#regrowth au

      Pirkko was fighting dragons even before she was born-- and that Dream has carried her ever-onward on a daunting quest to face down and defeat the world’s evils, and protect the people of Tyria from their incessant spread. She has never known peace; the idea of a world without war, strife, and violence feels like one of fantasy, and certainly a future she doesn’t expect to survive long enough to see for herself. There’s only one logical conclusion for a soldier fighting a war without end.

     In spite of-- or perhaps because of-- the fragile nature of mortality, she lives life to the fullest during every brief respite. This warm, living world is so beautiful to her-- and every new experience reminds the Commander exactly what she’s fighting for. In a harsh, cruel land overrun with deadly nightmares, she will be kind so that what little light remains may not be extinguished. All things have a right to grow, and every precious life saved is one less lost.

      Pirkko is determined to leave Tyria a better place than it was when she was born-- even if it quite literally takes a lifetime. Her Dream may have been to defeat Elder Dragons, but her dream is to defend a land full of people who are so very dear to her-- even when she doesn’t know so much as their names.

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      “... Commander, do you have a moment?” Pirkko hardly looked up, even as she heard familiar footsteps approaching softly across the grass. She didn’t feel like talking to Caithe. She wasn’t sure she wanted to talk to anyone.

     She finished her work nonetheless, gently tapping down a small mound of loose soil with the flat of her gardening shovel. Her head raised, eyes watching the Firstborn’s approach. Caithe paused. Their tiredness made them seem like mirror reflections, two sylvari warriors worn down by loss and regret. In spite of herself, Pirkko’s expression softened, a long, heavy sigh escaping her lips as she straightened and brushed the dirt off her knees.

      “I can talk. What is it, Caithe?” Her voice was quiet, betraying the wound carried deep in her soul. The Firstborn stood before her, looking to the Commander’s half-finished project contemplatively. There was no doubt in Pirkko’s mind that she knew exactly what it was meant to be, even as rough as it was.

     “A statue is being constructed in Trahearne’s memory,” she answered softly. “It will stand near the Grove’s entrance once it’s been completed. The others planned to send you a letter when it was done, but.. I felt it would be best for you to hear this news in person.”

      The Commander was silent for a long moment…

      She could still feel the blade in her hands, the tears on her cheeks.

      “... I’m sorry,” Caithe amended quickly, frowning, “I suppose I wasn’t the best choice of messenger. I’ll leav—”

      “Don’t go.” Pirkko cut her off, rubbing her eyes with one fist. “I… Thank you, for telling me. You didn’t have to do that.” She looked back to the unfinished latest addition to her garden, chest tight. “It’s just… A lot. That’s not your fault.”

     Caithe nodded. “You were very close, I know.”

     “He was a good man.” Pirkko could feel that agony in her chest twisting, keen as a knife. “He didn’t deserve to die like that. It’s a fate I wouldn’t have wished on my worst enemy, let alone…” She took a long, rattling breath, looking away. “... Caithe. Does it ever get any easier?”

      Caithe crouched at the small planting site, pulling a seed from her coat. She pressed it into the soil, then rested her hand lightly on top… A few small sprouts poked up, fresh green leaves unfolding in the Grove’s warm light.

     “Losing someone?” She let the saplings twine around her fingers briefly before drawing them back, watching them slowly reach upwards. “Over time, you become used to the pain of it. It no longer strikes so sharply or so deep, but it never quite goes away. Each fresh wound leaves a new scar in its wake.”

     Pirkko picked up a broken sword from its place against the wall of her home, striding forward and placing it into a humble pedestal at the new tree’s roots. Caithe’s vine wound around it, framing the blade perfectly. She stepped back, admiring their handiwork.

     “So, no,” Caithe decided finally, “I suppose it doesn’t.”

     “... I’m sorry about Faolain.” Pirkko gave her a sympathetic look. “I know that had to be hard for you.”

     “She was lost to me long before that,” she answered. “Whatever was between us withered and died many years ago.”

     “I know.”

     Everything was quiet for a long, solemn moment. Mordremoth was dead, but Caithe was right, she knew. The damage it left behind was never going to completely heal, not really. Faded marks would always remain. On the land, across their skin, and deep in the hearts of all those who had witnessed its rampage and lived.

     “... Commander.” Caithe looked out at the garden before them, her gaze even harder to read than usual. “If I may ask, are all of these..?”

     “... Yes.” She stuffed her hands into her pockets, looking out over the display.

     There were so many flowers here. The entire patch of earth was covered in them.

     “It’s beautiful. I’m sure they would have appreciated the gesture, too.”

     “Thank you. I think so, too.”

     Another moment of silence came, but it was different from the solemn, sad quiet that hung over the pair before. Even from death, something new could one day regrow. Their memory was preserved not in cold, hard stone, but in the continuation of life itself. There was something poetic about that.

      It was only then that Caithe noticed a single plant that was different from the others. A tangled rose bush stood alone at an edge of the garden, adorned with vibrant red-orange blooms. Pretty as it was, its thorns were sharp, glittering dangerously in the noon sun.

      “... Even one for her, Commander?” Caithe raised an eyebrow slightly.

      “As I said… That was a fate I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.”

      The Firstborn shook her head in disbelief. “Sometimes I fear you may be too soft for your own good.” She gave the bush a bitter glare. “After everything she put all of us through, I hardly think she deserves a memorial.”

     “It’s not about what she deserves.” Pirkko’s tone held a careful, restrained frustration. “And I haven’t forgiven her for what she did. But… As Ventari said, everything has a right to grow. No one else will mourn her, so I will instead.”

     “Scarlet didn’t want anyone to mourn her,” Caithe pointed out. “Her solitude was a choice. She didn’t care about anyone but herself, even to the end.”

      “Then I’ll be kinder than she was.”

      A sigh of exasperation drifted across the clearing. “You really are too soft.” She looked to the rose bush once more. “You may recall the rest of that tenet; the blossom is brother to the weed. A thistle would have better suited her.”

     Pirkko snorted. “And risk stepping on it? No thanks. Roses may have thorns, but at least they’re easy to see.” Caithe couldn’t help a wry smile.

     “Fair enough. She would have enjoyed that a bit too much.”

     “Exactly.”

     Pirkko stretched briefly, then started gathering up her tools and putting them away. “Ah, I should probably finish up here and get a look at that statue. I’m curious how it’s turning out, hopefully they don’t make it too pretentious.”

     “Don’t worry, it’s in good hands,” Caithe promised with a reassuring smile. “I’m sure it will come out nicely. Want me to lead the way?”

     “Go on ahead,” replied Pirkko, “I’ll catch up, I’m sure it can’t be that hard to find.” The Firstborn nodded, heading off to their destination. Only once she was out of sight did the Commander look to another of the garden’s dearest inhabitants. A few blooms of columbine were in view, a lovely mix of deep red-brown, pristine white, and vibrant yellow. Reaching up from soft green leaves, they even looked a bit like the magister they memorialized.

     She smiled faintly. It was good fighting by your side again, sister. I just wish it had been under better circumstances. The young sylvari lowered her head a moment. Thank you, Sieran. I’ll never forget you. 

     The Commander finished stowing her tools and finally left the garden behind.

she was an Ascalonian, and when the war reached a fever pitch, she went back to aid civilians and evacuate them to other lands. however, by then it was already going so far south that there wasn't much she could do-- and she wound up caught in the Foefire like so many others. however, remember how I mentioned she and Pirkko are a lot different?

Frida was a necromancer-- a powerful one. a necromentalist, if you will; she specialized in blending the summoning abilities of necromancers with the overwhelming might of elementalist spells.

as a result, she was able to shield herself from the Foefire... to an extent. even after being reduced to a spirit and bound to the lands where she died, Frida still has a fair amount of awareness of her surroundings, and a great deal of control over the magic now infused into every crack and crevice of Ascalon. but that doesn't mean she has an inherent knowledge of what happened or why.

... she thinks the charr caused the Foefire. after all, fire was like their whole thing, pretty reasonable assumption to make right?

Frida wouldn't learn the truth until nearly 300 years later, when a pair of gutsy cubs voyaged into The Notorious Ruins No One Ever Comes Back From, both believing that it was all just a scary story to keep out nosy cubs. and Frida, finding she just didn't have it in her to murder a couple of literal children, would secretly protect them from traps throughout the ruins before finally deciding to return them home herself.

cue the most notoriously deadly ghost of charr legend showing up at the Black Citadel carrying two cubs by the scruff, providing no further explanation than "... I think you misplaced something."

at least a few soldiers fainted right on the spot that day.