#squadstories

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A rare moment of company, a rare moment of comfort. Between running here and there, it seemed that they simply had no time for anything besides the business of war. The hour was late and both of them reasonably ought to have been asleep.

The Commander sat next to him on the bench. Normally at first, but then slowly sliding through either fatigue or purposeful intent out of that position, until he ended up lying with his head in the Firstborn’s lap. It proved to be an interesting task of cooperation in navigating so that his headroots did not become uncomfortable for either of them. Which in and of itself was amusing, to be compounded on by the fact that neither of them had slept in more time than they cared to fathom.

They probably should have been focused on addressing the issues of the Pact, specifically these troubling new reports of what the most recent damage was from the vines springing up. Should have being the keywords here. Both of them were wearied from the constant barrage of chaos and catastrophe, along with a pressing sense of dread they had yet to name. Riaghael had been so busy with tending to other areas of worry and trying to prepare for the journey into the heart of the jungle that he was hardly ever at Camp Resolve. It felt like though they managed the Pact together, that they never saw each other. There was more down time during their missions in Orr than there was here.

So when a chance for reprieve came, the only thing that came to mind was rest. However brief and fleeting it would be, as piles of work and complications built behind every second. The spring green necromancer decided to speak his mind before either of them dozed off.

“I love you.” Riaghael said aloud, as though it was the answer to a long burning question. A solution and resolution blended together. “So much so that it feels like it’s going to kill me at times.”

Trahearne had half a response cobbled together before Riaghael added to his original thought, in a softer, more hushed tone. “I think I’d let it, too.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t. For both our sakes.”

“Does everyone who falls in love feel this way? How do they get anything done?” He laughed, an airy sound filtered by exhaustion. Disbelief coloring it but not obscuring the humor.

“It’s a little different for everyone, I think. But yes, it’s certainly distracting. Though not in a bad way.”

“No, not bad at all. Terrifying is more like it.”

“Terrifying.” The Firstborn smiled as he repeated the word, what a way to put it. “Interesting choice of words.”

“Not for you, maybe. But I’m not used to this. I’ve never...” Riaghael paused as he scrambled with his phrasing.

“Hm? You’ve never what? Been in love?”

The silence was enough of an answer but as if to stress the point, his intense gaze darted away for a moment, avoiding Trahearne’s sight. A tightness appearing around his eyes and mouth, which solidified into a frown. It was the Firstborn’s turn to be painted in disbelief.

“Riag, really?”

“Really.” He sounded nervous, it was unusual for him. The self-assured and confident sylvari wore unease like an ill-fitted garment. “It’s never happened before. I didn’t know I could.”

Mouth slightly agape at the realization, Trahearne felt a strange manner of duty rest over him. The Commander had mentioned when they first agreed to attempt being together that he was inexperienced in relationships. Yet it hadn’t occurred to him that it meant he had no experience at all. He himself had loved before, though the memory of it was from days long faded with time. Love came easily to him, as did attraction. It would have been selfish of him to get involved with anyone, he told himself, when his focus had been consumed by Orr and the healing of it. But now that it was behind him -

Looking even less comfortable, Riaghael added, “I’m sorry if that’s news you didn’t want to hear right now.”

“It’s not that. I’m grateful you chose to share it with me. Just... surprising.”

He gave a relieved, almost shaky sigh. “I was afraid it would put you off.”

“Why would it do that?”

“Because it proves beyond a doubt that I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing?” Phrasing it like a question, as though it was obvious to everyone.

“Then you have beginners luck.” Trahearne said, leaning down to press a quick kiss to the top of his head, next to the vibrant pink blossoms. “I happen to think you are doing an excellent job.”

The Dawnbloom glowed a warm peach but chose not to say anything else on the matter. He let himself sink back into a comfortable position, having found that he had tensed as if to leave. Not that he knew where else to go, Riaghael always found himself gravitating back to him.

Trahearne’s hand that had held the reports, though they’d long been forgotten, finally set them on the seat. With it now freed, he ran his fingers along the sides of the trailing roots that emerged from the top Riaghael’s crown. Idly caressing, in a gesture that was second nature to him when they were alone. At the touch the other necromancer’s bright pink eyes hooded for a moment before slipping shut.

The two of them had friendly quarrels on whether they were roots or branches, agreeing to disagree. Riaghael was adamant that they were roots, despite the flowers. At their base they were inflexible and rigid, but towards the ends as the roots thinned they could be moved some. Often growing and becoming brittle if their owner didn’t tend to them properly, which he seldom did.

“This is definitely not analyzing reports, Marshal.” He muttered, making a fake attempt to protest. Trying and failing to put on the voice he used when speaking to common infantry.

“You don’t hear me complaining do you? Come, just rest for a moment.”

The floral Sylvari cracked an eye opened at him and included playfully, “I can see why your cats like this so much. They might have some competition.”

“Don’t let them hear you say that. There will be time enough for all of you when this is said and done.”

A Festival for Two

One thing that had changed for the convenient, if not for the better, was that given his retirement, Riaghael was much easier to track down. The former Commander could usually be found around his home and garden, in the market haggling prices, or purchasing supplies.

At least Trahearne didn’t have to worry about him marching off on some self decided mission. Ruby had sent him a letter, asking him to attend Dragonbash with her this year. To try some of the new forms of candy as well as viewing the hologram of Kralk, she added in her letter that it definitely needed more purple. While he hadn’t planned on it, he thought that it would be rude not to ask Riaghael. Even though Ruby’s letter had prefaced that he didn’t attend that particular event any longer.

Trahearne found him sitting on his knees in his plot, digging small shallow holes with a trowel. He stood politely outside of his garden, waiting for him to finish what he was in the middle of before speaking. “I suppose you’re not going to Hoelbrak, then? You’re responsible for their celebration, too.”

“I’ll let Ruby get the glory for it. I can celebrate Zhaitan’s defeat, sure. But not...  Mordremoth’s. Kralk was all her work anyway.” He rolled the handle of the trowel he was holding between his hands. “Thanks for asking, but I’ll pass. Why don’t you go? You haven’t gone in nearly five years. I’ve heard it’s gotten even crazier.”

“And how long has it been since you went?”

Riaghael did the math in his head and realized that it was also five years for him. That wasn’t a coincidence, either. “You know, I suddenly don’t like this conversation very much.”

“I’ve never been one for big gatherings. You had to drag me to the party after we killed Zhaitan, if you recall.”

“True. But you had fun.”

“I did. I thought you enjoyed big events.”

“The fireworks going off are something I can live without. Along with the life sized holograms looming overhead.” Riaghael tried to laugh it off but a grim undercurrent quickly won.

“I see.” He let his tone fall, lowering in understanding.

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you mean ‘oh no, that’s unfortunate’ but you don’t want to actually say it. I don’t want pity.”

“I wouldn’t insult you with pity, Riag. But am I not allowed to be upset about the things that bother you?”

Riaghael frowned but did not add anything else to it.

“What are you growing?” Seeing as the conversation was leading nowhere, the Firstborn changed the subject, noticing as there was visible relief on the other necromancers face to not have to talk about this further.

“Tulips. It’s early for them, the ground might still be too warm. I had the bulbs now, they’ll rot if I wait around for fall. Might as well give them a chance. After this, I’m probably just going to catch a few hours of sleep.”

“If it’s alright with you, I think I’ll skip this year as well.”

“You don’t have to for my sake.”

“I want to.” He stressed the word, trying to get his point across. Trahearne valiantly suppressed a sigh.

“I know, and that’s nice of you, but I don’t want to bore you. Gardening isn’t exactly the most entertaining.”

At that the lingering frustration sprouted into disbelief and he deadpanned. “Remind me again how many times you put up with me venting about ancient Orrian rituals?”

“I was decently interested in the material as well. And it was relevant for defeating Zhaitan.” He said, as he continued with his gardening tasks. Dropping the pale tulip bulbs into their designated holes and lightly covering them with dirt. Hands pausing over them each for a moment afterwards as the soft green glow of necromancy seeped into the ground. They were off to a rough start so he figured any extra help they could get might make a difference.

“As well as being ‘decently interested’ in staring at my ass as I paced around the room rambling, you mean.”

Riaghael stopped in the middle of reaching into the burlap bag of bulbs. So he hadn’t been as covert about it as he thought. A suspicious peach color tinting his complexion in a most subtle way. If one hadn’t known his glow color, it might have been missed. Trahearne, however, considered it a minor victory. At least he didn’t look so closed off, so distant.

“It was an added bonus.” The floral Sylvari said innocently.

Trahearne gave a laugh from his chest that was a combination of genuine amusement and fondness. The sound of it loosened some hidden snare of tension Riaghael was unaware he held. A memory of the first time he had heard it floated to him. He couldn’t even recall who had said something amusing, but he remembered the sound of it and the warmth it brought out of him. He thought then, as now, that it was something that he wanted to hear more of.

He worked in quiet, comfortable silence, with the eyes of the Firstborn following him as he did so.

The last bulb fell into place with a satisfying little plop, before being buried by hands whose gentle touch was betrayed by the ambient tremor and line of scarred bark running along the side into the palm. Having spent far more energy on giving the tulips a head start than he intended, Riaghael felt himself sag under the weight of a creeping exhaustion. He had been at this for a few hours already, trying to figure out where to plant them, what to do with the soil to make sure it was suited to their preference, and trying to figure out how deep to bury them. He dusted the dirt off his hands on his yellow and pink leaf garb before rubbing his eyes, stifling a yawn. Right. Probably time to chase some sleep. Or rather, be chased by sleep, because it was less of a suggestion to rest and more of a matter of finding someplace decent to be unconscious.

“Tired?”

“Yeah. I’m going to wrap this up and then go lay down for a bit.”

“Can I help?”

In minor amusement and unable to resist a quick comment, he quipped, “With putting away half empty bags of dirt or with taking a nap?”

“Both.”

Riaghael was neither able to nor did he do anything to stop the grin from emerging. “Hard to say no to such a generous offer.” 

He stood from his position in the garden, stretching and wincing as he tested his shoulder. Must’ve done something to irritate it again, he suspected carrying the heavy containers of soil did it but there was no point in trying to parse it out now. Glad for the help, the task of hauling the gardening soil back to the storage area behind the garden went quicker with two sets of hands. It would have taken him at least an hour otherwise. It took half of that.

With the gardening done, at least the urgent part of it, he turned his attention back to the Firstborn who stood next to him. Half a word had formed before he was interrupted by Trahearne,

“If you’re planning on telling me to go do something else, don’t bother. I’m here because I wish to be and that’s final.”

He deflated. Well so much for that. A touch at the small of his back made him tense, if only a little, before relaxing. He was disappointed in himself that he still was jumpy, even here, even now. The motion did not go unnoticed.

“Is this alright?” Trahearne asked, withdrawing his hand slightly, letting it hover instead of being in contact.

“It is, I promise you it is."

When he did not look entirely convinced, Riaghael took the chance to drape his own arm around his beloveds waist and leaned into him. The action finally getting the Firstborn’s expression to return to the one he had desired. Scattered was the concerned, the hesitant and settled comfortably in it’s frame was quiet joy. He returned his hand to its preferred place of rest.

“And now that nap.”

*~~~~~~~~*

“Ruby said something that bothered me.”

“Hm?”

“When she mentioned that she had not told you about what happened with Balthazar.”

“She thought she was doing the right thing. It’s hard to be mad at her when she’s trying to help all the time. I’m over it... mostly.”

“No, not that. I know she’s like that, she’s been not telling the whole truth to spare people’s feelings since she was a sapling.”

He let his attention be pulled away from wildflowers growing nearby. They had stopped to take a quick break at Firthside Vigil, Ruby and Sigilis were discussing the planned route with a local scout to see if there were any new threats they needed to watch out for. Meanwhile, he had walked away from the encampment, being around Skritt was not high on his list of pastimes. Trahearne had followed him too, curious what kept his interest as well as to stretch his legs from riding. Both of them were glad for a break.

He wondered if it would cause too much damage to his own plants if he took the dried heads for their seeds. It would be nice to add a new element to his garden. At first glace he thought they were sunflowers, but now he was leaning towards some type of daisy. Orange petals with yellow lining. They sort of reminded him of Ruby.

“She’d said, well, said to me, that she couldn’t bear to see you ‘that low’ again. She wouldn’t clarify and I didn’t think it was right of me to ask her - instead of you.”

He set his teeth, a slight frown forming. He suspected this would come up one way or another. He was conflicted, both feeling like he needed to talk about it and wanting to talk about anything other than that. Many of those days were not his finest moments. And looking back on them now he felt embarrassed and ashamed at the ideas left to run rampant that colored the world with their ichor. He still had bad spells but the level of ‘bad’ had changed parameters.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, it can wait until later.”

“Later when? It’s going to be just as dismal then as it is now.”

Riaghael looked uneasy, rubbing the back of his neck. He had taken a few steps away from him without realizing it. However, his beloved did notice it and when the floral necromancer didn’t try to initiate conversation again, and the air grew uncomfortable, the Firstborn felt inclined to add,

“I’d hope that you trust me enough to be able to handle it, whatever ‘it’ may entail. I would never judge you, no matter what you did, or saw, or felt. Or see you as anything other than the person that you are.”

“It’s just going to upset you.”

“Let me be the judge of that, please.”

The flower pink eyes dulled for a moment as he glanced past him, or rather into the space around him.

“I didn’t feel much of anything for a while. But it didn’t pull punches when it did hit. I had bad days and worse days. And a lot of days that I can’t remember at all. Bad meant anything from not being able to leave the house to go work with the Mender’s, to blowing up in Ruby’s face about needing help with everyday things.”

He folded his arms in, instead of crossing them he just held them loosely.

“Worse meant eyeing my sword and... just wondering. Wondering if it would make things any better, or at least not hurt so much. Wondering if Ruby would ever forgive me.” Riaghael became aware that the Trahearne had taken back the space that he’d created, unable to bring himself to see what his reaction was. Saying quieter, almost to himself, “Wondering if I’d see you again.”

“But I didn’t. I couldn’t, not after all you’d sacrificed to make it safer for us.”

A touch on his forearm made him freeze for a moment before feeling a little guilty, right, yes. Now he had to witness the mess that he had made. Fearing he had divulged too much all at once and that it was now his duty to try and comfort or give some form of reassurance that he didn’t feel that way any longer. Stringing out empty words to allay fears, while still clearing the residue of the days spent with a caustic want for oblivion. But when he dared to read his expression, residing there was sadness but also a shape of pride. The sadness he expected but the pride was new.

“I had known your bravery when it came to impossible battles. But you surprise me again in just how deep your courage runs.” Trahearne said, his yellow eyes held tension around them but they were not the well-meaning but unsettled worry he had come to expect from others.

Riaghael opened his mouth to add something else but found that the words dried up in the back of his throat. Luckily, a call from the Charr on the hill boomed through the air and saved him from attempting to speak.

“QUIT MINGLING WITH THE SHRUBS AND LET’S GET GOING.”

Ex-Commander, Dragonslayer, Esteemed Necromancer, and part time Florist

His expenses were usually covered by the pension he had earned from his time in the Pact as well as the spare gold he saved from adventuring. Since he wasn’t prone to spending huge amounts of money on frivolities, it worked in his favor and he managed to coast by with relative ease. Still, for the time when he did want to splurge and buy something for himself, instead of drawing from his reserves he would sell bouquets. It was not a task that he did all the time given that it takes more effort and time to make the flower arrangement look cohesive, but he had gotten a name for himself among those in the know. A good person to go to for a last minute gift or gesture.

Not that he minded such a name, the more people who bought them meant the more people celebrating in some way. There was happiness in his periphery of those buying gifts for others, or even for themselves. Plus he an abundance of flowers as he grew them for his own uses - meaning there were plenty to spare.

Riaghael was in the market for a small handheld scythe for cutting weeds and stalks of the woodier flowers. The regular gathering tools were notorious for breaking after a couple of uses so he was looking to acquire one that wouldn’t need to be replaced every five minutes. He had seen one of the large, wooden handled ones that were used for wheat or amaranth but those would be overkill for delicate flowers or herbs. Grudgingly, he also wasn’t sure if he could even hold it. They looked weighty and cumbersome. A portable one was more along the lines of what he was after so that he could stop using his gardening knife for everything and wearing it out.

And so here he was - selling flowers again. The fact that he had gone from Commander and Dragon slayer to part time florist never failed to make him shake his head in humorous disbelief. Life is nothing if not unexpected.

A Sylvari approached him while he was standing outside of his garden, taking in the general space he had to work with for future projects. They were exceedingly colorful and floral, a single large bloom on the back of their head with it’s broad petals spread out joyfully. Bright pink bark was highly contrasted by the powder blue of their flower.

“’scuse me! Sorry to bother you. Are you Riaghael?”

“Yes? Can I help you?”

“I am in mighty need of a bouquet - I’ve made up my mind! I’m going to ask her! I just don’t want to do it empty handed.”

He gave a small smile, glad to see someone so full of passion and enthusiasm. “What did you have in mind?”

“That’s part of the problem, see. I don’t know what flowers to ask for.”

“What colors does she like? Or dislike. So I can avoid them.”

“She doesn’t like yellows. Which is sad because she has the most lovely yellowy golden glow.” They sighed dreamily. “She said it makes her look like some sort of ominous lemon.”

In trying to keep a snicker from emerging, he gave a very suspicious cough which luckily the other Sylvari didn’t seem to notice.

“What are you asking her? I implied, but if I’m off track I didn’t want to add the wrong flowers.”

“Oh! I got carried away. I’m going to ask her to be my beloved. I’ve been waiting for her to ask me first but she’s taking too long. So I’m taking the plunge instead. Thorns, I didn’t think it would be so scary!”

“Hah. Been there. So avoid yellow, noted. Anything else?”

“Ah, hm, well...” They scratched the side of their nose. “What about a little flower bud? She always calls me her little bloom and it makes me feel so fuzzy, I can’t explain it.”

Riaghael’s smile widened. They were helplessly smitten. Still in the first head rush of love, a thrill that he remembered well. Part of his small side business that he adored was seeing the sheer excitement from his customers as they started talking about their lives. In normal situations, he probably wouldn’t have cared about the details but when it came to things they were passionate about he found himself vicariously happy. While he wasn’t always keen on needless chatter or engagement with strangers, seeing customers bubble with enthusiasm was infectious and brightened his little corner of the Grove.

“Certainly. I can have something put together quickly, in an hour or so. Or if you’d like a larger arrangement by tomorrow morning.”

“The quicker the better, if you don’t mind. Before I lose my nerve. How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing upfront, just pay once it’s been put together. And I don’t know - whatever you think it’s worthy of. I don’t have set costs.”

~---~

A few days passed and wondered how his customers confession went. That was one of the few downsides is that he only saw snippets of their excitement and rarely knew how it ended. He wanted to think that it ended well but the cynic in him scoffed, maybe he’d be proven wrong and he’d see them with whoever they had confessed to. Riaghael had been in the middle of trimming a tea rose that he had planted, the thing kept growing in strange directions instead of getting sturdy. Trailing limbs but no real structure of shape to the bush. With an apology, he snipped a few of the protruding twigs off, even though they had new leaves starting. A polite clearing of the throat came from just beyond his garden gate and caused him to look up from his task.

Night gardening offered fewer distractions but alas it seemed that it was not completely free from them. A different Sylvari was here this time - her dark blue and green coloring was very striking. An interesting texture that he had not seen often, which was akin to a pine cone, sprawled down from her crown to her forehead. Yet it was her expression that caught his attention. There was a fierce defiance to it. An air of heaviness lingered around her.

“May I disturb you for a moment?” She said with a sigh, as though the act of speaking itself was tiresome.

“Sure. Can I help you with something?”

“A friend of mine told me that you create flower arrangements for occasions. If it’s not an inconvenience I would like to purchase one.”

“What’s the occasion?”

She was quiet, glancing at the ground and swallowing with effort. Riaghael got the general idea. Setting his tools aside for a moment he walked over to the gate so they wouldn’t have to speak so loudly.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to say it.”

“You understand then, yes?”

“Far more than I would like.” Came his reply.

She broke her focus on the ground and met his sight, searching for a trace of pity or falsehood. Finding none, her sharpness lessened and she gave an appreciative nod.

“I see. As it remains, here I am. Here we are.” She proclaimed, righting her posture and standing tall. “I don’t know what type of flowers you would suggest for such an arrangement.”

“Tell me about them.”

“He was my podtwin. The Nightmare Court tried to get him to break but he never did.” She smiled proudly, that defiance returning with equal parts sadness.

“Not what I meant. Tell me about him. What was he like? What made him laugh? What did he love doing?” Riaghael tried to redirect her question. Those details helped with context, but not what flowers to use. For that he needed to know the person in question not the circumstances around them.

Curious yet grateful for the change of topic, her expression softened further and turned thoughtful and she drifted through happier times. After a while, Riaghael noticed the wall of distance returning and the sharpness crept back into her features. But it had given him a good mental picture from listening to her of who her podtwin had been. Drafting an idea for what flowers to use in his head: nothing too colorful or bright, but no white flowers either. Maybe incorporate smaller floral clusters.

“By what time did you need this ready?”

“Not for two days. I need time to... prepare myself.”

“Of course. Any requests?”

“Do not include daffodils.” She added with unexpected venom. “Or anything even resembling them.”

He was taken aback by the sudden hatred but knew better than to press questions. It was clearly a sore point on an already sore topic. He hadn’t planned on it anyway - the colors were too bright for what he had in mind. It seemed that she was also surprised by her own snap and pinched the corners of her eyes, heaving a sigh once again. The mask of being collected and calm returned to her face and her bright blue eyes no longer held an ocean like current.

“What fees am I to pay?”

“Pay as you see fit, once it’s finished.”

“That... is not the best business model.”

“Maybe not.” He shrugged. “But it’s what I use.”

Giving him a long stare, the coniferous Sylvari rummaged in one of her leaf pockets in her dress, pulling out a bulky barkcloth bag of coins. She held it out to him and gestured for him to take it. The dark blue-green of her hands held the faintest suggestion of her glow, which was such a dim green that it almost didn’t exist. Riaghael knew too well what had caused it. His own was brighter than it had been but hadn’t quite recovered it’s full vibrancy, too.

“Here. This will cover it.” When he failed to make a move towards it she added, “I do not accept no for an answer. Take it.”

“I-”

It had been a simple mission, at least that’s what it seemed like at the time. Scout the Arcovian Foothills for signs of Flame Legion activity, report back, go have a round at the bar. Her and Galla were going to beat their record of how many ales they could slam before they passed out. She was sitting pretty at 18 tankards.

She had marched up the side of the hill, cursing at the rocky incline for making it hard to get her footing when she heard movement. The spotted Charr, lowered her head trying to reduce her profile if there were sentries around. The terrain shifted from the normal mountainous one she had been expecting to the magma spires and slag formations that gave away Flame Legion. Sigilis turned, mouth open to tell them she’d found something but had the words cut from her by seeing the grey cloud of smoke rising between her and the rest of her warband.

Smoke Shaman.

Shit.

Judging by the density of the smoke, a damn good one at that. Carefully, Sigilis crept back down the hillside, trying to make as little noise as she could. Maybe they hadn’t seen her yet and she could strike while Reeva and Howl kept them busy. A large flat piece of granite shifted under her foot and she froze - hoping that it hadn’t given away her position. Not a moment later is when the sounds of violence reached her - the harsh shouts of orders and the sharp crack of firearms going off. That was Reeva’s gun.

A roar to her left made her jump out of the way as a bloody axe came preciously close to taking an ear off. Butting the other Charr in the gut with the end of her rifle, she knocked the wind out of him before she kicked him in the knee and sent him buckling backwards. Now that she had the space needed, Sigilis managed to land a shot clean through the center of his chest. The Flame soldier gave a grunt of surprise but did not move again.

The engineer slid further down the hill, worried about accidentally shooting one of her ‘bandmates, but bludgeoning any Charr that she didn’t recognize on her way. She ran into Galla by accident, which worked in both of their favors as it led to them narrowly avoiding a grenade that Reevva had thrown in that general direction. Galla managed to cover hear ears in time - but Sigilis was not so lucky. It went off too close all the same, the explosion sending sound out of reach and replaced it with a ringing that was deafening.

She didn’t hear Dinky shout in pain as an arrow went deep into his side, to be followed by three more. She didn’t hear Euryale screaming and swearing up and down how she would kill all of you motherfuckers as a Flame turret sent a glob of molten rock into her back. She didn’t hear Clawspur get felled like a tree as a Flame Legion throwing axe found its mark. She didn’t hear Howl do anything.

All she heard was ringing, high pitched and shrill. Worse than the grinding of rusted steel in the tanks. Dazed, she grabbed at her horns and tried to stop the battle from spinning so she could kill something.

Reeva looked around in panic, orange eyes frantically scanning for an option.  As she saw her Warband crumbling one by one, the other engineer made a last minute decision. There were four grenades left in her kit. There wasn’t room to throw them any longer with the Flame swarming at her as a plague of locusts. She gave an unhinged shriek of a laugh and pulled all four pins out at once.

Yelling to Galla with the little time she had, “GAL! MOVE YOUR ASS!”

Seeing the pins hanging on her claws Galla paled and tackled Sigilis without thinking, knocking them both to the ground. Another explosion shook the earth around them, this time she could feel it in her bones and skull as they rattled.

The impact of being tackled so violently in addition to the grenades sent the world flickering, like a candle caught in the wind. Blinking in and out of existence. She expected that soon it would go out altogether and the dark would be here to stay. They had been so convinced that they were able to handle anything. So sure of themselves. She closed her eyes but it only made the spinning sensation worse.

They were all so stupid.

Everything hurt. Bones she didn’t even knew she had hurt. Never had she been aware of just how heavy her body felt. The ringing in her ears which had just began to let up came back with renewed frenzy. A sound muffled and dim by the infernal ringing drew her back to the awareness that offered kindly to leave.

“...lis.”

“..ilis.”

“Sigilis, please.”

With great reluctance, the spotted Charr cracked her eyes open to find her ‘bandmate peering down at her in tears. Galla’s icy blue sight which had always seemed so unwavering, so intense was reduced to fear and desperation. She knew that look. She had seen it when they were cubs. And it bothered her then as much as it did now. 

“Galla?” When did talking hurt so much? The name sounded rough and gravelly as it left her mouth, the other words rolled around sluggishly. “’m dead then?”

“You’re not.”

“Gotta be hallucin-halluc- aw, fuck. Why else would be seeing your pretty face?”

The brown and grey Revenant gave a strangled laugh that sounded more like a sob. Sigilis saw the speckling of blood across her face and her stomach churned as she wondered how much if it was Flame Legion and how much was Reeva.

“It’s just us.” The taller Charr croaked out, “It’s just us.”

Pacing.

Pacing.

It seemed like all he could do was walk this same stretch of dirt until he inevitably turned it into some new form of stone from treading on it. At this point he had lost count of how many times he had walked from the front of the infirmary to the harbor facing the sea. The guards stationed there had finally stopped asking him if he needed something.

Yes, he did indeed need something. He needed his second in command to stop being such an impulsive, reckless-

“Marshal?” An Asura medic stepped out of the sick bay, drying her hands on a cloth as she looked around. “You’re welcome to come in and see him, if you’d like.”

“How is he?”

“I’m no expert on Sylvari medicine, but from my discernment it looks worse than it really is. Provided he manages not to run off into battle and re-open it.”

“You’ll have better luck convincing water to not be wet.” The Firstborn said unable to keep a bit of dry humor out of his voice.

“Then you can try convincing him, when he wakes up.”

He felt his brows furrowing in concern. “He’s unconscious?”

“We gave him a mild healing tonic. For pain and as a sedative because the great idiot - I mean - heroic Commander kept insisting that he was fine and wouldn’t let us treat him.”

“Sounds about right.” The stress in his shoulders loosened by a fraction. “Thank you.”

“It’s my job.” She grumbled, walking past him and headed for the main lobby.

He waited until she was out of sight before entering the infirmary. Walking in he was greeted immediately by the scent of disinfectant and bitter herbs used for poultices. It was unnervingly clean, especially in contrast to the landscape which harbored decay and rot. Trahearne couldn’t say that he had been here often, perhaps only a handful of times and very rarely for his own injuries. Typically, as was the case now, it was to visit a certain Commander and promptly berate him for charging headfirst into problems. Out of the fourteen cots, there were a dozen empty, which gifted him a small portion of relief. Only two soldiers, a norn from the Priory and a Charr from the Vigil were being treated for minor injuries and ailments. They gave a brief salute of respect which he returned promptly.

Yet at the far end of the hall was the patient he had come to see. He should be used to this by now, but the sight of his Commander in an infirmary never stopped making some part of him tense in worry. It doggedly lingered in the back of his mind that one day he might not be able to scrape by with minor injuries. Due to the infirmary being largely empty, he noticed that his footsteps sounded loud as he walked over to the other Sylvari.

The first thing that drew his attention was the wide band of bandage and cloth started over the floral necromancer’s left hip which trailed across his side. There was the suggestion of gold seeping through it. He clung the the words of ‘it looks worse than it really is’ as comfort. Even if it were not serious, due to the location, it would make patrolling and running into the fray challenging if not impossible for a least a couple of weeks. Or, as he thought with a trace of amusement, knowing Riaghael, a single week at best. The Firstborn pulled a nearby stool up to the side of his bed and sat down with a sigh. He had to know the report from the beach, what lead to the attack, and how many troops they should muster to fortify it further. It would have to wait as he hated the thought of waking him. Even in sleep, the spring hued necromancer had the slightest hint of his warm peach glow in his cheeks and around his eyes. Riaghael was unable to conceal his energy even while unconscious. Trahearne’s heart squeezed fondly- feeling the pull of affection that had worn a familiar groove in his chest.

As his chest rose and fell with each unhurried breath, Trahearne himself found exhaustion creeping in. He hadn’t properly slept in more time than he cared to fathom. Let alone since the party patrolling Elysium Beach had returned with injured and among the injured, Riaghael. Hearing the call of medics to the gate! sent a wave of dread through him that he hadn’t quite recovered from. Rubbing his yellow eyes tiredly, he sighed again and shook his head trying to fight the wave of fatigue. There wasn’t time for rest, not when he had a hundred things he had to be doing and half of them should have been done already. But sleep, the wily lady that she is, cannot be so easily distracted.

A weight to his body arrived that he found hard to stave off with promises of work, made worse by the rhythmic sounds of peaceful rest. Half of him considered the idea of simply climbing into the cot with him to rest. To hell with Pact appearances and get what he could only imagine would be the best sleep he’d had in months. However, he decided against it. Worried that it would cause him to jerk awake and risk aggravating an already angry injury. Instead he settled for propping his elbow up on the frame of the cot and resting his head into his palm. Far from ideal but better than nothing. The room around him became hazy and before long he was dozing. One hand supporting his head and the other just barely touching the arm of the Commander.

In the quiet that followed, the Charr snickered and prodded the Priory Scholar.

"Told you. Now pay up."