Trahearne's still listening to Aviators a lot, mostly Monumental and moving towards Streets of Gold, but I also dipped into the Necrodancer OST for his second fight - The Wight to Remain and Momentum Mori - and returned to Aviators Let There Be Fire for the final fight. He's probably going to go Reaver now; I know that him using a greatsword before wasn't a preview of Reaver, since OG Caladbolg had its own moveset, but when you get Caladbolg Orchida you get to use your regular moveset. And the Reaver moves just sound cool.
52: The Necromancer's Destiny
Trahearne pulled his cloak tighter around him, blinking through the snow. Sylvari might be more tolerant of temperature extremes than other races, but they weren't immune to them either. As evidenced by Canach griping all through Elona, and Trahearne's own discomfort at the present moment.
He'd walked north from Elona, by himself, keeping away from the main roads and settlements, gathering his own food in the wilderness. It was a return to his youngest days, when he only had himself to rely on, when the whole world lay before him unknown. Unlike then, his mood was unrelentingly grim and pointless. In the back of his mind an ignored voice grumbled and hissed.
When he'd made camp in Timberline Falls, some weeks ago, he'd turned to look into the darkness and saw Yaleiya on the edge of his camp – taller than a Norn, mysterious as a shadow. She'd joined his camp silently, folding her long limbs to sit cross-legged just beyond the fire. Her pale face seemed to float in the darkness, framed with long dark-brown hair loosely bound, her body clad in midnight-blue leather.
Trahearne broke the silence first. "I'm... not well." She made no answer. "What do you do, when you don't know who you are?"
"I have never not known," Yaleiya said, so softly.
Well, that was terribly helpful. "Mordremoth wounded me before it died. Now I doubt every action I take. I have hurt so many around me that I am afraid to be around them."
"You do not fear me," Yaleiya said.
He gave her a wry smile. "Can you be hurt?" Ignoring the fact that she'd sat next to him of her own volition.
Alien brown eyes looked back. "Yes. But not by you."
That gaze had always been hard to hold, but it was impossible now, and he dropped his own back to the fire, blinking and shaking his head to try and clear it. "I'm afraid most for Caoilfhionn. I want to fight at his side, to protect him, but what if I harm him instead of helping? As I already have? But what if he needs my strength and I am not there for him?"
Yaleiya shifted restlessly. He got the sense she had little patience for speculation. "I do not have any advice for you, little Trahearne. Think less. Do more. It is not what you like. But it is what I would do."
"I thank you, Yaleiya," he said gravely, and they both fell silent again.
By morning, she was gone.
And now, four months after he'd left Caoilfhionn in Elona, he was on the outskirts of Hoelbrak, trudging up to the home of the person he had come to visit. He knocked.
"Come in," Eir's voice floated out, and he braced himself to pull the heavy door. It opened easier than he remembered it being, despite his being physically weaker, and he was glad to get in to the warmth of Eir's hearth. "Trahearne!?"
"Hello, Eir," he said with a bow. "It has been a while." Garm trotted up to him with a big wolfy grin and sniffed his face, then licked him from chin to brow. Trahearne backed away, reaching up to wipe his face. "Hello... Garm."
"Not since we were both in one piece," Eir said with a sigh, and a glance at his right arm, still obviously thinner than the left one, but she gave him a welcoming smile. "Garm! Don't knock the man over. Come sit down. It's good to see you at long last. Food? Drink?" She was sitting in a floating chair obviously of Asuran design, with blue and gold cubes.
"Both would be lovely," he said, taking the regular chair she gestured to. "It's been a long journey for me."
"How have you been? Where's Caoilfhionn at these days?"
"I've been... Caoilfhionn is saving the world again, but I couldn't stay with him." His failings lashed him and he frowned, trying not to cringe into himself at the memories. "But how are you? You look busy. And that chair..."
"I made it," said a new voice, and Trahearne looked into the corner to see Zojja sitting, toying with her gauntlet, typing something into an array of holoprojections before her.
"I apologize, I didn't see you," he said.
Zojja waved him off. "No worries. I'm busy myself. Trying to... argh!" She paused in her typing and stared into space, swaying from side to side.
"She's overcoming some lingering issues from Mordremoth," Eir said, floating over to him with a well-filled plate and a huge mug of mead. Garm went over to the hearthrug and lay down with a satisfied grunt. "I guess we all are, aren't we?" She raised an eyebrow at him. "Let me guess, that's why you're here. For my wisdom."
"If you would grant it," Trahearne said, trying not to inhale his food like a sprout.
Eir chuckled. "I don't know how I got this reputation. I follow Wolf, not Raven. Now every young hunter pesters me about everything that bothers them. Had to tell them to limit themselves to the weekend, or I was going to stop answering questions altogether. You're fine, though. You're a friend."
"It's not such a great mystery, is it?" he said to her. "Raven may signify wisdom, but he does not have a monopoly on it, does he?"
"True," she said. "So. What is it you want to know?"
He took a minute to eat and drink some more before answering. "I am missing part of my mind. Mordremoth destroyed part of it before Caoilfhionn managed to kill him. I lack the patience and self-control that I once had. I feel like an explosive device, waiting for the next mental assault to set me off."
"Hm," Eir said. "I've known many warriors develop that way without even fighting an Elder Dragon. You're very calm now, though."
Trahearne shrugged. "Today has been... easier. Seeing you distracts me from my own mind."
"And what have you done so far?"
Trahearne began counting on his fingers. "I've tried waiting it out with Caoilfhionn; I've tried waiting it out without Caoilfhionn; I've tried adventuring with Caoilfhionn; I've tried adventuring completely alone... that seemed to help some. To ignore the whispers that still linger, to know that if I lose control I will die with no one to rescue me..." Though if he were to run into a Joko supporter without Caoilfhionn around, he could guess how that would end up. Good thing there were none in central Tyria.
"So, high-pressure situations," Eir said. "But you'd rather be around people – at least, when you choose to."
"Yes. I can't simply hole up on Orr like I did during the first twenty-five years of my life."
Zojja huffed a massive sigh and trotted over to chat with them. "Ugh. I'm not making any headway on this thing."
"What are you working on?" Trahearne asked.
Zojja shrugged. "I'm trying to work on a new behavioral program for Mr. Sparkles, but it's not... I can't... Look, I still have all my knowledge, and all my skills, but since I got shoved in that tree it's like half the circuitry's been snipped. I can't concentrate, I can't remember things that I know I know, and it's so much harder to form new conclusions from previous calculations."
Trahearne stared. "That sounds similar to my problem."
Zojja continued on without paying much attention to him. "It's just so frustrating, to be just as much a genius as I ever was, only everything's twice as difficult! Stupid Mordremoth!"
"You should still take pride in what you have accomplished," Eir said. "Logan is still not as physically capable as he once was, he said in his last letter, but his mind is undamaged so he serves as Marshal and strategist for the Pact. You may have trouble thinking, but you still have all your knowledge and your physical skills, so you built me this chair. You rebuilt Mr. Sparkles. You helped your ward Taimi with her communication device."
Zojja glared at Eir. "Any Asura could do that."
"But you did it," Eir said. "And I'm very thankful for this chair. It's given so much freedom back to me."
Zojja's face softened. "Yeah... Well... I know how you are about moving around. I wouldn't mind being a paraplegic in a hospital bed if I could still think cleanly, mostly, I mean, I'd still complain, but you were always bouncing all over the place with Garm. And... well..."
Trahearne looked between them unobtrusively. Zojja had truly forgiven Eir, if she was helping her in this way. And that brought gladness to his heart.
"It's not important," Zojja concluded, getting huffy in that way she had when she was embarrassed.
"It's important to me," Eir said gently. "Look at what it's allowed me to do, Trahearne!" She gestured to a huge block of stone over in the sculpting area of her house, as big if not bigger than the ones outside. It was still in rough stages, only just beginning to take the shape of a square-ish male Norn. But he could imagine with the capabilities of her chair that she had little trouble reaching the top of it as she pleased.
"It's impressive," he said. "Who is it?"
"It's Braham," Eir said, with a wistful smile. "He's... having a hard time in his own way. After those strange invasions began happening, he went with Rox to find out what was going on."
"Invasions?" he asked sharply. "What invasions?" He'd been wildly out of touch with Tyrian news.
Eir looked surprised. "There have been portals opening, with strange undead pouring out of them and attacking. They look withered and dried, so I hear..."
He frowned. "They sound like the Awakened of Joko." He hoped Caoilfhionn was all right. And if Joko was messing with Tyria... His wrath would be great indeed. "Did... Has Braham spoken to you?" he asked. "I heard from Annhilda a little of what happened while I was asleep." Of the young man's anger and guilt coalescing into cruel aloofness.
"No, not really. But when he comes back... maybe I'll have this done. And I'll show him that he doesn't have to slay Jormag to be a hero to me."
Trahearne smiled involuntarily. "Well said."
"That reminds me," Eir said. "Where's Caladbolg? I haven't seen you without it in... years. Since it was given to you."
"It's... broken," Trahearne said. "Like me..."
"Don't start with that," Zojja told him gruffly. "We're only as broken as we think we are. I'm determined to overcome Mordremoth's damage out of spite if nothing else."
Trahearne offered her a wry look. "I do not have much spite in me. Anger, perhaps, and sorrow, the same as I had before, only more so, but not that."
"Well that sounds like a 'you' problem," Zojja said, willfully misinterpreting him. "It's not my only motivation either. But it's the one that gets me up in the morning right now."
"Anyway," Eir interjected, "didn't you say something to me once about Caladbolg being alive? Magic of the Pale Tree and everything?"
Trahearne stared at her.
"Seems to me like you could do worse than try to mend it," Eir said. "At the very least, it will give you a goal to hunt. You can spend years in the wilds of Tyria finding yourself, but why not multitask?"
He thought about that for a long time. The others waited.
"Depression is comforting," he said softly, his eyes fixed on his hands folded on the table, just as Zojja opened her mouth to say something. "Mediocrity is comforting. Like a Human child's blanket. There's something inside me that wants to stay that way – where no one has any expectations of me, where all my mistakes can be excused without any effort on my part. It tells me how pleasant it would be to remain passive and squander my potential." And he'd given so much, so much had been expected of him before, that not having to ever live up to anything again was disturbingly tempting. "To try, and perhaps fail, at whatever I do, is... frightening. Living up to expectations, even without a Wyld Hunt to spur them, perhaps especially without a Wyld Hunt, is frightening. It always has been, but even more, now. Caoilfhionn would be disappointed in me to hear me say so, though he would deny it."
"Are you leading up to something?" Zojja said. Eir hushed her.
"Caladbolg transformed my life when it was given to me," he said. "All it is said to do is enhance one's own abilities, but suddenly I was braver, more confident, better able to lead. Then we broke together on Mordremoth's will... but we are not dead, either of us." He lifted his right hand and closed the thin fingers.
"No, you're not," Eir said quietly. "And I know it's difficult and frightening to fight one's circumstances. I know how difficult and frightening it is to even choose to want to fight. I had to, when I first returned here after my own injury. Some cannot, through no fault of their own. But I think you can."
"I've spent long enough simply surviving," Trahearne said. It had been unkind to Caoilfhionn. For that had been what he was doing before; he had said he wanted to heal, but his actions had not mirrored his words; had been the bare minimum necessary to continue living. But now he wanted... not just for Caoilfhionn, but for himself... "It is time to choose to live, to dare, to accomplish whatever I can in this world. With the help of my friends, and everyone who has stood by me so patiently." He stood abruptly and gave Eir a small smile. "You're right. I should seek out Caladbolg and repair it. You see, I was right to ask you for wisdom. I would not have thought of this in this way without you."
Eir shrugged. "I just said what I thought was right. If there was wisdom in it, you're welcome to it. But you're not leaving right now, are you? Stay the night and catch up! You can go home in the morning, or whenever you wish."
He bowed, glad of the suggestion. "Thank you. I am in your debt."
He returned to the Grove a few days later, taking the Asura Gate from Lion's Arch. He hastened to his home to collect long-neglected Caladbolg, and found Ridhais waiting outside his door. "Ridhais?"
"Marshal Trahearne!" she cried, jumping up from where she had been sitting, and bowed. "It's good to see you, sir."
"I'm no longer Marshal," he reminded her. "That honour is Logan Thackeray's now."
"I know. But it's difficult for me to think of you as anything else."
She had only awakened after he'd been made Marshal, after all. He grimaced. "Please, if you can... But what brings you here?"
"You, sir, and Caladbolg."
What a coincidence. He raised an eyebrow. "Caladbolg?"
"Yes, sir. I think it's my Wyld Hunt to help you restore it."
"How long have you awaited me?"
"Several months, sir."
He smiled wryly to himself. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting, Ridhais. I only decided a few days ago to attempt this task."
"I should apologize, really, Mar- sir. I was away when you woke, and I should have returned right away, but..."
"Do not trouble yourself, Ridhais. I was not ready for it before now. Only now has everything come together. Would you come in?"
Caladbolg was still safely ensconced in its dented wooden chest. It was splintered in half, its gleam so faint it could not be seen in daylight. He drew the halves from the chest, laying them end to end, but they did not join. Its magic was too weak in its current state. The hilt looked larger than ever in his right hand. "I'm sorry for making you wait. I'm hardly worthy of wielding you now, but..." But he felt the energy pull at him, unmistakably – Caladbolg still considered itself bonded to him, and had no wish to seek a new wielder. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or not. And suddenly, almost imperceptibly, the whispers were quieter...
"What was it you were saying about your Wyld Hunt?" he asked Ridhais.
Ridhais tore her eyes away from Caladbolg. "I dreamed of it in my Dream. At first I thought I was meant to protect Caladbolg's bearer: you."
"So you joined my guard," Trahearne remembered. "I wondered why you were so insistant, though you were so young." He'd worried, after learning of Caoilfhionn's feelings, that she might also have loved him... but it seemed that was not the case. Which was a bit of a relief, after all this time.
She nodded. "But it is apparent now, Valiant Caoilfhionn is sworn to protect you, and he will do so, no matter what it takes. Though I am still shamed that I could not defend you in the jungle..."
He raised a hand to forestall her. "Forgive yourself, please. The jungle was my mistake, and I paid the price." He had to stop, turn away, control his breathing as a wave of violent emotions crashed into him abruptly – he struck the wall with his fist and the pain helped him to focus on the here and now. "There was nothing you could have done. I am more glad you survived, without me."
"Sir..."
"But go on. Since your Dream was not of me, you determined you must be meant to protect Caladbolg itself, correct?"
"Yes, especially when word spread that it had broken. So... I've been doing research, sir, and I think I can advise you how to proceed – if you require it."
He looked down at the broken sword. "I have some ideas myself, but I..." She shouldn't be burdened with him. "I..."
"Sir?"
"I am not myself, Ridhais. I have not been for some time. The man you knew as Marshal is dead and I do not know if he will ever live again. So... you are not bound to me. You can leave whenever you wish. But... if you truly wish to come... I wouldn't mind the company."
She smiled. "I would be honoured, sir. Where shall we start?"
"First I will need the materials to physically mend Caladbolg on hand. Do you know where Izu Steelshrike is these days?" He slung the hilt on his back and tucked the rest of the blade into his pack.
"I believe he's still at Fort Trinity. When shall we go?"
"At once, if you're ready. You can tell me about your research on the way."
"Yes, sir. By the way, have you seen the statue yet?"
He turned to stare at her, and her expression suggested she found it unnerving. "What statue?"
There was a statue of him by the entrance to the Grove, huge and heroic and unsettling. He had never felt the way the statue portrayed him to be, even when he was at the height of his confidence. "By the Tree. What is it even for?"
"To honour you, sir," Ridhais said, practically glowing with hero-worship. "You've done so much for Tyria, and you haven't been properly thanked for any of it. Even though you've moved on, we never want to forget what we owe to you, and your efforts in creating and leading the Pact and slaying Zhaitan and Mord..."
He had twitched at the reminder of Mordremoth. Certainly, if he pushed himself to think logically, he'd opened a conduit for Caoilfhionn and Caithe and the others to slay the Dragon's mind, so they wouldn't have had that shot without him, but what damage had he wrought before, with his reckless charge into the jungle? "Is this... is this how everyone sees me?"
"Yes, sir!" She smiled widely. "You are the most noble, considerate, gallant leader I've ever served with."
What was her comparison? "Maybe I was once, but it did... not... feel like that. ...I wonder what Caoilfhionn will think of it."
"I don't know, sir. Er... I don't think anyone asked him. I guess that was a bit presumptuous of the organizers..."
"No, it's fine," he said. "If they had asked, I would have refused. It... doesn't suit me. But it seems that everyone else is happy with it, so it's good they did it anyway. But I don't need it."
"Ah... yes, sir."
Furnished with spiritwood from Izu, and supported by the accompanying encouragement from his old friend, he set off to seek the magic required to bind the new wood to the old, to give Caladbolg the strength to draw together and become whole again. It didn't take much for it to recover enough for that, the pieces melding together into one branch of living wood – but the glow was still weak and unhealthy. He would continue to fight with sceptre and focus until it was healed.
Ridhais had found a vision crystal, and led him to Lychcroft Mere – to Riannoc's grave. He'd been there once before, in the aftermath of Caoilfhionn defeating Mazdak the Accursed. Now, before he did anything, he knelt, and contemplated, and remembered.
It was strange... He had not known Riannoc very long, though certainly his Cycle of Noon exuberance and dashing heroism had left a vivid impression, but while he remembered, both the affection he'd had for him and the grief he'd felt at his loss as sharply as if it were new, it had been... a long time ago. Riannoc was evergreen in memory, but he had not had the chance to grow with the rest of them. What would he be like now, if he had not been taken from them so soon?
When he was... not ready, exactly, but when he could not put it off any longer, he took the vision crystal and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he was in another time, and a shadow of Riannoc stood before him. This was Caladbolg's Dream, not reality – though perhaps it was truly Riannoc's soul there, conjured from whatever afterlife awaited the Sylvari by Caladbolg's memories and the unfathomable enchantment of the Dream. "Brother..." He swallowed.
The shadowy figure gave a defiant cry and charged at him, raising Caladbolg high. Trahearne stepped back, raising his sceptre, unwilling to fight his brother, even a crazed shadow of him... and felt his ankle caught. A zombie had crawled out of the swamp and latched on to him, and he could see more coming. He smashed it with death magic and ran, summoning minions to keep them off him while he figured out what to do with Riannoc. "Riannoc! It's me! Trahearne! Do you not remember me?"
But Riannoc kept coming, and he could feel the maddened fear coming from him. He didn't have a choice, did he? He was going to have to fight to purge him of the shadows that plagued him. He ducked under one of Caladbolg's bright beams – it was well that he knew Caladbolg's capabilities intimately himself – and spun, sending chilling blasts at Riannoc, seeking to slow him and make him an easier target. He needed distance, needed space to think-
"The warrior desired only to become a hero," said a gentle, sweet voice in his ear, and he nearly faltered as he tried to identify where it came from. Was it Caladbolg itself, speaking to him directly? "'A hero is fearless,' the warrior thought, and abandoned all doubt. Magic sword in hand, he set out to slay evil. But even if he could not comprehend it, fear remained."
"Riannoc!" he cried. "You do not have to be fearless to be a hero! Your fear does not mean you failed! True heroism comes not from being fearless but from overcoming your fear – and you did! Ah, you did..." And part of him wished that he hadn't, that he had fled, returned safely to the Grove, even if he had been shamed in so doing... but then Mazdak would have claimed Caladbolg.
The shadow did not stop, still swinging Caladbolg at him, and he ducked and dodged, putting to use agility that he hadn't had need of in years. The bright beams of light magic and his dark beams of death magic zig-zagged across the mire. His sap raced in his veins as it had not since he was fighting for his life- no time to think about that; he only prayed that he didn't catch his foot on a root or slip in the mud. By the Tree, Riannoc was a marvelous warrior! He truly deserved Caladbolg... and this was but a shadow of his true self-!
And as he feared, he tripped – flailed, managed to keep from face-planting into the mud, but a beam from Caladbolg struck him square on, sending him rolling across the drier part of the ground. Riannoc was upon him as he got his feet under him and sent out a point-blank spell, dashing away from death by his own sword.
The hasty spell connected and the darkness was blasted away, leaving only Riannoc himself. Trahearne pulled himself to a stop, turned, and stared, open-mouthed. He had not seen him in thirty years and to see him now... It was like a physical blow that left him stunned and disbelieving.
Riannoc blinked at him, taking in the world around. "Trahearne? What are you doing here? You decided that I really shouldn't go alone?"
"No..." Trahearne said, feeling as if he moved slowly as he walked back towards Riannoc, rubbing the mud from his face, healing his injury, feeling as if he moved in a dream. "This is... not real."
"Ah." Riannoc's expression became wistful. "With Caladbolg in hand, I thought I had no need for fear."
"I remember," Trahearne said. "But fear cannot be willed away, only overcome."
"Aye, but I pretended I could not feel it, and so I could not understand Waine, let alone become the hero I saw in my Dream. And so I lost the sword. I remember now."
"I'm sorry," Trahearne said. "...I miss you." Riannoc ought to be still with them, saving the world, teaching saplings, being his larger-than-life self. He would love Caledon Forest as it was now, and the Grove, and all his generations of siblings. He would love Caoilfhionn.
Riannoc grinned widely. "Do not! My heart is with you all, in the Dream."
"I know, but..."
"'Twas my own fault, and I willingly bear the responsibility of my own death. If only I had not forced Waine to his rashness..."
"I don't have nearly as much sympathy for him," Trahearne said. "Sorry."
"He was not a bad person," Riannoc said. "He looked up to me. It was... intoxicating, a little. It was not his fault."
"Some of it was his fault," Trahearne muttered.
"Trahearne," Riannoc chided him. "None of us really understood what was happening. I don't know how much time has passed, but I'm surprised that you can't forgive him with all the wisdom you have surely gained of the world. You were always the wise one to begin with."
"Nevermind," Trahearne said. Once they had all been young together. He had not been wise then, only thoughtful. "I miss you, that's all. But you need not fear for Caladbolg. It was recovered."
"It was? Splendid! I am glad. Was Mazdak slain?"
"Yes. A young Sylvari, my lover now, did both."
"Oooh." Riannoc's face lit up with glee. "You have a lover!? You were always so shy! What's she like? A worthy Valiant, to be sure!"
"He," Trahearne corrected him. "You don't have to remind me what I was like. He's... joyful. Unquenchable. Indomitable. If love were condensed into a Sylvari, it would be Caoilfhionn. He's of the Cycle of Dawn and in my opinion, none exemplify it better, even of our three Firstborn siblings."
"You adore him," Riannoc teased. "And I am glad of it. Does he now bear Caladbolg?"
"No, that honour was given to me. Our Mother thought I would need it to complete my Wyld Hunt, and she was correct. But... it was broken in another battle. I have come to heal it, though memory and magic."
"That's truly splendid," Riannoc said. "I know you were always hesitant to fight, but I see it in you now – you stand as one who has been through many battles. Is that what happened to your arm?"
Trahearne looked down at his right arm. "I suppose it is."
"Clearly you have had many adventures! Indeed, it makes me quite... eager to challenge you."
Trahearne smiled. That was Riannoc. "I would be honoured to accept."
"Then let us dispense with words, and test each other in the manner of heroes!" He raised Caladbolg to salute Trahearne, and Trahearne saluted formally with his sceptre. A breath, and Riannoc charged, grinning like a mad fool, Caladbolg angled for a thrust at Trahearne's chest. Trahearne wasn't letting him get close, wondering if it was cheating to summon minions. Probably.
Riannoc must have sensed it. "Don't hold back! Show me what you can do, Brother!"
Trahearne let himself smile back. "You'll regret letting me, I think..." He raised his hand and pulled a flesh golem from the mud. And another. And three smaller minions, for good measure. Yet he was still not pushing himself to his limit; he was not on the verge of losing control. "Enough targets for you?"
"Incredible!" Riannoc panted. "So effortless! I recall when summoning one of those big ones was a task for you!" He whirled and slashed, carving through the smaller minions without much effort.
But without Risen trying to attack him back, Trahearne was able to breathe a lot easier than he had before. "I suppose you are right." And now he was back to wondering how Riannoc would be were he yet alive...
"Focus, Brother!" Riannoc chided him, ducking one of the flesh golems and stabbing the other. "You may be powerful, but so is Caladbolg, and so am I!"
"Right," Trahearne said, with another little smile, and cast another volley of spells, making Riannoc laugh as he dodged them. Riannoc clove his second golem in half and dove towards him – straight into a chilling spell that made him stumble to one knee before Trahearne, who pointed his sceptre at him, focus resting easily on his shoulder.
"Magnificent," Riannoc said, breathing hard, lifting himself to his feet and bowing to Trahearne. "You were always one I looked up to – even if I didn't listen to you – and you have grown far beyond me. You have changed... for the better, though I see darker shades in you that were not there before. But brighter ones, too."
"Thirty years," Trahearne murmured. Thirty years of despair and hope, warring within him.
"So long? May you live many, many more, with your lover. May Caladbolg continue to protect you... and do protect it still."
"I will," Trahearne said, a little embarrassed – but Riannoc didn't know about Mordremoth, and there wasn't time to tell. "It was... good to see you again." He reached out his hand, and Riannoc clasped it eagerly.
"Likewise! Fare thee well, Brother."
"Rest well, my brother."
He woke then, and was quiet the rest of the day, despite Ridhais's curious glances. He would tell her at some point, but he had a lot to think about, first. Caladbolg had a tendency to draw out one's heart, hopes and doubts alike... perhaps it wanted to tell him that the good in him still outweighed the bad.
Now his quest took him across Tyria, its length and breadth, seeking out foes to challenge Caladbolg with, hidden wells of natural magic to infuse its soul; both would strengthen and temper the blade. And as the blade grew stronger, its glow returned.
And something else changed, as well. He had heard Caladbolg while battling Riannoc's shadow, but now he began to hear murmurs of the voice outside of the Dream as well. When the hissing whispers of Mordremoth grew loud, the voice of Caladbolg would hum gently, overcoming it with soothing sweetness. It seemed he also was being strengthened and tempered.
He journeyed far, fighting powerful foes – aiding the Pact in Frostgorge Sound to fight the Claw of Jormag, helping the Seraph repel yet another centaur invasion, going so far as to lead a band of random adventurers and Asuran researchers in fighting the Megadestroyer in Mount Maelstrom. He still lost control, lost himself in the fury of battle, but he knew he would not hurt his allies anymore, at least.
So it was, from south to north, west to east. He was at the north-eastern edge of Tyria, of Ascalon, in a hidden glen beyond a cave, dotted with ancient ruins through which streams ran and trees grew – and a voice suddenly called to him: "What are you doing here?"
He turned and saw a figure on a rock above him, crudely dressed in leaves, standing crooked as if bones once broken had never properly mended. "Malyck. Caoilfhionn told me you were dead."
Malyck tilted his head to one side, almost touching his ear to his shoulder. "Maybe I was. I was dead while Mordremoth controlled me."
Ridhais was looking between the two of them, looking confused and anxious. He would explain later. "I understand," he said to Malyck. "I was dead for a long time myself. I have only just started to recover."
Malyck slithered down the rock and came closer to Trahearne, limping on his crooked legs. "I still hear him, you know," he said in a hoarse whisper, as if he didn't want to be overheard.
Trahearne's heart went out to him. "I know."
"But it's not really him, is it? I felt him die. Almost died too, for real."
"Caoilfhionn killed him to save me. He will be overjoyed to know you live. He grieved you very much."
Malyck's eyes were full of yearning, but he shook his head. "I dare not see him. Not yet. But tell him... thank you. And... I'm sorry." He reached down and touched his belly, as if remembering something.
"You have nothing to apologize for," Trahearne said. "I can forgive you on his behalf immediately. We all were in danger, and you most of all." Malyck had always been the most vulnerable, never even knowing the Dream, not suspecting he would have to guard his mind as the Soundless and the Nightmare Court had found out.
Malyck came even closer to him. "Trahearne... How loud is it for you?"
He shook his head a little. "Not loud. He never fully controlled me. But what he could not control, he sought to destroy." But now Caladbolg was... replacing what was missing – or at least growing over the wounds, so they did not get in his way.
Malyck nodded, straightening a little. "Every day is a battle. I'm so tired. But I will never give in again."
Trahearne smiled at him. Malyck was fighting, fighting against wounds both mental and physical that went far deeper than Trahearne's. But he already knew he had gotten off lucky. His respect for Malyck was immense. "Every day is a victory, Malyck. ...When you are ready, you should write to Caoilfhionn. He would be so happy to hear from you. I would suggest you visit the Grove, but I cannot guarantee when he would be there..." On the other hand, Malyck was even more alone than he had been when he was newly awakened, for now he had no hope that he would find his own family with his Tree. The Pale Tree would be glad to adopt him, even if he could never fully join the same Dream... or was that too cruel, to place him in a family he could never fully share in?
"Well..." Malyck said, with a touch of his old self crossing his face, "I suppose I owe it to him to let him know how much of a hero he is. Not that he needs to be told, I think."
"I tell him whenever I can," Trahearne said. "Every Sylvari yet living owes their freedom to him. But he would be happier just to know you're alive."
Malyck nodded several times. "Don't suppose you have things to write with on you."
Trahearne grinned, already reaching for his pack. "Who do you think I am? Some fool of a rogue with nary a scrap of paper to hand?"
Caoilfhionn, read the scrap that Trahearne carried away to be posted from the next settlement he reached, it's Malyck. I yet live. It's difficult. Trahearne says he understands. He also said you've been grieving me. Foolish of you. Did I not say I would die to protect you and your people? I hope you are well.
When Caoilfhionn received it, he wept for joy. Malyck! O Malyck! Glad am I beyond words that you survived! I will grieve those I care about who I have lost, thank you very much – but now I rejoice, for someday we will meet again! I am certain of it. I hear you say that it is difficult, and I wish to offer my love and encouragement. I believe in you, my dear friend! You are a brave and strong person, and kind and loyal. I pray that someday you will have peace. And thank you for letting me know you've seen Trahearne. He's on his own quest, and I've heard naught from him since he left my side. Someday I hope we can all meet again together! If there's anything I can do for you, if you would permit me to visit you, please let me know! I still have your sword, would you like it back? It is a splendid blade and has helped me immensely on my journey. Love, Caoilfhionn
From there, Trahearne crossed Tyria again. He had tried to avoid it, but it could not be altered – he had to face the Heart of Maguuma again. Caladbolg pulled at him, and he let it – did not let himself linger in the comfort and safety of the lands he knew for too long once he felt it. He did not want to paralyze himself with fear and doubt before he even got in, or he'd never go.
Going in was already... difficult. To come out of the tunnel from Amber Sandfall and see the wreck of the Glory of Tyria, just lying there impaled above the canopy, smote him to the heart and for a moment he was afraid he would pass out. It was a while before he recovered enough to continue. Ridhais was patient.
Without Mordremoth's will to control half the flora and fauna there, it was far less dangerous for travelers. Still dangerous, of course. But at the same time, he had not really seen the jungle for what it was, before, when he was being rushed through as a prisoner, watching only for what he could use to his advantage. He found himself wishing he could be there with Caoilfhionn – for surely Caoilfhionn had not gotten a good look at the land either, rushing after him with all his worry. And Caoilfhionn would help bolster his courage here, when he faltered at the shadows of thorny vines. But he had to do this himself. He could not lean on Caoilfhionn this time. If he failed, Caoilfhionn would still love him... and that was not the encouragement he needed right now. He gripped his determination hard and made his way forward, one step at a time.
Caladbolg led him to the place he had fallen from the Glory into the jungle, where he and Destiny's Edge had been overwhelmed by fierce Mordrem beasts. Caladbolg had not been broken there, but it had been wrest from him. Only when he had first been brought before Mordremoth had he been able to break free of the Mordrem hands that held him, seizing his blade and attacking everything about him. Then had it broken, and the shock of it had knocked him out. And he'd never truly regained consciousness after being placed in the Blighting pod, only knowing that he had to fight to keep his mind, his soul... only waking when Caoilfhionn appeared before him and called his name with love and fear and grief...
This vision was not that. When he opened his eyes into the dream, he saw before him one of the Mordrem monsters – a vinetooth, he thought they were called. It had trampled him, clawed him, cast his golems aside like toys. He had learned to fear it quickly. He felt the breath stilling in his lungs.
Caladbolg whispered to him. "The hero sought to save the world. 'If I keep trying, I'll be able to win,' the hero thought. But the harder the hero fought, the further the world seemed to tumble away. Drowning in doubt, the hero could not even save themselves."
He shook his head angrily at the words. "I've seen this before," he told the visionary vinetooth as he dodged its first charge. "I did not win then. But your master is dead. My love was victorious. So I will be victorious against you!"
It screeched with hatred at him and sprang high in the air towards him. Trahearne gritted his teeth, jumping backwards and unleashing a barrage of spells at it, chilling spells, life-sapping spells, hexing spells. The monster's impact knocked him from his feet and he tumbled over and over away from it, somehow managing to keep his grip on his sceptre and focus.
It was stomping carefully towards him, the ground shaking beneath its tread. He scrambled to his feet, eyes and spirit blazing, a wave of rage breaking over him, and flung spells at it, striking it in the leg, the head, and it flinched, its skin discolouring in large patches. It hissed and snapped at him, and he jumped back, dodging its teeth, its tail, its claws. It sprang at him again and his magic surged to meet it, knocking it away before it could flatten him with its impact. Now it was the one to tumble away, and he followed it recklessly, hardly knowing what he was doing, only that he was going to tear it to pieces now. His thoughtful, tactical self would have been horrified... if it had been aware of anything.
If it hadn't been for the other Mordrem around, overwhelming Destiny's Edge and his soldiers, this fight would have gone very differently the first time too.
There was a rumble that shook the very air around him and he froze, stock-still, breath caught in his lungs again, eyes dilating, sap halting in his veins.
He sucked in a breath and screamed back in answer. "No! You are dead. You are dead and I'll kill you again if I must!" The shout echoed from the cliffs and trees around him, and he found himself trembling... in rage, not in fear. His feelings a moment ago were nothing compared to this instant, when the memory of every injustice ever done in his presence rose up before him, every living, breathing being he could not save, every dead sibling he could not protect. He felt as he had when he stood before Mordremoth in his own mind, Caoilfhionn's soul at his side, and blasted it into atoms with Caladbolg. His vengeful wrath was all-consuming and he took flight in it.
The vinetooth was rushing at him again with another shriek, raising itself onto its hind legs. He cried out furiously in answer, and he blasted it with death magic, channeling his strength into a intricately massive wave that assaulted it from all sides at once. It screeched and thrashed, but it was withering before his eyes, leafy flesh melting from its wooden bones. It collapsed before him, its teeth gently knocking against his chest, and he took a step back and sheathed his weapons with grim satisfaction. He looked around quickly, but the vision did not seem inclined to force him to fight against Mordremoth again.
He came out of the vision and looked at Caladbolg, taking deep breaths to calm himself. He was still shaking. "That was cathartic, wasn't it?" He sensed agreement.
Ridhais smiled. "What was once wrong has been righted, hasn't it?"
He looked towards the remains of the Glory. "'Twould have been better if it had not been wrong to begin with... but at least it will no longer plague my nightmares."
"I am glad for you, sir."
The last step in healing Caladbolg was, naturally, to go to Orr. For all he'd planned to go there, he still had not since he had left Caoilfhionn – since he had awoken from his injuries. Since he'd gone to Camp Resolve.
"With billowing robes of blackened silk, she beckons us, arms outstretched," he recited softly as he came to Fort Trinity, all the familiar sights and sounds washing over him, the dark cone of the forbidden land looming in the hazy distance. "I see my brothers walk forward, greet her as a friend. So many fold themselves into her embrace. And even over their cries, and the roars of the beasts, I hear Darkness call to me with a promise. But I close myself. I will not join her yet. Another call is more beautiful..." and the last line was still a mystery. It was still his favourite.
"I remember," Ridhais said. "You used to say lines from that during the Zhaitan campaign."
"I did... but it was not for him. It was for Orr. For me."
"For Valiant Caoilfhionn?"
"Yes, I think so."
When he left Fort Trinity and headed west, with only Ridhais for escort, he stared as it became visible through the haze, as he crossed the bridges of the outer islands. Surely it wasn't... He must be mistaken...
He came closer – standing beneath the Vizier's Tower – and gaped. And then tears flooded his eyes and he couldn't see anything.
Orr was green. Orr was alive. His efforts had not been in vain. To think, the last he'd seen there had been lichens and seagrass, and to see – green grass, and waving palms, and ivy and shrubs and flowers – flowers, on Orr! He'd heard vaguely that Dagonet had organized something, that things had changed, Wegaff had hinted before, but he'd never imagined- Orr was scarred and battered and, according to his reports, still dealing with lingering Risen, but despite everything, it was growing anew, and growing strong.
There was probably a lesson in that for him. Caoilfhionn would rub it in, lovingly, if he ever told him about it.
Dagonet found him on the beach. "Well met, Brother! What do you think?"
Trahearne had no words, only tears – and hugged his brother tightly. "I... It's incredible."
"Everything you ever dreamed?" Dagonet asked affectionately.
"Everything and more." He pulled himself away and gestured to... everything. "It's exactly how I envisioned it. Exactly. How did you know?" It was one thing to know he had fulfilled his Wyld Hunt... and quite another thing to see what had resulted from it.
Dagonet laughed heartily. "Your notes on the ancient flora and fauna were very helpful. And really, how else could it look, if we were doing our jobs remotely correctly? We could hardly bring pines from the Shiverpeaks to a tropical environment."
"It's marvelous. Thank you so much." If only he'd had those kind of resources when he was Marshal – but no. His job had been to find a way to deal with the Dragons. His Wyld Hunt had been his personal quest, not one to beg Tyria's help on, especially once it had technically already been accomplished.
"Would you like an escort, or no?"
"I wouldn't mind your company for a while, if you're not busy, but I have an escort." He gestured to Ridhais, who bowed. "And I hope you're not suggesting that just because everything's green now, I've forgotten my way around."
Dagonet laughed. "Of course not. Let me inform my assistants where I'm going, and I'll walk with you a while."
All along the coastline it was the same, and he would never get tired of seeing it, how the new was swallowing up the old, how the towns and villages were becoming overgrown, how the crumbling corals and gigantic shells were being cleaned and transformed into beautiful sculptures. The black stone stone stood out among the green in a very pleasing way, and the mountain at the centre of Orr was beginning to look as if moss were creeping up its sides, rather like Mount Maelstrom. Even the climate was changing. It was more damp, mists blowing by the volcano's cone, soft clean white wisps of cloud; the Dragon's miasma had been gone since the year following its defeat, but the weather had never been very kind. Now he could see immediately how Orr had been a paradise for its inhabitants.
Dagonet left them in the evening, at a camp – not even a camp, really. Instead of huddling in tents or lurking in caves as the Pact had during the Zhaitan campaign, the researchers and ecologists had begun to move into the long-abandoned villages. It would still be a while before anyone lived there to inhabit, like they lived in Caledon Forest, or Kryta, but it thrilled him that people were living there all the same. And it was like that everywhere they visited on the several-day journey to the western side of Orr. Some people knew who he was. Some didn't. He neither sought them out nor avoided them, only was pleased to observe them.
At last they came to the Temple of Melandru, where the Source discharged, and followed the hidden passage within. The door was open, letting the stream flow out freely, and Ridhais and him to enter. He guessed there was not such a need for the door to be locked when the Risen were so feeble. But there was a guard, and they saluted him, and he nodded to them as he entered.
He gasped audibly. He had expected to be astonished, after everything he had seen so far, and he had been right. The memories of his triumph here flooded him, of the intense strain of casting and holding the spell, of the way Caladbolg had taken the spell and burst it into fulfillment, the way Caoilfhionn had caught him and kissed him so passionately... The way his Wyld Hunt had cried out in ecstasy and left him, leaving him with the jubilation of the Pact around him and the victorious hope that Orr might be free. The hope that someday it might look the way it did now.
Every wall was draped in vivid green, vines and lush mosses dotted with small flowers creeping over the stone up to the windows above, where silvery threads of water dripped down into the pool below. It smelled like the freshest of mornings, cool and verdant, green and slightly bitter.
'And you will always be strong,' the song went, had Caladbolg sang to him when he first came here, and he found himself striding forwards, head high, tears of wonder and gratitude running down his face. He drew Caladbolg, and saw it shining, almost healing before his very eyes.
"Once more," Ridhais said, with a hopeful smile, and handed him the vision crystal.
He nodded, grateful to her for standing by him through this journey, a most faithful squire, and turned to concentrate on the crystal.
The first thing he saw as he lifted his head was a dark, shadowy figure, clutching Caladbolg to its chest protectively as it knelt in the centre of the fountain. It was his own self, wrapped in shadow like Riannoc had been, wracked by doubts, weighed down by fears. That version of him... was not fit to wield Caladbolg.
But... he was. Even as he was, with the cracks in his mind and scars in his soul...
The figure rose to meet him, swinging Caladbolg into a salute courteously. "The scholar dreamt of a land reclaimed from the dragon's touch," Caladbolg sang to him from his shadow's hands. "'I must learn how to fight it,' the scholar thought, and sought knowledge. But all the scholar found was despair at the impossible task. Perhaps from the beginning, it was indeed simply a dream."
"Dreams are powerful," he whispered. "You showed me how to overcome my despair then, and it led to... this. Help me now."
The voice was silent, but he felt the accord in his mind.
His shadow swung the greatsword, and Trahearne dodged as the beams of light began to blast from it, splashing through the spring. He was cautious without holding back with his own spells. He couldn't lose control here; his past self had had excellent control even through his doubts and fears. He knew perfectly well how dangerous he could be, but he needed to defeat that shell of himself. If there was anyone he knew whom he would gladly defeat, it was his past self.
It wasn't going to be easy. Flesh golems rose before him and he summoned his own in response. "Get out of my way," he muttered, dashing past them to find an advantageous place to cast from. He felt anger rise in him and let it surge through his limbs, but kept a tight grip on it from clouding his mind. He could do that now.
It was a deadly dance they trod, Trahearne weaving between minions and golems, his shadow taking aim at him as he ran. Light blasted past him, narrowly missing his body, clipping his elbow. He could feel the other's determination, a mirror to his own, interlaced with desperation. When two identical wills clashed, who would triumph? He felt his anger subside, exultant conviction welling up instead. Casting away everything that had weighed him down before, he leaped lightly onto a minion, and from a minion to a golem, and from his elevated vantage point leveled his sceptre at his doppelganger, blasting it with icy darkness.
The figure staggered and fell on his back, still gripping Caladbolg tightly. Trahearne hopped down from the collapsing golem and drew closer, sceptre ready, but the shadows had been torn away, and it was his own face that looked up at him, a face tear-streaked and yet smiling.
His doppelganger stood and bowed, holding the hilt of the sword out towards him. The blade sang to him. "Trahearne, if you still believe in a brighter future, hold in your heart a thorn that can pierce all doubt."
He slowly reached for the sword. He... believed. Even though his mind was still scarred, even though his anger simmered closer to the surface than before, he knew it would not stop him. He would stand at Caoilfhionn's side; he would protect him, and everyone else on this green world of Tyria.
His thin fingers closed around the hilt, and as he took it from the other's hands, it began to sprout. Tendrils and buds curled around his hand, and and he raised it over his head with a flourish, it blazed with light, stronger than ever before. Caladbolg hadn't just been restored... it was reborn.
His doppelganger smiled, then disappeared with a shimmer as he left the vision, still holding Caladbolg aloft. Trahearne let out a breath. It was done. The Pale Tree's thorn was whole, and... so was he. Different, both, than they had been over two years ago. They had moulded each other, so closely joined now they were virtually one being. His was the only hand for this blade now, and he would never wield another. And now his quest had come to an end.
Which meant a more important quest was beginning. And he would dare to see it through.
"It's so beautiful," Ridhais breathed. "It's as I saw it in my Dream."
He turned to her and bowed. "I am eternally grateful for your assistance through all of this. I could not have done it without you. Your Wyld Hunt has subsided?"
"Yes, sir," she said. "It feels... wonderful."
"It does," he said, remembering his own. He sheathed the sword on his back. "Congratulations, Valiant Ridhais."
She smiled widely. "Thank you, sir. What will you do now?"
"What I was not ready to do until now," he said. "It will be deadly dangerous. Even with all my and Caladbolg's strength, we may not be able to accomplish it. But I will go anyway. What will you do?"
She hesitated, intimidated by his rather grand proclamation.
"You are not bound to my side for life," he said to her gently. "It was an honour to have you as my squire for this quest, but Tyria is your home, is it not?"
"Yes, sir. I will miss you, though! And I wish you the best of luck on your future quests, and all possible happiness with Valiant Caoilfhionn."
He would be proud of him, and he couldn't wait to show him. "Thank you, Ridhais. Now if you could but stop calling me 'sir'..."
She laughed. "Small chance of that, sir. Shall we?"
