#cadeyrn

The vines of Cadeyrn's throat are wet and torn. Precision of the cut is unmatched; it's his; he feels it under his fingers just as he feels the sap running against his nails. There are stab wounds, but El couldn't help himself. Green leaves are losing light with progressive speed and he almost wants to close his brother's eyes but he'd be loathe to part from the look of abject surprise at the final loss.

Brother. What a strange word. He doesn't know why he reached for it. Cadeyrn hasn't been his brother since that fateful night in his cabin, but there's something weird coming from it. It's probably the realisation has yet to hit his brain.

His lips curl in a smile. Sticky fingers press against the hilt of his daggers. Pain flashes against his side but there are Morrigu, Caithe and this Vigil crusader Caithe dug out of the ground.

The crusader moves to the corpse. Her breath is heavy and her step light, as light as a chain-mail can allow.

"Let him be," he warns. His voice is filled with unbridled joy. "Let him be, Crusader."

"Last rites, maybe? If sylvari have any?"

"As if a human would be the one distributing them," he says. She frowns and stops just shy of it.

"El," Caithe says. "Alysannyra, we don't have a specific set of rituals like you do. It's more of a what feels right at the moment sentiment."

"What feels right at the moment," El repeats. He feels air gather in his throat, ready to burst. Ashes reach his nostrils from a burnt tree nearby, though the flames have gone out.

And it bursts, in a laughter that is thunder and a forest fire and wind and the angry sea. It's happy, joyful, as if he's shaken off some terrible burden; if Cadeyrn had thought he could simply take El's surrender and just leave him afterwards to deal with the rawness himself, then El can extend the same courtesy and let him look at the prison of his own making in death.

Pain spreads against the cut bark as he kicks the body hardest he can. Then again. Then again. Alysannyra has moved, watching wordlessly.

"Morrigu," she calls out to the Warden. "Shall we get the other Wardens to mop this up?"

"Yes," Morrigu intones and he can't hear them walk away over his own ragged breath but when he and Caithe are alone, his knees give out and he bends over and he's shaking with laughter and pain.

"I won, you fucker," he rasps out, "I won. I killed you. Yeah, wipe that smug grin off your face because I'm alive and you're not, you stupid sack of spice. I wo-"

"I knew this was going to happen," Caithe wraps an arm around him, "as soon as you showed up at Twilight Arbor." She sounds sad and El can't really understand why. "Poor Siona."

"Fuck Siona," he says, "if she cared for her brother she would've returned him to the correct sylvari, but now he's fodder for the plants. She had a chance and she didn't take it. That means I get to kill him."

"At least let me close his eyes," she adds. Her hand is firm and he's distantly aware he'd be floating away somewhere if it wasn't for that.

"I forgot what a mean punch he can land," El whispers, unable to hide his joy still.

"Does it hurt?"