#aka druid!anwen

[archesa]

Hope you will enjoy this ^^ This is set in druid Anwen’s verse, as you shall see and can be read as a continuation to this fic ^^

(A little something I had written during the holiday season and felt like posting now 🥰 Originally promoted by @i-mybrunettelady from the Wintersday prompts ❄)

Quick summary : Anwen usually makes evergreen and holly grow for Wintersday but this year all she manages to bloom are mint and mulberry.

Wintersday miracle - A speck of life in the realm of death

The manor stood high on the hill, garlands and lanterns hanging from the windows ledge and ornamenting the pediment of the house. The Faren's winter's ball was an event looked forward to by everyone, the young and old, meek and the bold.

The party would start in a matter of hours and the household was buzzing with effervescence, masters and staff rushing about to prepare for the soirée. In the reception room, the servants busied themselves with the latest accommodations, a change in the traditional decoration of the hall — holly and evergreen noticeably amiss, as they were replaced by dark emerald leaves and coiling thorns of mint and mulberry. A touch of colour, in the shape of unripe blackberries, and a shimmer of fantasy in that of a few gold trimmed pine-cones were added in hope to make best of the unusual situation. A speck of light in the darkest hours of the year, the triumph of life in the realm of death.

Every year, Lady Anwen bloomed the decorations the very morning of the ball — evergreen, holly, mistletoe — and oversaw their arrangements for the rest of the day before it was finally time for her to don a dress for one of her infamously brief appearance at the party.

But this year, despite her best efforts nothing would bloom under her touch but these two plants.

Mint and mulberry.

Virtue and death.

Wisdom and self-sacrifice.

Poets would deem that the darkness of Orr still clung to her, or that perhaps her heart lingered on these distant shores...

"My dear daughter...", Lady Violet smiled, her eyes glistening knowingly, as Anwen ruffled the garland on the chandelier for the fifth time in a row, and, with a flick of her wrist, tried to bloom yet another ornament, only to be met with more emerald leaves exhaling fresh peppermint. "You really needn't trouble yourself... You simply have love on your mind."

The young woman almost tore her gown stumbling off the ladder she was perched upon.

She did have someone on her mind, someone who had expressed his regrets and declined the invitation, staying with the men in garrison at Fort Trinity. The post had surely been delivered by now, and she hoped he would like the content of the parcel she had sent this very morning. But surely the fact that her heart tightened in her chest when, despite all reason, she looked towards the threshold in hope to see him whenever someone pushed the door, had nothing to do with...

Love...

The night was dark and the spirits high when Anwen arrived at Caer Aval, leaving the strong scent of liquor and the sound of celebration far behind when she noticed the visible absence of the one person she sought.

She took in a deep, shaking breath, willing the trembling of her hand to still before she knocked on the metal door, thanking the cold air whipping the fort from over the bay for an excuse to justify her tremors.

The door cracked open, revealing a most surprised face.

"Commander..."

"Happy Wintersday, Marshal. I... apologize for intruding like this, I know you weren't expecting me..."

"I am always happy to see you, friend. What do I owe the pleasure?”

“I-... I received an unexpected gift tonight... some clarity... Wintersday is a time we're meant to spend with those we hold closest to our heart. And I realised there was nowhere else I wanted to be and no one else I wanted to be with..."

She willed to hold his gaze, a shiver running her through as he stepped forth, the cold nipping at her exposed shoulders all but forgotten in the warmth of his smile and the shimmering glow enlightening his features, setting her heart ablaze.

"And there is no one I hold dearest, Anwen."

The sharp whistle of a kettle shattered the moment. She let out a breathless chuckle and melted in his arms as he pulled her in a tender embrace.

"You must be cold. Can I offer you some tea?"

She nodded slowly, basking in the warmth of his glow and the scent of mint and mulberry. "Tea would be lovely."

[archesa]

Well... I couldn’t resist!

Her Druid stuff’s not quite ready yet, but here’s a first glance at Anwen Emrys (aka Druid!Anwen) ^^

[archesa]

My first legendary! Of course I had to start with Kudzu ^^ Now, Anwen has her bow (and so do Avalwyn and Gwynnyd!)

[archesa]

Is the Knight of the Thorn quest still off limits? If not then Knight of the Thorn quest on either Anwen, Elianora or Galaëd (or maybe comparison/differences between)

Ooooh! No, the "Knight of the Thorn" quest is not off-limits! 🌱 Thanks a lot for your patience, I remember you had asked about the Knight of the Thorn quest the first time i reblogged this ask game (once upon a december ^^) but at the time I still hadn’t done the quest and I wasn’t sure what to make of it...

I’m unfortunately (?) not quite in the mood for a deep exploration of Elianora’s deep depression...

But I will gladly talk about the other two! 😄🍂🦋

(this will also overlap with @i-mybrunettelady ‘s ask! enjoy 😘)

I'm still figuring out some of the details for Galaëd, since the restoration of Caladbolg will be very intimately linked to his secret wyld-hunt – bring back the Green Knight from the confines of the Dream.

His journey started by a visit in the Grove, the sight of the statue of his late mentor and friend filling him with rage, grief and guilt, but also fueling a fire within that he had almost forgotten about, a whisper swelling to a resounding call, beckoning him to embrace and reminisce of a now distant memory and fulfill the destiny bestowed upon him by the Dream.

Caladbolg laid broken and withered in the depths of Dreamer’s Terrace. Not dead. Merely dormant. Longing for its missing pieces, its memory to be restored and its wounds to be healed.

Riannoc had carried it first, and his virtues and his flaws still echoed in the whimpers of the wind as the shattered blade brushed through the air. Honour. Courage. Recklessness. And as Galaëd traced along a path that was always meant to be his own, his steps shadowing those of the sword’s previous bearers, the blade’s song changed — the wind on its sharpness, the light at its core, the buds blooming on his guard drawing with every memory revisited the strengths and the merits of the three noble knights who ever carried it.

Riannoc’s bravery and ultimate sacrifice. Trahearne’s erudition and everlasting dedication. Galaëd’s curiosity and unwavering loyalty.

Canach had once described the mesmer’s connection to the Dream as a high-pitched constant whistle, an edge he pictured clearly, unyielding and sharp as a blade,  as opposed to the constant turmoil of interlaced voices and visions gravitating around most dreamers like a haze. A thread connecting him to the ones before, and pulling him towards an inevitable future.

Night was falling on the Grove when he laid down his head under the protective embrace of the Pale Tree. This part of his journey had come to its end. Stars lit up the skies and flickered beyond a veil of mists and memories. He was dreaming. Dreaming of the ones who came before. A familiar presence, waiting far beyond the horizon, wounded and ensnared in an entanglement of thorns. Dormant. Only sleeping.

And with the guidance of a White Stag, the protection of the Dreamer, the welcoming embrace of a friend, the Green Knight would awaken.

It was different for Anwen, because Trahearne was there, still alive, recovering as she was, when she endeavoured herself to the restoration of the Thorn.🌹

She had taken Caladbolg with her, from the depths of the jungle to the heights of Divinity’s Reach, from the warmth and golden days of Tarir to the mists and starlit nights of Caer Aval, without a second thought as to why the Sword did not reject her the way it had rejected Canach — and it took broaching the subject to Trahearne for her to realise that Caladbolg had chosen her as its new bearer. And if the Thorn was willingly offered, it still demanded Anwen reconciled with the memories of its last two bearers to attune to its full potential.

Visiting Riannoc’s tomb was a very emotionally charged endeavour — Trahearne’s grief and regret echoed through the blade as much as it radiated through him, sorrow and guilt weighting on her shoulders as if they were her own, all the more crueler as she could barely find in herself the strength to comfort her beloved.

But the duel itself sparked anew her courage, reminded her of the power of unity, of the danger of isolation, fueled her pride at the thought that they had remained strong and loyal and steadfast in the face of certain death. She prevailed because even in the sword’s memory, Riannoc was alone, and even as she stood her ground in single combat against the fallen knight of the thorn, she was not.

The Vision Crystal next led them on the edge of Verdant Brink, where the Pact had fallen, the Thorn broken, and the wreckage of the fleet still painted in sharp shattered lines of scorched vines and torn metal a vivid recollection of their mistakes and nightmares.

The Glory of Tyria laid stranded, suspended in her last moments, a frozen speck of time holding within its core a shard of Trahearne’s soul — a part of him that had never left Maguuma.

Anwen took in a deep, confident breath before she plunged in the vision. She was not alone. Trahearne was with her.

Her heart sank in her chest, her lungs filling with frozen dread, and within moments before the second vision seized her, she knew what deep hidden, dark and secluded part of her the Sword had conjured.

She instinctively rolled away, a stone greatsword shattering the ground where she stood and vines like whips breaking through the metal carcass as if it were dirt to slash and ensnare her, but it were his eyes — fiery and burning with hatred — that immobilised her.

Pumice-like bark covered his bulk, a wreath of sharp thorns breaking through his skin like a crown, and at his side, half buried in the entanglement of roots and creeper plants conjured in his wake, laid the twisted forms of familiar figures, friends broken, corrupted by blight.

She blocked another swing of the sword, sent to her knees by the force of the blow and barely dodged the shadows frothing neath her feet, a column of darkness rising from the ground a split second before a scythe slashed it through.

Wreathed in obscurity, Trahearne charged at her and struck with yet another powerful blow that seemed to drain even the memory of warmth around them. Ice sizzling as it covered her armour and withered the still fragile buds of the sword, she slashed desperately at the vision, a litany of pleas and reassurances dying on her lips as she struggled to breathe.

‘You’re not real. You’re not him. You’re not Trahearne. Trahearne is safe.’

The tip of the sword encountered resistance and a light pierced through the shroud where the blade had dug.

'You’re not real. You’re not him! You’re a figment! The memory of a nightmare!’

Cold and darkness surrounded her, but a light shined through with every cut and slash of Caladbolg, the withered buds blooming and a scent of salt water and iodine replacing that of decay and rot as the wind swelled and the vines recessed.

The hardened bark shattered, and the blade dug in his chest without resistance. Bright blue flames flared from the wound as the fiery glow in his eyes dimmed to their familiar honey and closed forever as ley energy drowned the world and consumed him from within.

Anwen blinked away the vision, her breath stuck in her throat when she found herself not atop of the wreckage, but on the deck of the Glory of Tyria, a vast expanse of water beneath and the sun rising over Orr on the horizon. Trahearne was with her. Another memory, a vision of a past she would rewrite if she could, and yet would not change for the world; the morning after the Cleansing of Orr, the moment she should have realised, in retrospect, that Trahearne loved her.

He smiled at her, his glow a deep purple striking against the warm silver and pale gold of the skies around him.

“One day soon, this plague will be but a memory. Every dawn rising bring us closer to seeing these wounds heal... But in the mean time, dear friend, this day is ours.”

She closed the gap between them, finding herself engulfed in a towering embrace, rather than nuzzled in the crook of his shoulder as the vision faded and she returned to reality.

“I know you're probably tired of hearing this — especially from me — but thank you, dear friend. We've come a long way and have a long way to go, but for now, I am glad you’re here with me.”

“Here at the end of all things?”

“Hopefully, their beginning.”

[archesa]

secrets ask game! :D have four of them: lucius and 4, elianora and 5, galaed and 6, and anwen and 1? @kerra-and-company

Some secrets for my kiddos!! These took longer to figure out than I though but I hope they are worth the wait 😉

4 - a secret exactly one person knows anything about, for Lucius :

He's confided Elianora that, as frustrated as he was, he was also incredibly relieved not to be the one to kill Joko.

With the Lich dead, his family’s crusade is accomplished and the Primeval kings and queens can rest in peace but if he was willing to carry their legacy and see their vengeance to completion, he was not sure he was willing to shoulder the mantle of Hero of Elona.

5 - a secret no one knows about but they sort of want to come out/to tell someone for Elianora:

She's never told anyone where and why she disappeared, after Wintersday. Kas and Jory may have suspected how devastated she was after Maguuma, but even they couldn’t fathom how deep she was sinking in her own grief and how her pilgrimage to restore Caladbolg healed her as much as the sword. She never told anyone — not even Ridhais who guided her on that path — what she saw in her visions that saved her from drowning.

6 - a secret no one knows and they desperately don't want anyone to know about for Galaëd :

The reason why Caladbolg withers and blossoms, seemingly at its own volition, sometimes forcing him to use it as a sword or even a dagger rather than a greatsword. The reason is a newborn fernhound quietly walking Tyria beside an old friend.

1 - an open secret for Anwen :

That her first and foremost loyalty is to her loved ones, Trahearne, Meryw, Aurene, Dragon's Watch, the protectors of Tyria.

[archesa]

have 2, 17, 28, and a free space from the gw2 asks! :D (i feel like i've missed a couple instances of you reblogging ask games recently, though i could be making that up alsjkdfadf, but i caught this one! xD) @kerra-and-company

 Oooooh! These call for pics and long answers 😁

Thanks so much for these! 🥰

2. fave profession :

I got to say Guardian because I have a long history of playing paladins and valiant knights on several games (*cough* 12 years of WOW *cough* ) and I absolutely adore Anwen but, I've been playing a lot on my Necro lately and Æthnen has become my first character to go to if I want to chill, do map exploration or even meta events. I play him as a Reaper but rarely use the greatsword 😅 I feel like Trahearne would not have gone anywhere this kind of weapons of not for Caladbolg 😅 and since, for now, it's Anwen who weilds it...🌹

17. Your glider? (if you don’t have one, the one you want the most)

I got a few actually ^^' Elianora, both Anwens, Æthnen and Galaëd all have their own, personal glider that I wouldn't use on any other character no matter how much I love the skins, they're theirs!

Eli shifts between the Fox Spirit Glider, which fits her personality and is a little nod to her mini (you guessed! a fox!) and the Elemental Fury Glider.

Anwen Evergreen has the Crystalline Dragon Wings since (at least - jury’s still out regarding Anwen’s becoming as a dragon champion) Aurene's ascension.

Her elementalist counterpart, Anwen Swynwr has the Spellforged Glider (that her Guardian-self had before she used the crystalline wings)

Galaëd has the Lunar backpack and assorted glider! The funny part is, for other characters I chose the glider based on their story / personality. For Galaëd it was the other way ‘round. I got the Lunar backpack in a Black Lion chest, so I decided he loved fireflies and stars. From there @lilypixy pointed the connection with the Moon Shield, Canach being its current bearer, and bam! Two sylvari who thought they had found what the dream had showed them only to have their whole perspective shifted (Galaëd with the Green Knight, Canach with the Moon Shield).

And last but not least, Æthnen (aka my Trahearne clone for the two in the back 😁) has been very much nurtured back to health by the Exalted after the campaign of Maguuma, and as such he has the Exalted Glider (complete with Luminate’s Backplate Exalted Shoulders and Auric Weapons)

Avalwyn (my other Trahearne clone, yup I got two of them, don’t rub me the wrong way or I’ll show you my third! 😅) aka Druid!Hearne also has the Fox Spirit one, as a little nod to his Fernhound Caliborn.

28. What is your favorite legendary weapon?

I loved collecting stuff for Kudzu! I still have to upgrade the precursor to its actual Legendary form but I had a great time collecting the seeds for it! It tingled my herbalist sense nicely and fitted quite well in Anwen's themes and story!

And of course, since I'm an eenie-meanie I just have to collect Mordremoth's weapons for Æthnen ! I'll probably go with the staff but if @lilypixy 's conjecture is right and next Necro elite spec has the hammer as its weapon I will full on embrace it and give Trahearne a very nice not at all corrupted by any dragon what are you on about hammer!

Let Trahearne smash things with a hammer! He deserves it!

Mordremoth, dead, somewhere in the Mists, with its siblings : I gave my Champion my weapons! Look how stylish he is!

Kralk, being the only lucid one in their brood, probably : Fucked up a perfectly good scion is what you did! Look at him, he’s got anxiety!

Edit : I forgot the free space! I used a random number generator and got 37, so...

37. Your favorite HoT event?

I have to say the Octovine! Yeah of course it's extremely infuriating when you get slackers and auto attackers but if run right it's so very satisfying! The loot is sweet and even the 'Event failed' cutscene is heartbreaking!

Apart from that I would say the first event from the Pale Reavers outpost, in Verdant Brink! That was the moment I truly felt the weight of the mantle of Commander (and I loved it 😅🤣), when you make a stand atop that cliff with the wreckage of the fleet still burning on the horizon and the mordrem swarming below — especially when Laranthir's so relieved and happy to see you!