[GW2] — Lethe

Fiel is sitting at the edge of the pool, chin in hands. Thinking.

He is thinking back to moments earlier, when Riathan spoke of the North. Of Bjora Marches. Of Jormag. Of the Vanguard’s duties.

Duties.

His duties.

What were they? 

Fighting for the Vanguard? His friends? His family? His people? The place he calls Home? Tyria?

They all were, already. In one way or the other.

Protecting his friend? Caring for his shattered mind, his strained body? He whom he rescued from the tides years prior, he whom he sheltered, mended, and felt responsible for and got hopelessly attached to… ‘like one would with a wounded puppy’, he keeps telling himself.

He felt responsible for him still, even more so now since he was the one who split his mind, who wounded him further.

Fiel slumps over, slapping his knuckles on his forehead.

Thoughts. Terrible thoughts.

The norn feels like he ought to go back there. For Tyria. For his people. For himself. But the truth was… he couldn’t. He simply couldn’t. And he knows that.

Back in Bjora Marches, the Ice Dragon whispered into his mind. It whispered terrible things… all of them true.

It knew what had happened that day. What he did. Or rather… what he didn’t do. 

It knew… and, since that moment, Fiel had been feeling its freezing grip on his heart.

He could hear it in his dreams. Even now. Calling him. Telling him of the sweet oblivion to be found in surrendering.

And he is afraid of how ready he is to believe it. How yearning he feels, when the dragon speaks.

Back then, he had been able to push those whispers away. Because he was focused on something other than himself, other than his sins. 

He’s been focusing on a life other than his own.

Fiel knows… if he ever goes back there…

He’s not coming back.