We don't really know what happens to Sylvari when they die, so perhaps this is overstepping to write this far, but Caoilfhionn will always find happiness eventually.


43: The Strength to Live: Canach

It had been twenty-five years since Mordremoth's death. Caoilfhionn had continued his work as a Priory magister, largely as a field researcher, partly as a teacher, closely entwined with Dragon's Watch and the fate of the world – too many times, to ask Wegaff, now Steward Wegaff, one of the world's leading researchers of Dragon magic. His students seemed to like him, despite his impediment, and he was fond of them, too. He'd somehow gained a reputation for wisdom and patience that surprised him.

His life was... yes, it had become almost happy – satisfied, at least, contented with his friends, even Canach, his work, his planet. He had never returned to the bubbly butterfly he once was, but he could smile, and enjoy himself, and that was enough, wasn't it, while he waited? Occasionally, he met someone who disagreed, various admirers who sought to chase away the last vestiges of sadness in his eyes, but they were destined to be disappointed. He was sorry for them, but it wouldn't be fair to them when they could not be first in his heart. But he did meet some nice friends that way.

The semester ended, and five new Weavers who had been under his care were free to make their way in the world – and he was free to make a journey he'd been waiting to make for a long time. Wintersday had passed, and while the Priory was magically warmed from within, the Shiverpeaks were certainly living up to their name. He was glad to make it into Lion's Arch, where it was at least a bit warmer, if windy this time of year.

He travelled on, westward, through southern Kryta, the Maguuma, the Silverwastes. It was dangerous, but he was experienced and unafraid. Finally, he arrived at his destination: the great tree in the region known as Dragon's Stand. The place he had defeated Mordremoth. The place where Trahearne had died. It was well recovered by now, covered thickly over with normal jungle, the tree crumbling slowly as its wood rotted. The Dragon's physical body had rotted away long ago, even its wooden bones gnawed by water and insects.

He waded into the pool, sinking through to the hidden cavern below, traversing the tunnel to its end. He had not been back in all the years intervening, but he still remembered it, burned into his mind. He didn't mind so much now that he was here again.

At the end, he stopped. There was nothing here to show what had once been, not so much as a withered leaf. That was all right. He knew it had been here, twenty-five years ago to the day. He inhaled the damp air, exhaled peacefully, and reached for his dagger.

"Caoilfhionn!" The angry shout made him jump. It was an anger borne of fear, and now that he'd heard it, he wasn't surprised at the shouter – but how had he followed him?

Canach stormed up, panting. "What... the hells... are you doing!?"

"I'm going," Caoilfhionn signed succinctly. "I've waited long enough, haven't I?" The loneliness was more unbearable every year. Tiachren's lesson to him long ago had faded; Tiachren had been slain in battle a few years ago and was surely by now with his own beloved at last. All that he had was a threadbare promise that even his honour would consider breaking from the longing that overwhelmed him.

Canach glared at him with an odd mixture of rage and sorrow. "How selfish can you get? Blessed Source, it's good I was paying attention. What, are we not good enough for you?"

"It's not that," Caoilfhionn signed. They had gotten over their early antagonism years ago, and he deserved an open answer now that he was here. "I miss him. I'm still lost and broken and you know it. I found hope for the world, not for me. I've only been waiting until I could tell him I'd lived as long as he did-"

Canach spluttered. "How dare you!?" He poked Caoilfhionn viciously in the chest, jabbing him backwards. "Does our love mean so little to you!? No one can love you as he did, but does it mean nothing at all to you? Even after all this time?"

For the first time, he paused. "I... But you will be fine without me-"

"Not the point, and you know it," Canach said, and pulled him into a hug against his solid wooden armour, and now he could feel his true feelings – care, and concern, and warm brotherhood behind the hard anger and biting sarcasm. "We're all going to leave one by one anyway. Everyone dies eventually. We've both lost so many. Why rush things? You can't come back."

"He can't come back..." But he was wavering... This was why he'd tried to get away alone.

"Are you afraid of forgetting?" Canach asked softly.

He shook his head, sinking into the hug, feeling his emotions spiral. He wasn't forgetting, but the time that he'd been truly happy had been so short, in his steadily lengthening life. After everything... he'd hoped to see him soon, and to be denied that hope, even by other love... He'd been strong for that hope...

Canach's compassion was warm around him. "Stay with us, sapling." Canach was the only one to still call him sapling, now, but he was... entitled to it. "We would miss you terribly."

He felt himself beginning to weep, as he hadn't in years, suddenly breaking down utterly in the arms of his friend and brother.

Canach sighed, pretending to be gruff. "As I expected. You always get emotional like this." But his arms tightened around him. "I'm sorry. ...Sorry we're so boring you can't stand to be with us any more."

There was a shake in his shoulders under his tears that might have been half a laugh. He'd come to appreciate Canach's sarcasm far more than in his younger days.

"I know it's been so long, with such a heavy burden," Canach said more gently. "And it may be much longer still. But we need you, sapling. You're not done yet. And if life isn't working out for you, come to us and let us help you find something that works. If you need to take a year off from the Priory and drink yourself into a stupor, so be it. I'll join you. If you need to spend time in the Grove and teach newborns how not to fall on their faces, we'll make it happen. If you want to take up breeding cats and take Divinity's Reach by storm with an army of fuzzy little arseholes, there are worse things you could be doing. ...Caoilfhionn. I know he's been waiting a long time. He can wait a little longer. You'll have eternity with him when you get there. And maybe by the end of eternity, you'll be sick of it."

He pulled back, smiling and crying. "Never."

"You say that now, but have you tried eternity? Anyway, no more trying to kill yourself dramatically on significant anniversaries, got it?"

"Got it," Caoilfhionn signed, and wiped his eyes. "If you really can't do without me..."

"It's not negotiable. Let us help make the pain bearable, or don't, but you must bear with it until the world takes it from you. It won't be forever. I promise you're not a god."

"I hope not," Caoilfhionn said. "All right. Let's go to Rata Novus and have a drink."

"That's my brother."


He lived many years longer, and his death was quiet and unclimactic when it finally happened. The important thing was he woke up in the Mists, and he knew it was the Mists, he'd been in their vast incomprehensibility before many times, though never this location. And yes... the finality of never returning to the Tyria that he loved was saddening, but...

For the first time in untold years, he smiled full and true, hope blossoming within his soul like it had not since he was the youngest of saplings. He was here. He was finally on the same plane as his love. And he did not know where he was, and the Mists were infinite, but it didn't matter. He had all the time in existence to find him. He laughed – and now he could laugh. He'd almost missed the sound of his own voice, and lifted it in song.

He did not know how long he wandered – years, decades, hours. It didn't matter. What mattered was how his sap burned within him with eagerness, like he was a sprout again. Every once in a while, he cried out his lover's name, and listened to it fade into the sky.

The Mist land he was in turned into a mountainous jungle, volcanic stones pillowed with moss and overgrown with great broad-leafed plants, misty and – smelling so familiar it brought tears to his eyes. Green, slightly bitter, warm, alive...

Something moved in the jungle ahead of him, and he looked, wondering if it would be friend or foe. He'd met some of both, on his wanderings.

Yellow eyes blinked owlishly at him. Firm lips parted in surprise. "Caoilfhionn?"

"Trahearne!" He ran, and Trahearne ran to him, and they collided in the tightest embrace possible. Caoilfhionn was weeping with joy, and Trahearne... maybe he was weeping too. "I'm here. I finally found you."

"You took your time," Trahearne teased him, and the way his voice rolled through Caoilfhionn's body, deep and dry and full of love, made him cling to him tighter. "Easy, my heart. You can't kill me here, but it feels like you're trying..."

"I missed you so much," Caoilfhionn whispered. "Every day I longed for you. But they would not let me go of my own accord."

"Good," Trahearne said. "I hoped you would not. I knew you would find it difficult, but you held on. I'm proud of you; so proud, Caoilfhionn. I love you so much. My beloved, my prince, my everything."

"I love you," Caoilfhionn said, and words seemed insufficient, so he leaned up and kissed Trahearne as if he would become part of him.