THE UNBROKEN

Dedication: To Jesus Christ my Lord and Savior, who had a heavy hand in helping me write half the scenes in this chapter, and therefore is the one who is responsible for this chapter coming out a day early. (It took a lot of work on his part to convince me to get it done, rather than working on the side project that stole half my time this week, but he did it.)

Chapter nine: Patience Is a Virtue

Author's Notes:

Longer chapter today, and it's early! See above for thank-yous.

Also! I am slightly hesitant on this chapter… because I have to up the rating from K+ to Teen… for physical violence. NOTE: I am going to mark off the important bits. They're important enough that I didn't take them out, but it's not vital - you can understand what's happening and the character's reactions to it and all that by reading the context. But it's still a thing. And there are permanent scars.

Fiona would skin me if she knew I was doing this. Will as soon as she finds out. She sees absolutely no problem with physical violence in writing. Oh well. (This is hilariously ironic but I can't really laugh about it until the end of the chapter without giving spoilers.)

Okay, here's the story now:

Fiona is in a dirty cell, but that isn't what's bothering her. The fact that there isn't even a guard to watch her is insulting, but that isn't the problem. That she is likely going to die in here… well, that's a separate issue. No, the thing bothering her is hat the Pact doesn't know that a Risen mesmer is jamming - no, twisting - communications.

The communications department is her responsibility, her way of ensuring Tiffany's success, and she'd been doing a bad enough job - and now she is leaving it entirely in the hands of Syska to toy with. And she had almost caught the one responsible for the problems! If only she hadn't been so stupid…

The Pact, already under strain from the bad communications and blaming each other for it, will probably break. Syska probably orchestrated Fiona's capture so that she could get around to it more quickly.

Fiona, as a Pact Champion, Wyld Hunt Valiant, and Tiffany's sister, is a failure. She'd regretted agreeing to the whole idea of the Pact Champions before, but that was because she hadn't wanted to. Now there is conclusive proof that she is just not qualified to be a Champion.

Tiffany could die. Anyone could die. The Pact is at Syska's mercy now. Tiffany is Fiona's Wyld Hunt. She doesn't know what happens if a Wyld Hunt outright fails - despite Trahearne's words, seemingly ages ago, about what they really mean to the Dream, the legend of the Wyld Hunt had been hammered into her long since by Tiffany. No matter what the consequences are of failing the Hunt, the compulsion to complete it is strong enough that Fiona squirms just thinking about it.

She kicks the dirt wall of her cell angrily. How dare the Flame Legion lock her up like this! In days gone by she would have howled at being pent up just for the sake of wishing to be free to move, but now she sees the greater danger, and she nearly trembles in rage.

These charr don't know what they're doing. They've been duped by a dragon's lieutenant, dared to lock up a champion of the Dream and hinder the Wyld Hunt! They'll see the wrath of a Valiant soon enough.

Gritting her teeth, Fiona scowls at the bars of her cell. She is perfectly aware that the charr have no idea who she is. She's just mad, that's all.

Her task is unfinished, and Syska is out there, effortlessly laying waste to the Pact's efforts. Fiona had thought she could rest when she knew the source of the troubles. She'd been assuming too much. Assumed the threat was easily dealt with, most of all. Now, she simply can't.

You don't need to.

Of course I need to, Fiona flings back.

Fiona. The voice carries stern authority.

Fiona scowls stubbornly, but she nods jerkily. She sits and fumes in silence for a few minutes, staring at one of the torches in the cell-lined corridor.

Are you ready to listen?

"Fine," Fiona mutters aloud, although she knows full well she can't be dragged into this. She sighs. "Fine," she says, more resignedly than before. Is this my trials and troubles? she asks the Dream.

What do you think?

Fiona gets the feeling that this question will be asked a lot. That's what the Dream tends to do, after all. Oh, it doesn't matter all that much. The Dream has it all in hand, she just has to wait. At least for now.

She sits on the cot - the only furnishing in the cell, and, for a human, surprisingly sturdy - and leans against the dirt wall. Despite her grumbling, she sits companionably with the Dream for a while in silence.

A low growl wakes her. Fiona blinks in silence and near utter darkness - the torches on the walls must have gone out at some point - and listens carefully. Something is clicking on the stone floor - the claws of a charr.

"Hello?" she asks cautiously, feeling for the Dream. "Who's there?"

"A big scary charr," comes the slightly amused response.

"Oh, I'm terrified," Fiona replies, approaching the bars of the cell. The Dream is there, but slightly dormant, as usual. Not that it isn't paying the utmost attention to everything in Tyria.

"Well, you seem cheerful, for having come into contact with Syska," the charr notes.

Fiona shrugs. "Ehh, I've seen scarier things. And talked to less pleasant people."

The charr clicks away, further down the corridor. "I've been instructed not to feed you, but I came down to see what was going on anyway. We don't often get the opportunity to take human prisoners."

"Yeah, well, it was less of an opportunity and more Syska forced it on you, right?" Fiona points out.

The charr snorts a laugh. "Syska forced it on them. I'm not party to their decisions."

"Aren't you?" Fiona asks curiously.

"Oh, maybe it's too dark for you - or maybe you just don't know how Flame Legion treat their females."

"The first guess is correct," Fiona answers. "Don't Flame Legion look down on females or something?"

"Not quite. They fear us, so they take away our ability to fight. Which also means that they fear us more than the Allied Legions."

"Ahh, good point."

After a moment of silence, the charr asks suddenly, "what do you know of Syska?"

Fiona frowns. "Why?"

"I have disliked her since she came here. She's too… masculine. She controls the males too much."

"Wouldn't that be a good thing?"

"No. Because she has shown no sign of doing it for the good of Flame females. She controls the males, and the males control us. No different than before. But the males, resenting her control, will take it out on us."

Fiona nods. "Well, I don't think she's Flame Legion. She's a mesmer, she's a Vigil Tactician… I actually don't know that much about her background." She's a Risen lieutenant, Fiona adds mentally, but she doesn't feel like mentioning this fact. Maybe the Dream doesn't want her to. "She wants me miserable, for whatever reason. I'm actually not entirely sure why on that one, except that I made her mad."

"Oh? What did you do?"

"Tried to kill her," Fiona says dryly.

"Ah, well, that's understandable then," the female charr laughs. "I'd be mad too. So will the males, if they hear about it. Two females got in a fight and they have to deal with the loser."

Fiona nods thoughtfully. "Yeah, I can see that. So is that why you came down here? To learn what I know about Syska?"

"Yes," the charr says unrepentantly. "Also I did want to ask, why were you sleeping?"

Fiona frowns. "Because I was tired? I haven't been getting a lot of sleep lately."

"You are strange. Most humans would have wet their pants by now."

Fiona laughs. "I've fought scarier things than charr," she says finally. "And since you aren't going to, like, claw me open or anything, I don't see any reason to be afraid."

"Oh? What's scarier than a charr?" the female asks, putting her head close enough to the bars for Fiona to see and baring her teeth.

"Well, Zhaitan's minions, the Risen, for one," Fiona says. "Corrupted Icebrood quaggan. Destroyers bubbling up from a fissure in the ground. And DeGlasse."

"What?"

"DeGlasse, the trainer who ironed out all my kinks with mesmerism and nearly killed me every single day for two weeks straight."

"He's… human?"

"Yes."

"And he's scarier than a charr."

"Yes."

"I'll have to meet him someday."

"Also, when he yells at people he calls them kittens."

The charr says nothing, but Fiona hears a low growl from a few inches away in the darkness. "I am definitely going to have to meet him someday."

"I'd say 'maybe you will,' but somehow I don't think so." Unless my purpose here is to introduce a Flame female to DeGlasse, but I doubt it. "Now… if you're done here… can I go back to sleep?"

The charr huffs, and Fiona hears the claws clicking back toward the exit.

"It's been days since we set out on this wild goose chase," Forgal says finally. Three days, to be exact - it is currently the thirty-eighth of the Season. He pauses for a moment, waiting.

"This is important," Crusader Apatia says firmly, her voice crackling slightly through the radios in the aquabreathers.

"And therefore," Lightbringer Vriré points out, "not a wild goose chase at all, as that would indicate something that is not only highly impossible, but impractical as well."

"I am aware," Forgal retorts sharply. In addition to being constantly tense and wary around Vriré, as a Whispers Lightbringer, he finds that he dislikes her personally, as well - continually smug and superior, nitpicking everything he says. Is she trying to alienate me from her Order?

Forgal absolutely understands the necessity of working together to defeat the dragons, and at times he wishes he was more capable of trusting them. Forgal grimaces. The very thought makes him nauseous. He'd said the Order was equivalent to Asvor, but that's wrong. The thought of trusting Asvor doesn't turn his stomach - it's just preposterous. And nostalgic. And even, in a tiny corner of his mind, inviting, for some horribly unknown psychological influence she'd had on him. But the Order is sour to him because they are people like Asvor. People who might inflict on others what Asvor had on him.

If Asvor knew that all she had to do to get me to think about her continually was to put me on a mission with a completely unrelated Whispers agent, she would have done this years ago. Forgal had been trying to forget about Asvor since he'd realized that she was trying for the opposite. And now, he's been thrown into this alliance, surrounded by Whisperers and unable to think of anything else. He's an impediment to the mission, that's what he is. He should never have been made a Pact Champion with this kind of debilitating… thing hanging over him.

Scowling at a nearby shark drifting in the current, Forgal tries to set his mind on the mission. Find the largos. What a waste of time.

"Did you see that?" Crusader Apatia asks, pointing at another shark. Injured, and drifting on the current. Forgal glances back at the other - blood stains the water. How did I not notice?

"They look like they've been staked out to lure in something larger," the Crusader says, whispering - although her voice is indiscernible without the aquabreathers. "I've never seen this tactic used underwater before."

"Underwater or no, the hunter should be nearby," Forgal points out. He glances around until he lays eyes on the Lightbringer, hovering above and behind him. Why does she have to be so quiet all the time? "Maybe he will have seen the largos."

"Unless it is the largos," Apatia whispers, a breath of excitement entering her voice.

"Stay on guard," Lightbringer Vriré says cautiously, swimming up beside the Crusader. "We don't know if it will take kindly to us intruding on its hunting grounds."

"Too late," comes a sinister-sounding voice from behind him. Forgal turns to see a largos with two large blades approaching. "You already have my attention. Leave, before it is too late."

"We just wanted to talk to you, actually," Crusader Apatia says boldly.

"Speak, then. You are interruption. State your business and begone."

"We heard you got yourself captured by the krait, and then escaped," Lightbringer Vriré speaks up. "We need to know about their magical orb that supposedly prevents Orrian corruption."

The largos laughs. "You speak plainly, and you hide your fear well. Still, your needs don't interest me, and I have no need of you."

"Are you sure about that?" Crusader Apatia asks shrewdly. "You seem to be hunting here. Our people are hunters, like yours. We can help."

"You insult me. I need no help to take down my own prey," the largos retorts sharply, spinning her blades in an intricate pattern.

"It is not help," Forgal tells her, hoping to Raven he is doing the right thing. "Test us. You have shown your prowess by escaping the krait and killing their slavemaster, and now we shall prove ours."

"So it's a challenge, then," the largos replies, sounding intrigued. "Very well. I am currently amusing myself between targets. My current focus is the great sea monster in the caves nearby. Honor the Tethyos Compact that is the heart of the largos; kill it, bring me proof. Then I will tell you what I know about the krait." She disappears in puff of blackness.

"So it's like the Great Hunt," the Crusader notes. "With allies, not competitors."

"You seem to know a lot about largos," Lightbringer Vriré tells her. "Can you lead us to the largos' target?"

"I'll try," Apatia answers, swimming out to the center of the ring of sharks. She glances around, and finally points out a bright glow hidden in a crevice of the underwater caves. "There. That thing looks formidable enough to catch a largos' eye." She dives deeper, followed by Vriré and Forgal.

The monster is a gigantic, luminescent, color-shifting jellyfish. Spotting them, it spins, creating a vacuum of water that sucks the hunters closer and into a whirlpool.

Forgal, blinded by the bubbles streaming past his face, pulls his spear from its place cautiously, and lets the current carry him clear. He suddenly realizes that he can't see the Lightbringer, so he glances around frantically for her as he spirals closer to the jellyfish. He finally sees her clinging to the ocean floor, reloading her harpoon gun.

She uses a harpoon gun? Forgal demands of nobody. He can't possibly feel safe anywhere near the jellyfish with the Lightbringer aiming a long-range weapon just a few feet away from him. He hurls his own spear at the jellyfish and sets about escaping the whirlpool - no easy task.

A harpoon streaks through the water from above him and hits the jellyfish. She can't have moved up there so soon! Forgal twists quickly to see that Apatia also has a harpoon gun. But she isn't Whispers, and so she doesn't inflict terribly disabling distrust on him. Forgal turns his attention back to the jellyfish, and keeps an eye on the asura.

More harpoons hit the jellyfish, which flails all its tentacles. It turns and, squirting black ink behind it, swims away. Forgal, now blinded by black ink, manages to escape the whirlpool - which is now slowing lazily to a stop - and regroups with Crusader Apatia.

Lightbringer Vriré joins them and they set out to find the jellyfish again. Forgal is now missing his spear, but he can regain it. Or he can become the Raven. He is not helpless.

Vriré sees the jellyfish and promptly fires a harpoon, with Apatia close behind. The jellyfish flails and its luminescence dims. Two more harpoons lodge in its body, and its motion ceases.

Forgal glances at Lightbringer Vriré, then dives down and retrieves his spear. The back of his neck prickles uncomfortably at presenting such an inviting target, but there's nothing for it. And she's not going to attack me anyway, he reminds himself. Instinct had served him well throughout his life, and he bitterly resents the fact that he cannot trust it now. Recalling the largos' instruction to bring proof of kill, he hacks off one of the jellyfish's tentacles.

When he returns to where the other two are waiting, the largos appears out of thin air.

"Impressive. I will present this trophy to the great Houses in your names. You have earned the right of introduction; I am Sayeh al'Rajihd. Now, as we agreed: the orb you seek is a thing of legend, known only to deep dwellers. Its origins are lost, but it is extremely powerful. It may pose its own dangers, but it does counter the undead dragon's influence. Wherever the orb is, those who die near it do not rise again."

"Are you sure - " Vriré begins skeptically, but Sayeh talks over her.

"The krait are keeping it in constant transit between their largest strongholds to maximize its effect. I suggest a plan: I was brought close to the slavemaster when I allowed myself to be captured. If you do the same, you may reach the orb."

Before Lightbringer Vriré can voice her skepticism again - or Apatia be distracted by the new topic - Forgal speaks up. "Which strongholds?"

"The Restless Deeps of the Mire Sea, near here, where I escaped from. Further north, beyond the mountain pass, is Sipedon Deeps in Nonmoa Lake. The others are far from here - or destroyed by Risen - and the orb is not taken there. It is currently at the Restless Deeps, but it will be moved to Sipedon Deeps on Scion the thirty-ninth. Tomorrow."

"Thank you for your help, Sayeh al'Rajihd," Apatia says.

"May your steps be relentless," Sayeh replies, and disappears once more.

"I can't see why you're more wary around me than around her," Vriré says dryly.

Forgal doesn't deign a reply to this. He does not fear foes that can kill him - such are challenges to be embraced. I am a warrior of a hundred and ten years. I am not afraid of death.

"The orb," the Crusader reminds them. "Getting captured sounds risky - doable for a largos, perhaps, and a fun challenge - "

"No," Forgal says firmly. "There's too much at stake here, and we don't know how Sayeh did it."

"I wasn't going to suggest that," Apatia says dryly. "I think we should snatch the orb while in transit between Sipedon Deeps and the Restless Deeps." Vriré looks at her expectantly. Apatia glances between the asura and Forgal, who remains silent. "Well? What do you think?" she asks finally.

"It's your decision," Vriré points out.

"Crusader, you're in charge here," Forgal reminds her flatly with a glance at the Lightbringer.

"Oh! Right," Apatia says. "I, er… right. Sayeh said the orb was moving tomorrow. Meet me at the Broken Arrow River, where it flows into the Mire Sea."

Tonn knows exactly where his targets are, it seems, and leads them all over the place. After another few days of traveling around the Risen-infested lands, blowing up Risen structures, crippling the undead presence in certain areas, and dealing with other threats, such as krait hideouts and Inquest labs, Tonn finally decides that it is time to blow up the Dead Ship. He introduces the topic in his own inimitable style.

"That was only a warm-up, you know," Tonn informs Tiffany. They are standing on the beach of yet another island, between the water and a nearby cliff-face. "Things are about to get really interesting. The next target is a huge Orrian ship that's fouling up this place. It's a Dead Ship, so if we used normal explosives, we'd need to fill the ship's hold with them just to make a dent."

"I hope we're not trying that," Crusader Gutfire scoffs.

"Of course not," Tonn reassures him. "That hulk is going to require some serious flash and bang. We confiscated some explosives from the Inquest a few days ago that will do nicely."

Tiffany glances at him sharply, but pauses a moment. Things had been going well for the last half-a-week, and she'd nearly forgotten that Tonn is supposed to die. She'd forgotten all her responsibilities from knowing the future. She suddenly has a headache. Knowing the future had brought her… so much pain and trouble. The good… so far, the good hardly outweighs it. A stunning realization, that she had not achieved much.

"We still have those around?" Gutfire grumbles. "Those things are dangerous, Demolitionist." Tonn thinks his title is beyond hilarious, but Gutfire only uses it for lack of another way to refer to his superior.

Tiffany watches the discussion with a feeling of detachment. She's… separate. She knows the future. She knows Tonn is supposed to die. The last time I saved someone…

"Ah, ah, ah!" Tonn says. "The Inquest work on explosives parallels my own - but only because they stole my ideas in the first place - and it's not like they could go off at any moment. Even Inquest aren't that dim."

Not that Tiffany is reconsidering keeping Tonn from dying, of course, but… she feels, for the first time, like she is carrying a great burden. Future knowledge. Unofficial replacement of the player. All the lives. Tiffany stifles a pained grimace. Deborah. The Spar Warband. Who knows how many others. She trembles slightly.

"Hmph," Gutfire mutters. "Whatever you say, Demolitionist. I'd still prefer not using Inquest tech."

It is more than lives. It is corruption. If Orr dies for good because of something I've done or will do, I'll never forgive myself. So much is on her to see right. She doesn't know if she can stand it. A break from the trouble was supposed to help me, not make it worse! She doesn't know who she is addressing with her internal monologue. Maybe she should invent an imagination of Trahearne, concerned and caring, who will listen to her be sad and frustrated, without taking any of it away (because he would be just an imaginary, idealized, one-dimensional picture), because - odd as it might seem - she wants to keep it all, because this is her responsibility and she wanted it all, and she still does. Except the Wyld Hunt, maybe. She still isn't too sure about that one.

Tonn frowns slightly. "Well, my old mentor, Zopp, and his krewe have been gathering geothermal energies from the interior of Mount Maelstrom, and putting it in a device I can adapt to my purposes. That would work just as well."

Inventing an imaginary shade of Trahearne feels… wrong, though. Takes all the brilliance out of talking to him in person. But she feels… slightly intimidated by Trahearne, now that she's met him in real life. Not that she would ever admit such to Fiona - who would goggle at her say 'what happened to best friends in the whole entire of both worlds?' - but it's true. She isn't quite sure why.

Gutfire grunts. "Ugh, fine. An unpredictable, makeshift device is worse than a malicious one when we know what it does."

Tiffany doesn't know what to think. She's confused and worried. People are dying because of her mistakes and inaction. Trahearne is confusing, by himself. With the might of the Pact behind him now - an organization, she realizes, she had only thought about more than actually aided. I'm probably the least useful Champion. This detonator mission is barely relevant to the overall Pact. It's only important because I'm still stuck in the game.

Tonn hesitates for a moment, then nods. "Yes. Better the enemy you know than the one you don't, if both sources are in question. Don't worry, I'll go over the Inquest bomb carefully to free it from glitches."

Some must fight so that all may be free. Well… that was slightly random. Where had that thought come from? She doesn't want Tonn to die, of course… okay, maybe it is relevant. But again - objectively - this mission isn't important enough for her to be on. Somehow, the excuse rings hollow. Why is she making excuses? Okay, what's going on? Tiffany wonders at nothing.

Nothing answers. Of course. Except there's something there, and she doesn't know what it is. Something is asking questions that she doesn't know the answers to, in a strange way. It's definitely not her own self. Fight. Now it's repeating its arguments, and she isn't being convinced. It can't be that smart, then. Are you trying to convince yourself not to stay on this mission and save Tonn? Great, it's talking in the second person now. It has a point, though.

"Champion?" Tonn says, almost as an afterthought. "You got that?"

"What?" Tiffany says, blinking. Right, the bomb. I'm not finished with you, she says to the nothing.

"I'm going to comb the Inquest bomb for bugs, and we'll use that one," Tonn replies, glancing at her oddly.

There hadn't been any Inquest in Tiffany's storyline. Have anything to say? she asks the nothing snarkily. Nothing. Apparently it only talks when she doesn't ask it direct questions. She can't juggle the uncertainty the nothing had provoked - or maybe the nothing itself, or something - at the same time as weighing the options properly. "Yeah, sure," she tells Tonn.

He looks slightly concerned, but doesn't comment. "Alright, Champion. I'll come find you when I'm ready."

Tiffany focuses hard on Tonn as he walks away, chattering to Gutfire. He even walks excitedly. Nothing. She focuses harder. He is going to prepare the bomb that should kill him. He'd undoubtedly prepared in the game, so very little he does now is going to have any effect. Fine. Fine! She'll stay on this mission. You just don't want to see the little asura die.

"Would you pick a side and stay with it?" Tiffany snaps, irritated all the more by the fact that the nothing is right. Some must fight so that all may be free.

"Fine, fine fine!" Tiffany nearly yells. "I get it! Protecting the innocent is my whole thing! And Deborah's whole thing! And… ugh." But she's still barely more than a Warmaster. She's supposed to be filling the role of the Commander. Technically she is - this mission is exactly the role of the Commander.

"Can you talk to me straight-out?" Tiffany grumbles. Not that it'll do anything, of course. She wonders why she is feeling so… dissatisfied. Was that a question? she asks suspiciously of the nothing. Nothing in response. She had certainly named it accurately. Hi, mister Nothing, she grouches. Hi, miss Tiffany.

Oh, perfect. She had just been beginning to suspect she was going insane. Maybe she is. "Was all you wanted a greeting?" she demands. Nothing. Or… a 'maybe.' Like some faint echo. An amused echo.

"Well, you're still living up to your name, apparently," Tiffany sighs. "Of course."

Still nothing. Apparently, that wasn't worth replying to. Good, because talking to herself was getting confusing. Aand I still don't know the answer to the question. What question? Oh, right. The one the Nothing asked her. Why she is dissatisfied.

"Maybe 'cause I'm not actually doing anything," she grumbles after a moment. And no, before you ask, I do not know why I am feeling like that. But still. "Okay, interview time!" she says, throwing up her hands in mock surrender. She ticks things off on her hands, brainstorming. "Maybe it's because I'm still stuck in the game, apparently. Or maybe because it's taking so long to get to Fort Trinity and start doing things. Maybe it's because, to all appearances, Fiona is the one that first spoke the idea of the Pact to a person who could implement it. Maybe it's because everything has happened with minimal input from me! Maybe because I've been looking forward to being the Commander for about six months, and now I'm not, and it's partly because of Forgal not dying, and it's partly because of Fiona existing and being in the Durmand Priory and making Sieran relevant, and it's partly because of joining the Order and making Vriré relevant."

She doesn't regret any of that, though. Who knows what would have become of her without Fiona. And she couldn't let Forgal die. And Vriré… has grown on her. She likes Vriré. That doesn't mean she can't be grouchy at them, though, right?

Grouchy at them for what, exactly? You're just going to keep up this interrogation until… I understand myself. Of course. Mister Nothing. It is totally incomprehensible to her. "Okay, I'm doing it already," Tiffany grumbles. How weird is it that her first thought is 'stealing time from Trahearne?' Put it on the list. "What, this list?" she grumbles. She ticks off a finger. "Stealing time from Trahearne," she snaps. Now, wasn't that cathartic?

Tiffany scowls. Why does the Nothing have to be right so often. Stubbornly, she searches for something else to be grumpy at her friends for. 'Being her equals' doesn't fit - good, she does not have a superiority complex - but she ticks it off anyway, because brainstorming. "Umm… being better at being Pact Champions than I am." That barely fits either. "Having funner missions than me?" Maybe a little. "Not being bothered with the future of the world?" Aha, that's a good one. "Not having crazy-weird Wyld Hunts?" That fits too, believe it or not. What a crazy thing to be jealous of someone for.

But… also believe it or not, she doesn't really want to have any other Wyld Hunt than her own. Somehow. She doesn't understand it. "But I can still be grumpy at them over that," she reminds herself. There is nothing wrong with being grumpy, the Nothing tells her.

Tiffany makes her questioning-thinking face, the one that says 'oh, I hadn't thought of that before,' and then goes back to looking for reasons to be grumpy at the other Champions. For lack of nothing else to do. She wonders if she's grumpy at them for nothing at all. Well, she's obviously not grumpy for nothing, since she's already got some things. But she can be grumpy for nothing as well as other things, right?

Logic. Goes out the window when talking to Tiffany Tassof. "Okay, so nothing. I'm grumpy at them for nothing. Also for not, apparently, having such a tough job as I do. Some of them." She isn't going to deny that Fiona has a tough job. "They also don't have all the pressure that I do."

She hesitates a moment, then slowly mumbles, "and as one in five, I'm not special to Trahearne. I'm just another Pact Champion." Of course, the question logically follows why she wants to be special to Trahearne. "I don't know, I just - well part of the whole point of coming to Tyria was to save him from dying! Because he's a friend. Or… he was my friend. I don't… he didn't even know I existed, so it couldn't possibly have been reciprocal. But," she bursts out suddenly, "it's like, I've been through all this stuff for him, and he doesn't even know, and there's no… there's no appreciation for it, like…"

Appreciation for what, exactly? Interfering and getting Lion's Arch destroyed three years early?

Tears of frustration prick at Tiffany's eyes. "See, this is exactly the problem! I'm useless! All this stuff I've been through, and it gets nobody nowhere, and nobody ever acknowledges that I even tried, and did my best, and nobody really understands how much I care about them - Braham up and left when he heard I knew Eir, for no reason at all, and I don't even know what to think about Forgal, like I think he forgot to say thank you for saving his life, and maybe sorry Deborah died, and maybe he didn't forget and I'm forgetting, but I know he meant it even if he didn't say it, and since when do I care what people say instead of what they mean?"

Tiffany picks up a rock and hurls it at a nearby cliff. It doesn't break, of course, just falls to the ground with a little thump. She glares at it. And then she goes on, "and Forgal even knows that I know the future, and that I'm from another world, and he never once bothered to ask if I was alright, and he knows I can't talk to my family properly anymore, and maybe never see them again, and he knows and he's not said anything! And I saved his life and now he really is being super helpful with the Pact, but also he's got this whole Asvor thing and it's like - another problem I have to deal with? And it's not just Forgal!" Well, now she feels like blaming Trahearne for something, but she can't figure out what she would blame him for, he'd done just as she thought he would with everything.

"It's the other Champions, again. I wanted to help him. I wanted to be his Commander, but instead he goes off assigning all the hard and fun things to other people and I'm stuck with a job that's mostly Vigil anyway. Not that I have anything against the Vigil, I was just… I worked so hard to be Commander, and now it's like nothing, and nobody cares, and - " Tiffany shakes her head and presses the heels of her palms into her eyes, trembling. "Why do I feel like this?" she asks the Nothing. "What's wrong with me? Why am I being so… so…"

You're not being selfish. "Well, thanks," Tiffany snarks. There was a reason she had hesitated saying it. But it does feel good. She sits down by the rock she threw and leans back against the cliff, drawing her knees up to her chest. She stares out at the waves for a minute. She feels… accepted. That what she feels is totally normal, and the Dream understands. She breathes out a shaky sigh and leans her head on her knees, looking sideways.

She doesn't feel like crying anymore. "Thanks," she mumbles again, more calmly. Sincerely. She wants to sleep

Tonn finds her there, later. Tiffany looks up to see him staring at her in concern. "Are you alright?" he asks.

Tiffany sighs. "Yeah. I'm fine." She stands up, dusting a little sand off of her. She gives the worried-looking asura a small smile. "I'm alright, Tonn, really."

He looks uncertain. "If you say so, Champion." As they walk back toward the camp, he asks, sounding almost incredulous, "did you really fall asleep out here?"

"Er… yeah," Tiffany says sheepishly. "But… I was safe." She glances back to where she'd been sitting. An air of peace lies over the area.

A smile tugs at her lips as she watches Tonn assuring Crusader Gutfire and Crusader Gilley that she was alright, she'd just been sleeping.

And, as it turns out, Tonn and Crusader Gutfire had decided on a course of action without her input. It's not like she's in charge of imbeciles who don't know how to make smart decisions. Everything isn't entirely on her.

Blessed be the Lord, because he hath heard the voice of my supplications. The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusted in him, and I am helped: therefore my heart greatly rejoiceth; and with my song will I praise him.

Fiona wakes up the next morning to silence. The dungeon remains silent until about noon.

Fiona is staring at the wall, bored, when a voice speaks up beside her.

"Hello."

Fiona jumps and spins around. A charr cub is staring at her through the bars.

"Who are you?" the cub asks.

"My name is Fiona," Fiona says, sitting on the floor so they don't have to look at each other from extreme angles. "Who are you?"

"I'm Eda. Mother said I could come talk to you if I was bored."

Fiona frowns. "Don't charr cubs go to a fahrar or something?"

"Yes, but Mother didn't like it. She said the other Legions might come and steal me away, or maybe even kill me. So when we left the place we were at before, she came and got me and then we came here."

Fiona nods. "That makes sense. And it's good for you to be with your mother anyway. Are there any other cubs here?"

"No, and I'm supposed to stay downstairs and not get in the way of the males. Where is your warband?"

Fiona blinks. "I don't have one. My friends, though, are far away."

"I'm confused," Eda declares. "Mother said females don't have warbands. She also said that other people that don't get to be charr don't have warbands. You are both. Is that special or something? If not, who does have warbands?"

Fiona chooses her words carefully. "We kind of have warbands, but we don't call them that. We're friends. But we don't always fight together."

"Let's talk about something else," Eda decides. "Are you grown up? You don't look very big."

"Yes," Fiona replies. "And humans don't get to be as big as charr."

"Don't worry," Eda reassures her. "Charr are the best, and we're going to conquer everyone."

Fiona blinks. "Um… okay. How old are you?"

"Five years. My fahrar was about to start teaching about extended geography and the movement of troops over a large area and the tactics and strategy about it. At least, the males were. The females had mostly finished our training already, except our primus said we had to hammer it into our heads a little harder how to listen and how to be useful. We were moving on to being taught higher-level things like strategys, but only in the theory and large-scale. Also I particularly had to do special training. I don't know what it was for, but it was okay, I guess."

"Sounds fun," Fiona says, not knowing what else to say.

"What about you? What did you learn in the fahrar?"

Rather than trying to explain the concept of not having had a fahrar, Fiona tells about her training under DeGlasse. "He was really tough, and he called me a kitten a lot," she explains.

Eda blinks. "But you're only one."

Fiona frowns, not seeing the connection. "I can make more?" she offers. "Well, I could if I had my foci."

"No, you can't be a kitten if you're only one. If you're only one you're a kit. If you're two you're kitten. Your Primus DeGlasse must be bad at what my Primus calls 'grammar.'"

Fiona blinks. "Oh! I think for humans it's different. When you're only one you're a child, and when you're more you're children. But Primus DeGlasse isn't bad at grammar - kitten is one, in Kryta. Where we live."

"Oh. Maybe I can call you a kitten anyway, if you can make more of you."

Fiona grins. "Sure, I guess, but I'm all grown up now."

"Still. Nobody's a kitten except you," Eda says firmly.

"Alright," Fiona says cheerfully. "That's my name now. I'm Kitten."

"Yay!" Eda cheers. "What's my name?"

Fiona ponders for a moment. "I don't know. You can be Eda for now, because your mother gave it to you, and that's special."

"Alright," Eda says, satisfied. "Eda and Kitten. You're my newest friend!"

"Do you have other friends?" Fiona asks.

"Oh, yes, all the ones in my fahrar. I miss them. Also I'm scared at it."

"Scared at what?"

"Well Mother said she took me away because she was scared I might get hurt or stolen. Now I'm scared the other cubs will get hurt or stolen, because their mothers don't care as much as mine does."

"Oh," Fiona says somberly. "I'm sorry. I hope your friends will be alright."

"Yeah," Eda says sadly. "Maybe when you die you can go look for them?"

Fiona blinks. "What?"

"Well you are a human, so when you die you'll turn into a ghost, and then you can fight the Allied Legions that might've hurt or stolen my friends."

"Oh. I'll try, I guess," Fiona says slowly. "Do you think I'll die?"

"Oh, yes," Eda replies cheerfully. "You're a prisoner, and all prisoners have to die. That's what my Primus said. Because prisoners are alive, and that means they're not dead, so we get to kill them so they're properly dead."

"I see," Fiona says, nodding seriously. "Don't you have to wait until you're all grown up for that?"

"Yeah, but Mother can do it, she's grown up," Eda explains. She drops her voice to a whisper. "But I don't think she's allowed, either, because she's also female. One of the older cubs said that killing enrages females like big bad, and so it's a big no-no."

Fiona blinks. "Are you sure that's not quaggan?"

Eda gives her a look that says 'are you stupid or what?'

"Oh, right. I forgot that part," Fiona rectifies with a grin.

"I like you, Kitten," Eda says with a smile. "It's funny calling one kitten."

"I think it's funny that you stole Primus DeGlasse's swear word into a nickname. I am going to tell him about that someday."

"When you're a ghost?" Eda asks excitedly.

"Yes," Fiona agrees with a nod.

"Eda!" comes a shout.

Eda glances back down the hallway. "Oh, I have to go. Bye Kitten!" she calls as she hurries away.

"Bye, Eda," Fiona calls after her, and the dungeon returns to silence. Fiona finds herself regretting that the cheerful cub had left.

She falls asleep with her stomach growling. Apparently the charr are going to make good on Syska's threat to starve her.

She wakes the next day to the loud sound of charr voices clambering down the stairway to the dungeon.

Fiona contemplates the ceiling. More things are happening to her here than she would have guessed.

"Is she dead?" she hears a voice - older, and male - ask. Fiona wonders how charr - trained in battle - can't tell a dead human from a live one. They've been fighting ghosts for too long. "Are you dead?" the voice asks, addressing her now. Fiona glances at him, eyebrows raised. Two male charr are frowning at her, and finally one speaks up, this time harsher. "I asked you a question…" he trails off, as if trying to decide which insult to use. Fiona decides it's probably a toss-up between 'human' and 'female.'

The other charr - the one who'd taken her to her cell the other day - huffs. "Centurion Clawburn asked you a question, female, now answer it!" he snarls at her vehemently.

Isn't it obvious I'm not dead? Fiona wonders. It occurs to her to wonder what will happen if she doesn't reply; she gets her answer almost immediately. The charr who is not Centurion Clawburn - Kadon, right? - snaps out his claws at a gesture from the Centurion.

Fiona raises her eyebrows. She probably isn't going to die, not if the Dream has plans for her here. The charr sneers. "Answer the question, human, and I'll let you off the hook. Pun fully intended," he adds, shaking his clawed paw at her.

After a moment to realize that the charr is calling his claw a hook, Fiona briefly considers answering with a sarcastic 'obviously,' but dismisses the idea. If she's supposed to be here for a reason, she might as well at least try to get along with her captors. So she straightens up as best she can and salutes, saying "yes, sir!"

"It seems they can learn, Kadon," Clawburn notes in amusement. "Syska wants her to be miserable, but she seems content enough to just sit here and do nothing. Put her to work."

"Asprena," Kadon growls. He is holding tight to Fiona's shoulder to prevent her from running away. All the females in the kitchen turn to stare at him.

One of the females hurries over, her eyes on the ground. "Yes, sir?" she asks meekly.

"Put this human to work. Keep her busy." Kadon pushes Fiona forward, and she nearly falls into Asprena. "And don't let her escape," he adds. Then he turns and walks away.

Fiona glances around uncertainly. Asprena drags her further inside the room. "You heard Kadon. Get to work!" she snarls, pointing to a large tub full of dishwater.

Well, at least this is the sort of thing I know how to do, Fiona decides, heading over to the tub. What confuses her is the way the other females stay away from her like the plague. And what she is supposed to be here for. Dream? You know I'll do better if I know what I'm trying to do.

But there is no immediate response, so Fiona shrugs and turns her attention to her task. When the rest of the charr break for lunch, Fiona half-expects to be excluded, but Asprena - she seems to be the one in charge - grouchily tells her to eat.

Maybe they're trying to humiliate me - supposedly a strong warrior - with doing housework? Fiona wonders. She'd never expected her dual sets of skills from two lifetimes to come in useful. Does that count as being miserable, like Syska wants?

At one point, a charr named Calera - who looks at her searchingly but doesn't sneer - sends her out to fetch an item one of the males had requested.

Fiona goes out into the main camp and blinks. She'd forgotten that this was the middle of the Brand, and this camp had been Branded with it. No wonder her cell and the female work area is underground.

She awkwardly picks her way through the camp, the back of her neck prickling. It's the corruption magic. It feels wrong, even without my foci. After completing her task, she squints to the west. There are mountains that way. The east is clear. That must be the way out. She sends a questioning feeling to the Dream. It returns positive - nearly just like guessing the emotions of a sylvari - and encouraging, which surprises her slightly, but she doesn't question it. She glances around warily and sneaks toward the exit.

Once she leaves the camp's borders, she breaks into a run.

She stumbles over crystals and leaves a thin film of crystal dust behind her - she knows she'll be easy to track - but she keeps going, glancing over her shoulder to see the Flame charr bounding after her. She glances forward again, but she can't even see the other side of the Brand.

CONTENT WARNING: GRAPHIC VIOLENCE

A force rams into her back, and she staggers to the ground. She glances up to see Koltir - the charr who had taken 'the usual' from Syska - looming above her, claws out. He slashes down at her, and she instinctively curls into a ball, flinching away from the charr. His claws slash across her back, painfully but not deeply, and she screams as blood runs down her back.

"You weren't even going in the right direction," Koltir snarls contemptuously.

Koltir picks her up - not bothering to retract his claws or be gentle - and the razor-sharp tips of his claws dig into her arm and leg. She squirms, trying to get free, but that just makes it worse, so she hangs limp, shuddering at every jolt as Koltir heads back to the encampment.

Before long, she is thrown to the ground in front of Centurion Clawburn, Koltir standing over her.

"What do you have to say for yourself, female?" Clawburn snarls.

Fiona picks herself up gingerly, wincing as the lacerations on her back stretch and pull, and putting her weight on the leg that hadn't been injured. All in all, she looks pitiful. But she glares at Clawburn defiantly. "I'm trying to escape this excuse of an outpost," she informs him.

"Excuse of an outpost?" Clawburn repeats, snapping out his claws. Fiona tries not to flinch. "What do you mean by that?"

Fiona blinks, scrambling briefly for an answer. That had just slipped out. "I mean that you're pretending that your Legion can survive the combined might of the other Legions, and you've really lost dismally. You're hiding away, hoping they don't find you. You're not fighting a war anymore; you're blindly pretending that you still have power."

Clawburn roars in wounded pride and slashes at her. She twists, trying to avoid the blow, and his claws rip apart her shoulder. She staggers back into Koltir, but he shoves her forward onto her knees. This spectacle is drawing the other charr in to see what's happening. Fiona tries to stand up, but Koltir puts both paws - with claws poking dangerously into her skin - on her shoulders, keeping her down before Clawburn.

"You can hit me all you like," Fiona tells him rebelliously, "but that doesn't change the fact that I'm right, and you know it." She'd never believed in backing down - even on such an inconsequential matter as this - just because of threats.

Clawburn, tail quivering with rage, slaps her across the face before Fiona can jerk back, leaving long, thin cuts that stretch across her right cheek and over her nose. "Silence," he snarls vehemently at her pained yell. "Take her back to her cell," he snarls, "before I end her misery early."

END OF CONTENT WARNING

Koltir seizes her arm and drags her back into the dungeon, not letting her get to her feet. The female charr from the kitchens stare at her in open-mouthed amazement, until Koltir barks an order that sends them scurrying away. "Grania," he snarls. "Take this one to her cell."

This female seems even more cowed than Asprena, and hurries to do his bidding.

"Sorry," Grania whispers as they head down the stairs to the dungeon. "But the males have been known to kill females that didn't cooperate." She puts Fiona in the cell and locks it.

Fiona blinks at Grania as she hurries away. So… she doesn't want to cooperate? Interesting…

Fiona turns her attention to her wounds. The cuts on her back had crusted over a bit - already? - but the constant movement had cracked them open again. Her shoulder is a bloody mess, and her face… the cuts there sting, but they aren't that painful. Clawburn had been trying to punch her, not scratch her. Not that he hadn't succeeded, but at least he hadn't poked an eye out or something. The scratches on her leg and arms are even less severe; those were just Koltir being careless, not deliberate acts of injury.

She tries to lie still and let the wounds heal; moving too much hurts anyway. She finds that the encounter hadn't soured her to doing the Dream's bidding; most of the punishment had come from her verbal abuse of the Flame Legion's position in their war.

Something she decides she isn't going to back down on. She doesn't know what good it will do, deliberately defying Clawburn in the face of injury like this, but the Dream approves, so it must have some sort of plan. I'm dragged all the way into Ascalon so that I can yell at the Flame Legion for being stupid. Huh. Okay then.

Author's Notes:

First of all, Eda is adorable and amazing and I had a LOT of fun writing her. (She's based on an abandoned kitten we found and took care of, but sadly she didn't make it.) I needed more children in the Tassof Series, since Mat and Ayla never show up anymore. I think Eda is a lot more believable as a child, anyway.

Also yes, I invented charr grammar. Kitten is plural, mwahahaha. If Fiona ever sees DeGlasse again, she's not going to be able to stop laughing.

* Blessed be the Lord, because he hath heard the voice of my supplications. The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusted in him, and I am helped: therefore my heart greatly rejoiceth; and with my song will I praise him. This is from the book of Psalms, chapter 28 verses six and seven. For the record, Psalms is very beautiful and poetic and was a perfect end to that scene. You can fight me over that.

Again, check the summary/dedication for who you should say thank you to that this came out a day early.

Don't forget to review and/or use the code HwKw8vy to join Tassof Friends on Discord! (You'll get to talk to the person who gave me Leon and Vargok!)