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👢 - Traveling/wandering music.
Red Arrow Highway by Chris Bathgate. Saaferah and Diathys travel together for a living, with the latter serving as the former’s emotional and moral support—her North Star, so to speak.
On the Red Arrow HighwayThe season had found meWith you there beside meAnd sleeping so soundly
Oh, how our days entwineOh, how I know your mindOh, how you slow time
Thanks Brie! Music of the Muse prompt here.
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Diathys, again.
I missed drawing mysterious sylvari! Here’s the edgiest one of all HURRHURR
Commissions open!
Since returning to the Grove Saaferah had worked diligently to build herself a new life. She had started with little: uncertainty, keening remorse, and a wounded sense of hope which flew timidly in the face of the odds. She can’t say from where that mote of hope had originated. It was tied in closely with an earnest desire to make something of herself—to prove to herself she was more than a wayside failure and a victim of her poor decisions. Surely she hadn’t been born to be a waif and end up in some anonymous grave somewhere in Lion’s Arch. How she’d toiled—to keep her job and repay her debt, to learn the things she’d missed while trapped in the eddy of her past, and to teach herself discipline. Yet nothing had been harder than maintaining that hope, the fuel that kept her going. That was when she turned to Diathys. Everything he had done had made her want to be a better person. Each time her faith had flagged he’d been there to ease and reassure her, and always with simplicity and patience. He had never justified her fear he’d one day grow weary of nursing her damaged mind, nor had he made any demands of her. He’d simply supported her when she began to crumble. With her own resolve and Dia’s quiet conviction, Saaferah had bettered herself. She had gone from sleeping in nooks and boughs to laying her head amidst soft pillows in a large, lavish home. She no longer owed anyone anything and had forgotten to keep her head down and look over her shoulders in cities. Yet a lingering feeling of emptiness had eventually forced her to admit that somehow it was wrong. Lest he mistake her for being ungrateful she thanked Diathys for all he had given her, but told him that even with the stability that was a home and a job, she was unhappy. To her great surprise his patience in her did not falter—in fact she learned he had been thinking the same thing, and he was one step ahead of her: They would travel the world. They would be bound by routine no longer, and each of them would learn and know wonder standing beside the other. And while Saaferah knew this would be far from easy, she welcomed the challenges and soared at the thought of all they would experience together, good and ill. To be free and able, unknown and unbound, with her best friend, her lover, and her entwined—to be alone with him in the wild expanses of Tyria, growing and learning—was exalting. And while she still had other wars to wage and win, it was one screaming victory after one torturous strife.
Saaferah slips into her thoughts like a second skin or a suit of armor: focusing on them lets her ignore her life and its present problems. She’s more comfortable in them than out. But there is so much Goldane left to her memory that the sobering sense of solitude she picks up while listing through her head can’t be helped. Jingling anklets and bare feet, messy fronds, swimming in the sea, and all of it gone, unattainable. If wishes were enough...
The years spent without her don’t help, needless to say. Flashes of Lion’s Arch, blurs of Dwayna’s Mercy, little tines of terror and the larger blades of regret—memories she wishes she didn’t have to relive every time she sought succor in Goldane’s ghost. She had gotten accustomed to being alone. Unwanted, even. No one understood her like Goldane had.
But in her last gasp she inhaled Diathys, and with each unexpected breath thereafter life began to shyly sprout in the blackened places inside her. His quiet intrigued her, and his voice wove words and thoughts she could understand. He seemed to speak from within her, somehow, and raise up that life she didn’t know she could support.
He understood her. More, he saw her. Saaferah hadn’t been seen before or after Goldane. Rather, she had been imagined; fashioned. He saw that she was alone and afraid, but capable. He understood that if only given a little guidance she could grow into something better. And he gave her that guidance willingly, without demand. He wanted nothing from her, like everyone else seemed to.
When she goes away into her mind, Diathys gently brings her back to him. She does not know how he does it—how he knows to take her hand or kiss her shoulder or brush his knuckles against her cheek. She returns to him instantly with wide eyes and a humble sense of wonder, and she remembers she is not alone.
It has been a long time since their first quiet conversation away from the group. They were strangers, but somehow less strange to each other than the rest of them. From there they had gone further than Saaferah thinks anyone predicted. They had sprinted through the streets of the city that used to haunt her for no more reason than the fun of it; they had danced to music heard only in their minds; they had laughed at things intimate to them, foreign to all the rest of Tyria. Most importantly, they had taken a vow of eternity.
Saaferah winds her arms around Diathys, not knowing what she did to deserve him but willing to do anything to keep him. It’s been a year since they made that promise to each other, and she can see no end in sight; she doesn’t feel different from when she met him. She feels better.
Weeks had passed since the last time Saaferah’s thoughts had been demanding enough to warrant cracking open her journal. As routine took over, few things seemed important enough to set down on paper anymore. She spent her days earning her living at Rime’s Garden and shooting her pistol and bow, then passed her nights researching and building traps with a studious stitch in her brow. Perhaps this night’s only extraordinary feature was her lethargy. Discipline had kept her going through the day, but as the hours had worn on and on she’d found herself increasingly distracted by thoughts of sleep. There had been a time in her life when she would have simply forgotten everything in favor of finding some sufficiently hidden place to curl up and doze the day into evening, but since joining her life to Diathys’s there had been a fire under her driving her to be a better person—or at least a more useful one. Still, tonight it burned cool, calmed by fatigue. She carried Blitz, the clumsy red panda who had become her constant companion, in the cradle of her arms as she descended the stairs to her garden and padded out onto the grass. All was silent save for the water lapping at the banks until the cub leapt down with a soft thud and bounded up to greet Diathys. Dia turned to smile at Saaferah and, double-taking, commented on her beauty. Her glow blushed timidly into her cheeks and she joined him by the smouldering fire. It was a good night. It did not need to be remarkable. They quietly conversed with Saafi’s head on his shoulder and his own head bent over hers, the topics meandering among the couple’s usual fare: the events of the day, potential plans, and whatever thoughts passed at random through their minds. “I always liked you. Respected you, even,” Saaferah expressed. “I felt better when you were around. Safer. I was happy being your friend. I never imagined being anything more until later. If someone had told me when we first met that we’d end up living together and being as close as we are, I would never have believed them.” “Do I make you happy?” “Yes, Dia. Like no one else.” “I mean—are you happy with me?” She raised her head to read his face, confused. “What do you mean?” “Are you happy being my dearheart?” Dia was beginning to seem nervous. She set his cheek in her palm. “Of course I am. You’ve been so much better to me than I deserve.” His anxiety continued to build. He rocked forward then back, his expression troubled. Saaferah reflected that back at him. Whatever he had to say, she wasn’t sure she was prepared to hear it.
36 Phoenix, 1330 Home
I don’t remember ever missing you more than I have lately, Goldane. You should be here, and I wish with every twisted fiber that you were. I don’t think you’d believe it if you didn’t hear it for yourself.
Dia has asked me to become his entwined. I looked at him in stunned silence for a long time after he did, just staring stupidly at his angular face, the dark leaves that fall around it, the pointed ears jutting up from beneath them, and the eyes which pass over me like a rain shower in the desert. I wondered how someone like him could want me at all, much less love me enough to want to give his life to me.
I swear I forgot every word I knew. I wrapped my arms around him as tightly as I could and only nodded.
Goldy, I’m getting entwined. He loves me—and you know I love him, too.
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40 Zephyr, 1330 Wardenlight’s What’s this place even called? Home
There’s a mark on my neck and I want it to stay there forever. That’s hardly an appropriate thought to open this with, but it’s like a scent I can’t shake. Even when I’m deep inside my head I catch it sometimes and it pulls me right out again. Just focus, Saaferah. Many things have happened in the last few days which have kept me away from writing, and they need to be set down. I still don’t know whether I imagined Dia’s initial feelings toward me and if I took him totally by surprise. What I know for sure is that there was a moment when I knew that I was going to lose it all—my home, my guild, my friends, and Dia himself—but to never have kissed him was the higher price. My plan was to get away as quickly as possible, to take what I could get and steal off to the Citadel, but — I couldn’t. I didn’t have the willpower. I couldn’t walk away from him and I hated myself for it. I don’t mean I cursed myself. I had never wanted to kill myself out of sheer anger until that moment. I guess that says enough about me, doesn’t it? I didn’t hate myself for kissing him and betraying Ashling. I hated myself for lacking the strength to flee the scene like a thief with a two pound diamond. But I would’ve kept that diamond even if I had run. I might’ve been a beggar in the Black Citadel, but I would always have kissed Diathice Diathys. That would’ve been all the wealth I would ever have asked for. What an impossibly stupid fucking thing to write. When Dia said Ash might be okay with it, that she’d talked previously about having an open relationship, I felt the most terrible grip of hope I’ve ever known. I knew I was setting myself up to fail, but I dismissed that as baseless. I couldn’t help hoping. And at first, I was rewarded. Ash agreed. I’d never been in such a situation. I had a bond with Dia, and to be sure I liked Ashling very much, but I felt as though I had catching up to do with her. And I fully, fully intended to. I wanted to hold her hands, to feel her fingers in mine. I wanted to share everything with her. I thought I was going to get to and I was excited. Optimistic, even. I hadn’t felt optimism since before I saw Lion’s Arch for the first time. That’s been years now. We all went off to Hoelbrak. It was Ash’s thought, and I never once felt as though I was butting in, though perhaps that was my own myopia. (I never know my imagination from reality, do I?) In hindsight I should’ve realized I didn’t belong there when she tried to run, but the optimism reduced it to a fear I shoved into the back of my mind. I didn’t want to think about it. I should have known. She barely looked at me. More evidence for my suspicion that I’m an idiot. Most of my time there I spent with Dia. I thought it was only fair. Ash had him first, so it was my turn. There were times when I came up for air and realized that, although through largely different means, I was connecting with him in a way I’ve done only once before, with Goldane, who still to this day I hold in unconditional love and solemn reverence. Now and then I tried to retreat into my old armor, telling myself he doesn’t even know me, but...he does. I can’t explain it, but Dia sees me the way I ought to be seen. He doesn’t look at me through a layer of assumptions or questions or concerns I didn’t ask for. Dia simply sees me. No one sees me the way Dia sees me. He knows me. I can’t hide from him in my head. He’s like you, Goldy, in a way I can’t quite pin down. You always knew. Dia knows, too. I’ve never met anyone else but the two of you who knew. Please, please, Dia. Stay with me. I don’t know if I can go through that again. I’m digressing. Ashling left. Or—no, that isn’t exactly right. Ashling asked Dia choose. That hurts me. Sharply, that hurts me. It hurts me mostly that Dia should be put in that situation. I can only imagine his pain. It hurts me that Ashling, who came before I did, should be the one to walk away. I feel as though I’m the one at fault here. If I had just picked up and left after kissing Dia this wouldn’t have happened. And it hurts me that I was led to believe all would be well, only to have this spring up not a week later. He chose me. I won’t forget that. Not for a second. Not ever. It wasn’t happenstance or coincidence or an accident or convenience. Dia was given the choice and he chose me. I’ll carry that forward. I dread the looks the others will give us and the prodding which is sure to come when they find out. I’ll be painted the villain, and I know in my gut that I’ve earned it. The mark on my neck won’t help, but I’m not going to hide it. If they want to think I’m a homewrecker, let it be. It’s true. But Dia makes it go away. This has all happened with such blinding speed. I have made a royal mess of things, but—if my pen could turn to fire this page would be cinders—this is my mess. I’m going to see this through. I can’t run. I don’t want to anymore. I have roots now.
“What are we going to do?” “I’m not sure.” Holding worry in her eyes Saaferah glanced up at Goldane, prompting the latter to tighten a sturdy arm around Saafi’s narrow shoulders and haphazardly kiss the bloom of her ear. “We’ll figure something out,” she continued thereafter. “If you keep up with your drawings we can save enough money to get back to the Isle.” “I’m out of ink.” Goldane set her jaw and reached into her pocket. Four coppers. We might be able to eat on that today if we’re clever. After that... She kept silent. Saaferah didn’t need to worry about that. That was how the kind old gentleman found them, huddled wearily on a curb. Their dirty clothes and drifting states of waking gave him pause. “Ladies, you’d do well to take cover. A storm is blowing in.” They each looked up at him, but Saaferah deferred shortly to Goldane. Neither of them responded. “Poor girls,” sighed the elderly man. “I have a place you can stay.” He knew their type well. Goldy and Saafi exchanged indecisive glances, but at length the former stood. The latter, of course, followed. That was the first time they saw Dwayna’s Wardrobe.
A bony man wearing a grave expression bent low over Chapel’s desk. “She’s dead, Chap.” He looked up from his work. “Who’s dead?” “The sylvari. The yellow one.” He bit his knuckle and looked away, reflecting on his prediction that Goldane would one day overdose. Why hadn’t he acted on it? Still, he felt a perverse wash of relief. “I’ll deal with her,” mumbled the man as he turned to leave. “No. Let me have her.” He looked at Chapel strangely. “Don’t,” Chapel warned. “Just get her out of here. I’ll be downstairs within the hour.” He followed the thin man into the sylvari couple’s room, one of the few with a window (and the only one with open curtains). Goldane laid still behind Saaferah as she dabbled blissfully in her paints. He swooped in to distract her while his help removed the body. “Sweet Saaferah. What are you painting?” “Mmm, I don’t know,” she answered in a giggling slur. “I just see all these colors and they’re—they belong together, don’t they?” Chapel’s heart sank low.
Saaferah’s mind was as still and quiet as a midwinter morning. The crust of snow lay unbroken. The animals slept in their dens. The trees reached up, black and silent, to an indifferent grey sky. Years had passed. Loss and absence had aged her beyond her years and left her empty. She had been preparing for her demise a long while now. There was no other option. But the sun broke through the still and the ice. Spring, Saaferah knew. This isn’t the end anymore.
30 Zephyr, 1330 Glencarn Sperrins
I don’t know where I’ve been the last few days. I don’t know how to process this.
Chapel is dead.
This, for now, is what I know. Dia killed him.
He asked me some days ago about myself. What resulted was my confession about what happened in Lion’s Arch. Dia, without even a hitch of his breath, offered to h insisted on helping me. And now Chapel is dead, and Dwayna’s Mercy is gone.
Though Castien remains alive (as far as I’m aware), I can’t help the feeling that my life is finally my own again. I won’t be cornered in alleys and beaten anymore. The debt which has kept me shackled to my mistakes is erased.
Dia flew blindly into danger for me. He barely knows me. I suppose I know what I need to know about him: to keep him close. He is my future.
I’m going to take that job at the prickly fruit farm in Astorea. Maybe just for now. I’m going to repay Sio for the rounds she’s bought me. More practice with my pistol, more research into trapmaking, and more time training with whoever will teach me. I’m not going to waste this, Dia.
I still feel my losses—I think I always will—but I am not in my grave anymore.
I am an idiot. I should never have stayed. Diathys would have been better off if I had stuck with the plan. Ashling, too.
I was stupid to think this could work. All the evidence says so. First I hurt him by running Ash off, next by coming so close to shooting myself I had to give my pistols away, and now with Kaywyr. I have been so short-sighted stupid and caught up inside my head and my capricious at best perception of reality. I never, never intended this. Any of this.
I should have known better. All those things we said—all said in the rush of sex. Why did I think they were anything more than pillow talk? Because I’m selfish. I heard what I wanted to hear and thought nothing more of it. So I went to Kaywyr and then I came home and made a royal fucking ass of myself.
Even now I talk about me. I hurt him.
I hurt him.
Everything he’s done for me and all I can do is hurt him.
I have to figure out how to make this better. How to do better. I’m not going to leave. I can’t. Even if I wanted to, I promised him.
Stars, I’ve never done this before. I don’t know how. Please, Dia, just stay. I’m going to do better. I’m going to try harder. I’ll learn. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.
