Chapter Text
Magic hums in the air. Bloodstone fen exudes danger, from the ley-lines filling the air to the white mantle milling about. He waits in the shadows of the Colosseum, patience growing thin. Perhaps some of it translates through the bond because he doesn’t have to wait much longer before he can hear the rustle of a glider, following moment revealing the commander as they are dragged up the current. Skillfully they fold their glider to break free from the updraft before opening it up one last time, slowing their drop through the glider, feet finding the ground without a stumble.
“Show-off," he grunts to alert the commander of his presence. Warmth seeps through the connection when the commander spots him, and it tightens in his chest an awful lot like hope.
“Canach!” There's joy in their voice, joy blooming through the bond like spring blossoms, a happiness so thorough he nearly chokes on the words he's prepared for the last hour of waiting.
“Heard you were looking for me. Tough but well-spoken, medium build, a bit cranky? You really know how to flatter-” he is interrupted when they take a few purposeful strides towards him and then lean down, catching his lips in a kiss.
Huh, that’s new.
The soul bond sings. He runs out of oxygen far faster than usual.
“Hello there," the commander says when they let up, the slight blush coloring their cheeks overshadowed by a brilliant smile. “I missed you.”
“Some hello,” Canach responds dryly, covering up how his heart beats double-time in his chest. “You saw me just the other day.”
Smile turning a shade awkward, they duck their head, golden eyes disappearing beneath locks of hair. Oh, how he hates the way the boyish glee suits them, how it makes him want to reach up for another kiss to bring the stupid-happy back into their smile.
“Yeah, well. I couldn’t do this this in the lab.” They half-laugh. “And before that it’s been months. I’ve had enough of waiting.”
“Really? I heard the good commander is renowned for his patience," he teases. Their breath hitches in a little laugh and they look back up into his eyes.
“Perhaps, but that patience has run dry," they say, soft as anything, and Canach feels like drowning in the depth of affection that surges through the bond. "I feel I've been patient enough for a lifetime."
A comfortable silence sits between them as they wait for his answer to an unspoken question. He can't stand the way they wear their gentle smile, as though contrary to their words they have an infinite amount of patience to wait for his answer. He can't stand the way it makes him feel loved.
“What about your soulmate," he asks, because he is unkind and cowardly in the face of such freely given affection. "Were you not saving yourself for them?"
Their smile changes, corners quirking into something tight and unhappy, the smile of a willing fool.
“I have this nasty feeling I’m going to end up dead before I meet them. I'm not waiting any longer when what I've chosen is right in front of me," they say with a defeated laugh that cuts straight through the bond. “Though I’d ask the same about you.”
He tilts his head in an unspoken question.
“Back in Mordremoth’s mind, when you spoke to that abomination. I heard." Their smile is unbearably soft, the kind that tells him they won't be hurt if he turns around and leaves. It's a lie that sours in the back of his throat. “You have a soulmate, don’t you."
Canach can’t stand the sincere expression on their face so he hooks a hand behind their neck to bring the commander down, dragging them into another kiss. Their teeth click together awkwardly, painfully, because he didn't think this through. Just this once, he will allow himself an gamble out of his favor.
“I’ve stopped looking for them.” He tells them and silences any protest with a biting kiss. Curiosity flashes through the connection but Canach ignores it, instead making the most of their time alone until he hears another glider in the distance and recognizes Marjory’s holler.
---
He comes to miss them when he’s away. The mark aches for attention now that it's had a taste but he’s determined to finish his mission so he can wriggle out from beneath Anise’s thumb. Even so he’s unsure what to do afterwards. Part of him wants to stay with the commander, ensure their safety. It’s a foolish gesture. The commander doesn’t need him to defend them, something they’ve proven time after time again. Though he downplays it he is proud of their growth, how they've gone from clumsy bruises to wielding their weapons with deadly accuracy.
Another part, the part that disregards the yearning of his heart tells him to go. Leave and get as far away from them as he can. Maybe then he could finally get rid of this attachment to the man. He knows he doesn’t need them, no matter how the bond tries to tells him otherwise. He lived over twenty years without them. But the very thought of leaving forever brings his breath up short and spawns a tremor in his hands. No, forever would be too long, and even if he could live without them, he wonders if he could survive it, stubbornness be damned.
He'd misses the easy companionship. The snark, the impatient kisses. The comfort of fighting so easily alongside each other and keeping them safe.
Yet like all battles between his heart and mind, the heart admits defeat.
---
He traces the ugly webbing of scars on their arm, feeling the harsh dents caused by Minister Estelle’s binding spell. The commander shifts and he can feel displeasure drifting across the bond so he stops.
“I’ve had quite enough of abuse to that wound for one day," they mutter, though turn and lean the less bruised part of their body against Canach.
It should be awkward considering he is a head shorter than the commander. Then again, a lot of things that should be awkward with them aren’t, so he rolls with it. Things like how his bristles cut the fragile skin of their lips whenever they kiss, making every single one of them taste like copper.
“Where will you go?” they finally break the silence. It’s painfully earnest. Canach shrugs, jostling the commanders head. An insult escapes beneath their breath.
“Where the wind takes me I suppose," that earns him an elbow into his ribs. “Ouch, so violent.”
“Pull the other one, it’s got bells. Wax less poetry while you’re at it, it doesn’t suit you," the commander grumbles, crossing their arms. Canach smiles at their faux-grumpiness and allows it. They've had a long day.
“Really? I recall you described me as rather well-spoken.”
“I clearly wasn’t in the right frame of mind.” Despite the words they lean back, reaching up to caress the side of his face. Canach lets his eyes drift shut, leaning into the touch.
“The invitation to Dragon’s Watch won't expire anytime soon, just so you know.” A final try to get him to change his mind. Canach shakes his head gently.
“Appreciated, Commander, but no.”
The conversation dies afterwards. Nothing but the breeze shaking through foliage interrupts the silence. He busies himself with stroking the unmarred arm, committing the warmth and softness of their skin to memory. Maybe he’s grown more sentimental over the years. He knows he will return eventually, can’t imagine going the rest of his life without the commander at his side. Regardless he has to try, a last attempt at a struggle before he gives in completely. His fate was decided before he even awakened, guiding him through the name on his shoulder. Any other time, any other place and he’d drown those thoughts in a heartbeat. Now, with the commander resting against him with and pure contentment drifting across the bond, he can only give in.
When the sun disappears behind the trees of Lake Doric’s horizon and Canach makes to leave, one hand grabs his to pull him back down.
“Stay with me for the night," they ask and he crumbles.
“Of course.”
He’s gone come morning.
---
Freedom is like a fresh breeze after years of servitude. He feels like he did in his younger years. He wanders, drinks, causes trouble. The Countess gives him a pouch of gold to do with as he pleases when she kicks him out of Divinity's Reach. Though suspicious he accepts it, counting the coins as he wanders through Queensdale. It turns out to be enough to last him for a while as long as he doesn’t waste it.
By the time he’s reached Lion's Arch the money has doubled and he’s been accused of cheating at cards more times than he cares to admit. Some things never change.
Wherever he goes he keeps an ear out for the whereabouts of the commander. It irks him to no end how he can’t shake the worry. Like a lost puppy he’s captivated with whatever news that drift across Tyria, unable to fully let go after having had a taste.
Taimi keeps him updated on the bigger things, which he is thankful for. The little communicator has tremendous reach, only beginning to crackle when he wanders too far into Ascalon. Mostly though she leaves him to his own devices.
That’s not to say he doesn’t nearly go mad with frustration when she casually lets it slip that by the by, there’s a human god of war which has gone rogue, not to mention the two dragons beginning to awaken.
“And you’re trying to fix this.”
“Well, me and the others of Dragon’s Watch.”
“Great, so, you and five other madmen. I’m sure that’ll go well.”
She seems sufficiently chastised after that. Purely out of annoyance he travels all the way to to the Iron Marches, where nothing but static gets through the device. He doesn’t sulk. Sulking is for those who care and he’s not bothered about not being there, fighting next to the commander and keeping vigil at their side. Not at all.
But even he can't run away forever. Not from the hunger for the adrenaline of a good fight, much less from the yearning and worry that has sat in his chest for months. He is stubborn, he is unkind, and he is a coward, but even he gives in to the pull of the bond when the annoyance becomes gut wrenching worry.
That’s how he finds himself upon one of Kiel’s shipping vessels towards the Crystal Desert. It’s not a pleasant trip, at least not until he gets caught as stowaway. They nearly dump him into the ocean before he manages to bullshit his way out of it. Apparently being the commander’s associate has some perks.
Hot air that blasts into his face after he steps out the cool airship is an acquired taste. Already beginning to regret his decision he tries to turn around, but the crew of the vessel refuse to let him back in so he finds his way to Amnoon and waits. It takes a week, but he entertains himself with Zalambur’s casino, infuriating both the customers and dealers as he keeps winning. He's made a career out of cheating at gambling, and he's not about to stop when the gold keeps coming in. By the time the commander wanders into the establishment he’s up 500 gold from where he started.
The first sign is the sudden warmth that passes through their bond. It surprises him enough that he doesn’t notice which number the roulette ball falls on, only that the croupier neatly rakes in his chips and deposits them in a little box. He could swear on the Pale Mother the thing is rigged. Probably rigged specifically for him, to recover some of their losses.
The bond has been quiet the past months. Pain from the usual wounds trickle across as well as traces of emotion, but nothing strong enough to particularly grab his attention. Now the warmth that drifts across is one he’d recognize anywhere. He looks around, hating how his heart skips a beat when he notices the familiar figure navigate their way through the busy casino towards him.
“Enjoying your time off?” He can't help the smile that rises at their greeting. Their skin has tanned from the sun, and they are wearing loose, cloth-like armor instead of leather that shows just enough skin to make his eyes wander. A tightness in his heart he has forgotten about suddenly loosens.
“Freedom is a sweet drink, Commander. I've been busy quenching my thirst.”
They chuckle, a sound which sets shivers running up his spine. “I’m glad.” With a nudge they urge him to move over, freeing space for them to sit down. Slotting themselves next to him as if Canach never left.
It’s not a chair meant for two but he does it anyway, not even bothered when the commander steals a chip and places it onto the roulette board. When the wheel stops spinning and the chip is cleared away into the box the commander just gives him a guilty little shrug. He stares at them bemusedly.
“Have you reconsidered my offer?” they ask.
“Perhaps.” Canach hums and gathers his chips. The commander follows him as he makes for a counter. The cashier dutifully exchanges them for gold, leaving him with a heavy pouch.
“Am I meant to take that as a no?” An elbow nudges his armor and he swats it away. It’s meant to be teasing, but he can feel uncertainty drift across the connection.
“Relax. While my freedom's been gratifying, it's also a little boring.” He turns to the commander, giving them a cheeky wink. “I have a feeling coming with you will be much more interesting.”
Their smile is positively radiant.
---
Turns out Canach is right. Things do get more interesting with the commander. It helps that only three days in the man has almost been murdered twice. Makes him wonder what could happen in a month.
He gets a glare when he tells the commander so.
“That’s an exaggeration. It hardly qualifies as murder," they grumble, helping the raven in their lap preen sand from its feathers. Shrugging Canach lets them sulk.
“I’ll be saying I told you so when you eventually end up dead.”
He doesn’t mean anything by it, Pale Tree knows most days he thinks the commander is invincible. Subject to harm, perhaps, but never anything lethal.
If only.
---
He feels the first of it when fire flares across his arms. He doesn’t think anything of it then, used to the pain which drifts through the bond. The commander is engaged in battle, that’s all.
He begins worrying when the pain doesn’t stop, instead growing more potent.
It fully hits him mid-way to Skimshallow cove. He tumbles off his raptor, rolling in the sand before coming to a stop. Faintly he hears Braham call his name, but it all drowns against the flickering void in his head. A pain unlike anything he’s ever felt before licks fire into his mark. It’s enough to alert him that something is terribly wrong.
He fumbles and tears pieces of grown armor away. It should hurt, it’s part of him after all, but it’s nothing like the fire in his mark. His hand finally falls upon the name, fingers curving into the grooves desperately, reaching out. Pure terror comes crashing down and the forest is aflame.
A hand reaches out to pull him up but he shrugs it off violently and jumps onto his raptor, kicking his heels into its side before he is even properly in the saddle so that it launches into a sprint with a yelp. His companions call out to him but he ignores them. With single-minded focus he rides.
---
The cove is a mess of soot and ashes. When he kicks at the dirt it comes away red and wet. The rest of Dragon’s Watch thunder against the wooden walkway below that leads to the top, trying to catch up to him. Kasmeer makes it first, gasping to get her breath back.
“What in the Six has gotten into you?” she wheezes, hunching over in a very unladylike manner.
“What indeed," he responds hollowly, turning his back to the scene because he can’t bear seeing it anymore. Perhaps if he ignores it just a little longer then reality won't hit so hard. That never faltering presence is gone, soulbond quiet in a way it has never been, not even when locked away. He feels absolutely nothing through the connection.
In the middle of the scorched ground lies a figure, burnt and bloody. The black shadow of a bird has nestled itself beside it, crying its sorrow.
“Oh, Gods,” Kasmeer hiccups. He almost laughs at that, swallowing it down just before it makes it past his lips. Gods indeed. “Commander?”
“What’s going on?” the gravel voice of Rytlock demands behind them, pushing past Canach to get a better look. The Charr too stops when he spots the body, a guttural, mourning growl choking up his throat.
Kasmeer tries approaching the unmoving figure, her whole body shaking as she nears. Brave, braver than Canach who can’t even take another step closer. Before she’s within touching-distance the raven shrieks, flapping its wings furiously. It takes flight, claws scratching at her face, forcing her to retreat.
She stumbles back, steaded by Braham, face twisted in fearful horror.
“It’s afraid,” Braham mumbles from behind them. “Garm acted the same way when Eir died.”
“Protective little thing,” Canach says. It’s not meant to do anything other than fill the silence, but it seems to catch the bird’s attention. With a caw it dives towards him and he raises his arms to shield his face out of reflex, memories from their first meeting surfacing.
The bird has never liked him, and he has never liked it. The best relationship he's had with the damned thing has always been cold and bitter, and one of the many reasons he now wears a thick, bird-proof oak armor.
However instead of trying to scratch the eyes out of his face it settles on his shoulder, nudging him towards the body.
“Not a chance," he hisses at it. Croaking miserably in response, it tucks its head beneath his chin. It’s awkward because of his armor but it manages, wedging itself between wood and bark.
For a moment he ignores it, until finally taking pity on it. He helps it wiggle out from beneath his chin, placing it back onto his shoulder.
The others watch as he kneels down beside the commander.
Their face is streaked with soot. Dried blood clump the singed strands of their hair together. Parts of their armor is completely burnt off, revealing skin dirtied by blood and ash. Their eyes are still open, but where they once were bright enough to glow now they only seem dull and empty. Tracks run down their cheeks, lines forming in the soot what could’ve only been a result of now dried tears. He breaks one of the lines with his thumb, coming away dusty. Balthazar. He cannot even muster up the anger to want the bastard god dead, any energy completely wiped by the stillness of the body in front of him. It will come, he knows. He is cruel and unkind, and he will want vengeance.
The worst though, comes in form of a jagged cut slashed straight across their throat. Some of the edge is cauterized, burnt shut by Balthazar’s blade, but by the still growing pool beneath their neck he figures they drowned in their own blood. He nudges their lips open with a finger. More drips out the corner of their overflowing mouth. It’s a gruesome sight.
Reaching for their hand he grabs it and rests it against his forehead, choking on a hard lump in his throat. Their skin has gone cold, lifeless. All that remains is ashes of the forest, burnt down to its roots. The throb in his shoulder died down on his climb to the top, but now he wishes it desperately back. Anything except this hollow silence. Maybe he could fool himself into believing they could still be saved, if he wasn’t so painfully aware of the broken bond.
It hits him with startling clarity, those words said so long ago.
“I have this nasty feeling I’m going to end up dead before I meet them.”
“You were fucking right. Of course you were," he says with a choked laugh. Too much of a coward to ever tell them and now they’re dead.
The others creep closer while both the raven and him are distracted, but he can hear the soft sounds of Kasmeer’s sorrow. She joins him, taking hold of the commander’s free hand. He wants to tell her off for intruding, but he doesn't have the right. Not now, and never again.
Time passes. The sun sets in the horizon. He doesn’t know how long he stays there, only that his knees ache when Rytlock urges him up. The desert skies are turning burnt orange, signalling the incoming night. Some of the stars can already be seen twinkling through. It's hauntingly beautiful, and he feels nothing.
“Kiel’s airship is here and there’s nothing we can do for them now. Come on.” The Charr’s voice grates against his ears but Canach obeys nevertheless. There’s no point in resisting. Kasmeer reaches out before he can pass her by, flicking the leaves aside from his damaged armor. He stares solemnly at her while she reads the name carved into his shoulder, watching as her expression turns.
“Does it hurt?” she asks. Fear colors her voice, fear for her own bond.
“Unbearably," he answers truthfully. Her breath hitches and she shakes. Before she can do something foolish like sweep him into a hug as an act of comfort he steps aside and walks away. On the walkway to the airship stands Braham, gesturing for Canach to follow him up. Numbly he does so. The Norn clamps a hand over his shoulder, the marked one, and he remembers it should hurt.
It feels no different than being touched on his other shoulder. He curls his fists and feels an irrational want to hit something, perhaps scream, anything to fill up the emptiness hollowing out his chest.
His mark throbs, but he writes it off as phantom pain. Leveling one last look at his soulmate, he allows Braham to steer him onto the airship.
It throbs again. Not a phantom pain then.
Much like the fuses of his explosives igniting black powder the mark flares back to life.
He chokes. There’s nothing in his mouth but he chokes either way, a sensation of liquid filling his throat until he is coughing with desperation to get it out. A heavy thunk sends him to the ground, Braham no doubt attempting to be helpful. It fucking hurts and he’s about to tell the brute so (if he can get rid of the soup blocking his airways) when Kasmeer gasps.
“Commander!”
He can’t turn around fast enough.
Writhing in the dirt, limbs so very full of life once more. No longer resting on their back, Canach sees them struggle onto their knees with hands clutched around their neck. Globs of coagulated blood splatter onto the ground, dripping from their mouth.
Most prominent of all though is the sensation of the void disappearing, overtaken by a familiar presence.
He breaks into a sprint.
---
Thank the Pale Tree they’re
alive
---
“Canach,” they grasp for his hands as he falls clumsily down next to them. Tears run down their face and Canach has never seen them cry before, but it clears the soot from their eyes and it’s possibly the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen. Pulling them into a hug, he forces their hands away from their throat. Angry and pink, but healed, the scar is stands out ugly against their skin. He runs his own fingers over it. It is the most comforting thing he has ever seen.
“Don’t you ever-” he chokes on his words, pressing his forehead against the commander, blinking the wetness from his eyes. They shake violently beneath him. “Fucking ever do that again.”
Nervous laughter fills the air around him, part sob part manic giggle. He knows it's an unreasonable demand, but they swallow a hiccup and nod.
“Couldn’t keep me away even if you tried," terror and shock seeping through the bond, they hook a hand around Canach’s neck to hold him close.
---
He doesn’t question it. He couldn't care less how the commander just came back from the dead (because they were very dead and he never wants to feel such loneliness again), all he cares about is that his mark sings with warmth once more and his soulmate is safe. The outside world drowns against the forest rising from the ashes.
---
“A spirit showed me the past, you know. To help me regain my purpose. To help me remember."
Muscles clamping up, his hands clench around the airship railing. It’s been hours since the Cove, airship floating over the desert for a good while now. Far beneath them the ground turns dark, patches of boiling quicksand growing larger. The commander has let the silence between them grow, contemplating something as together they watched the Crystal Desert pass beneath them. Unable to stifle the leaden feeling of dread Canach lets him speak.
“It also showed me something else. Something I forgot a long time ago.” Canach feels their eyes burn on his skin but he can’t bring himself look up.
“Some words, perhaps? A sentence?” he inquires for show, though there’s no point hiding it now. A hand gently cups his shoulder. He is brought around, unable to resist the draw of their eyes. It’s too late to back down. He stares into their golden eyes, silently marveling at how luminous they appear.
“You should’ve told me.” Kindly, they say it. Like they understand his reasons for not doing just so. What was he expecting? Resentment? He knows he has been a coward for far too long.
“Forgive me, Commander, but I doubt anything could be that easy with the two of us.” He shakes their hand off of his shoulder, instead offering them a grim smile. Cruel and unkind too. Too many flaws to count. Too stubborn to simply allow himself to fall and trust.
They stare into his eyes like they can find the answers to soothe his doubts there. He knows there is nothing there- he as searched. With a sigh and a wry smile they lean towards him, a careful kiss planted to his forehead.
"Can I at least see it?" they ask, and Canach knows he would never be able to deny them this, deny himself the small fragile hope that emerges when they brush aside the leaves out of the way. The tiniest hope that perhaps, the marks shared between them was not a fluke, and has never been, despite their start. Wearily Canach follows the movement of their hand with his eyes, and when the broken armor reveals the shape of their name, he finds their eyes lighting up at the sight of it.
Hesitating, they look up, seeking his permission. He looks away but nods stiffly, granting them whatever consent they seek. Fingers run along the edges of each letter, dipping just barely inside the dents.
"Oh," they breathe, voice reverent. The length of their fingers are lit up with the luminescent veins of Canach's mark. Golden eyes flick back up to his own lavender purple, and they're filled with adoration. Their smile is radiant. "It's gorgeous."
His breath catches, and something that has sat tight in the pit of his stomach for longer than he dares remember begins to unravel. Their eyes flick back down to his mark, thumb stroking over the frayed and damaged wood. Canach has despised the shape of it for longer than he has dared want it. He has envied the effortless cursive of the ink that decorates human bodies, compared it to the rough of his own mark, quite literally engraved into his skin. It has always been ugly.
The emotions that flood through their bond, stronger than ever before, disagree wholeheartedly. The touch should hurt, but it doesn't, instead he is overwhelmed by a sense of belonging so strong it's a wonder he doesn't simply crumble and cease to be. They lean down, fine, human hair tickling his cheek as they rest their head on his shoulder, breath ghosting over the mark. It makes his entire body shiver. For a moment, they simply stand together, leaning against each other.
"I love you," the commander murmurs, another puff of air touching the carved name they are gently caressing. Canach squeezes his eyes together and thunks his head against the top of their head, hiding against the softness of their hair. Tears prickle at his eyes and for once he isn't sure he is strong enough to keep them at bay. "I loved you before I knew you. When you were just a brush of warm feelings against my thoughts."
"I don't think I would have ever told you," Canach responds with a broken laugh, because if there's a way to ruin this, then he will find it. The doomed doubt beats against the hope that's steadily gaining strength. The commander snorts softly and straightens, tilting their head to lean their forehead against his. Canach brings a hand up and curls it into his own mark, and the feel of it is nowhere near as wonderful as when the commander touched it. "I'm a coward."
They cover his hand with their own, curling their fingers in until Canach relents and allows their fingers to interlock. Greedily he draws strength from the comfort steadily fed through the bond.
"I really don't care," they say, and Canach can't help but snort. "I gave up hope of finding my soulmate a long time ago, and when you came along I decided screw whoever was destined for me. I wanted you." They lean back, that stupid-happy smile on their face. "I loved you even when I thought you weren't mine to keep."
Years worth of weights lift from his shoulders. The leaden dread in his stomach dissolves. That infuriating hope that has carried throughout his years, the hope that insists there truly is someone out there destined for him, finally declares victory over his doubting mind. He feels unsteadily light, too overwhelmed to even care about the stray tears breaking down his already fragile composure. How could he, in the face of such open adoration.
"I love you," they insist again, golden eyes keeping him captive. The bond sings with joy for the declaration. And perhaps he is unkind, and cruel, and cowardly, held captive by a doubt that has persisted against the ever hopeful heart, but for once.
"Yeah," he murmurs and slides a hand around the back of their neck.
Just this once, for them.
They lean down eagerly, and this single kiss is perhaps the sweetest one he has ever tasted.
He will give in and take what the world has claimed to be his, to trust a destiny chosen for him.
For them.
"I love you too."