and Caithe in the present, and yet far less prepared to take on the world than Caoilfhionn… Neither of them showed any sign that they saw him.
“We make our stand here, Waine,” Riannoc said, gesturing to the slight hill rising out of the swamp which they stood upon. “Armed with Caladbolg, we cannot fail.” He smiled, his eyes and teeth shining in the dim light. ‘As valiant as the shining sun’, Caithe had said, and he agreed with her. Definitely of the Cycle of Noon, like Eithne was.
“The lich is powerful, Riannoc,” Waine said. “His army is vast!” His voice was high and quavering.
Riannoc laughed. “What good is power when it’s afforded to you by an evil master? What good is an army when you’re standing against love, honour, and loyalty?”
Caoilfhionn’s chest ached in sorrow. Riannoc should have been right! He so wished he were right! But if he had been right, he would not have died… and the Dream would not have taught new generations of Sylvari that evil sometimes triumphed anyway, even against the purity and truth of love, honour, and loyalty… He reached out a hand, then lowered it uselessly. Riannoc could not see him or feel his pain.
“But none of your kind has ever experienced death,” Waine said. “Do you even understand fear?” His voice cracked in fear… and frustration.
Riannoc smiled at him gently. “I don’t need to understand it. I only need do what is right.”
The boy backed away. “No! I’m… I’m afraid. I’m frightened, Riannoc! I can’t… stay…” He looked further into the swamp and gasped. “They’re coming!” Caoilfhionn looked, and when he looked back, Waine was running for his life.
Riannoc had not moved an inch backwards, only drawing Caladbolg from his back and staring down the rushing zombies with a proud smile. “Then I shall take you on!”
Here they came, and while Caoilfhionn was ready and determined to fight, he sort of understood Waine’s fear as well. There were so many, almost as many as he’d seen at the entire assault on Overlake Haven, and it was just the two of them, with no fortress at their back nor sturdy armoured companions at their side. Riannoc took a step forward, raising the great sword to strike. Caladbolg was shimmering with magical light, anticipating the battle to come.
The battle was the toughest Caoilfhionn had ever been in, pushing him to his utter limit. Fire to water to air to earth, he had to make use of every spell at his disposal, every signet he’d learned, every rapid plant manipulation he’d yet mastered, just to keep himself a hair’s breadth away from those grasping, clawing hands. For though Riannoc and Waine took no notice of him, the undead certainly did. The rattle of bones and rotting flesh, the splash of shambling steps echoed through the swamp, the mindless groans of the undead drowned out by the weighty slicing swings of Caladbolg and the crackling hiss of his spells.
The two Sylvari were thoroughly soaked and covered in mud from head to foot; Caoilfhionn skidded through the mud, leading five or six zombies on a merry chase between the trees. Until he rounded the last tree and came face-to-face with a humanoid horror, rotting flesh sagging from a slimy skull. He yelped and threw himself to the side to roll away, and a bony hand grasped his ankle, causing him to slam face-first into the mud instead. He dropped his dagger with the impact, gasping, panic surging through him as they lunged towards him, clawing at his arm; one of them reached down and bit.
Caoilfhionn yelled, clutching his focus in a vice-like grip, and a ring of fire erupted around him, scorching the undead back, burning away his fear in the primal determination to live. He scrambled for his dagger and spun to his feet, eyes wild, dashing straight through the centre of the cluster with a ribbon of fire trailing behind him from the point of his blade. The hastily-constructed leaf hound he’d summoned bounded to his side, snapping at the undead legs. This lot would fall soon – and then there would be more. How was Riannoc doing?
Not well, now that he had the space to look; he was using a tree to split their numbers, but against such a tide there was no hope but to become flanked by such a tactic. His armour was already cracking, and claws had raked across his handsome face, letting yellow sap ooze down his forehead and cheek. The undead were piling up before him, making a wall of their bodies; twenty lay there at least, but there were another thirty here still thirsting for blood. His smile had gone, replaced only by grim concentration. Caladbolg flashed and sang, glowing bright in the darkness of the swamp, but Riannoc was getting tired.
Caoilfhionn told himself yet again: you can’t save him. You can only bear witness. And then he had to run again.
When the last zombie – for the time being – had collapsed into the mud, Riannoc tottered and fell to one knee, only Caladbolg holding him up from falling forward from exhaustion and pain from his injuries. “Waine! Waine, where are you?” His voice was hoarse, and he gasped for air around it.
Waine emerged from behind his tree, wailing. “I can’t do this! I’m too scared! Let’s run away! Come on, let’s go!”
Riannoc shook his head, looking deeper into the swamp, where dark figures yet moved. “Waine – Caladbolg… the sword is powerful. With it, we still have a chance to-”
“A chance to escape, yes! Riannoc, I want to live. I have to get out of here. I don’t want to die!” He ran forward, grasping at the hilt of the sword.
Riannoc’s grip slipped in surprise, and Waine dragged the sword away from him before he could recover. “Waine! No! I need Caladbolg to kill Mazdak!” Waine backed away, eyes wide and staring, sheer terror still writ across his face, and then he fled, dragging the sword behind him. Riannoc reached out in his direction, his own voice cracking with emotion. “Come back! I cannot give up! Mazdak is coming!”
And indeed, in the shadows of the swamp, Caoilfhionn saw a familiar figure – the skeletal robed figure he had seen at Overlake Haven. Riannoc staggered to his feet, gasping and wincing, and drew his dagger as he took up a ready stance to face the coming abomination. “Forgive him, Mother… We were both… too young…”
Caoilfhionn woke with a sob. “Riannoc-!”
“Take your time,” Iowerth told him, supporting him as he sat up. “Breathe slowly. Now, tell me – what did you see?”
He was still covered in mud, and his right arm was still scratched and bitten. Tears fell from his eyes as he tried to follow Iowerth’s advice. “Poor Riannoc, abandoned by his best friend… I can’t even imagine how that must have felt. None of us had ever been betrayed before…” And he himself still hadn’t; all he knew was a dim echo of what others had faced over the short years.
“How tragic,” Iowerth said. “The Dream was young, and the Firstborn knew little of the world.”
“I feel for them both,” Caoilfhionn said. “From the looks of it, Waine was still a… a child, they call them. But Riannoc couldn’t know, couldn’t have understood what it meant to take such an untried human into battle. He didn’t know they weren’t like us. To ask a mere seedling to face an army that would cause their most hardened warriors to pause… And poor Riannoc! To die alone, defenceless, surely in great pain and heartbreak…” He wept.
“What did you say?” Iowerth said, sounding suddenly angry. “Defenceless? What happened to Caladbolg?”
“Waine stole it,” Caoilfhionn managed to say. “That was his betrayal, not that he fled in the face of danger. And yet Riannoc stood to defend him… It was the same lich from the Haven who killed Riannoc. The one it had been his Wyld Hunt to destroy.”
“We must tell the Pale Tree at once,” Iowerth said. “I’m sorry there was not more for you to do, Wegaff…”
“Not at all,” Wegaff said. “I did get some very interesting data from the beginning and end of that ritual. I’ll be compiling my findings and sending them in along with my application shortly.”
Caoilfhionn sniffled and looked up. “You’re joining the Durmand Priory, then?”
“Oh, yes. It’s been my goal since I was a precocious progeny. The application is a mere formality, of course. They already want me. But I might have less time to assist you in the future, unless I can frame it as Priory-related research.” Wegaff shrugged, packing up the last of his devices. “Sorry!”
“I think the Orders wish me to join one of them too,” Caoilfhionn said. “But I have not decided yet…” And he was in no mood to decide now, not with this vision weighing on his soul, the intimate understanding of the grief that had fallen upon the Sylvari in their youth.
“You can decide later,” Iowerth said kindly. “For now, let’s get back to the Grove. Will you come with us, Wegaff?”
“I think I will,” Wegaff said. “Sounds like you’re not done with this ‘quest’, and the more data I can collect on the whole situation, the better my application will be.”
“I’m glad to have you along,” Caoilfhionn said. “Thank you.”
7: A Valiant’s Quest (Level 30 quests)
The news had shocked the Pale Tree and all the others. They all decried Waine for cowardice; none seemed to think anything of the fact that he was a Human child, not even full-grown yet. To be sure, they hadn’t been in the vision; they had not seen the fear on the boy’s face and heard his voice. But… he’d thought Caithe, who was widely traveled, to have some sympathy, at least. But then again, Riannoc was her brother. If it were one of his own close siblings, he might not be so interested in sympathy either.
Most of which he realized slowly later – at the moment, he found his mind turning towards theirs, to share their opinion that such an act had doomed Riannoc as surely as if he’d slain him with his own hand, and so was both incomprehensible and reprehensible. Which… was true, as well.
Which meant their next task was to find the Human, now a man twenty-five years older, and reclaim the sword that he still surely had. The Priory and the Order of Whispers had both uncovered that he was using it in pit-fights outside Lion’s Arch. And then they asked Caoilfhionn to decide whether to steal it back, or to fight Waine for it.
It was no choice at all. If he was going to recover the sword for the Sylvari people, then he would do it openly, with his honour burning in his eyes.
And it was burning now, and sweat was also trickling down his face, and he was breathing hard after his first three fights with hardly a moment between. And now here down to the pit came a swaggering Human, twice Caoilfhionn’s weight and a foot taller – strong, square, lightly bearded, with a familiar greatsword on his back. He met Caoilfhionn’s gaze with an arrogant look. “I’m not afraid of you. But I am ready for you. I’ve been ready for years.”
Either he could read his face, or he said that to all the Sylvari he fought. But this time, it was true. “We shall see.”
Waine drew the sword, which did not glow as Caoilfhionn remembered it, and charged at him with a hoarse yell. Caoilfhionn blasted out an ice slick under Waine’s feet and dodged nimbly to the side as the Human slipped on his backside and flew into the wall of the pit. He climbed to his feet, cursing, and used the broad blade of the sword to block the icy blade that Caoilfhionn sent shooting his way. Now he advanced more cautiously, flicking the sword so that waves of power shot out of it at the Sylvari, trying to close enough to attack him in melee.
Caoilfhionn was not going to give him that chance, though normally he thrived on being in the thick of battle. His sap was thrumming and he ducked around a wave to flick fire back in Waine’s direction. Waine hissed as one of the streams of fire sizzled past his arm. “You cheating little-”
But he was closing quickly, faster than Caoilfhionn was going to be able to get away, and he switched back to Water, blasting a ring of ice around him to slow him down. Waine flinched, then faltered. He growled, baring his teeth fiercely, and charged again, ducking the icy comet Caoilffhionn tried to bring down on him.
He just had to stay one step ahead and keep nailing him with spells, switching to Air. He didn’t need to kill Waine. If the dark past had been weighing on him for twenty-five years, he did not need further punishment after Caoilfhionn took the sword back. He could hear the spectators, most of them cheering for Waine; he didn’t care. Let them cheer for the violent thug whose face was twisted to ugly anger. It wasn’t important as long as he got the sword back.
Waine spun, casting another two bolts of energy at him, and Caoilfhionn blocked them with a gust of wind. But that had let Waine close on him again, and now he lifted Caladbolg to strike.
Caoilfhionn ducked, and slammed a lightning bolt directly into Waine’s ribs. Caladbolg went flying across the arena to land in the dirt near the remains of the MRDRBOT; Waine went tumbling to the ground, clutching his ribs and coughing spasmically. Caoilfhionn hopped backwards – Waine was still twice his weight in muscle even without the sword – and pointed his dagger at the half-prone Human. “You’re outmatched, Waine, but I’m not here for your life. I’m here for Caladbolg. Give me Riannoc’s sword, and I’ll let you go.” Even though he’d grown to be an arrogant prick… at some point he’d only been a frightened boy who made a bad choice.
Waine snarled, climbing to his feet and wiping his nose roughly. “The sword is mine! Riannoc wasn’t worthy of it. He was willing to give his life – for what!?”
Caoilfhionn hissed in anger, rage boiling through his veins. “Unworthy!?” He took back every charitable thought he’d ever had about Waine. He would kill him for this insult to Riannoc’s memory – Riannoc, who had been infinitely more noble than Waine could ever be, Riannoc who should have lived rather than this sniveling self-important ill-mannered Human. “He gave his life for his people. And for you, Waine.” His voice was taut as a bowstring. If Waine were at all capable of feeling shame… he should feel it now. “He stayed to give you a head start from Mazdak. The lich would have chased you down to get Caladbolg. That’s why Riannoc died.”
Waine’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “No. You can’t know. You weren’t there! I’ll kill you. Then I’ll put all you smug Sylvari behind me for good! I earned this sword! I suffered for it! You can’t take it away from me!” He lunged for Caladbolg – which, Caoilfhionn realized too late, was on Waine’s side of the ring – and came at him, swinging blasts of energy in his direction with a vengeance.
The commentator was shouting to the crowd, but Caoilfhionn was not listening, the sap in his veins roaring in his ears. “Who suffered more, you who ran or the man who fought to the end!?”
Waine screamed at him. “Shut up, shut up! Riannoc was weak. He was weak! It wasn’t my fault, it was his!”
“Dishonourable lout!” he heard Branthyn call.
“How dare you-!” He was beyond furious, all weariness burned from him, calling every element to him, blasting the bigger man – fire, water, air, earth, and again. Caladbolg was said to enhance its wielder’s natural abilities, and unfortunately Waine was a very hardy fellow, resistant to magic of all kinds, it seemed, even when he was not able to block the spells with Caladbolg. It didn’t even matter. He would vent his rage and his vengeance on this ignorant-
Was this the way a Valiant of the Wyld Hunt should act? He ought not to use his power to bully those weaker than him. Just finish it and be done.
And as he came to this realization, Waine caught up to him, and instead of striking with the sword, simply jumped on him, knocking him to the dirt, closing his hands around his neck. Caoilfhionn’s gasp of surprise was cut off, his mind ablaze with panic – Fire! He clutched his focus and a shield of fire erupted around him, tearing Waine from him and throwing him back. Caoilfhionn gasped for air as Waine screamed, one hand holding his burned face, the other scrabbling to lift Caladbolg. Caoilfhionn looked up in the middle of a coughing fit to see the sword high above him, and he stabbed upwards with his dagger in blind reaction.
A blade of ice formed between them and slammed into Waine’s chest. Waine made a choking noise, and tumbled heavily to the ground, never to rise again.
Caoilfhionn slowly stood, breathing hard, shaking like a leaf, tears running from his eyes. He had too many emotions in him – rage, pain, sorrow, regret. No satisfaction. No triumph.
Caladbolg lay before him, dusty, yet still keen as the day it was plucked. He bent down and hefted it with both hands – by the Pale Tree, it was so heavy! He climbed carefully back up to the top of the ring and met with Branthyn. She was glowing with victory. “You were amazing down there! Your combat prowess is really something. I envy you the beating you gave that thug. I wish I’d been able to lend a hand. Are you hurt?”
Caoilfhionn shook his head. “I’m fine. He wouldn’t stop attacking me. I didn’t want… Should I have killed him?”
“That question is what makes you great Vigil material,” Branthyn said. “Waine had been carrying that burden for so long, it was probably a relief to die at the hands of someone who knew the truth.”
Was it? “You’re right,” he said quietly. “I could see it in his eyes. He seemed almost… grateful.” Or perhaps it was simply wishful thinking. Waine had said all those terrible things. Had come so close to killing him. Caoilfhionn didn’t know. He was tired and confused and he did not understand Humans.
“Come, Valiant,” Branthyn said. “I’ll take Caladbolg back to the Pale Tree. You look like you’re about to keel over, and it looks too heavy for you. We’ll get it and you both back, and you can rest, and then we’ll find a way to make Mazdak pay.”
Iowerth had been busy while Caoilfhionn had been off with Branthyn, and with Wegaff – already a full member of the Priory – helping, had determined that Mazdak was about to assault Ascalon Settlement. The three orders all had different plans for dealing with the impending doom, and once again, they wanted him to choose – and to choose one of them to join.
He had to go off by himself into a corner of the Omphalos chamber and think, pacing back and forth, rubbing a hand over his leaves. The leaf pups who usually cavorted there came up to him and whined, and he petted them, but his mind was not on them. He was drawn to the Vigil, to their honour and glory in battle… and yet he was also drawn to the Priory, to the pursuit of knowledge, to the exploration of the world. “Where life goes, so too, should you,” was his favourite of Ventari’s teachings, after all. He wanted to ask the others for advice, but he knew already that his friends would not help him decide. What would Trahearne do? Trahearne had apparently resisted joining an Order, despite repeated invitations, but that was his prerogative as a Firstborn. Caoilfhionn had no choice. What would Caithe do? He could envision her joining any of the three.
In the end, he liked Iowerth’s plan the best. The other orders forgave him for not choosing their part, and Trahearne and Caithe both readily agreed to come, which made him glad. Of course they would come, to finally avenge their brother, but it was reassuring to have their combined fifty years of expertise with him. And as a final gesture, the Pale Tree entrusted Caladbolg to him.
It weighed heavily on his back… though now that they were on this quest, it was just because he lacked the physical strength of other, sturdier Sylvari like his brother. He wondered if Trahearne and Caithe would feel similarly – though Caithe, at least, was used to fighting with melee weapons.
So the five of them, including Wegaff, set out for the northern Gendarran Fields. He was overjoyed that Wegaff would come; another elementalist would certainly be useful against the undead, and he was grateful that his friend would take the time to come with him, especially as the only non-Sylvari in a party full of them. Wegaff shrugged when he thanked him. “This was the deal. We become friends, we help each other from time to time. I’m sure you’ll help me when I need a hand.”
“I certainly will!”
“Now if you’d just let me take readings of that sword…”
“No samples! Readings only!”
“Relax, I know what I’m doing.”
On the journey, he had time to tell Trahearne and Caithe the entire story of fighting Waine, including the terrible things Waine had said. Perhaps he shouldn’t have; he should have spared them that last stroke of pain, but the words came tumbling out of him without stopping, the embers of his anger flaring up again. And Caithe did ask.
Caithe seethed. “I’m glad he is dead, Valiant. He was a waste of air. Now I wish I’d been there myself.”
“I’m sorry that I ever felt sorry for him,” Caoilfhionn admitted. “Saying such things about the man who died for him. Despicable.”
“You felt sorry for him?” Caithe said in confusion. “Whyever for?”
“He was not a full-grown Human, back then,” Caoilfhionn said. “You probably know better than me, but I’ve noticed that Humans do not let their… children fight, no matter how boldly they speak. Indeed, they seem to think that fighting is one of the worst things to happen to a child, even if they become warriors when they reach full stature.”
Caithe paused. “I have noticed that, you are right. And you said he was afraid. Understandable. But still inexcusable. I still cannot forgive him for Riannoc’s death, nor for the things he said.”
“Agreed,” Caoilfhionn said.
“I wonder,” Trahearne said. “Did he really believe the things he said, or was he trying to hide his wounded ego and guilt? Was he only trying to bait you into anger to give himself a sense of superiority? If so, it worked – but I cannot blame you. I think even I would have done the same in your place.”
Caoilfhionn stared wide-eyed at him. “I cannot imagine that.”
Trahearne smiled wryly. “I try not to lose my temper. It can cause a terrible mess. But I feel just as deeply as any other Sylvari, though some of them disbelieve it.”
Caithe reached out to pat him on the shoulder. “I know, Brother. Were we to fall victim to our feelings easily, we should be no better than the Nightmare Court. But we must remain calm while we fight Mazdak.”
“Indeed,” Trahearne said. “To let our passions drive us, yet not control us.” He looked at Caoilfhionn with a wry, slightly anxious smile. “Do try not to almost die this time.”
“I’ll do my best,” Caoilfhionn promised.
The tomb was everything he’d hoped it would be – traps that kept him on his toes, arcane magical puzzles, friendly ghosts who helped him proceed in the name of justice and honour. With the learned intelligence and honed inquisitiveness of everyone in the party, it did not take them long to pass through to the innermost chamber – though Caoilfhionn nearly tripped over a spear trap, felt his sap freeze in his veins as the deadly spikes clipped the heel of his boot as he fell face-first onto the dusty stone floor. How he wished to be as graceful as Caithe! She should have been the one to wield Caladbolg, not he.
But this was no time to doubt his abilities or his worthiness. They had come to what Captain Bragen, their ghostly human guide, told them was the final chamber. The chamber was wide and tall, flooded with water ankle-deep, or in Wegaff’s case nearly knee-deep; in the back of it loomed the lich they had come to destroy.
As the door creaked open, the lich took a few steps towards them. “Sylvari? Here? You have long roots for such small weeds.” What was that supposed to mean? “Flee, while you still have your lives! When the human race was as young as your own, I conquered these lands and named them Kryta!”
“Now I recognize these markings!” Trahearne cried. “Mazdak brought the first human settlers to Kryta, from Orr. No wonder he is so powerful. As a mortal, he lived in Orr… while the dragon slept, hidden deep beneath the ground.”
Was that when the dragon had gotten his claws into him? Or had Zhaitan infiltrated all the graves in Tyria in more recent history? “You may have once been a hero, Mazdak, but now you’re nothing but Zhaitan’s slave. We don’t fear you!” Caoilfhionn exclaimed, drawing Caladbolg from his back and hefting it into a ready position. Iowerth had brought along a sword and shield, and drew them now as well.
“Ah, but you should!” Mazdak laughed. “Know this before you die: no weapon forged can harm me. You face your doom!”
“Geez, he likes to be dramatic,” Wegaff muttered. “I’m allergic to melodrama.”
“No weapon forged I bear,” Caoilfhionn said, pointing Caladbolg at him; it blazed with white fire. “Perhaps you recognize this blade?”
Mazdak flinched for a moment. “Caladbolg!? I thought it was destroyed, long ago. Very well, Sylvari… Let this be a battle to the death – and beyond!” He raised his arms, and more undead sprang up around him.
“Leave those to us!” Caithe cried, moving swiftly to Caoilfhionn’s left. “You take Mazdak, we shall protect your back!”
“Understood!” Caoilfhionn took a deep breath and charged forwards, seeking to slam the sword into Mazdak’s robed body. The undead lord was much taller than he was, looming over him fearsomely with his bone staff and his skull mask… but that just made him a larger target. He had not had much practice with the greatsword on their journey, but he did not intend to fail now, fighting not only for his life and the lives of his friends and the Ascalon Settlement, but for the honour of Riannoc and all Sylvari.
And Caladbolg had magic of its own. Glowing brightly in the presence of its hated enemy, it blasted beams of power out at Mazdak, far more potent than Waine had been able to muster. Mazdak snarled as it struck him – he had not moved, perhaps unused to dodging. It had not been necessary until now, had it?
But then he struck back, while Caoilfhionn was still only halfway across the room, a dark bolt of energy that halted Caoilfhionn in his tracks with agony. Already, he stumbled, using the sword to hold him up.
Mazdak snorted a laugh. “You think to avenge your dead kinsman? You will fall, as he did.”
“Never,” Caoilfhionn gritted out, taking another step forward, and another, regaining momentum, swinging another beam of energy forwards. He had to close with the lich. This was just like when Waine fought him, but Mazdak would not flit around the room the way Caoilfhionn did. If only he could get close…
The sounds of battle echoed through the chamber, and Wegaff’s spells were illuminating it with fire and lightning – he had summoned his stone golem Bryn as well, setting it to protect him from any zombie that managed to dodge his spells. Iowerth was guarding Trahearne with sword and shield, and Trahearne was flinging spells from his sceptre, causing zombies to disintegrate in their tracks. And Caithe was whirling gracefully, ripping through the undead like a panther through mice. His friends were all fighting valiantly. But Mazdak still seemed so far away, raising wave after wave of undead without hardly seeming to think about it.
The pain wracked him again, and this time he felt something physically strike him as well – a zombie had gotten through and was attaching itself to his left leg, clawing at it, biting it, tearing through his pants and ripping open the flesh underneath. Blindly, he swung Caladbolg at it, felt it yanked away by heat and light – a fireball from Wegaff had blasted it off him. “You’re clear!” Wegaff called. Caoilfhionn had no breath to answer. He invoked his Signet of Restoration and pushed forward, though his leg was still running with yellow sap and lancing with unbearable pain into his abdomen.
Mazdak was before him and he swung with gritted teeth; the lich stepped backwards, his glowing red eyes leering down at him. The staff lifted but he swung again, forcing him to step back yet again. If he could keep Mazdak from casting any more of those horrible spells, he would have the space to attack again! Once more he stepped forward-
He tripped over a hidden stone under the dark water, with his wounded leg, no less, and fell heavily with a splash. He tried to push himself up; Mazdak swung his staff, and Caoilfhionn screamed as pain raked his body – a scream that abruptly cut to a gurgle as his face slipped into the water. He couldn’t breathe-! He couldn’t see, could feel nothing but agony darting along his veins, and he rolled to flail – and breathe.
“Caoilfhionn!” shouted everyone, turning to him – they would not reach him in time – he managed to open his eyes to see Mazdak looming over him, raising his staff for a killing spell.
“I cannot be defeated! I will break Caladbolg, and you along with it!”
Caoilfhionn made a mighty effort and swung Caladbolg up, through Mazdak’s staff. The staff shattered, raining pieces of bone around him. Caoilfhionn twisted, using Caladbolg to help him spin to his feet. “No more. No more will you plague the Humans and the Sylvari! No more will Zhaitan work through you!”
“The touch of that sword is like fire!” hissed Mazdak, cowering from its light. “Stop!”
Caoilfhionn swung, putting his entire slender body behind the blow, and Mazdak fell in two, robes and bones splashing into the water, meaningless fragments of an ancient corpse.
The other undead fell where they stood, and Caoilfhionn nearly followed them, pain still wracking his body and sap-blood flowing from his leg. As it was, he sagged nearly double, leaning on Caladbolg to keep him up.
“Easy,” Caithe said, walking over to him and putting her hand on his back. “Breathe slow. You’ve won.”
He’d won. He really had! When he had caught his breath and wiped the water and sweat from his brow, he managed to recover himself, straightening to his full height – which was not much, he was the shortest Sylvari in the room. He was still no match for Riannoc, in either stature, physical prowess, or heroism. But it was enough.
He turned, sheathing the blade on his back, and announced to his friends: “Mazdak the Accursed is dead.” The revelation washed over him, and he had to smile, uncontrollably joyous despite the lingering tears of pain in his eyes. By the Pale Tree, he was in an exalted state somewhere between wounded exhaustion, and glorious triumphant exhilaration. “By the blade of Caladbolg, Riannoc is at last avenged.”
“Haha! Well done!” Iowerth was the first to congratulate him, stepping forward to shake his hand. “Novice, you’ve shown both intelligence and courage. I rate your performance as exceptional. Let Wegaff and I be the first to officially welcome you to our order.”
“Hear, hear,” Wegaff said. “Though you were as much a shoe-in as I was, even with no head for theory.”
“I’ll learn,” Caoilfhionn assured him, smiling.
“I expect you will!” Iowerth said.
Caithe stepped forward and led him to a low stone to sit upon. “Now let’s get you fixed up. That leg of yours can’t be feeling good, even with the magic I saw you use.” They fussed over him, binding his leg with bandages and placing more healing spells on it; it would accelerate the healing, though it wouldn’t cure him instantly. He was quite happy to let them do so, happy to just sit and rest.
Iowerth sat back on his heels when it was done and nodded decisively. “When I return to the Grove, I shall write a glowing review of your performance and have it set it on Gixx’s desk immediately!”
“Gixx?” Caoilfhionn asked. “Who is that?”
“You don’t know!?” Wegaff asked indignantly. “Ranked ‘Incomparable Genius’ in the Asura Colleges, twice awarded the Meritorious Service Medal of the Iron Legion – you should at least know the head of the Order you are joining!”
Caoilfhionn rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and laughed. “I apologize. I… found this all to be a little sudden.” He hadn’t been planning to join any Order until they asked him to so vehemently!
“It’s quite understandable,” Iowerth said. “You’re only a few months old, aren’t you? But he is as Wegaff says: the leader of the Durmand Priory. His intellectual brilliance inevitably led him there. He’s a bit grumpy, but astonishing nevertheless.”
“I understand,” Caoilfhionn said. “I shall endeavour to learn all I can as quickly as I can. I don’t want to let you down.”
“Don’t stress yourself,” Iowerth told him. “You should head to Lion’s Arch as soon as you are able, where you will meet your mentor and receive your first formal assignment. They’ll instruct you in all you need to know.”
“Thank you,” Caoilfhionn said. “I don’t suppose it would be Wegaff, would it?”
“Unlikely,” Wegaff said. “I’m still in the Novice rank myself. But I’m sure we could get assigned as partners.”
“I’d like that,” Caoilfhionn said, and tried to stand, with Iowerth’s help. “Caithe, what’s wrong? You’re quiet.”
“I am thinking,” Caithe said. She had turned away from them, towards the wall, but now she came back towards him, her expression far less joyful than Iowerth’s. “Riannoc died before he could fulfill his Wyld Hunt. He died because he was alone. If you had been alone… If we wish to fight Zhaitan, we must not let fear or anger force us apart. If we do not find a way to defeat the dragons, Tyria will be destroyed. Tell me, my friend… Do you think… do you think it’s possible for people to let go of their differences? To unite?”
In this moment, he believed in anything, the euphoria of victory still ringing through his soul. “Our Dreams inspire us, Caithe. We must never give up hope, or we give up on the Dream itself.”
She nodded decisively. “Then I must also go to Lion’s Arch. It is time to call together Destiny’s Edge.” Without waiting for them, she began to stride to the entrance.
“Caithe!” called Trahearne, straightening from studying Mazdak’s remains. “It is too late in the day to journey all the way to Lion’s Arch. At least let us go together back to Ascalon Settlement.”
She paused, then managed to smile. “Yes, you are right. I will go with you. Caoilfhionn, can you walk on that leg?”
“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” Caoilfhionn said. “I’m a little concerned about getting back out past the traps. I don’t know if I have the strength to find the waypoint at Ascalon Settlement…” which would be the easy way out.
“There should be a method to deactivate them from in here,” Wegaff said, already looking around. “They wouldn’t seal in the interrers… probably.”
“While they are working on that, a moment?” Trahearne said to him. “If you are bound for Lion’s Arch, then by your leave, I’ll return Caladbolg to the Pale Tree. I’ll be sure to tell her the tale of Mazdak’s defeat.”
“That is a splendid plan,” Caoilfhionn said, and gladly handed over the heavy sword. “Thank you for everything, Trahearne.”
“My pleasure,” Trahearne said.
Caoilfhionn hesitated, then asked: “Will I see you again?”
Trahearne did not hesitate. “Yes. I am sure of it. Our Wyld Hunts are linked, my friend. We will need one another.”
That sent a cascade of butterflies through his stomach – though surely Trahearne didn’t mean it like that. “I am looking forward to it.” An awkwardly formal answer, but what else was there to say?
“As am I. Come! I think they’ve found the switch. Caithe and I will aid you if you need assistance getting up those stairs.”
8: Denial (Trahearne)
The closest inn was at Ascalon Settlement, and there they went after they emerged from the crypt. It was a long, long walk, and Trahearne worried that Caoilfhionn wouldn’t be able to make it with his leg in its condition, but he was either sturdier or more stubborn than Trahearne had given him credit for, though he seemed very glad to arrive when he did. As for himself… his brother’s sword was a weighty burden, and one he bore with solemn acceptance.
Not everyone had known of their task; the dangers of causing a panic had been too great. Still, the local Seraph leader, Lieutenant Lokam, knew about it and told the innkeep to allow them free drinks for the evening. Trahearne took a glass of red wine and after a suitable amount of time in the company of the others, went to sit in the corner with Caladbolg and his journal.
Some time later, he looked up as he heard stumbling footsteps, and Caoilfhionn staggered over, clearly unsteady not just from his leg but from inebriation, a bright smile stretching his handsome face to its limit. “Tra-Trahearne! Hello!”
“Hello,” Trahearne said, smiling back. “Had plenty to drink?”
“Sure!” And Caoilfhionn tripped over a chair, almost putting his face into the table but catching himself just in time. Trahearne half-jumped up, too late to be of assistance, but Caoilfhionn, balance or no, came right up to him and hugged him. “I wan’ed to say, thank you!”
“Er, you’re welcome,” Trahearne said, more amused than ever, but leaning as far away from this intrusion into his space as he could get without prying the young man off him. He smelled distractingly of floral cinnamon. “What for, though?” He’d already thanked him. Had he forgotten?
Caoilfhionn looked up at him with the most beatific smile. If he had not been dead drunk, his earnestness would have caught Trahearne’s breath completely, with those wide coral eyes shining with innocence. As it was, he was in considerable danger anyway. “For bein’ here. For bein’ you!”
“…I think you’ve had quite enough to drink,” was Trahearne’s only coherent response. “Shall we get you to bed before you pass out on a table?”
“Huh?”
He sighed. “Bed. Now. Come along.” He put an arm around Caoilfhionn’s shoulders and steered him in the direction of the stairs. Along the way, he caught Caithe’s eye, gestured with his head to the stairs and the burden he was carrying. She nodded, then made her own gestures to Caladbolg – she’d keep an eye on it.
He made it to an empty room, even with Caoilffhion’s head snuggled distractingly into his collarbone, and deposited him on the first bed. He couldn’t even get the coverlet pulled back before he did, with Caoilfhionn clinging to him like he was. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t like he’d catch cold. Humans just thought it odd when Sylvari didn’t use blankets. “Wait here.” Yes, there was a water pitcher and clay mugs, and he poured water for him. “Drink this.”
“I’ve been drinkin’,” Caoilfhionn objected.
“That you have. Drink it anyway.” He would be all wilted come morning if he didn’t take in some actual water as well.
Caoilfhionn did as he was told and then curled up on the bed. “G’d night, Tr’hearne.”
“Good night, Caoilfhionn.” And there he was – out like a candle.
Trahearne looked down on him in silence several minutes more, before he turned and slid down to sit with his back against the bedframe. “What are you doing to me, sapling?” he asked quietly, running a hand over his face. “Amaranda said you were destined for greatness… but I cannot become so attached yet…” And yet he was anyway. Even though there were a great many people who vaguely disliked him for reasons beyond his control, many people who respected him for his knowledge, and several people who owed him favours, there were still very few people who really liked him. As a friend. Unconditionally. Caithe, Amaranda, Izu, young Sieran…
And most of the time that was fine. The Mother Tree loved every one of her children, including him, and such friends as he did have were much appreciated, though really actually not very necessary. He spent most of his time alone, moving stealthily through a long-dead land, small and green amidst massive black stones; having a friend on Orr would only bring them both into danger. He liked being alone. He was of the Cycle of Dusk; he had been born the first of all of them; there had been a time, even if only for a few hours, when he was completely, utterly unique in all the world. Never lonely, for his Mother had been there for him, but alone.
And now there was this vibrant orchid-coloured ray of brave sunshine bursting into his life like the dawn, who apparently did not care that he studied the dead, who did not care that his Wyld Hunt was futile, who knew all the things that everyone else mocked and yet only looked at him with admiration and joy, as he had tonight. It was… refreshing, and gratifying, and brought him happiness. And that… was frightening. He had to wonder – how much would it hurt, if this bold young Valiant fell in battle in the near future, as he had nearly fallen that day? Life was so terribly fragile, and all his efforts could hardly protect any of it… let alone renew it… Did he even deserve to be happy, after so many years of… not exactly failure, but…?
“What am I going to do with you?”
He laughed quietly in self-deprecation. He wasn’t going to do anything yet. Caoilfhionn would join the Durmand Priory and go off to see the world, and he was going back to Orr after this; their paths would probably not cross for a long time. And perhaps then his feelings would quiet within him, which would be for the best. Caoilfhionn would grow wiser, and learn not to stare at him with such unguarded reverence, and then he would not be in such danger.
But… he imagined they would meet again, sooner or later. Caoilfhionn’s Wyld Hunt would lead him to Orr someday, if he lived long enough, and together with Caithe, they would try to put an end to Zhaitan and give him even the chance to attempt to fulfill his own Wyld Hunt. If that happened… he would be glad to see him again.
Caoilfhionn came back to consciousness in waves, and regretted it. As soon as he was awake enough to move, he clapped both hands over his forehead and let out a groan.
He sensed someone leaning over him, and heard Trahearne chuckle. “Had a bit too much last night, hmm?”
“What have I done?” he groaned dramatically. “I regret everything.”
Trahearne found that very funny, it sounded. “Ah, well. You’re young. Here, drink this.”
He dragged himself to sitting with greater effort and discomfort than anything else he’d ever done in his entire short life, moaning as his skull throbbed. Blindly he took the cup Trahearne held for him and drank it. “It’s bitter!”
“Powdered willow bark, among other things,” Trahearne said. “It soothes pain. You should be feeling better in less than an hour.”
“Pale Tree’s grace, I hope so,” Caoilfhionn said, finishing the mug and lying back down, putting his pillow over his head. “I’m ready to visit the Mists now.”
Trahearne laughed. “The Mists can wait. I’m going down for breakfast with the others. We’ll wait for you.”
That made him feel a bit guilty, but there was nothing for it but to hope the willow bark worked.
At length, he thought the throbbing grew a bit less, and he managed to peel himself out of bed and found his boots. He only dimly remembered the previous night… trying as many different drinks as the tavern could serve, discovering how delightful it was to be tipsy, going over to… oh no.
But Trahearne had been there when he woke, had taken gentle care of him, had seemed amused with him… so perhaps he had not embarrassed himself too much? Or was that wishful thinking? Perhaps he’d blurted out something ill-advised and now Trahearne was laughing at him in his head-
That didn’t seem the kind of thing he would do. Not after how awkwardly he’d taken the attentions of the young woman at Watchful Source. No, he probably hadn’t said anything too foolish. Even if he had, all he could do now was pretend he hadn’t, and go get breakfast.
He tried to be cheerful at breakfast, and Wegaff and Iowerth helped. Caithe had already left for Lion’s Arch, but Wegaff would be going with him, and Iowerth with Trahearne, when he was finished eating.
When he was done, it was time to bid farewell – perhaps for a long time. He hadn’t thought about it, but with the conclusion of this quest, he was bidding farewell to the Grove, to Caledon Forest, for surely the Priory would send him all over Tyria. It was exciting… and a bit sad, as well. To leave home so completely…
The Grove would always be there, though. He could always return. But would Trahearne be there?
“Well,” Trahearne said, outside the inn, Caladbolg on his back, “it is time for us to part ways. Caoilfhionn, I wish you all the best with your friend Wegaff and the Priory. Know that if you should need me, I will be there. Our Wyld Hunts will bring us together once more.”
He managed to smile, and he had to ask: “You… wouldn’t be interested in coming with me, would you?” Once he delivered Caladbolg to the Pale Tree… It was too bold, asking a Firstborn to join him, but he had to try anyway!
Trahearne shook his head, but tempered it with a wistful smile. “No, I think not. I have more research to do on Orr. You’ll do well without me, I know it.” He paused awkwardly, and Caoilfhionn didn’t know what to do either. At length, he bowed. “May your path be filled with adventure and joy. Until we meet again.”
“Safe travels!” Caoilfhionn wished him, and watched them walk through the western gate.