Work Text:
Laranthir knocks lightly on the door. He knows the Commander has told everyone to ‘just come in if the door is ajar’ – although it feels improper not to knock first – and when he gets no reply he does just that.
“Commander, I was wondering if you had the reports from…” He trails off, noticing that while they are indeed sitting at their desk, the Commander is slumped sideways in their chair. His immediate alarm is soothed when he realises he can hear them snoring, and there's a blanket pooled around the legs of their chair. He picks it up and tucks it around their shoulders again. They don’t stir at all.
Laranthir turns his attention back to the desk, skimming the scattered piles of paperwork to see if he can find the reports he had come looking for in the first place. He can’t make heads nor tails of the random systems that are going on. The only clear patch of wood that can still be seen is around the book lying open in front of the Commander. Apparently they had been reading before they fell asleep.
He recognises the book as his copy of ‘Faladlain Farstriders Travellers Guide to Tyria’ that he had lent them over a month ago – now with added notes on the pages. He picks up the book and sadly flicks through. He’d been quite pleased with how pristine he’d managed to keep it despite the many adventures and Vigil missions it had accompanied him on. He’d been putting little marks on the contents page next to all the places he’s visited to keep track but other than that it had been doing rather well. Now it was tagged throughout with bent corners to mark pages and the Commander’s scratchy handwriting leaving notes alongside various parts circles or underlined. He flicks to the front to reminisce on the places he’s been and under the book’s title written as large as will fit in the space is ‘Sorry Laranthir, I’ll buy you a new one.’
He closes the book with a quiet chuckle and places it back on the desk. The Commander still hasn’t stirred at all, but that chair can’t be good for their back or their neck. He shakes them awake enough to know it's him before slinging them over his shoulder and carrying them to the nearby bunkhouse.
*****
Laranthir is overseeing training drills from the walls of the Vigil Keep when the Commander comes searching for him. They look surprisingly sheepish as they approach, a wrapped and ribboned gift in their hands.
“I realised I never said thank you or sorry for the book and- well I don’t know if you celebrate or not but…” They pass the present towards him, “Happy Wintersday.”
The wrapping is shoddy and he can see the folds in the paper where it took them more than one attempt, but while it might not look the best it's clear there’s a lot of care that went into it. The bow is reluctant to come undone despite his best efforts and in the end he borrows a dagger from the Commander – they seem to be carrying a concerning number of daggers at all times – to cut through the ribbon. Once it's off the paper comes off with ease, and he’s left holding two books. A brand new copy of ‘Faladlain Farstriders Travellers Guide to Tyria’. He opens the front cover and sees the familiar portrait of the purple sylvari smiling back at him under the ‘About the Author’ section. And there, on the contents page, is a copy of all his little markings checking off the places he’s been, just as he had done in his original copy.
To his surprise, when he puts it aside to look at the second book he’s greeted by Faladlain Farstriders’ name once again, this time followed by ‘The Elonian Expansion’. The cover depicts a vast, sandy scene with a mountain range in the background. Laranthir has been so busy as of late that he hadn’t been aware there was a new book out, and flicking to a random page he finds the same inviting, upbeat style of writing that had caught his interest the first time around.
“I hope it's okay.” He starts at the sound of their voice, having become so engrossed by the books that he forgot the Commander was still standing there.
“They’re perfect, thank you.” He holds up the first book, open to its contents with the copied markings. “And I particularly appreciate this.” Even though it isn’t the same copy that had travelled so many miles with him, it feels good to have the familiar book back in his hands. And now with a companion offering a whole new series of places to explore.
*****
“Are you sure we’re going the right way?” Laranthir looks around them at the seemingly identical sand dunes that surround them, convinced that they’re identical to the sand dunes they've been surrounded by for the past hour of their hike.
“Look,” Canach turns to face him, “I’ve been charging tourists to come up here since that book came out. I’m fairly certain I know where I’m going.” The cactus-like sylvari’s attitude lives up to his appearance.
“Not that I don’t trust you, it all just looks the same after a while.”
“No, it all looks the same in the beginning. After a while you learn to tell it apart. Here,” He drops back so he’s stood next to Laranthir. “You know how to navigate by the sun, I’m assuming you learn at least that much in the Vigil.”
Laranthir bites back a comment about being the Grand Warmaster and attitude, knowing it would just encourage his brother and instead lets him talk. While most of their walk until now has been in silence, they spend the rest of it with casual conversation – although Canach does seem to be rather enjoying showing off his skills and knowledge of the desert.
It takes them another hour to reach their destination, and by the time Canach sits down and points back towards the way they came, the sun is just beginning to touch the mountain peaks. Laranthir pulls the book from his bag and holds it up in comparison. True to his word, Canach had brought him to the spot with the matching view, and as beautiful as the art on the book is, it pales in comparison to the real thing.
The mountains look as if they are holding up the sun itself as it slowly sets into the cradle of peaks. The deep amber light it gives off reflecting off the sand to look like a sea of molten gold spread before them. To the east, there’s flashes of purple as the Brand Storm rages, deadly and corrupting if you get too close but from this far away there is something beautiful about it. Seeing it makes him feel the same determination to not only survive but to live as the jungle and its fierce grip gives him. His thoughts of the jungle make him realise the stark lack of plant life. A few cacti and withering bushes, but nothing like the vibrant green of the Grove that he’s used to.
“We’re a long way from home, aren’t we?” Laranthir ponders out loud, to which he gets a snort from Canach.
“Don’t know what you mean, I could get to the casino quite easily from here. By the way, next time you’re on leave and drag me out on some sightseeing adventure, you’re hiring us raptors.” Canach lays down on his bedroll, mindlessly shuffling a deck of cards in his hands as something to do.
“Next time…” Laranthir parrots, marking off the first place on the contents of his book and reading down the list of all the others in the last of the sunlight. He fetches out his own bedroll and lays down, gazing up at the vast sky full of stars above them, and falls asleep thinking of what the world must look like to them.