The Traveler's Chronicles

Rating: T - M (Rating my increase in later chapters).

Disclaimer: Bungie, I don't own this. Also, please hire me. My headcanon has some pretty awesome ideas, and I wouldn't even be jelly if they were used in the game!

Summary: The Traveler has many children, and these are their stories. Small drabbles, new prompt every chapter. This time, Cayde reflects on his position of Vanguard leader and longs to return to the field.

Warnings: Absolutely none. Enjoy your reading.

Author's Notes: Hey everyone! This is me trying to get back into the Destiny headspace. c;

It's exactly what's on the label - romance. I don't think that romance between Guardians would be forbidden - people who live forever would need something to bond and attach themselves to, after all! I don't think I'll be posting too many romances, but I just wanted to explore the different avenues I saw.

There will be one more romance thing after this one - but I promise it'll be more humor than romance. I need to update Lumi, too, but then I'll update this bad boy again, pinky promise!

If you want to see any prompts, send them my way via review or a PM! I'm up for sketching up pretty much anything in this bad boy. The Traveler's Chronicles encompasses a lot of headcanons, the canon in general, and interpretation!

. . . Also, Hunters are the best class. You know it's true. 3

"Dance first. Think later. It's the natural order."
-Samuel Beckett

Brash, he had decided.

Stupid. Ignorant. Impulsive.

By the Traveler, at one point, he'd even thought them simple. He had believed that humans, for all of their physical incapability, had been far more intelligent and able-bodied than they. Sure, they could sling sniper rifles and knives like nobody's business, but their mental attributes were. . . lacking. But now, as he watched, he wasn't so sure anymore. Devan was absolutely positive that other Guardians would call him seasoned ("You're older than dirt." She'd giggled one day), that his age earned him a certain measure of respect. After all, not many lived to be the age of 700. . . But still, in all of his years after being Reborn, he just. . . He'd never thought he'd run into something quite like this.

Out in the plaza, the rain was pouring down, drenching everything it touched. A welcome relief from the drought that had been plaguing the City. And there, in that same plaza, she was dancing.

She seemed to not care at all for the rain - and instead spun in dizzying circles as she splashed from puddle to puddle, acting far more like a child than she had right to. Lien-Hua was a Guardian just shy of his own age - she was roughly 647 or so, if he remembered correctly. Her black hair, normally glossy and straight, was a matted, wet mess, but it danced along behind her, following the lines of her white and gold cloak.

Devan had unraveled mysteries that hadn't been touched for centuries. And when he lacked the feeling of satiation that scholarly pursuits could give him, he turned his restless energy to the battlefield. Acting as a tactician always made him feel right with the world. Even so, he'd always assumed he'd had everything figured out - even those of his own kind.

Titans were just as brash as Hunters, if not more so. They were aggressive, defensive, and more than a little bloodthirsty. Where Hunters sought their battles for adrenaline fixes, Titans viewed firefights as sport, as a means to challenge one another. For Titans, wars were nothing more than endless competitions. Hell, at one point in time, he was fairly certain that there had been a scoreboard of some kind keeping tally of who killed what the height of the Cabal skirmishes. It had been amusing, if nothing else, to Devan that Titans should feel the need to keep score of such a thing, especially considering that it didn't matter who murdered what.

So long as all threats to Earth (and the Traveler) were exterminated, petty egotistical disputes shouldn't be required to fulfill their primary mission.

Hunters were just as easy to figure out. They were prideful to the point of it being a fault. Gamblers by nature, they were more than willing to empty their pockets of glimmer in the face of bets. If such a bet resulted in their death, well, that was simply something that went with the territory. Beyond their basic nature, they also had an infuriating way of attempting to be intelligent simply by attending lectures or entering the Warlock's archives. . . most of which were disastrous attempts, given all normally ended with Hunters challenging Warlocks who were studying (uncommon), picking their fingernails clean with one of their many knives (more common), falling asleep (supremely common), or leaving within two seconds of their entering (the most common).

Devan, as a Warlock, had stopped putting faith in Hunters many years ago.

In truth, he'd believed he'd gotten it all figured out. Titans were brave, but egotistical, Hunters were courageous, but stupid, and Warlocks were clearly superior for creating the art of Thanatology. Not to mention Warlocks often foretold of impending disasters, or their attempts to figure out the damage done to the Traveler. . .

He had really thought that in his 700 years of living, everything was black and white.

Of course, leave it to the Traveler to introduce the first shade of gray he'd seen in a long, long time.

Lien-Hua had been the first person to surprise him, to add a lost, lonesome piece to the jigsaw puzzle he'd completed eons ago.

As if sensing his gaze, she stopped dancing, and with a wide grin, lifted a hand and beckoned to him.

"Devan!" She called over the sound of the rain, "Come out here with me!"

His first reaction: why?

It was raining. He'd get wet. What could he possibly do in the rain - just stand in it? Lien-Hua threw back her head and laughed, spreading her arms wide, and almost as if drawn by an otherworldly force, Devan somehow found his feet moving, taking him out from his dry, sheltered alcove. Lien-Hua was back to spinning and giggling, acting like a small human child. And Devan drew up short, just shy of touching her, and for some reason, he found his lips twitching into a smile.

She was his perfect puzzle.

Unsolvable. A knot that could never be frayed. A pleasingly infuriating mystery. A riddle with no answer. Earlier in his life, that would have angered him. Now? Now, he wasn't sure if he ever wanted it to stop.

He had met her many years prior, when she'd been sitting on the ground in the plaza, eyes closed. At first, he had assumed she was soaking up the sun - but as the fog rolled in, he knew that wasn't the case. When he had stopped and asked her what she was doing, incredulous (Hunters could be so stupid sometimes), he had received an utterly stunning smile, her black eyes creasing in happiness.

"I like the sound of the noise the boots make in the plaza. I just sit down and listen. Here. Join me."

Devan had stared down at her, about to bite out a scornful "no," but for some reason, his body had responded. And he had found that the sound of Guardian's boots on plaza had been something of a pleasant noise.

And that same, mystifying force drove him now, to reach out and catch her hands. Lien-Hua looked at him in surprise, but then that gorgeous smile illuminated her face again, and she laughed - the sound echoing and bouncing throughout the plaza - as Devan caved to her, as he had so many times before.

He danced with her, curbing her recklessness and energy into something more graceful and fluid. He smiled, hearing the whispers of other Guardians but cared nothing for them.

He waltzed with Lien-Hua in the plaza as the rain poured around them, the Traveler glittering in the background.