A/N: Heeeeyyyy guys! :D So I decided to take a little break from FNAF and write this little one-shot. :)

I was playing Guild Wars 2, one of my new favorite games, and decided, due to certain...incidents, I just had to write this little story using my norn, Helene Kitaldottir. Yes, I'm so hardcore I actually took the time to look up a name for her...

But anyways! Hope you enjoy this little one-shot!

Oh, and spoilers! ;)

Wait...I should probably put a disclaimer, huh? *sigh*

I do not own Guild Wars 2, nor any character or place mentioned besides Helene.

Footsteps padded softly on the worn dirt road, decorated with crisp fallen leaves. Shadows danced as the wind blew the trees and the long grass stalks. The path was deserted, save for a few curious rabbits who came out of hiding to see who was walking by.

On any other day, Helene would have enjoyed the nice walk outside of Lion's Arch. But today she felt hollow and empty, like nothing in the world could possibly cheer her up. The bright sun looked cold and dim, the shadows haunting her every move like they could just pluck her off the ground and envelop her in darkness.

Helene glanced at the animals, then focused on the road ahead. In her hands was a small leather bag, which she clutched tightly to avoid jostling the precious items inside.

The norn passed the Diverse Ledges Waypoint, eyeing it with mild interest in her bright blue eyes. The once crowded waypoint was deserted. Everyone was probably celebrating the recent death of Zhaitan that occurred just two weeks ago.

If someone had walked up to Helene and told her that someday she would help slay Zhaitan the Elder Dragon, she would laugh in their face and tell them they had a little too much ale to drink. But lo and behold, here she was, fresh off the battlefield.

The last two weeks had been a jumble of banquets, ceremonies, and boring fancy parties. Helene had received nearly three quarters of her weight in medals, which she had left in Fort Trinity, and had enough dresses to last an entire family for generations.

She did appreciate it, really, but she just felt uncomfortable the whole time. At this point, Helene just wanted to retreat back home to the Shiverpeak Mountains with her mom, sister and her wolf, Scout, whom she had sent back to avoid him getting hurt while she faced Zhaitan. She missed the crisp mountain air and the overall friendliness of the locals.

She just had one last errand to run.

The Shuttered Gate loomed over Helene. The Caromi scouts were gone, probably celebrating with the others in Lion's Arch. She made a sharp right, heading toward the cliffside, still holding the bag.

She stopped in front of a boulder and pushed against it with her foot, grunting with effort. The rock slid away, revealing a small cave entrance. Green leaf vines hung over the entrance like a curtain. It was almost unnoticeable if not inspected up close.

After checking to make sure no one was around, Helene ducked inside the cave, the stirring vines the only evidence that she had been there.

The cave was more like a large room carved into the rock than anything. The walls were smooth, ivy crawling and curling. The grass was bright green and plush. A small trickle of water cascaded down a pile of boulders into a pond outlined with rushes. Afternoon sunlight beamed down from the holes in the ceiling.

In the center of the secret paradise was a healthy apple tree. The leaves were golden, the apples plump and scarlet. The trunk was thick. The roots were spread out, reaching as far as the wall of the cave before sinking down into the fertile earth.

In the shade of the apple tree was a tombstone. The sides were straight, and the top was curved in a perfect arch. Two flawless stone cylinders with rounded tips sat on either side. Carved into the rock was a series of artistic curliques and the Order of Whispers flag, with a message inscribed in the center:

Tybalt Leftpaw

Lightbringer, War Hero, Good Friend

Helene shook off her heavy armour, revealing the simple ranger vest and white blouse she wore underneath. It was relieving to be out of the stuffy clothes and into something more fitting for the weather. Making sure the bag was sitting upright, she crouched down in the soft grass and smiled sadly at the tombstone.

"Hey Tybalt," she said.

Immediately she felt a lump forming in her throat. By Raven, she was about to start crying already. Swallowing hard, she fought for words.

"I see Demmi's been taking care of your tree," she observed, looking up at the healthy branches, bearing their perfect fruit and full, luscious leaves. "I'm glad we set you down here instead of on Claw Island. It would never have grown like this over there."

She didn't want to mention that putting Tybalt's memorial on Claw Island was too emotionally painful for her and the Order. They thought it would be better to set it up in a more peaceful environment, so it wouldn't remind them of the terrible tragedy that happened that night.

"Sorry I haven't visited before now. I've been busy," Helene continued.

She shifted so she was sitting cross-legged. "I'm going back to Shiverpeak Mountains soon. It's about time I see my family again. Remember, Denise and Cynthia? And Scout, too."

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. "The Order's doing okay. We have an alliance with the Vigil and the Durmand Priory now. To be honest, the alliance is holding together for a lot longer than I thought it would," she rambled on.

"Zhaitan's been killed, I bet you've already heard about that. It was such a relief to see him finally dead." Another hard swallow. "We got our motivation from...from your sacrifice..."

She cursed silently. Way to go Helene, you just made this even harder for yourself, she scolded. She fought hard to compose herself as her heart ached and her throat felt tight with unreleased sobs.

She traced the letters on the cold, unforgiving stone with an index finger, feeling the familiarity of his name and the face that she would never see again. Gone were the days of their partnership, and the times he had made her laugh, and the times they defeated foes side by side.

Her bottom lip quivered dangerously. The feeling of emptiness returned as the cave darkened with her thoughts. She couldn't hold it off for much longer.

"I brought something for you," Helene said to him, voice breaking. She peeled off the flap of the small leather sack, revealing the precious load inside.

It was two mugs of apple cider, still fresh and warm from the bar in Lion's Arch. Some of the drink had fallen to the bottom of the bag, but most of it was waiting patiently to be consumed inside its wooden mug. Helene couldn't remember when she last had apple cider, but the smell of the apples both made her mouth water and made her want to cry.

"I figured I still owe you one," she continued, her voice just barely above a heartbroken whisper. She pulled out the two mugs with the utmost of delicacy to not spill the cider. She placed one next to the gravestone. "I didn't get the hard stuff, since I know you don't like that."

She looked inside her cup of cider, swirling the contents a little and sniffing it before clunking it against Tybalt's. "Cheers."

She sipped it cautiously. The tartness of the steaming cider combined with the spices took her back to a simpler time, when they shared an apple under a tree or on a cliff and just talked like old friends, blissfully ignorant of the massacre that would come to pass.

The dam broke.

It was the night after they had formed an alliance with the grawl in Dredgehaunt Cliffs. Helene noticed that Tybalt had been acting stranger than usual. He kept muttering to himself, and hadn't smiled all evening. He seemed more jumpy as well, flinching away when others stared at him for too long.

The two were staying in a small inn in Hoelbrak, near the Wolf Lodge. It had two bedrooms, with a small kitchen in between. Helene was busying herself making cinnamon toast. She was no cook, but she was glad her mother had taught her a few recipes before she left.

A shadow creeping under Tybalt's door made her pause. She could hear him muttering again. He sounded angry, and she didn't want to barge in. She turned back to her toast.

A few minutes later, she finished the meals and placed them on the small table sitting against the back wall. Her gaze wandered over to the door again. She couldn't hear anything, so she assumed it was alright to go in.

Helene crept over to Tybalt's door. It was ajar, but she couldn't see him in the room. She thought about going in, but caught herself.

Instead she knocked. "Hey Tybalt?" she called.

There was a faint rustling, then a gruff voice said, "Come in!"

Helene opened the door a little to find Tybalt sitting nonchalantly on his bed. He gave her a little wave, but then looked away and focused on the wall opposite him.

"I made food for us," Helene said. She pushed the door open a bit further, noticing his failing attempt to look casual. "Is...everything okay?"

Tybalt jumped at the question. "Y-Yeah! Of course! Why wouldn't it be?" He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. His tail twitched.

Helene raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. Tybalt's grin faltered. "That obvious, huh?" he asked, chucking nervously.

"You never were a very good actor," the norn replied. She walked into the room and sat down next to him on the bed, hands clasping over her knees. "Now come on, tell me what's wrong."

Tybalt shifted. He clearly didn't want to confess. "It's nothing you need to worry about."

"Spill," Helene ordered. "And I'm not leaving until you do so."

Tybalt sighed. "Promise you won't hate me?"

Helene was startled. She certainly wasn't expecting that. "Why would I hate you?" she asked, shocked.

"Promise you won't?" he repeated.

She was about to argue, but then stopped herself when she saw the utterly distressed look on his face. She nodded. "I promise."

Without a word, Tybalt raised his right hand to eye level and pulled off the glove that he curiously wore every day. What was underneath made Helene gasp.

The hand underneath was mangled beyond repair. The fur had been torn off up to the wrist and hadn't grown back. The skin was an angry red and swollen with infection, throbbing with his pulse. Jagged old scars and stitch marks riddled the surface, one particularly nasty cut nearly reaching up to his elbow and leaking out pus.

Helene stared at the wounds in horror, not quite believing what she was seeing. "Wha...what happened?!"

Tybalt dropped his hand and looked away. "It happened years ago. There was a bomb accident. My whole warband got killed, and I can't use my hand anymore." He glared at his useless limb in disgust. "I think I got it infected again when we were fighting those Sons of Svanir."

"You think?" Helene repeated, staring at the wound and shuddering at the throbbing. But there was something else that was bothering her.

"I don't understand," Helene said. "Why would this make me hate you?"

"I noticed the grawl were staring at it funny. It reminded me of how the charr treated me, before they kicked me out and I joined the Order of Whispers. I hid it from you, because I didn't want you to think I was useless and a murderer like they did."

There was a pause. Helene just looked at her partner, who was staring at the wall. She could hardly believe what she had heard. How could Tybalt even think that she would say such horrible things about him? She couldn't even imagine what it would be like to be cast out by your own race because of a mishap.

"First of all, it was an accident," she said firmly. She noticed he was about to protest and stopped him. "Listen to me. It's not your fault your warband's gone. It happens to the best of us. There was nothing you could have done."

She lay both her hands on top of his uninjured one. "And second of all, I would never put you down because of what happened. You could lose your legs and half of your skull and I would still be your friend. Nothing's going to change that. If the charr couldn't accept you, then you're better off without them."

Tybalt turned to face her, a glimmer of hope in his gaze.

"There," Helene continued, smiling. "Now don't you feel better after letting that go?"

"It was certainly easier than learning to write with my left paw," Tybalt remarked.

Helene laughed. "C'mon, let's get the infection outta you." She walked off to get the first aid kit, but stopped in the doorway.

"By the way," she said, one hand on the door frame, the other on the knob. "I don't know if this helps, but I'm ambidextrous as well."

For the first time that night, Tybalt genuinely smiled.

Helene was having a terrible morning. Her head felt like it was going to split open, her throat was on fire, she felt nasty inside and out, and worst of all, she was currently expelling her insides into a metal waste bucket.

Tybalt stood behind her, holding her hair back as she upchucked into the container. He looked rather sheepish as the other Order of Whisper members glanced curiously at the two. Scout, Helene's alpine wolf, sat loyally beside his owner, casting her worried glances.

The norn was finally finished, and she raised her head slowly. She wiped her mouth with a scrap of cloth. Tybalt let go of her hair, letting it fall back into place.

"I am never having a drinking contest with pirates again," she groaned. Of course, being a norn, she had been hungover before, but this was beyond torture. "I must have swallowed fifty kegs."

Tybalt cleared his throat, chuckling nervously. "So, uh, you having second thoughts about our partnership yet?"

"No," Helene said. "I blame the ale. It was clearly bottom of the barrel. Literally." She chuckled at her own joke, then immediately regretted it as her throat grew painful again. "Ow."

"This is why I don't drink," Tybalt commented. "I did it once. Never again. This is what happens."

Helene groaned again, laying flat on her back. "Kill me now. End my misery and suffering."

"Probably should have let you do the sneaking, huh?"

"Meh. I probably would have gotten drunk either way, so whatever."

"How did you manage to finish the mission anyway? Like you said, you must have had fifty kegs."

"I've been drunk before, Tibs. I know how to handle myself, especially if the men start getting a little too touchy."

"Tibs? We're starting with the nicknames already?"

"The ale hasn't completely left my system yet."

Helene found it extremely hard to contain her laughter. Her once furry partner was transformed to an exact copy of Demmi Beetlestone.

Well, almost exact copy. It was bad enough to see it, but not even bothering to change his deep voice made it all the more hilarious.

Tybalt, or Demmi, glared at her. "Stop it," he/she said.

"Pfft," Helene let out before stifling herself again. Tears were forming from keeping it in.

"Shut up," Demmi Leftpaw hissed. "You should have been the one to change. You're already a girl!" He tried walking away, but stumbled on the dress. "How can humans walk without tails in these stupid robes?" he shouted to no one in particular.

Helene couldn't keep it in any longer. She collapsed on the turf in a fit of giggles, struggling to breathe.

"Shut up! It's not funny!...Okay, maybe it's a little funny."

Helene was walking through Whisperwill Bogs, minding her own business. She had gotten new boots from a dead pirate, and she felt almost unstoppable. Scout trotted along beside her, tongue lolling out.

She passed by a tree and stopped to cut it down, wanting the logs for crafting. As she bent down to pick one up, she felt an unwanted presence behind her. Scout felt it too, and he growled in warning.

"Easy, boy," Helene said, bending down to scratch his ears. "It's just another eagle. Or one of the villagers again."

Just to be safe, she took off her longbow and turned around. She came face to face with a Risen charr, his evil smirk showing rotten yellow teeth. He pointed at her, and two Risen krait appeared beside him.

"We're sending you to shake hands with Tybalt!" he roared, waving his sword in the air.

Helene was stunned for a moment. But only for a moment.

Then rage coursed through her veins. Pure anger, bottled up to prevent herself from slaughtering everyone in sight, friend or foe, that was there during the Claw Island attack. Her eyes darkened, so they almost matched the undead charr's. The log splintered in her hand.

Kill him, her conscious told her. Kill them, all three of them. You can avenge Tybalt once and for all. They will pay for what they have done.

She dropped the ruined log and pulled arrow after arrow out of her quiver, all of them satisfyingly striking the three Risen. Arrows came down like rain. Scout tore at their flesh. She set them on fire, then doused the flames, then set them on fire again, wanting them to suffer for taking Tybalt away from her.

They were long gone, but Helene kept shooting at them. Each blow had the grief and rage behind it that she had cast aside for the sake of the Pact. She soon abandoned her bow and just hit them repeatedly anywhere she could, wanting them to suffer like Tybalt had. Tears blurred her vision, but she kept going.

Slowly her blows grew weaker, and she collapsed on her knees, breathing heavily, hot liquid burning down her cheeks. The bodies of the Risen were more mangled and turned to mush than mashed potatoes.

You did it, she told herself. You avenged Tybalt.

It didn't feel like it.

"I think we should stop for the night somewhere," Tybalt said.

"You think?" Helene hissed.

They were standing in the dark, in the middle of what seemed like the biggest rainstorm in Tyrian history. The raindrops were so big they could easily be mistaken for oozes falling out of the sky, and they formed a solid wall so you couldn't see anything.

Tybalt peered around the forest clearing, protecting his eyes with his left paw. "You see any houses anywhere?"

"No. Why would there be houses in the middle of the woods?"

"The same reason why you norn set up camp in the mountains."

"...Fair point. Do we have enough money for a waypoint?"

Tybalt pulled out a small sack and shook out the contents. One silver coin, a couple of bronze coins, and an apple core fell out into his open palm.

"What is it with you and apples?" Helene asked incredulously.

"They're good!" Tybalt said, a little defensively. "Anyway, I don't think we have enough. Try it."

Helene pulled out a diamond-shaped stone with a light blue gem in the middle. She lifted up the jewel, revealing a small compartment. Tybalt handed her the coins, which she stuck in the slot, and closed the flap. The jewel glowed, lighting up their rain-soaked faces.

"Astorea Waypoint," Helene commanded.

The stone vibrated a little, and for a moment the two had hope. Then it went still. Nothing happened.

"Told you," Tybalt groaned in disappointment as Helene retrieved the coins. "So now what?"

Helene sighed. "I guess we should set up our tent under one of the trees or something. It's the most shelter we're going to get right now." She squelched off in a ransom direction, Tybalt following close behind.

The two found a sizeable tree with a reasonably large wingspan and set to work. They learned the hard way that it was more difficult to pitch a tent at night during a storm than during a sunny day, and they both ended up with minor puncture wounds from being stabbed with the stakes.

Once the tent was set up they crawled under their pitiful shelter. The rain pattered loudly against the material and the ground was muddy, but they just lay a couple of sheets over the mud and hoped for the best. Tybalt lit a lantern that he had in his bag while Helene arranged the sleeping quarters.

"Well, it's better than nothing," Tybalt said, looking at the damp sleeping bags and thin pillows that were laid out in front of them.

"Yeah, it could be worse," Helene added, rummaging inside her bag. "Turn around."

"Why?"

Helene glared at him. "I'm changing, you idiot."

If Tybalt didn't have fur, he would have looked like a tomato. "O-oh! Right!" He spun around, thoroughly embarrassed.

The next few minutes were very awkward for them. It was one of the many bad things about being in a tent; they had to share their personal space with the other, with the walls emphasizing what little space they had.

"Ok, I'm done," Helene announced after a millennium.

Tybalt turned back around. Helene was dressed in casual green robes, her long dark hair no longer in a ponytail. She threw a towel at his head.

"You can dry yourself off with that. Wouldn't want you sick when we meet up with the Order," she said. She suddenly felt self-conscious about being in nightclothes in front of Tybalt and absentmindedly tugged at her robes.

Half an hour later they were laying in their sleeping bags, only just realizing how close together they were. The tension returned, neither wanting to look at the other.

"So, um...sorry about all this. It's just...still weird," Helene apologized, twisting a lock of her hair with her finger. "Although, if we're gonna be partners, we need to get used to this."

"Yeah," Tybalt agreed. "Take all the time you need."

Helene smiled. "Thanks. 'Night."

"Yeah."

No sooner than fifteen minutes afterwards, Helene felt something fluffy land on her face, tickling her nose.

"Tybalt?" she called, trying not to sneeze.

"Uh-huh?"

"Your tail's in my face."

"Oh. Sorry."

"S'alright."

The tail was removed.

The air smelt of carrion and death. The sky was covered in dark, ominous green clouds. Risen were everywhere, tearing apart every Lionguard they could find. Walls were crumbled, debris littering the courtyard.

Helene, Tybalt, Trahearne, and a few survivors stood a little ways away from the gate. They had all taken some nasty blows from the Risen. They were trying to come with one last desperate plan for escape. They had boats, but they had doubts about being able to use them.

"I'll make another round trip for any other survivors. You two stay here," Trahearne said. He ran off, taking care as to avoid the courtyard massacre.

"The dragon's servants will never let our ships sail. If they surround the docks, they'll slaughter us, and Zhaitan's forces will grow," Tybalt said gravely.

Helene looked over at the small group of survivors. Their injuries ranged from cuts by claws to nearly severed limbs, and only a few were conscious.

"Our soldiers are too injured to fight. They can barely walk. We can't form a defense and still get them all aboard," Helene said.

Tybalt suddenly had a faraway look in his eyes as his gaze traveled over to the gate. "I haven't always lived bravely, but I think...I think I'd like to die that way," he remarked.

Helene's eyes widened in shock. "What? Tybalt, what are you planning?"

Tybalt looked down at his right hand, still permanently damaged under its thick glove. "After I lost use of my hand, I joined the Order of Whispers...because the charr thought I was useless. Nobody needs a shaky engineer. Remember when I told you about that?"

Helene nodded.

"I said I wanted to fight the dragons, and I did. But then I spent six years as a researcher, never facing my fears. Never even trying," the charr continued. "Nobody believed I had courage. Not even me..."

"And then you came along. You trusted me then, my friend." He grabbed both of her hands in his own and stared right into her bright blue orbs. "I need you to trust me now. I can do this!"

Helene felt an awful sickly feeling in the pit of her stomach. She knew what he was going to do. She wanted to stop him, but her mouth couldn't form any words and just hung open stupidly.

His eyes hardened as he looked back at the merciless Risen. "Go! There's no time to argue. Just believe in me." He slipped out of her grasp and marched towards the open gates, not looking back.

Helene was paralyzed. She wanted desperately to pull him back to the boats or find something else to distract the Risen, but her legs refused to move. Her mind was blank, every limb numb from shock. Everything around her was only a blur to her. Scout whined next to her, but she couldn't hear anything except for Tybalt's last words.

"I've done a lot of things wrong in my life. But this one thing, I'm gonna do right. I won't let you have them!"

The gate slammed shut behind him with a loud clang.

Helene's brain finally made sense of what had just happened. The weight of it all crashed into her like a tidal wave, and for a second she was almost overwhelmed. She then tore her legs free with a rush of adrenaline and sprinted towards the gate.

Her shoulder slammed right into the metal as she put forward all of her weight into it. Nothing happened, and she started to panic. Her mind was racing. Tybalt couldn't be gone. There was no way. She had to find him before the Risen got him.

Helene continued her insignificant assault on the gate, repeatedly using her shoulder. It throbbed after three more attempts, but it was unimportant. Blood roared in her ears, but she didn't care. She just couldn't accept that Tybalt was gone, and that he was still alive.

She had moved on to using her fists when arms firmly wrapped around her from behind. She yelped and tried struggling out of the person's grasp.

"Helene, stop! You have to clear a path for the survivors!" It was Trahearne. His usually calm voice was panicked. "We can't help Tybalt now! His sacrifice shall not be in vain!"

Sacrifice...

No, it's wasn't a sacrifice. He wasn't dead. She didn't believe that nonsense for a second. She squirmed harder, her strikes getting more desperate as Trahearne dragged her farther and farther away from the gate. She could feel tears coming on. She had to find Tybalt! He was still fighting in there, she knew!

Helene lost view of the gate as she was pulled over a hill. She couldn't hear what she was saying, but she knew she was screaming his name.

Helene didn't know exactly how long she'd been crying. It had been a few hours, at least, since the sun had nearly sunk below the horizon. It was a miracle she hadn't died from dehydration.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Now that she had let it all out, she felt rather empty. Not the bad kind of empty, of course. It felt like a huge weight had been lifted off of her chest.

"Sorry, I'm over here getting all emotional," she apologized to Tybalt.

She picked up her now-empty mug of cider (she reminded herself to drink it more often, it was delicious!) and put it back in the leather bag. She left Tybalt's by his gravestone for him to enjoy.

"You saved a lot of lives that night," Helene said. "We're all proud of you, Tybalt." She kissed the tips of her first two fingers and tapped them on his gravestone.

"I'll be back soon," she promised, smiling.

She picked up her armour and left the cave, making sure to push the boulder back to its original position to give her old friend some privacy. She took a breath of fresh air as she stood on the path, feeling significantly happier than earlier that afternoon.

Tybalt's mug was empty.

A/N: Well, I hope you guy enjoyed that! :D Holy crabcakes, that was long! Woo!