Archive of Our Own ^beta

Maybe you were never meant to lead. Maybe you were always for the role of second-in-command, never for the one on top. Maybe it was best when you still had someone to answer to, to report back to, to lead you, to guide you, to offer you counsel when things aren't going well. Maybe it was best when you had someone who’d see you as an equal, not someone who’d look up to you for leadership.

Yes.

Just like Trahearne.

Warmaster, Guild Leader, Commander...  titles that never provide any worthwhile service but burden the one who takes up the saddle of responsibility. You had always been the one for action, never the one for diplomacy nor sitting dutifully inside a tent thinking strategies and coming up with supply routes. Trahearne would be the one dealing with paperworks. You, on the other hand, would always deal with matters involving brute force. You and Trahearne, in your opinion, made a great team: a team of outstanding leaders. Trahearne was the leader who made the most important decisions while you were the leader who's in charge of the battlefield, rallying troops' morale and defeating monsters or any kinds of adversary that come your way.

As long as it's tangible, you could kill it.

As long as it's an enemy, you could defeat it.

There was never any target that you could not defeat. Not... until then.

Ever since his—since Mordremoth's death, you found yourself unable to do even the simplest tasks nor could you think calm and straight. You always caught yourself stumbling over your words, constantly indecisive and uncertain. Worst of all, you find it difficult to keep an unstable group on the verge of falling apart under your leadership.

Destiny's Edge is all but intact: Eir's dead; Zojja is wounded and away; when you heard of Logan’s recovery, you invited him, only to reveal that he was offered the position of Marshal of the Pact; Caithe and Rytlock are compensating themselves by showing their efforts recently, supporting and helping you at times. You knew how earnest Caithe was in redeeming herself, and so was Rytlock because he was absent most of the time in Maguuma, especially since he couldn't tell you what really happened in the Mists, at least not yet.

But that wasn't the only problem, it concerned your ragtag group that has yet to come up with a name.

Braham turned his back on you and Rox didn't have the choice but to follow. Canach was free of his billet but he declined your offer to join Dragon's Watch; only Taimi, Kas, and Jory were left — but even they were having trouble sticking up together after what happened in Rata Novus. Everyone is going their own ways and you couldn't help but feel helpless.

Ever since he's gone. . .everyone just seemed to deem it appropriate to separate. Why? Are you not fit to lead? Were they following you just because the firstborn sylvari was beside you? But then, of course... you realized that you no longer hold the power you were able to wield before. You had resigned as Pact Commander, after all, you're only the Commander by name. You're no one but a simple guild leader now, not the leader of an army, not anyone's commander. The moment Trahearne ceased to be the Pact Marshal you ceased to be the Pact Commander. You started it together, it's only fitting that both of you ended your roles together.

You didn't know why you still insisted to be called "Commander". You may have said that absentmindedly because you couldn't think of other names for Taimi to use, but now that you're left with only five members—more or less—it now only sounded like an insult, a reminder of the past that is no longer there.

"...the Pact you commanded..."

Braham's words still echoes, still stings. But it's true, isn't it? You shouldn't go around recruiting people and expecting them to join just because you said so. Was it because you were a commander that everyone stuck to you? Is that it? Were they only attracted to the second-in-command to the Pact, to your role, to your power? Not... you?

"...your elementary attempts at persuasion saddens me. No wonder you were kicked out of the Pact."

It was bitter, yet it was the truth. Everyone knows it. Everyone and everything is changing so fast you didn't have the time to mull over them.

You failed. . .you failed as Commander. It's Zhaitan all over again — Apatia, Syska, Forgal... the undead eyes of the hopeful norn sacrificed to the krait, the screams of the soldiers you mistook for Risen minions as you rained explosives upon them, the faces of your disappointed comrades, the protests of angry family members of the soldiers you led to their deaths, the blame — every vivid memory comes back to haunt you; and now, you failed miserably, as Commander, as Guild Leader, as Warmaster.

Failure after failure, rejection after rejection, doubts and denial. . . You wondered... for the umpteenth time, if you were meant to lead.

Maybe you were never meant to lead. Maybe you were always for the role of second-in-command, never for the one on top. Maybe it was best when you still had someone to answer to, to report back to, to lead you, to guide you, to offer you counsel when things aren't going well. Maybe it was best when you had someone who’d see you as an equal, not someone who’d look up to you for leadership.

And when you thought that you would get a break from those intrusive thoughts in this place… you find that you would never, ever, escape them — given that they were granted tangible forms that enabled them to physically hurt you and say those thoughts out loud, so that you can hear it—again and again—with their own voice, with their own face, coming from their own mouths.

"You don't want to save the world. You just want everyone to kiss your feet!"

You never wanted that. You never did.

“What is it that bothers you about me? The fact that I'm a murderess? Look in the mirror, old friend!”

Your grip on your weapon slackened as you stared at the face of your friend. No, this was just an illusion: a mockery of the face of the sylvari thief that has been given the same voice to stab you with words that plagued your head. You told that to yourself repeatedly to ease your mind as you swung down your blade towards her.

" 'Pact Commander' ? Bah! Deserter. You were absent— again —when we flew over the jungle and Mordremoth massacred our fleet!"

Your heart clenched to see her… Eir... of all the people to show up. Your feet stuck to the ground when you were about to blindly charge and attack her, unable to raise your blade to the one person you let die in front of you.

If you didn't know any better, you may have thought you were back again in the Dream: Mordremoth showing you illusions of your comrades to weaken your will, to subdue you... but no, these voices came from the manifestations of your own thoughts. Your own inner demons.

"Your selfishness poisoned my son, my heir, my heart. You've corrupted my legacy!"

“No,” you said resolutely, as if that one word could block what you were hearing, you refuse to listen, you don’t have time for this.

"You let me die! You were right there, and you let that thing kill me!" suddenly her form morphed, her apparition changing so that there was a gaping wound in her chest, blood still dripping and staining her armor.

Instantaneously, your hold on your emotions snapped, your focus breaking as the norn bled in front of you, just like that day, when you failed to save her from the Mordrem — " Don’t.” you gripped your sword tightly, tethering yourself to logic. “Don’t think. Just get it done quickly, just like what you’ve always done." Without letting yourself think, you raised the blade to her.

"Our guild!" She screamed at your face, fury lighting the norn's eyes as she stared down at you, your blade missing her. "You destroyed it. And now, your own guild is falling apart before it can even form."

"We'll all be dead by the time you're done playing hero!" She spat, venom lacing every word as you stood still and let her words crash over you.

"I..." you began, but faltered when you heard an all too familiar voice behind you: "You're no better than Logan. Always running off when you're needed."

"No..." your voice was breaking, close to falling on your knees, the trial forgotten.

"Rox turned down my warband... for you. Now she's on her own with that dangerous lone wolf!"

Your heart was hammering in your chest, interfering with your voice. “Don’t…” you stared at them all. . .overwhelming thoughts of guilt and regrets holding you down; blind to all but them,  deaf to all but their voice.

"No, it's not true." (But it is true.)

"Stop it." (Feeling guilty, "Commander"?)

"I didn't want any of this to happen…!" (You failed, again and again.)

"...Commander."

It insults you, that title, that mantle, that name.

"—Commander"

Everything is somehow connected to that wretched moniker.

"Commander."

"I said stop it!"

"Commander !"

Anguished eyes caught dark brown ones as you steadied yourself by the grip of the latter, steeling yourself and breathing hard from the trial that you just failed to overcome.

"Take a moment to catch your breath, Commander." Countess Anise told you, holding you by the arm as she knelt beside you. Her touch seemed to snap your attention back to yourself and realize you fell to the ground, your weapon forgotten somewhere behind you, feeling weak and vulnerable. Hating the fact that you showed weakness in front of the one person you couldn't afford to trust with your own personal life, you quickly scrambled to your feet and shrugged off her hand from your limb.

"This assault stems from your own mind, your own insecurities. You must confront them if you are to overcome this." The Countess told you, acting like she did not just see you on your knees nor the flush staining your cheeks in shame.

" I know !" you yelled back through gritted teeth, frustration rolling off from you in waves, all repressed emotions thrown out from that one outburst.

Anise seemed to sense your unstable emotions and kept quiet, letting you gather your thoughts as you picked up your sword and seemed to stare off the distance where the apparitions just disappeared.

The mesmer then tried again, though this time — she had used a more gentler tone, a more sensitive one. One that you haven't heard her use before, one that you didn't know she could ever use. "Guilt can weigh you down or feed your resolution to do better." She began, watching you carefully from behind. "Don't let your feelings of regret become your downfall."

"I..." you tried to say something to that but once again found yourself unable to create or organize a thought. You hated this, showing weakness to anybody, even though it's in the pretense of being unable to speak for once.

Once again, you felt that small yet reassuring hand grip your shoulder, and this time, you did not move away as you turned your head to see her. You allowed yourself to stare into those understanding shade of her eyes and for the first time ever since Trahearne's death, you sought for help from another.

And the Countess understood.

"You don't need to look and act strong here, Commander.” She told you, still using that rare, gentle tone and stared up to your own eyes in encouragement. “It is fine to be weak, for what is true strength is the acceptance of your own weaknesses."

The chaos in your mind that's been beating you hard from the inside suddenly silenced at her words, your raging thoughts listening to a voice other than yours. Your eyes searched for sincerity in her own, trying to see the underlying motive of the mesmer, waiting to see her reveal her true intentions. However, you found none and saw only candor, so you let her words sink as you clear your mind and look over her shoulder to the place where you were defeated not just long ago.

“I failed them…” you started, staring at the places where the apparitions of your comrades stood, trying hard to control your voice. “I may have saved Tyria but I couldn’t save —” tears threaten to fall from your eyes as your voice shook, causing you to look away and blink the fluid back in your eyes. “...couldn’t save the most important people in my life.” you whispered, feeling a lump in your throat as you say the words that you’ve been meaning to admit to yourself.

The countess remained silent, letting you breathe and gather yourself before telling you, "It is fine to have failures... because what's truly a failure is the act of not doing anything to redeem your mistakes." She then removed her hand from your shoulder only to place it on your cheek, touching it with a surprising gentleness as she redirect your hesitating gaze to her own steely one. "And that is not what you are... Commander."

You did not expect what she said as you continue to stare at her in surprise, but it was a welcome change. Your heart felt lighter, better , as you pondered over her words in silence. You allowed yourself to take refuge in her eyes, in the warmth of her hand, in the firmness of her grip, and finally saw someone who was not looking to you for decisions nor leadership — you found someone who could treat you as an equal, as a normal person, as someone who's allowed to make mistakes and understand the burdens that you felt.

You took a moment to revel in this temporary silence from your inner demons and focus as you closed your eyes to the world; and so you allowed yourself to accept her words, to try again, to face your guilt, to face your doubts and fears that have long been chasing you for months.

‘It is fine to have failures…’ you repeated blankly, reassuring yourself one more time before opening your eyes with a renewed vigor. You nodded to the Countess and gripped your sword with a rekindled determination.

Anise, in seeing you calm and collected with the hint of the old Commander she knew coming back, gave you a small but genuine smile as she stepped back to give you space, "Now... begin again."