#the only time renfrac will admit to Emotions about Scothin is when he isn't narrating

[havoc-warband]

Oh, so I- I see, I’m too incompetent for you, is it?

Trahearne picked up another sheaf of papers, desperately hoping the document he was looking for would be underneath. 

It wasn’t.

He was certain it should’ve been somewhere around here. No such luck: he’d have to go through the whole pile.

Sitting down with a sigh, Trahearne grabbed the first several dozen pages and started leafing through them.

I see. No, it’s fine. I’ll leave you to it then, Marshal. Go and cleanse Orr. I’ll work on my skills in the meanwhile. Maybe I’ll be good enough to be your paper-boy the next time we meet.

The Marshal stared at the papers with unseeing eyes. He forced himself to wake from his daydream - day-mare would be more accurate - with a shake of his head, and put the papers back down. He would just have to put the lot of them into his messenger bag and sort through them on the airship. It would be heavier like that, and his shoulder would not be happy with him the morning after, but at least his heart wouldn’t be alone in that anymore, then.

His last conversation with his Comm- with Vikaros had gone so terribly wrong. He couldn’t get the sour aftertaste out of his mouth whenever he started thinking about it. It was already more than two years ago, and he hadn’t heard anything from Vikaros since. Nor had he sent anything himself. Every time he’d picked up a quill and some parchment, all words had fled him. He knew that he should apologise for the truly tactless way he’d brought it up. He knew that he should assure Vikaros that he was one of the most competent warriors and leaders he’d ever seen. The rage on the charr’s face during that horrible conversation had been burning, but it didn’t entirely hide what was underneath - surprise, betrayal, and worst of all, shame. Trahearne thought that maybe he could invite him to view Orr, once it had been cleansed, or go visit him himself, but it had taken much longer than he’d thought: once reanimated, even without a leader, the Risen proved incredibly stubborn. It didn’t help that they didn’t seem to feel pain or fear anymore, either. Just hunger.

Their efforts had paid off, however, and the continent was nearly completely cleansed of Risen now. Grasses had started sprouting up here and there, and birds were nesting in the elaborate coral structures. Last week, right before he’d left, he’d even spotted a daisy springing from the still-sickly-looking soil. He might have even cried a little at the sight, such a bright sign that his Wyld Hunt was finally coming to a close after a quarter of a century of hard work, if he hadn’t been so busy. He had been sketching flowers into the margins of whatever he was reading since.

Then, they received word that Mordremoth’s activity had surged dangerously. Trahearne had sent word for his commanders to start preparing the fleet already, so that he could join them as soon as he’d returned from Orr. He had even sent a missive to Vikaros, awkwardly leaving out personal touches. He was resigned to rebuilding their friendship from nothing, but he had not received anything in response.

All of the others had sent back confirmations. Except for Vikaros. The messenger had come back empty-handed, but at least said that he’d received and read it. Trahearne supposed he’d see if the charr headed his summons or not once he arrived at Camp Resolve.

A bit rougher than it really warranted, he shook out his head again, and shoved another folder into the by-now-overly-full bag. He did really not have time for-

No, not for a knock at the door, either. It was probably just Caithe, anyway. He had arrived in the Grove only a day ago, but had been too busy to contact her, and hadn’t planned to before he left again. He supposed she could carry a few stacks of paper for him, since she’d disturbed him.

“Come in,” he said, back still to the door. He heard it open and close.

“I’m sorry, sister,” he began, “as you can see, I’m really quite busy, I’m afraid I don’t have the time to-”

His sister wasn’t purple, nor did she have yellow slitted eyes.

The stranger had been as silent as Caithe usually was, and Trahearne suddenly realised, didn’t have a presence in the Dream either. Soundless?

“Who are you?” he demanded, reaching for his staff.

“Firstborn,” the stranger greeted, “I was hoping to find you here.” Daggers glinted from where they were strapped to his legs, but he made no move to grab them. The stranger seemed at ease, a stark contrast to Trahearne himself, and the situation.

“Why?” Trahearne asked, suspicious. He finally found his staff, one-handed and without removing his eyes from the intruder, and raised it, ready to defend himself.

Normally, he would not be this suspicious of a sibling, but years of dealing with the Nightmare Court and, more recently, being a prominent political figure, had taught him distrust.

“You should not go to the Maguuma Jungle,” the other said. A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth - did he find this humorous?

Trahearne scoffed, trying to hide how unsettled he was. “Do you think you can stop me?” he asked.

“Yes,” the stranger said, his smirk fully breaking through, a touch unhinged at the edges, “because you’ll doom the whole damned Pact if you go. And my friend - he’s in the Vigil, and loyal to a fault - I won’t put his life in any more danger than it already is, stuck in the middle of the Jungle with your idiotic Commander. I won’t allow you to put his life in any more danger.”

“What?” Trahearne said, lowering his staff a little, confused. The fleet hadn’t even launched yet, how were they already-

“Mordremoth has awoken,” the intruder continued, “and it wants to control every sylvari it can reach. If it could touch you, and find the knowledge in your head about the Pact’s supplies and movements, it would destroy everything. It’s almost worse than Zhaitan and the Risen.”

“What?” he repeated. This was impossible. “But the Pact-”

“Launched days ago,” the other said, and his smirk turned into a snarl. “Without you. And that’s a good fucking thing. As it currently stands, I had to- nevermind the details, I’ve saved my friend from the dragon, and I hope to the Pale Tree that the charr I’ve left him with - your rogue Commander’s warband - haven’t killed him yet, because being sylvari just became an extremely undesirable trait in a soldier.”

Trahearne fully lowered his staff then, placing the butt on the floor so he could lean on it. This was… entirely too much information, none of which he had been prepared for. “The fleet launched without me?”

The stranger groaned. “Yes, old man, keep up. It’s also the least of your problems, or have you not been listening?” He spoke with such venom behind his words, but Trahearne got the feeling it wasn’t aimed directly at him. As it was, it was only barely missing him, though, and he was tiring of it rapidly.

“Who are you?” Trahearne asked again.

“Not one of your pawns, Firstborn,” the other spat. He had been calm at the beginning, but was getting more worked up by the minute.

“Can you give me a detailed report of the situation?”

“What do I look like to you, a soldier?”

Trahearne graciously didn’t point out the daggers at his side, or the rifle on his back. 

“Why are you even here?”

“I have a letter from Vikaros,” he said.

Trahearne only just managed to resist throwing his staff at him. “Why didn’t you open with that?!”

The other only laughed at his reaction, and his face fell back into the slightly insulting grin from earlier.

“And won’t you please just tell me who you are!”

“My name is Renfrac,” he said, seemingly calm now that he’d had his fun.

But now it was Trahearne’s turn to be angry. “If you say that Mordremoth claims all sylvari that come near the jungle, how come you have a message from my Commander, who you claim is in the jungle?”

Renfrac raised an eyebrow. “You did pay attention!” he praised.

“Either you are a jokester with a horrible sense of timing, or you’re already corrupted yourself,” Trahearne said, voice low, “either way, I think it’s time we end this.” And he followed it up with a shout, “Wardens!”

Renfrac’s eyes were suddenly wide, and he dropped the cheerful smile. He raised a hand towards Trahearne, and opened his mouth to say something, but the Marshal had raised his staff again, intending to keep him immobile and harmless until the Wardens arrived, already hearing commotion on the hallway outside his Grove office.

Something in the other’s face hardened, and he was suddenly directly in front of Trahearne, too close to attack with the staff. He barely had time to recover, before he was roughly grabbed by the back of the head and his forehead was colliding with-

The jungle, tall and dark and spine-shiveringly wrong

Tendrils in the earth, slithering and alive but dead, preying on the soldiers crawling over the many skins of their master

The silhouette of someone who might’ve been Nightmare Court, except not even they corrupt a body so heavily, distort it so much as to

Fire-warm metal chunks, half-buried in the loose, upturned soil, stinking of blood, surrounded by corpses, survivors, medics, a camp built on the wreckage

My friend, my other self, my- attacker, possessed by the jungle itself, trying to eradicate me, hints of power, of corruption, testing my defences, overwhelming the lessers, but I caught it, and I fought it off from him

Fangs and snarling and the Commander and a missive don’t come to the jungle don’t enter the domain of the Dragon don’t risk it just help me help me please doubt/worry/regret/guilt

He is bodily pushed backwards, and takes a minute to remember that he is Trahearne, and he’s in the Grove, and not currently in danger from anyone except a madman with some daggers, a gun, and the ability to project a vision immediately into his head.

“What?” Trahearne said, eloquently.

A knock sounded from the door. “Marshal, are you alright?” someone asked through the door, and he vaguely recognized the voice of the captain of the small personal Pact squad that was assigned to him. Cigna, he believed she was called.

Renfrac’s eyes bored into his, not moving away, not betraying any emotions. Trahearne took a step back instead, still bewildered.

The vision had been bleeding searing intensity and sincerity. He had difficulty reconciling it with the sylvari before him.

“Yes, I’m fine, thank you, just a- a nightmare,” he said, raising his voice a little to penetrate the door. He wasn’t known for sleeping at regular times, or for experiencing particularly calming dreams.

“Okay,” she called back, sounding tired, “the airship’s due to leave soon, Marshal, let us know if you need help packing,” and then the metal-clank of Vigil armour faded into the distance.

Renfrac still hadn’t moved, posture or expression.

After another few moments, to be sure Cigna was no longer in earshot, Trahearne spoke up again.

“What in the name of the Pale Tree was that?”

“That’s the current state of the Maguuma Jungle, and the remains of the Pact that are in it,” Renfrac replied, visibly on edge.

Trahearne sighed. Sure, okay, they weren’t going to talk about what that was, then. He did not think interrogating this sylvari was going to yield anything but frustration.

“Fine. So, if I understood… that… correctly, I should not go to the Jungle?”

Renfrac’s stance lost some tension, but not all. “You would likely doom the world.”

“And your friend lives in this world,” Trahearne smiled. Renfrac’s worry and affection had stained the entire vision.

To his amusement, the other blushed violet for a moment, but did not look away. “He does,” he agreed.

Then the implications of the situation started sinking in. Trahearne grimaced and turned around to start pacing the small office.

“I will be unable to command directly; that’s going to be difficult,” he thought out loud.

“Just different from the war on Zhaitan,” Renfrac said. His posture had relaxed completely, and he had moved back to slouch against the doorpost, his arms crossed over his chest. “I’ve made a deal with your Commander, to act as messenger. I have a raptor, and I can defend myself against Mordremoth’s mental attacks.”

“All of these things would have been great to lead with, you know,” Trahearne grumbled, but this time, Renfrac just laughed. “Down to business then, I guess.”

He sat down at his desk. When he looked up, the other was still by the door, not showing a sign of intending to move.

Trahearne cleared his throat. “Did you have an actual report from the Commander as well, or did you just come to warn me to stay away?”

“Oh!” Renfrac said, jolting away from the frame, shrugging off his rifle to access a pocket on his belt, and producing a slightly-crumpled envelope from a pouch. He walked up to the desk and handed it over. It still had bits of moss on it.

“Uh, thank you,” Trahearne said, somewhat awkwardly. “I need to read this, perhaps unpack some documents to be able to write a reply - I’d nearly boarded the airship, you were lucky I still had one document to find - and then I’ll send captain Cigna to find you when I’m done, if you’d like to, uh, go and enjoy the Grove?”

Please leave me alone for a moment, I still need to process whatever that vision was and if possible find three books about similar phenomena, Trahearne didn’t say. But Renfrac just cringed a little, and said, “I’ve never felt particularly at home here, if I’m honest, so I’d rather just, if you perhaps have a book I could-”

And by the Pale Tree, if that didn’t hit right home. “Sure,” Trahearne said, pointing at a bookshelf to Renfrac’s right. “Those should be fairly digestible human history books.”

“Human history?” Renfrac made a sound of disgust at the book he’d just picked from the shelf, but didn’t drop it or put it back.

“Necessary for diplomacy,” Trahearne smiled. He was reminded of when he was still starting out in this. He had learned to enjoy the various topics related to his current occupation since, but he could still vividly remember the first months, when struggling through even one desiccated tome felt like a victory. It wouldn’t do for even a messenger to insult allies unknowingly.

Renfrac sent him a long-suffering glare, but sank to the floor with the book in his hands, crossing his legs and leaning back against the wall. He doesn’t seem to enjoy the concept of chairs, Trahearne noted, before looking down to his own task, breaking the seal on the envelope, pulling out the letter, and reading the worst news he’d received in a good while.