14: A Slow Blossoming

He had run from the others when they made it onto the ship, hiding on a back corner of the aft deck out of everyone's way. Annhilda, Damara, even Rhyoll, tried to follow him, but he told them to go away. How could they understand? And there he grieved, unable to come to grips with his first really personal loss, when he heard light steps beside him and looked to see Trahearne's feet next to him.

"May I sit with you?" Trahearne asked softly.

Caoilfhionn nodded, unable to speak, tears in his throat and the back of his hand to his mouth to cover his sobs. To imagine what had become of the three they'd left behind – he'd seen so much death that day, but to imagine Sieran – dull claws tearing her flesh apart, rending her limb from limb, a massive club crushing her – she who had been so full of life and laughter! – such horrors played through his mind until he wanted to scream.

"There, there," Trahearne said, and next thing Caoilfhionn knew, he'd wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close to lean against his shoulder. "I miss her too. All of them. It's always hard. Especially for one like you, with your bright, loving heart."

"I should have done something," Caoilfhionn whispered. "Even though she said I should not. What sort of knight lets their friends sacrifice themselves?"

"I know that line of thinking all too well. But we would not have escaped without them. Or without you. I owe you a great debt for your bravery."

"'Twas not bravery," Caoilfhionn mumbled. "'Twas simply reckless upset. I do not know what I did."

"You cleared the way for us all, and saved me and Mira from being set upon by undead. I could not fight while carrying her unconscious body…" Trahearne paused. "I could say many… useless things to try to comfort you, but for now, I will only say this: it is all right to let it overwhelm you now. Let it out. There is no shame in grief."

Caoilfhionn huddled closer to Trahearne's rather woody shoulder, hugging his waist, and cried. He wished he could appreciate the closeness, but all he could focus on was his pain and confusion.

Perhaps Amaranda the Lonesome had been right. He'd been a bit of a fool. Grief was not glorious, nor was it romantic – he'd have given anything to have the three Order agents – just to have Sieran back. He'd give up the promises of a heroic future if only-

And he was all but guaranteed to lose more friends. To fight a dragon of death was no jaunt through a garden. Why was the world so cruel!? Why were the dragons so cruel?

When his tears had stilled, he leaned yet on Trahearne, taking as much comfort from his touch as he could, from the sound of his breath, from his scent – though he smelled of blood and dust and decay overlying everything else. In this moment, he could be close without fear, without shyness, watching the slow pulse of Trahearne's magenta luminescence through the veins of the skin visible on his arms and hands.

"Feel better?" Trahearne said at length.

"A little, thank you," Caoilfhionn said, and was a little disappointed as Trahearne disengaged from the hug, though he didn't move far. "What happens next?" He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped away what was left of his tears, though he knew his eyes would still be yellow-rimmed for a while yet. And the tears might return later. Would return later.

Trahearne looked up at the stars, and Caoilfhionn looked up at him, at that beautiful, sharp-featured profile. "We must find allies for the fight to retake Claw Island before the Risen can use it as a jumping off point to invade Lion's Arch in full. I have some ideas, and I'm sure the Order heads will have more. …Would you like to come with me?"

"I would," Caoilfhionn said. "Where are you going?"

"I know a pair of Sylvari back in Caledon Forest, Tegwen and Carys. They are skilled Wardens, and knowledgeable about the Risen. Both have traveled to Orr and lived to speak of it."

"What are they like?"

"They are close companions. Tegwen is elder and wiser. Carys…" Trahearne made a wry face. "…is Carys. You'll see."

"Yes."

Silence fell between them, only the creak of the ship and the wash of the waves to be heard. The night wind was humid but cool. His emotions were spent into the embrace of the dusk, and he was tired, but not sleepy. He didn't feel much of anything, actually. It was… strange. Unnatural, for him.

Trahearne cleared his throat hesitantly. "I meant to say it before, but… you look well. In those clothes."

"Thank you."

"Extremely well, even."

Caoilfhionn managed a tiny smile. "My sister makes them."

"I recall." Trahearne abruptly got up. "You should try to rest, if you can. I will need to track down Tegwen and Carys tomorrow, and it will be a hard fight ahead of us afterwards."

"I will try," Caoilfhionn said. "Thank you for helping me."

"I thought you might want the support of another Sylvari." Trahearne paused. "Your guild is also worried about you; Annhilda asked me to come to you. And the Asura… Phiadi is also grieving alone, much like you were. I think she will put on a strong face tomorrow. Be patient with her."

"I understand," Caoilfhionn said. "We all lost someone today."

Trahearne nodded. "They are interesting people. You should tell me more of them, when you are of a mind to."

Caoilfhionn choked back a sniffle. "I'll be all right tomorrow. Thank you. And I'll thank them, too."

Tegwen and Carys were to be found far to the south of Lion's Arch, in the swamps of Bloodtide Coast, and they were quite willing to come and join the struggle after they completed their own quest – they, and about forty friends!

"A unit of battle-trained Sylvari with experience in Orr? What more could we ask for?" Caoilfhionn said.

"Thank you," Trahearne said to them. "We'll see you in Lion's Arch."

"I look forward to helping you," Tegwen said. "Perhaps fighting those creatures attacking Lion's Arch will quell the nightmares…"

"Tumbling turnips, I hope so!" Carys said. "But I'm glad we sent this undead to the Mists. Which are far from the dragon. Very, very far. Lucky her, really."

Trahearne and Caoilfhionn bowed to them and withdrew, leaving Carys to chatter and Tegwen to organize the striking of the Sylvari camp. "I'm concerned," Trahearne said. "The Orrians will surely be using this time to become entrenched. Even with their aid, it will be incredibly difficult to regain Claw Island."

"We can't give up hope, Trahearne," Caoilfhionn said earnestly – after he'd had time to rest, he'd woken up far more determined than before. Sieran's death would not be in vain.

Trahearne gave him a little smile. "I haven't lost hope. In fact, I'm counting on hope to lead the way."

"Hope's Legacy, even?" Caoilfhionn asked coyly. He'd had opportunity to gush about his new companions that morning, and Trahearne had listened attentively.

"That goes without saying," Trahearne rejoined in deadpan, and continued. "I feel that we should ask for wisdom from the Pale Tree. If anyone knows how to defeat Zhaitan, it is the Mother. Let us go to the Grove."

Caoilfhionn nodded, and closed his eyes, reaching out to the invisible currents of magic that let him sense the Asuran waypoints. A breath later, and he found himself back in the familiar loveliness of the Grove, surrounded by the laughter and music and falling water that played there constantly. The scent of flowers fair assaulted him, and he breathed deeply of it. It was good to be home!

Trahearne appeared beside him, and led the way to the Omphalos Chamber. The Pale Tree was waiting. "Welcome, my sons."

"Hail, Mother," Trahearne said, and the two Sylvari knelt before her. "We seek your wisdom."

"I know why you have come," said the Tree. "Bide a while. I have much to show you both."

"Mother, I am sure by now you have heard of the destruction at Claw Island. Zhaitan is attacking in force."

"The soul of Tyria mourned as her children were cut down by the beast," said the Tree mournfully, gazing into the distance. "The land wept, and the world shuddered. Many of my children were slain…"

"Caoilfhionn and I seek to right that wrong," Trahearne said. "We wish to take back what was lost. We've come to ask your counsel."

"The answer is at the heart of Tyria's future – and your own. Both of you must face the darkness, and become guiding stars in the night." She smiled. "Though shadows fall, still the stars find their way."

"But Mother, is it even possible to defeat Zhaitan?" Caoilfhionn asked.

"Only with great courage, my son. Come. I will show you a vision of your future, and the challenges to come…" She gestured, and Caoilfhionn found his eyes falling shut.

He opened them to find himself in a dim, hazy world, like a… like the Dream, but far less distinct than he remembered it being from before his Awakening. Towering shapes loomed about them. Trahearne was the only distinct thing he could see, dark and solid, and he drew closer to him nervously. The Avatar of the Tree floated a little before them, shining in the dimness.

"Where are we?" he asked, peering up at the massive cliffs around them. They were not completely natural, and not completely unnatural – at least, it didn't look like it. He couldn't make heads or tails of them at all.

"Orr," Trahearne said at once. "This is Orr, near to the Royal Tombs at Azabe Qabar. We are within the Dream, Caoilfhionn. It is a dangerous honour."

"Dangerous?" His Dream had not been dangerous until the dragon showed up, and even then, it would not have killed him before he was born, would it? Or was it possible? He had not thought about it before.

"The Dream is not reality. It is made of memory, aether, and powerful magic. Even I do not understand it. The things here are as real as you or I, and they will seek to do us harm. …But more than that… I question if I am ready to see the truths it reveals."

Caoilfhionn reached out to touch his elbow. "I'm with you, Trahearne."

Trahearne glanced at him and smiled. "I will remember that, Caoilfhionn. Thank you. Now let us hurry. The Mother Tree cannot maintain a shard of the Dream like this for very long."

"Is this truly what Orr is like?" Caoilfhionn asked as they walked onwards. "Is this what you were describing to me before?"

"Yes. I know these paths as if they were of the Caledon. Grim, isn't it?"

"Where does Zhaitan live?"

"In the tarnished city of Arah, to the south." Trahearne pointed, though in the brown half-light Caoilfhionn had no notion of any direction. "Would you like to hear more about it?"

"Yes, please!"

"Hmm… They say that Orr was once beautiful. A nation to rival Kryta, Ascalon, and Elona. The Human gods lived in the city of Arah, and the people here were blessed. After the gods left, the humans banded into guilds and warred upon each other. The Guild Wars caused great devastation, and the nations faltered." Trahearne cast a glance at him. "You cannot see its beauty now, I think."

"I scarce know what I am looking at," Caoilfhionn said. All he could make out clearly was cracked masonry beneath his feet and wave-wrinkled sand dunes beside the road. "That giant circle…"

"It has been suggested that these great discs once floated in the air."

Caoilfhionn made a disgruntled face. "Whatever for?"

"I do not know… Where are we going, Mother?"

"To the ancient city of Arah," said the Pale Tree. "Along the way, you will glimpse things that may yet come to pass."

And so they walked, briskly, and Caoilfhionn stared at the strange, dead land and the ghostly beings that wandered it. Was this truly what it was like? But it had to be, didn't it? The Pale Tree could not have been there herself. What she knew must come from the memories of Trahearne and other Sylvari who had been there. So unless something had changed drastically since the last time Trahearne had been to this spot, this was what Orr looked like.

He still didn't think it was right to mock Trahearne for having an impossible task. Even though it was looking more impossible to him every moment.

"Where was I?" Trahearne said after a moment. "Oh, yes, the Guild Wars. Still angry over the loss of Ascalon, the Charr struck hard while humanity fought with itself. The Charr ravaged Ascalon with searing cauldrons and marched on Orr. As hope failed, an Orrian named Vizier Khilbron read the Lost Scrolls and unleashed an ancient curse. The curse annihilated the Charr army, but it destroyed Orr as well. A cataclysm plunged the nation into the ocean. Everything was lost."

"Is that why all this looks… seaweedy?" Caoilfhionn asked.

"Yes… A hundred years out of the ocean has not swept it away. It was Zhaitan, the Elder Undead Dragon, that pulled Orr from the depths. The massacre of Orr gave the dragon fertile ground to create its horrific army. And Zhaitan's power does not end here. In slaughter, its army grows stronger. Claw Island was just the beginning. …The dragons are destruction. They will not stop until all life on Tyria is destroyed."

"Then we will stop them – what is that?"

A hulking undead brute lurched into their view, and it turned its head and saw them. Caoilfhionn reacted on instinct, darting forward to skid along a line of fire past its legs; it swatted at him with a vast claw, but too late to catch him. He heard Trahearne shout, and a barrage of necromantic spells lashed out at the undead as it turned to follow Caoilfhionn. He cast more fire at it, rolled, and cast again. It was tough, seeming not to feel anything he did, as he ran through his repertoire – ice shards, stone spikes, lightning bolts. "Come after me, you bastard!" He was more smaller, more nimble, better able to cast and dodge simultaneously than Trahearne. He'd keep it off him so he could cast more strongly.

"Caoilfhionn, look out!" Trahearne cried, jumping forward – why? – and he flung himself away from another swing of its claws. The sheer force of the draft draft knocked him stumbling forward and into a tree of dead coral, which crumbled under his weight into jagged fragments. "Caoilfhionn!"

He gathered his balance and spun, just as the creature's arm landed with a thud beside him – torn off by Trahearne's magic. "Nice one! Get back!" For it was turning to attack Trahearne with a roar. Caoilfhionn gathered his strength and launched himself forwards, blocking its path, tearing through it with a searing wall of fire. His dagger plunged to the hilt in its chest and erupted in flame.

It fell backwards to the ground with a groan, and Trahearne sagged in relief.

"You should be more careful!" Caoilfhionn scolded him. "I was fine. I was trying to keep you out of danger!"

"That's enough cheek out of you, sapling," Trahearne said, panting, with a raised eyebrow and a smile that was half-grimace. "I was trying to keep you out of danger." As Caoilfhionn gaped in astonishment, he turned to the Mother Tree. "These creatures are formidable. Tougher than the ones at Claw Island. How will we defeat them?"

"Alone, you cannot," said the Pale Tree, lifting him with her hand. "But with unity, you will find that many impossible things can be achieved."

There was a small encampment to the right, ringed about with steel fences and thorny vines, and the Pale Tree led them through its gates. There were many insubstantial spirits within, an army even, of all the races – of all the Orders. Charr, Norn, Asura, Vigil, Whispers, Priory, they were all there. He even recognized a couple of the Priory folk who were there. Was he there, he wondered?

And suddenly he lost all interest in looking for himself among the crowd, for an image of Trahearne stood before them, a confident Trahearne, who raised his hand and his voice to address them. "Defenders of Tyria! When Zhaitan rose from slumber, the dragon found a long-dead nation and claimed it. The dragon expected the rest of Tyria to be as easily conquered. But we live… and we breathe… and we fight! All races, all Orders, and all paths of life stand against Zhaitan. The dragon is a fearsome enemy. It wants nothing more than to paralyze us with doubt. But I tell you this: I am not afraid! I may die, but I will never kneel!"

The ground shook as a distant sound rumbled through the world. Caoilfhionn gasped, and found real-Trahearne beside him looked almost as alarmed.

But Dream-Trahearne pointed towards the sound, his eyes alight with defiance. "Do you feel that? The dragon hears us! It is the dragon who is afraid!" He gestured to the army to follow, and turned towards the gate. "Now to Arah, and victory!"

The army cheered, a hearty roar that shook Caoilfhionn perhaps more than the dragon's cry had done, and streamed out around Dream-Trahearne, eagerly clutching their weapons.

Trahearne turned to the Pale Tree, his mouth hanging open. "Is this a vision of the future? Mother, I… I do not understand. I'm no general." Commander Talon had said as much, Caoilfhionn remembered. Though given what other things Commander Talon had thought, Caoilfhionn was not going to believe his words as granite truth.

"You must be what Tyria needs you to be, my son. You have more courage than you realize."

"Do I?" Trahearne said in a low voice. "Can I truly stand before an army and say such stirring words, and mean them?"

Caoilfhionn gave him a lopsided smile. "You should write them down anyway, just in case you need them later."

Trahearne barked a short laugh. "Perhaps I will."

The other visions they saw were no less disconcerting. A vision showing Destiny's Edge in grief after their fracture, and Caithe – future-Caithe falling into Nightmare, joining Faolain to spend her last days seeking the love that real-Caithe had already rejected as lies; a vision of the last king of Orr, speaking cryptic words before disappearing again, leaving them no wiser than before.

They stopped at a great plaza, a massive ring of stairs leading to a vast hall lined with statues of the Human gods. "This is the Promenade of the Gods, that leads to the gates of Arah," Trahearne said. "Of all the places I have been on Orr, I have not yet been past those doors. This is as far as we will go, is it not, Mother?"

"But a little farther," she said. "Your last challenge on the road to Arah will be the guardian of the gate. Beyond this… I cannot foretell."

She turned to Trahearne, and both Sylvari were seized with an immense solemnity, and knelt before her. "Once before, I gave this sword to a beloved son. Now, I pass it on to you, Trahearne." She held out her slender hand, and the shining greatsword was in it, hilt first. "Caladbolg is yours. Bear it with honour, and the sword will never fail you."

Trahearne stammered. "M-Mother… this is the greatest honour. I pray that I am worthy of it."

"You are, my dear son. And you will need it in the trials ahead. Caoilfhionn… This dagger is not of my flesh, but it was grown by your sister, Eithne. I have given it what strength I can to aid you."

"Thank you, Mother Tree," Caoilfhionn said, accepting the dagger, intertwined wood and steel and opals; it shed faint teal sparkles in his hand, humming silently with an inner power. "I will thank Eithne as soon as I can."

"Now go! Test yourselves against the guardian, and I shall speak with you after."

The two knights saluted her and walked forward to see what awaited them. Caoilfhionn took his old dagger in his left hand and his new dagger in his right. He would forego the shields of his focus from now on, trusting in his speed and positioning to bear him through the battles to come.

He felt his power flow easily, strongly through his new weapon, and Trahearne seemed to need only a few moments before Caladbolg rested easy in his hands – to be sure, for all that Trahearne was slender, he was taller than Caoilfhionn, if not as tall as Riannoc, which surely made it easier for him – and together, they made short work of the guardian of the gate.

They awoke from the dream the moment it fell, and they rose from the grass of the Omphalos Chamber, where two of the leaf pups had begun climbing on Caoilfhionn. He carefully removed them and stood. His new blade was at his side. "Are you all right, Trahearne?"

Trahearne's brow was furrowed again. "I am newly inspired… yet I feel as if the burden of my Wyld Hunt is growing even heavier."

"Why is that?"

"I must see Orr green again. But how? Can you say you looked upon that place and saw a blossoming future? Truly?"

Caoilfhionn was taken aback. "I thought you had such a clear vision of what it would be-"

"Yes, but how? The answer yet eludes me, and I-" He huffed impatiently.

Caoilfhionn put out a hand to his elbow again. "We will find it together. I know it. The Mother Tree said there were no certainties in that vision. But there was hope."

Trahearne sighed, breathing out his frustration, and his face eased. "Thank you, Caoilfhionn."

The Pale Tree's avatar stepped closer, compassion written across her face. "To know the future, even a mere possibility, can be a great burden. I am sorry, brave heroes of mine, that you must walk this path."

Trahearne looked up at her. "Must these things come to pass, Mother? Must I take up Caladbolg and travel into the heart of Orr like that?"

"You must both take up this mantle. Trahearne, your duty is to cleanse Orr. Caoilfhionn, you shall aid him… and then face the dragon."

"And Claw Island?" asked Caoilfhionn. "Can we retake it and save Lion's Arch?"

"I believe so… but that will not be your first test. The dragon seeks to destroy its enemies before they can strike. I see within the Dream that Zhaitan's forces enter battle – not against Lion's Arch, but at the heart of Tyria's Orders… including the Priory."

"The Priory? If my friends are in danger, I have to go to them. They do not know – they'll be slaughtered!"

Trahearne put a hand on his shoulder. "I will go with you. Our fates are bound together, and from this day forward, we fight as one."

The Tree nodded. "Farewell, valiant souls. May your Wyld Hunts be successful, and may your courage illuminate the dark of night."

"Thank you for everything, Mother!" Caoilfhionn said, smiling hopefully at her, and reached out to teleport.