#Quin Adama

[lordaeronslost]

Lucky ones – Part 6

[See @isryael for part 5, @tenebreashember for part 4, @wynilthyrii for part 3, @graceintheshadows for part 2, and @lordaeronslost for part 1]

Several days ago…

“Adama! Where’s your CO?”

Quin pivoted toward the sound of the voice, her brow furrowing at the sight of the soldier who approached her, dressed in a mix of Alliance blue and gold with splashes of brown. The harbor at Stormwind was sheer bedlam, with soldiers and sailors everywhere, some collected into cohesive units that had been called up, some still being sorted. “Who’s asking?”

“Paranoid, are we?” The soldier flicked some hair from his face and for a moment, she thought he seemed familiar.

He knew my name. That accounts for something, doesn’t it? Then again, it wasn’t as if her face was unknown amongst at least a dozen military and auxiliary units across the Alliance and otherwise.

“She’s got enemies and so do I,” Quin said, her voice cool, controlled. “If you were us, you’d be paranoid, too. Who’s asking?”

The soldier grimaced and glanced around, then stepped closer. It wasn’t until he did that she recognized him as one of Shaw’s men. “Master Shaw needs a word with the Commander. Trying to get a small force in quickly to get the lay of the land and her name came up as maybe having an anchor point for a portal in.”

“Ah,” Quin crossed her arms, her Argent tabard bunching for a moment as she did. “She’s with the rest of the unit that was called up, over there by the Lady Grey. Surprised that Shaw is looking for an Argent unit for this.”

“He’s not,” the man—Riley, if she was remembering correctly—said, starting to move past her toward the dock where the brigandine Lady Grey lay at anchor. Quin fell in with him, her brow arching in invitation to continue. He glanced at her and made a face, but said, “You’re all still technically in Alliance service.”

“Technically,” she said crisply. “Now ask me how long it’s been since we acted as an Alliance auxiliary.”

He winced. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll admit that Shaw might’ve mentioned that he thought we could count on the support considering…”

“Considering it was Dalaran,” Quin said. “And up until recently, many of our families were there.”

“I won’t lie and say that the sudden departure of the Earl of Ware’s grandchildren and the scouring of his mercantile’s offices there wasn’t noticed by SI:7, Adama.”

“He would be a piss-poor intelligence service if that was missed.” Quin smirked. “You’re dying to ask, aren’t you?”

“I am,” Riley admitted. “But I won’t. I imagine someone already knows.”

“Likely,” she agreed. “Where does Shaw want to meet her?”

“I’m to escort her back to him.”

He stopped walking as Quin circled around to block his path, holding up a gloved finger. “Then wait here. I’ll bring her to you and I’ll brief the rest.”

He blinked. “Wait, brief? What do you mean?”

“Like you said. We’re still technically Alliance auxiliaries and what I heard was that if the commander can do what Shaw is going to ask, then we’re going ahead as an advance unit to get the lay of the land and do what we do.”

Riley started at her, some of the color draining from his face. “But—”

“No buts,” Quin said. “And Shaw thought anything other than that was going to happen, then we’ve been gone too long. Wait here. I’ll bring her to you.”

With that, she pivoted and walked into the controlled chaos that was the dock itself and the dozens of people preparing to ship out into the unknown.

[houseildanan]

The Calm

The scent of coffee soothed his ragged nerves, the steam rising from the mug wreathing his face.  The first light of sunrise was starting to paint the sky purple in the east, the wind off the harbor as bracing today as it had been three days ago and three days before that.  His ear twitched slightly at the slight sound of a boot against one of the cobbles.  He didn’t turn.

“How was it up there?”

“You heard me coming?”  Concern and amusement braided together in her voice as she finished her approach.  The ease with which the woman wore her armor belied both the weight of it and the relative slightness of her frame, reminding him briefly of another, miles away to the south.  Quin cradled a mug of coffee between her hands as she came to stand beside him, staring off over the harbor.  “I’ve gotten sloppy since regaining my sight.”

“Maybe,” the medic murmured, inclining his head.  “Or maybe I’ve just grown used to listening for every scrape of a boot, every whisper of something out of the ordinary.”  He glanced toward her, his brow arching slightly.  “You didn’t answer my question.”

Her gaze flicked up to need his, the wry smile she’d been sporting fading like mist burning away with the dawn.  “Are you sure you want to know?”

“I asked.”  His shoulders shifted slightly in a shrug and he suppressed a sigh, looking away, back to the harbor, the water, the sunrise.  “We don’t have enough numbers, do we?”

“The threat is much larger than anticipated,” Quin said softly.  “I don’t know what forces we’re going to be able to marshal against it.  That’s above my pay grade.”

“But not by much.”  One corner of his mouth twitched up into a smile that faded as quickly as it came.  “You know all of this better than most.”

“Both sides—at least, the other side in the before times.”  She exhaled, scrubbing a hand over her face.  One of her fingers twitched slightly, unconsciously, a reminder of torments long ago but not far away at all.  “What do you make of it, Tyr?  You must have theories.”

“As do you,” he said before he took a slow sip of coffee, gathering his thoughts.  “This is a threat that won’t be easily handled, no matter how much we wish it might be—and if it can be kept bottled here, then that’s what all the powers that be will try to do.  The world is weary of war.”

“The world is weary of world-threatening threats.”  Quin sighed softly.  “But that’s not something we get a vote in, is it?  The world has other plans.”

He nodded slowly.  “It does.  Will they be able to hold?”

“They’ve reinforced the grounds considerably,” she said.  “It should hold.  It has to.  That’s the better infrastructure and higher ground.”

“Of course, we assume the threat will be in Icecrown,” he murmured.

“You don’t think it will be?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore, Quin.”  For a second, he stared into his cup of coffee, trying to ignore the raw ache inside.  “Nothing has turned out the way any of us expected.  We shouldn’t be back here fighting a new war against the same enemy.”

“No,” she agreed.  “We shouldn’t.  But here we are.”

“Aye,” he whispered.  “Here we are.”

She reached up to squeeze his shoulder.  His hand covered hers, fingers wrapping around her hand for a moment.

Then he sighed, gaze drifting back to the horizon.  The sky was turning bright pink over the water.  “A storm is coming,” he murmured.  “Can you feel it?”

“In every bone that was broken,” she said softly.  “You too?”

He nodded.  “In every bone and muscle, too.”

“Have you told her?”

“Not yet.”

“Should we?”

“You know her better.”

Quin sighed, nodding.  “I’ll tell her.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you going to stay out here?”

“A little longer.  I need some air.”

“All right.  Don’t stay out too long.”

One corner of his mouth twitched toward a smile.  Quin’s brow arched.

“What?”

“You sound like her.”

She stared up at him for a moment, then smiled wryly.  “I’ll take that as a compliment.  Don’t stay out too long.”

Tyr simply nodded.  Quin’s hand slipped from his shoulder as she turned to head back inside while he lingered there on the overlook above the harbor.  The clouds above were dark.  The wind was cold.

A storm was rising.

It was only a matter of time.

[steelshatter]

Home - Betrayal Pt. 8

Anthus awoke, alone in the barracks for the first time in what felt like ages.  After the whirlwind rescue by Quin and Skybrooke, he’d spent a couple days, tucked away and hidden within the Argent Tournament grounds.  How fitting, he thought, that he’d been broken twice over there.  Once before, mentally, when caught in a lie by M, and now, physically by the bastard who ruined his hand and tattoos.  He couldn’t help but chuckle as he looked down at his stump of a wrist.

Skybrooke amputated the useless lump of flesh and muscle while he was at the tournament, and the healers there were kind enough to heal over the wounds.  It wouldn’t be long before he spoke with M and devised some form of replacement.  As his mind drifted to the thought of the pint-sized woman, a small smile cracked across his face.

When Etharion had come to visit, the Commander had agreed that Anthus should be brought back home, much to the argument of Skybrooke and Quin.  Of course, they were looking out for their swordbrother, wanting to make sure no one would come after him, but his urge to return home was far too strong.  He agreed to go disguised, so M brought his alchemy project from the Keep: a longer lasting version of the Transmorphic Tincture would allow him to go as his alter-ego, Violet.

Once they’d returned to the Keep, Violet immediately went to the bunks, sorting out a bit of gear.  He looked into his armor case, with a hint of disdain at the purple armor and scythe within.  Though he’d never fully admit it, he was a little glad that the Light no longer answered his call.  It would make his upcoming plans far easier.  Digging around within, he pulled out a longsword, gripping it in his remaining hand.  He turned the blade over a few times, a wicked grin passing over his face, and a touch of Shadow licking out from under his feet.  He fully intended on making sure Darice, the source of all his strife, paid dearly for what she did to him.

As the Keep cleared out, and everyone else either retired or left for the evening, Violet and M spent a few moments just talking amongst themselves.  After a while, though, Anthus and M found themselves in a bunk together, curled up with one another.  As Anny drifted off to sleep, he was glad, so glad, to be home...

That was two days ago, though, and Anthus was restless.  As the Keep resumed its normal hustle and bustle, Anthus found himself more and more irritated at his current situation.  He couldn’t return to the field with only one hand, nor could he play his lute.  As such, he turned his attentions to his Alchemy.  After all, with various clamps and stands, he could at least do that in his current state.  He decided to devote his day to working on more transmutation potions, of various types and styles. The Transmorphic Tincture had been a success, after all.

Hours passed, and Anthus poured over his formula notes.  The scratched and scrawled notes were spotty and horribly written, thanks to his left hand being non-dominant, but they would suffice, he supposed.  He dug through his reagents, picking out what he thought he would need.  A touch of obsidian powder, a moonstalker claw, a bit of dreamfoil petals, and his Transmorphic Tincture as a base... but there was something missing.  He laid out his reagents, trying to do some calculations in his head.  As he pondered for a long moment, he finally snapped his fingers.  Digging once more, he extracted one of Aren’s feathers from his pouch, chuckling softly.  With this, surely he could finish his idea...

[lordaeronslost]

Lucky ones

The warning had saved their lives.

From his small desk in their shared office at Valiance, Arcavius watched his longtime commander turned mentor as she read the latest report for what was now the third time.  Outside, the wind keened with a storm that had swept in off the water, leaving the windows and exterior walls coated in ice.

Somehow, given the reports that kept coming in, Northrend’s gales seemed far preferable to the fate that had come to so many who’d been in Dalaran instead.  Grimstryke’s warning had saved them to be certain, though the chill that crept down Arcavius’s spine had nothing to do with the cold.

Two more days and they’d have been back in Dalaran.  Half of them had been due to go and meet with some colleagues there ahead of their next duty rotation.  He had no doubt that whatever the plan had originally been for that, it was about to change.

He cleared his throat.  “Is there anything new in that one, Commander, or is it the same as the rest?”

“No,” she growled.  “No, not really.  No one seems to—blast it all.  No one seems to know anything beyond something apparently going terribly wrong just after the teleportation.  Some kind of attack.  This one at least suggests that more information could be forthcoming but I’ll be damned if—”

“Jude.”  Quin stood in the doorway, fully armored and cheeks ruddy from the cold.  Some of the snow and ice from outside was melting into her short-cropped hair in the warmth from the stove in the corner.  In her hand was an envelope bearing an Argent seal and she held it out toward the red-haired mage.  “Another report.  Orders were for your eyes first.”

Brow furrowing slightly, Jude came around the desk to take the letter from the paladin.  “Who delivered it?”

“You sure you want to know?”

Jude winced at that before she slid her thumb beneath the seal.  “Of course I don’t.  Do you think that—”

“I think that everything is coming at us very quickly and that every side is going to need every level-headed commander that they have at the ready,” Quin said, folding her hands behind her in a parade rest.  “Present company included.”

Jude winced again, reading the report once, then again.  Lips thinning, she handed it back to Quin.

“What is it?” Arcavius asked.

“We’re to leave a skeleton garrison here and immediately report to Stormwind for imminent deployment,” Jude said quietly.  “Alert the others, Cavandar.”

“Of course,” Arcavius murmured, feeling his heart start to crawl up into his throat.  “But why is the Argent Da—Crusade sending us to Stormwind for deployment?  Where are we going?”

“Seems that the attack on Dalaran involved nerubians,” Quin said, folding the report.  “Curious, that.”

“Very curious,” Jude agreed.  “But it does explain why they want us.”

“Yup,” Quin sighed.  “Because if there’s one thing that we’re as good at dealing with as undead…”

Arcavius winced.  “…it’s nerubians.”

“Spread the word, Arcavius,” Jude said again.  “Portals up at dawn.”

[lordaeronslost]

Lucky ones - Part 7

[Part 6 is here.]

Several days ago.

“Master Shaw.  I understand that you have a problem that you’re hoping I can solve for you?”

For some reason, her robes felt heavier than usual as she pushed back her hood, letting red hair cascade free to fall across her shoulders.  Shaw glanced at her, then murmured something to the SI:7 agent at his side.  The agent nodded and slipped past her and out the door.

The lock clicked.  She crossed her arms.

“Was that necessary?” she asked.

“I don’t want to be interrupted,” Stormwind’s spymaster said, dropping heavily into a wood and leather folding chair.  Everything about the room’s furnishings screamed that this arrangement was temporary, that it was meant to be packed up and loaded onto a ship at a moment’s notice.  The building itself was an old warehouse, long fallen from use since the collapse of a few mercantile companies in the wake of the death of Theramore, now nearly a decade ago.  That the spymaster had set up shop here, near the docks, suggested that matters were just as serious as she’d started to suspect they were the night before when word had finally come of what they’d feared.

Shaw waved a hand toward another camp chair like the one he’d settled in.  “Have a seat if you’d like.”

“Will this take long enough to warrant that?”  She crossed to the offered chair anyway, smoothing her robes as she sat.  The emblems of the Argent Crusade and the Kirin Tor were embroidered on the breast, two points of a triangle where the last, on the bottom, was the emblem of the old Retribution—her unit of Alliance irregulars, the one all but wiped out when Theramore died.  They’d tried to reactivate them since but never succeeded.

And yet, here she was, settling into a chair across from Mathias Shaw who was either about to make a clandestine case for the same or appeal to her as a former officer of the Alliance in the hopes that she’d help.

Quin had told her what she’d managed to learn from the SI:7 agent that had been waiting to escort her here.  The idea had merit and left her wondering if Shaw had been paying a hell of a lot more attention whenever a mage was around than anyone had ever realized or if he’d consulted someone on the matter.  The way she saw it, there were equal odds for both.  Shaw watched as she settled, leaned back in her chair.  Jude Auroran met his gaze with a steady one of her own.

“So.”

He took a breath.  “Do you prefer Commander or Viscountess these days?”

“Commander is fine,” she said.  “It’s the title that matters in our current scenario, isn’t it?”

He hitched one shoulder in a slight shrug, canting his head momentarily to one side.  “Maybe.  Maybe not.  That depends on how you decide to look at it.”

“Are you appealing to me as the Viscountess Greymantle, then?  Because I’m not sure how far that will get you.  I know that you didn’t call me here to talk about my father or my family.  Did you?  Because if you did, that will take us into a very long conversation about how you hid the fact that my sister didn’t die from me and mine for several years while SI:7 used her for every deep cover operation it could.”

His brows lifted for a moment and he shifted in his chair to sit forward slightly.  “Your point is taken.”

“Good.”  She crossed her arms.  “Quin said this is about potentially being able to open a portal.  What’s the ask?”

“Would I be way off-base to assume that your family had some kind of anchor at your residence in Dalaran?  One that you used to make it easier to portal in and out?”

She watched him for a few seconds, then shrugged.  “You wouldn’t be.  Go on.”

“Would it still work?”

A chill crept through her.  “Would what still work?”

“Do you think you could still hone in on the anchor?  Open a portal to wherever it is now?”

She stared at him for a few seconds, letting the silence linger as she weighed her response.  “Probably.  Do I need to lay out all the reasons that could be incredibly hazardous given what the reports are saying?”

“You mean the fact that the anchor could have been vaporized or possibly be at the bottom of the sea.”

Jude nodded slowly.  “Those are distinct possibilities.”

Shaw exhaled, leaning forward with elbows against his knees.  “I had.  Clearly.  But would you know that before you opened the portal?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” she admitted.  “Depends on how we go about it.  If it’s been vaporized, obviously we won’t be able to locate it.  If it’s at the bottom of the sea, well.  That’s a different can of worms.”

“But if it’s not?  If it’s neither of those things?”

“Then it should be doable,” she said.  “To open it.  I’ll need a few mana stones so I can hold it open long enough for my forces to get through.”

Both of his brows went up.  “Your forces?”

“Shaw.  You don’t get to ask me to do this without it being my people going through and me with them.”  She held his gaze steadily, expression growing grim.  “But you’re not a fool.  You already knew that.  What’s the other part of the ask?”

“You already know what it is.”

She nodded slowly.  “And if I’m unwilling to bend knee to the High Exarch?  What then?”

Shaw paused, studying her for a few moments.  “Who would you answer to, then?”

“Master Shaw.  This isn’t our first dance and I sincerely doubt that it will be our last.  Who would I bend knee to?”

Her regarded her a few moments more, then leaned back in his chair.  “And if I can find a way to make that happen?  Somehow?”

“Then you’ll have us, such as we are, under all the old rules.  Assuming that’s acceptable.”

“What do you think?”

“I think you need us, Mathias,” she said, standing.  “I’ll figure out if there are any surviving anchors I can lock a portal onto.  Send a messenger if you’re able to make the arrangements.  You’ve got five hours before my people are on a boat under the Crusade’s banner.”

“Something tells me that’s a banner you’ll fly regardless of the arrangements made.”

She smirked.  “That’s because you’re a very astute spymaster.”

“Thank you for noticing.”  He stood and moved to unlock the door with a small key from the cuff of his sleeve.  She drifted behind him, waiting as he unlocked the door, his hand on the knob as he caught her gaze one more time.  “You are allowed to say no, Commander.  I’m not an idiot.  I know the price you and your people have paid over the years.”

“Someone just destroyed a place we called home for a very long time in many different ways, Master Shaw,” she said quietly.  “In this world, in this life, the paying never stops.  I’ll talk to the rest, but I imagine whether you can make it happen or not, we’ll still do it—just not under the official banner the Alliance would probably prefer.  Send the messenger to tell me either way.  I’d like to know which way the wind is blowing.”

He nodded and opened the door.  “Thank you, Commander.  For your time and discretion.”

“The pleasure was mine, Master Shaw.  I look forward to hearing from you.”

She walked out of the warehouse with her head held high, ignoring the looks and whispers that she caught from the corner of her eye as she made her way back to the docks, to the others.  Whatever happened, whatever word Shaw sent, if she could find an anchor, they’d go.  Damn the man, though, he’d known that already.

They’d played each other, but she had the feeling that somehow, he’d gotten the better end of the deal.

[houseildanan]

Visions and Nightmares - Dream not Memory

The cold was enough to numb to the core, to make bones ache and skin burn.  Frost rimed scarves, the chill stiffening fingers and limbs.  In those days, frostbite and the cold had been a greater threat than the enemy—at least, a greater threat than the Alliance.

That was what many of the Horde he’d treated in those days believed, anyway.  There had been a few that hadn’t agreed, but many had just been dismissed as grumbling warmongers.  The only threat that mattered here beyond the cold was the Scourge, was the Lich King.

This was familiar territory by now, the snows of Northrend.  The chill was almost welcome sometimes—sometimes.  At others, it made the pain worse.

Still, a little relief was always appreciated.

The wagon creaked and rattled across a hardened crust of snow, slow going at the northern edge of the Dragonblight.  The objective had been to reach the Wrathgate in time to support the coming assault, but they’d lost valuable time dodging Scarlets and a particularly irate pod of giant ice wyrms—he knew the name of them, but he still couldn’t wrap his mind or tongue around the sound of what must have been some kind of corrupted vyrkul name for the monstrous things.  They’d lost two to the Scarlets, one to the wyrms.  Not the best day for the Argent Crusade, but far from the worst.

The sound of metal against metal, the shouts and cries of soldiers and volunteers at war, echoed across the slopes as they crested a rise, already tapering away, already fading.

Are we too late? He thought, half rising from his spot in one of the lead wagons, straining to see.

One of his companions reached to pull him back down into his seat.

“You’ll fall right out of the damn wagon, Grimstryke.  Sit down.”

“Think we’re too late?” he asked as he dropped heavily back to his seat next to the driver.  The girl behind him in the wagon’s box shrugged, sorting through their supplies—a nervous tic, he’d noticed.

“Damned if I know,” she answered, following his gaze toward the sound of combat.  “Goddess willing?  No.  They’ll need us.”

“Aye,” he murmured as they crested the last rise.  The sounds of combat had tapered away, replaced by the sound of a great creaking sound, like doors on rusted hinges.

As if the gates had finally opened.

His breath caught. “They—”

Time compressed.  They could barely see Arthas, could see Saurfang and Fordragon, could see them confronting the Lich King for his crimes. New dead began to rise.

Creak.

Creak.

Rumble.

Boom.

The sound jarred him and the sudden stench clogged his throat.  He gagged, gaze flicking to the east, toward the sickly green plume rising. His stomach dropped.

“We need to—”

The girl jerked on his arm, pointing toward the field.  “Look!”

He didn’t want to, but he did.  That same sickly green, glowing with corruption and malice, a promise of agonizing, terrifying death—and perhaps something worse beyond—flowing from wagons above the pass before the gates.  It slid like an oil slick, billowed like fog.

He gagged, pressing his sleeve across his mouth and nose, eyes wide.  At this distance, they were safe—at least for now.

But down in that field—

His gaze lit on a familiar helm, attached to a familiar figure.  He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t shout.  He reached for the Light and it didn’t come, panic setting in as he realized that somehow, someway, it was out of his reach—in a way it never had been before.

That familiar helm oriented toward him and somehow, he knew that their gazes had connected.

A hand lifted.

Then the fog rolled over Corey Dawnchild and swallowed him whole.

At Dawn’s Reach, nearly a decade after that awful day when the Forsaken betrayed the world at Wrathgate, Tyrvarden Kindaer Grimstryke pitched awake, sending Mourne’s skulls scattering.  He hunched forward, breathing hard, feeling sick as he buried his face in his hands.

Just a dream.  Just a dream.

It has to be.  What else could it be?

Imi settled on his shoulder, burrowing against his neck, as if the tiny skull could sense his distress. He reached up to pat it gently, swallowing bile and trying to master himself.

It’s only a dream.

It has to be.

[lordaeronslost]

The morning after

Everything hurts when I wake up, tucked securely into an unfamiliar bed.  I try to remember what happened, try to figure out where I could be, why everything hurt so damn much.  I can feel the fading effects of healing.  The smell of incense hits my nose and I begin to sort it out.

The Cathedral.  It has to be. I was in Stormwind.

I’d come to lay flowers at the memorial.  I’d come to remember.

I squeeze my eyes shut. None of this should have happened. I should have been more careful, listened to my instincts sooner when they’d begun to scream that something wasn’t right.

How many of them had there been?

Six, I think?

The face of the one with the star tattoo and the scar on his jaw will never leave my memory, though I know I will someday try to forget.  I won’t forget his leer, though, the cold smile, like ice on the glaciers of Northrend.

“You’re the one.  Nice that the Scourge left you something.  Tell them you’ve forgotten what you saw when they ask.”

I remember saying I didn’t understand—what the hell was he talking about?  The expression on his face had turned grim.

“You’ll know when they ask.”

I’d pressed.  They decided I was too mouthy.  I decided they were too handsy and broke one’s jaw.

That was when the blows started falling.

I squeeze my eyes more tightly shut and roll onto my side, clutching the covers around me.  The covers are warm, comforting.

What the hell was he talking about?

What did I see that’s got someone frightened enough for all of that?

I have no answers and still don’t when sleep takes me again.

[lordaeronslost]

Carrying the news

Gripping the small scrying crystal tight in one first, Quin chewed her lip, letting it guide her toward her friend’s location.  She tried not to dwell on the question that kept echoing through her skull.

How, exactly, was she going to explain to Anthus that Skybrooke wasn’t dead after all?

Anthus sat in Ironforge, nursing a mug of Greatfather Winter’s Ale.  Every time the festival rolled around, the roguish man went to the tavern there to drink deeply of the delicious brew.  He’d no idea what’d happened, having been entrenched around the Broken Isles at the behest of the Uncrowned.

Oblivious as he was, he had no clue that he was being sought out, nor what news his seeker brought.

The fact that he was so close had left her a slightly unnerved, since she’d just left Aekatrine’s house in the Hall of Explorers on her hunt for him with the news.  There was a chance--however small--that he’d see her before she did.  Quin hoped that wouldn’t be the case, based on her conversation with Sky that evening at the little Winter Veil gathering that had taken place in lieu of the planned snowball fights and celebration on the mountain--weather had been the enemy tonight, nothing else.

They just didn’t know how he would handle it after everything else and Sky--and Quin, too--thought it might be best that she tell him first and let him decide what he might do from there.

Still, Quin reflected, the idea of doing it was easier when she thought he was still out in the field.

She slipped inside the tavern, a small, quiet human figure among the revelers, still dressed in red and white and black, a gown reminiscent of days long gone for both of them--it was something she’d have worn at the Veil once upon a time, when they were both working for Fiammeta Castleton as Companions.  She spotted him before he spotted her--at least she thought she had--and quietly threaded through the tables and patrons to where he sat.

Even as she reached him, she wasn’t certain what she was going to say.

Anthus simply stared down into his mug, quietly peering into the brew, as if searching for answers.  He certainly didn't notice as Quin slipped up behind him, too lost in his own head to really notice anything.  He exhaled a soft sigh, the faintest grin crossing his lips.

“Anny?  You okay?”  Quin sank down into the chair next to him, her brow furrowing in concern.  “Or are you just--” she broke off, frowning.

“Hrm?”  He turned and faced her, still grinning slightly.  “Quin!”  He raised his mug of ale, a bright smile crossing his face.  “Looking lovely as always.  And I'm fine.  Home for the holidays, which is lovely.”  He feigned slightly, the slightest twinge of doubt in his smile.

Her brows knit even further, but she nodded slightly.  “Lovely is a good word for it.  Did you just come from the Broken Isles, then?  I kind of expected you might linger in Dalaran for the season, since Jude and Lyyn and…”  She stopped and took a deep breath.

“Though I guess they’ll probably come here.  Sorry.  Silly of me.  How long have you been back?”

“What time is it?”  He pondered.  “...maybe… two hours?  I’m only on my second mug of ale.”  He chuckled softly, leaning over and putting his head on her shoulder.  “I’m glad you’re the first person I’ve seen since I came back, though, Sis.”  He beamed, relaxed for the first time in a long while.  

“I’ll likely head back to Dalaran tomorrow, but I figure I should stop by the keep at some point.”

“Probably,” she admitted.  “Furlough starts tomorrow, so make sure you stay out of trouble.”  Quin smiled crookedly.  “Maybe your wife can help with that, since M ordered her to stay out of combat zones and take it easy.”

She went quiet for a moment, reaching up to ruffle his hair as she tried to gather her thoughts.  “Roiya cooked tonight,” she said softly.  “It was supposed to be for the games and celebration, but with the weather out there right now, it seemed safer to cancel.  We were at Aekatrine’s.”

“Yeah, the weather’s been too nasty to fly.  Hence why I’m here instead of the keep.  Took a portal from Dalaran to Stormwind, then the Deeprun here.  Gryphon Masters have been loathe to let their mounts in and around Dun Morogh.  And Aren’s still in Dalaran, so it looks like I’m probably going to bed down here for the night, emergency notwithstanding.”  He smiled brightly as she ruffled his hair, letting out a small happy noise.

“Sad that I missed the festivities, but it’s okay.  At this point, I feel like I work more for other groups than I do for the Servitors.”  He looped his arms around Quin, hugging her tightly for a moment.

“What’s that for?” she asked softly, peering at him.

“What, I can’t hug my Sister?”  He grinned.

“No, in all truth, I’ve missed you all.  It’s been rough staying away from everyone.”  He shrugged slightly.  “It’s just one of those things I have to deal with, but it doesn’t mean I like it.  I miss you, Lammy, M, Eth, Roiya, everyone.”

A slight, crooked smile appeared.  “We miss you, too, Anny.  There have been a few times lately where we probably could have used your help.  I’ve been sticking to the Keep most of the time myself, trying to keep the infirmary in working order.”

“I know.”  He exhaled softly.  “The issues on the Isles keep me busy, but I’m going to try to be around more often than I have been.”  He hummed softly, picking up his mug and taking a deep drink from it.  “Though I suppose seeing you would put me at ‘more often than I have been’ right off the bat.”  He snickered.

She choked on a laugh.  “There is that.  I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been worried even though Lyyn kept saying you were okay that I shouldn’t but I think she knows by now that even when she says I shouldn’t, I do, because dammit, I know you too well and I know her and neither of you like it when I worry.”

Anthus smirked a little, setting his mug down.  “I know you worry because you care, so in that regard, I’m glad you’re worried about me.  Shows that you give a damn.”  He laughs softly.  “That said, I’m not happy that I’m the source of your worries and woes.”  He reached up to ruffle her hair in turn.  “I’ll try and be around so you can worry less, okay?  Though obviously, I’ve gotta keep close to Lyyn, just to be safe.  Since, y’know… with child and all.”

Quin nodded, exhaling quietly.  “I think everyone would like that.”  She stared down at her hands for a few long moments, then cleared her throat quietly.  “We got a surprise tonight.  One of those Winter Veil surprises that you don’t expect and don’t know what to do with sometimes.”

Anthus paused.  “...who’s pregnant?”  He asked, chuckling softly.

She burst out laughing and shook her head.  “No, no, nothing like that.  I wish it was something that simple.  No.”  She sobered after a moment, then swallowed hard, looking at him.  Her voice got very quiet, very gentle.  “Sky’s alive.”

Anthus’s face went blank for a moment, as he attempted to process that information.  “...no, that’s… I saw her dead… she…”  He pursed his lips for a moment as he thought, closing his eyes for a moment.  “...this must be a trick.”

“It sure as hell seemed like her to me,” Quin said quietly.  “Fro and the Commander and Roiya and Jo seemed to think so, too.  I guess M found her with some survivors when she was off...doing whatever the hell M does.”  She took a ragged breath. “I offered to tell you and to tell Cere.  She only wanted me to tell you.  I guess she realizes that she needs to be the one to talk to Cere.”

Anthus pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes tightly.  “...I’m skeptical. I’m REALLY skeptical.  I suppose I should go find ‘her’ and see with my own eyes…”  He exhaled slowly.  “Where?”  He asked, his speech becoming much more clipped and short.

“When I left, she was at Aekatrine’s with Roiya and everyone else.  Seems like folks were getting ready to leave, though, so I don’t know if she’s still there or what.”  Quin sighed.  “Don’t do anything rash, okay?  If this is real--and I want to believe that it is because we’ve lost way too much already--then she’s been through hell and it shows.  Don’t--” She stopped, took a deep breath, then started again.  “Don’t take out any pain on her, okay?”

“...I only want to make sure it is, indeed, her, and not some Dreadlord in her skin or something worse.”  He rose from his seat.  “...I’m going to go talk to her.”  He pushed himself back from the barstool, entirely focused on what he needed to do.

“Be careful, okay?”

“Always, Quin.”  He patted the firearm on his hip as he turned, heading for the door.

Quin swallowed hard, watching after him for a brief moment before she downed what was left in his mug and rose to follow him out the door.

[Written with @steelshatter; mentions: @etharion, @josilverwright, @mindspanner, @silverglaives, @graceintheshadows,and Frovelos (who I don’t think has a tumblr) and Skybrooke (who may have a tumblr but I don’t remember what it is).]

[lordaeronslost]

A slender tome - 18 October

Cere is worried about the Commander, and truth be known, I am, too.  I can see the threads starting to fray at the edges, the glue starting to disintegrate.  It’s like watching Jude all over again at the end, in those last few months before I left with Connar, before Theramore happened, in those last few months when she would talk about how tired she was, how much the Retribution’s command was weighing on her, but only in private and only to her sister and I—to the two of us, because who knew her mind better than the sister who would sometimes wear her face when it grew to be too much and the almost-sister who would have taken her place if things had gone differently.

 I thank Elune and the Light that it didn’t turn out that way, but I wish it hadn’t been the way it was, too.

 I hope that’s not what I’m watching all over again.  I hope it’s not.  I hope whatever Cere tells him when they have tea helps, that it fixes what’s started to break, what’s already broken.

 I just hope it helps. He’s one of the finest men I’ve had the pleasure of knowing, and I’ve known many in my time.  They call him “Unbroken” and I pray he continues to live up to the moniker that I suspect Mena gave him years ago.

 Goddess knows, though, he deserves to be happy after all he’s been through.  I know I’ve only heard a fraction of his story, but I’ve heard enough to know in my heart of hearts that he’s gone through enough and deserves whatever happiness he can scrape together—with his children, with his husband, whatever and whoever he chooses.

[Mentions: @etharion; @silverglaives]

[lordaeronslost]

A slender tome - 25 August, first year of the Legion invasion

[A few tears stain the page, smearing the ink on this page.]

I sit and I watch them all deal with loss different ways--not just losing Masana and Sky, but others.  Lovers.  Brothers.  Fathers.  Children.  Family.  Friends.  Some of them are handling it in more healthy ways than others--not that I should honestly be one to judge, and I don't.  Not really.

I miss them, too--I'll always miss them.  I just wish they weren't just more names on the list of people I've buried since I was a teenager.

My parents.  Joshua Merovingae.  The expedition.  Andry Moreau, who died on my sword, his blood staining the deck of that airship that brought us home.

Ser Asteris and his little girl.

The Retribution at Theramore.

Tanith Auroran.

Now Masana and Skybrooke Shadewhisper, M's daughter Thira, Sky's father, Bey's brother Rhodge.  There will be more, I know.

There always are.  It's a war, and I've learned the lessons of war already.

At least Anny came home alive.  That's something, right?  Lyyn said she saw Garmir in Stormwind, Jude is "safe" in Dalaran, the kids are here.

If I'd heard from Connar, I'd be a little more secure, but I'm sure he's fine--when has he ever not been?

Just once, when we had that fight on Jude's birthday and he went all one-man army in southern Lordaeron.  I'm glad I didn't lose him then.  I don't know what I would have done.

I should go give Cere a hug.

[lordaeronslost]

A slender tome - 11 August, First Year of the Legion invasion

There’s a part of me that’s glad that I buried this thing in my field kit.  I’d almost forgotten about it, as evidenced by my last update–and the time between them.

I’m rambling because I don’t want to think.  I don’t want to think about what I heard over the old Retribution comm, beneath the static and crackling.

I have to tell Mindspanner.  I have to tell Sky.  I just–

I can’t.

How could I?

Maybe I imagined it.

Dammit, he’s my best friend.  He’s my brother.  This can’t be happening.

He was supposed to be the only one of us that was actually safe, at sea, far away from all of this.

For the moment he’s alive.  More than we can say for Bromm’s cousin and his family.  More than we can say for a lot.

They’re alive up there.  I know they are.  The Keep wouldn’t fall in one might, in one moment.  Not with the people there, the preparations that were made.

They’ll be there when we get there.

If we get there.

When we get there.

Dammit.  Dammit.  Dammit.

I don’t want to think.  I can’t think.

I’m going to drink some whiskey and go to sleep.  Hopefully, I won’t dream.

I’m afraid that I will.

[lordaeronslost]

The news

She sat on her bedroll, staring blankly at the old COMM she still carried from her time in the Retribution. It still worked—sometimes—but mostly she carried it because she’d set up separate bands on it—a private one for she and her husband and another for the Argent Crusade.

The transmission across the latter band had been staticy, but clear enough.  Her throat felt tight.  It was hard to breathe.

She stood up from her bedroll.  She’d slept in her boots, prepared to have to move quickly, in case they were in danger of being overrun here or worse.  Now, in her state of shock, she was vaguely glad that she had.

Quin walked out into the dim light of pre-dawn, sick to her stomach.  She cleared her throat.  “Advisor? Masana?  It’s Adama, stepping out.  I need some air.”

At least she’d had the presence of mind to announce herself.

Tirion Fordring was dead. Varian Wrynn was dead.

Tirion was dead.

A sob tore at her throat. She stuffed a linen-wrapped fist against her mouth, stifling the sound.

I can’t do this here, I can’t do this now.  Not here.  Not now. There will be time later.

Later, if we survive this.

Tirion was dead.

Varian Wrynn was dead.

Tirion Fordring was dead.

The crusader squeezed her eyes shut against the tears she couldn’t stop.  They rolled down her cheeks, stinging, hot.

Then cold.

Then ice.

Quin Adama stood on the steps outside Algaz Station, weeping tears of ice that dropped like crystals to the bare ground beneath her feet.

[Mentions: @mindspanner, @etharion (for Masana)]

[lordaeronslost]

Quin's journal - 9 March

Patrol last night, my first official one as a Servitor.  I kind of knew that it wouldn’t be entirely quiet when the lead said something about it being “just a patrol.”

Famous last words.

Something’s killing in the Hinterlands, tearing things apart and sucking the marrow from the bones of its kills.  We tracked it to at least one of its lairs.

I burned the body we found in the foothills.  It was the first time in a while.

At least I didn’t set anyone or anything else on fire.

Went to Hearthglen and Light’s Hope after, made arrangements for some anti-plague vaccinations and agents to be shipped down.  The Forsaken are active in the Hinterlands and that’s typically not a good thing.  It certainly bears watching.

I didn’t mention that to Connar.  It’d only make him worry and he worries enough as it is.

He was there when I got home last night and I was glad of it.  I’d gotten a good scrubbing in while I was in Hearthglen--for as much as I’ve smelled stenches like that before, that doesn’t mean I like smelling it on me when I don’t have to.  He had a fire going and the bed warmed up quickly after I joined him in it.  We got to talking and talking led to his worrying about what sort of price I’d be willing to pay if it meant we’d be able to reverse the process that made him into a Death Knight, if we were somehow able to find a way to bring him back...

There are prices I wouldn’t pay, though there aren’t many.  I love him.  You do things for love, crazy things.

I should talk to the Servitors about it.  Maybe they’d have ideas that I haven’t come up with yet...

[steelshatter]

Libram of Ages - Dec. 22

These past few days have been a whirlwind nightmare of absolutely horrible thoughts and feelings, and yet I’ve emerged intact, and I think better than I was before.  This time of year is always rough on me, what with my parents’ deaths at the hands of Trolls weighing on my mind.  Of course, Aren, my Gryphon, legacy of my father’s own mount, getting injured did not help things.  Damnable Forsaken... when this furlough is over, I fully intend on discussing their continued existence with the Commander.

On top of that, the letter I had received from Wyn was a bit more than I could handle.  I had truly hoped that there was still room in her heart for me, as she will always have a place in mine.  It seems, however, that while she does still have a whit of care about me, her heart belongs to another.  I cannot fault her for this, as it’s been years since we’d seen each other before our surprising rendezvous in Icecrown.  While I do wish her well, and will surely need to send her a reply, it could not have come at a worse moment.  

On top of that, the knowledge that Jude readily employs spies throughout Azeroth was more than a tad disconcerting.  I understand that it comes with the territory of her position, but I’ve never been one for that style of subterfuge.  If you’re going to stab someone in the back, it’s easier to do it under the cover of dark, rather than prolonging it.

What was worse was when I removed my shirt while exiting the forge.  My scars were fully visible, which set Jude into a slight... panic.  I assured her that I had no intention of committing the same mistake.  A lie, but a kind lie, the sweetest reassurance that everything was okay.

However, the mistake I made was speaking with Lucy about the same, I had thought in private, while readily admitting that it was is something I still struggle with.  Apparently, M had been privy to the conversation, and called me out for my lie.  Amidst my panic, I ran from both M and Jude, running to Northrend as fast as my Hearthstone and legs would carry me.  I had hopped the first gryphon out of Dalaran, but...

Unfortunately, it put me right in Valiance Harbor.  Which is the home of Quin.  Not wanting to deal with that, I got a second gryphon to the Argent Tournament.  Climbing the tower near the main command tent of the Crusade, I stood at the edge for a long moment...

I sincerely considered jumping off, I readily admit that.  It would have been so easy to just throw myself off the tower, and no longer deal with anything.  I chose instead to turn and walk away... and that would be when Icecrown truly earned its name with me.  I slipped on ice, and smacked my crown on the edge of the platform as I tumbled off the tower.

I awoke to Quin healing me as best she could.  Jude sent her to check up on me. (Note to self, send both flowers.)  After a long... depressing conversation, Quin said something that broke me down, and left me hurt.  Another long conversation later, and I finally slept.

The following day was the Party for the Servitors, and I was still unsure of what I was going to do.  I sat on the roof of Misty Pine and played my lute for a while, to entertain the guests below.  I’m going to bulletpoint the following events.

- Got the look of disdain from M.

- Had a brief conversation with Roiya.

- Had a long conversation with the Commander, regarding my use of Hand of Sacrifice.

- Had a longer conversation with the Commander, giving him a full report of my activities over the past week.

- Was assured that I would not be punished for my actions.

- Finally went to the party.

- Received Automated Pitch Pipe from M. (Note to self, don’t forget to sharpen sword and dagger for practice with her.)

- Got permission from both M and Roiya to use their sigils for something important.

- Got permission from both Jude and Quin for the same.

It is well past time to let go of the sins of the past.  I met with Marlowe, a wondrous tattoo artist.  Roiya, Quin, Jude, and M’s sigils now cover the scars of my right arm, as a reminder to keep strong, to not forget that there are people who expect the best out of me.  I fully intend to do so.

[lordaeronslost]

Quin's notebook

Stormwind again. Still strange, though it's starting to feel like a normal kind of strange.

Druids hassling dwarves. Death knight marrying a draenei priestess, gnome doing the ceremony.

No murders yet, but the evening is young, of course.  Plenty of time for blood to splash down onto the stones.

Guards trying to arrest folk, folk resisting.  Business as usual.

My, my, that druid's angry at the gnome I met the other night.  What was her name?  She seemed all right as gnomes go.

This could be an interesting evening after all...

[lordaeronslost]

Lordaeron's Lost - Roads to Normal

Author's note: “Roads to Normal” is the sequel to Lordaeron’s Lost and largely picks up Quin’lisse Adama’s history from that point onward, which flashes forward in time here and there to various points in time in the first twelve months after ships began sailing from Stormwind to Northrend.

 Roads to Normal

 Six months after ships began sailing to Northrend from Stormwind

 She held the letter in a trembling hand, tears welling in blind eyes.  She was careful not to let them fall on the parchment, even though she couldn’t read the words herself.  These pages were the last she’d ever hear from him, and though the feeling of inevitability made the loss easier to bear, it wasn’t that much easier, in the end.

When you went north without me, without the Retribution, I knew that last good-bye was probably forever. Quin swallowed hard, wiping at her tears with the heel of her hand.  The bracelet he’d given her, the enchanted one, shifted against her skin.  The catch was loose—the catch had been loose for weeks, and she’d been intending to have it fixed, but she hadn’t yet.

She set down the letter slowly, then reached for the bracelet, fingers trembling.  The catch came free easily and not for once she thanked the goddess and the Light that she hadn’t lost it somewhere in the Plaguelands, in the midst of having her revenge, meting out some small measure of justice of her own against the Scourge.

She closed her eyes and brought the bracelet to her lips, cradling it in her palm.  “I have loved you, Pysan,” she murmured softly, kissing it gently.  “Remember me fondly.”

Quinlis Adama carefully folded her lover’s last letter back up again, thumb brushing lightly against the wax of the seal, then slid it into the lacquered box that had been a birthday gift so long ago.  She laid the bracelet on top of it and closed the box slowly.

Then she turned and walked out the door.

  Four months before ships began sailing to Northrend from Stormwind

 Sam Auroran held her until her tears dried up, comforting her as if she was still the child she had been, the girl that had left Lordaeron for Northrend nearly six years before.  She struggled to breathe, taking slow, deep breaths as she tried to calm herself.

He finally let go, held her at arms’ length.  She bowed her head, rocking back against her heel, toward where she thought Xaq should have been.  His fingers wrapped around her forearm and she relaxed a hair more, taking one more deep, slow breath.  Quin tilted her head slightly toward Xaq.  “We should go see Mariaeh.”

“Quin,” Sam’s voice trailed slowly away as Quin took another step back, letting the old soldier’s fingers fall from her shoulders.  She shook her head slowly at him, not daring to lift her face again.

“I’m not the little girl you knew, Sam.”

He shook his head slowly and put his arm around her shoulders even as Xaq took her hand.  “That doesn’t matter, girl.  You’re home, now, and safe.  You’ve come back to us.”

The girl I was died in Northrend, Sam.  The Quinlis Adama you knew is gone.  The last part of her died with Andry on the zeppelin coming here. She licked her chapped lips but said nothing, not right away.  Xaq squeezed her hand.  She could almost imagine his brave smile.

She closed her eyes.  I don’t have anything left anymore.  Nothing more to give.

Sam kissed her on the top of her head, like he had when she was a girl.  She almost broke down again, even though she had no tears left.  She shook her head again.  “Sam, please…”

“We’ve…we’ve been through a lot, Lord Auroran.  Can…can we have a little time to adjust?”

The old soldier paused, then nodded slowly.  “All right.  Come on, let’s go inside.  It looks like rain.”  His arm stayed locked around Quin’s shoulders.  She gave in, gave up, leaning into her second father’s protective embrace as he led them inside, upstairs.  He kept his arm locked around her shoulders as the refugees were guided into the empty wing of the barracks there in Theramore, though he didn’t say much—and she wasn’t trying to figure out if he kept stealing glances at her or not.  She was silently grateful that he didn’t ask her what had happened, or how they’d come back.  The questions would come later, she was almost certain of it, but for the moment, there was only quiet, except for when Sam would let go for a few moments, stop to help one of the other refugees, to give orders to a soldier there to help, or something along those lines.  Xaq stayed within arm’s reach, his presence reassuring her.

Stayed within arm’s reach, at least, until Sam cleared his throat quietly as the refugees were getting settled.

“Someone needs to have a look at you, Xaqriel.  You look like hell.”

Quin winced a little, chin dropping to her chest.  Don’t want Xaq too far… “I’ll come with you, Xaq.”

Sam showed no sign of letting go, not this time.  “It won’t take long.”

Ungh.  He wants to talk.  I don’t want to…

Xaq squeezed her arm gently.  “Can you promise me it won’t, sir?”

Sam shrugged.  “Isn’t for me to say.  Depends on what our medics see when they look you over.  Go on, get checked out.  We won’t be hard to find.”

Quin turned toward Xaq, biting down on her lip hard.  He squeezed her arm again.  “I won’t let them keep me long, Quin.  Save some spiced wine for me.”

Spiced wine.  As if that’ll make this easier. She exhaled slowly, nodding a little.  “Promise, Xaq?”

He nodded slightly.  “Promise.”  He hugged her briefly and a nearby soldier led him away, leaving her alone with Sam.  The old soldier gave her shoulders a squeeze.

“What are you so afraid of, Quin?”

“Everything,” she whispered, closing her eyes.  “Everything.”

 The room was small, adjoining to the barrack where the other refugees were.  She could only assume that it had been meant as the sleeping quarters for the officer in charge of whatever unit should have been housed in the barrack.  I’m not sure why I rate this much privacy.  I’m just like the rest of them.

Quin perched precariously on the edge of the wood-framed bed, hands curled into fists on her knees, curled so tight that she prayed that Sam wouldn’t see the tremors, wouldn’t see them and ask too many questions she didn’t want to answer.  Sam settled a chair from the desk in front of her, keeping his back to the door, though someone could have slipped inside if they wanted to, as long as they weren’t very bulky—any one of her fellow refugees could have come and gone as they pleased.

Sam touched her knuckles gently.  She bit her lip.

“What’s wrong, Quin?  You tried to hide.  Why didn’t you want me to see you?”

Not exactly the question I expected. She bowed her head, chin almost touching her breastbone.  “I’m not the person I was when I left, Sam.”

“You’ve said that before.”

She shook her head slowly.  “And it’s the truth.”  She chewed her lip, tasting blood as they cracked.  She sighed, pressing the knuckle of her index finger against the crack.  “You can’t tell Mina, Sam, or any of them.  I…I won’t put them through losing me a second time.”

He shifted the chair nearer and ripped a piece of cloth from somewhere, gently taking her wrist and pulling her hand away from her face.  “Quin.”  His voice was quiet as he gently pressed the scrap of linen against her bleeding lip.  “If that’s what you want, I won’t say a word.  But I can’t understand why you’d want it that way.”

She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that suddenly threatened, touching the old soldier’s wrist gently, fingers trembling.  “The Scourge took everything save my life, Sam.  Everything that I ever was, every dream I ever had.  My hands…will never stop shaking.  I can never trust them the way I would need to, for…” her voice faltered.  “For spellcasting.  I can’t trust them to go through the motions.”  She pushed his hand away from her mouth gently, licking her lips, tasting the drying blood.  It was a sadly familiar taste.  “And I can’t see, so it’d be hard to learn another way to cast spells without being able to read, or to watch, Sam.”

“Acch,” he cradled her cheek in his hand.  “We don’t care about any of that, girl.  We never did, never could.  You’re like a daughter.  We’ll take care of you.”

No.  I don’t want that.  I don’t want…I don’t want you to have to take care of me, Sam!  I can make it on my own.  I can do it.  I have to.  I won’t let you hurt more. “I can’t let you do that, Sam.  I can’t…I won’t be a burden on you.  I won’t.  I can’t.”  She wrapped her hands around his wrist, gently, holding on loosely.  “I hurt all of you so much when I made the choice to go.  I can’t imagine how much…how much my not being here, how much the not knowing hurt.  But I won’t make you hurt anymore.  I don’t want you to have to carry me.”  If I let you carry me…I’ll never be able to forgive myself.  I’m stronger than that. She swallowed hard, leaning into the hand that still cradled her cheek.  The little girl you watched grow up as part of your household is gone, Sam.  I wish she was still here.

His thumb wiped away the tears that had begun to trickle down her cheeks.  “You were never a burden, Quin’lisse.  You never could be.”  She could sense the weak smile in his voice, and it made her ache more.  “And you won’t be.”  He leaned in and kissed her forehead gently.

For the second time in as many hours, she pressed her face into his shoulder and cried.

 “Quin?”

She startled awake, almost coming fully out of bed before it registered that it was Xaq’s voice, and Xaq’s hand on her shoulder.  She exhaled and fell back against the mattress, groaning.  “What’s wrong, Xaq?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”  He sank down on the edge of the bed next to her.  “Still really strange.  Realizing we’ve finally made it back.”

She reached up and rubbed his spine gently.  He flinched a little, as if the touch was unexpected, then sagged backwards, almost laying across her midsection.  “Are you nervous?”

He laughed a little.  “Nervous?  About what?”

“Seeing Mal again.”  Quin threw her arm across her eyes, sagging against the soft mattress.  I never want to get up again. “Did Sam’s medics make you look pretty for her?”

Now he did lean back, stretched out across her belly like they used to lay when they were teenagers on the shores of Lordamere, with Mallory and Joshua and Tanith.  “Who knows how long it’s going to take to find her.”

“Did Sam say anything?”

He shook his head.  “Not after you fell asleep.  He realized he was late to some sort of family…thing…he didn’t say what.”

Quin shook her head slightly.  That was Sam all over.  One thing before another. She closed her eyes and stretched, feeling, almost hearing, joints pop, resettle.  “I hope he doesn’t slip.”

Xaq shook his head again.  “He only slips on purpose.  He gave you his word, didn’t he?  That he wouldn’t say anything?”

“I didn’t ask for it,” she murmured, then sighed.  I should have.  But then he’d break his word.  I can’t expect him to carry the secret forever.  I know he won’t.  Xaq’s right.  Sam only slips on purpose, and I know that, and Sam knows I know that. She ruffled Xaq’s hair.  “So are you nervous?”

He shook his head slightly after a brief hesitation.  “No.  If you’re right, then she’s waited for me, then I don’t have anything to worry about.  She loved me then and I still love her now.  It’ll work out.”

Quin nodded slightly, closing her eyes.  “I’ll be glad for you both when it does.  I hope you’ll understand if I don’t make the wedding.”

“Even if he’s not going to be there?”

She exhaled, forcing herself to relax.  “I can’t, Xaq.  There’d be too many…even if he’s not there, Mina would be.  Or Jude.  Or Lyyn.  Someone.  Someone would be there, and recognize me, and I can’t…”  She sighed.  “I can’t take the risk, Xaq.  Not if I’m going to stay hidden.”  At least until I figure something else out. She blew out a breath slowly.  “You understand, don’t you?”“I understand.”  His tone was unhappy.  She sighed again.

“Xaq…”

He shook his head a little.  “It’s okay, Quin.  I understand, and I’ll…abide by your wishes.  Not like there’s much else I can do, right?”  He reached up and ruffled her hair.  “I should let you sleep.”  He started to sit up slowly, hissing softly in discomfort as he did.

She tugged his sleeve gently.  “You can stay, Xaq.  It’s all right.”  She smiled a little as he started to lay back down.  “Been so long since any of us slept outside of arms’ reach of the others.  Can’t blame you for not being able to sleep.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, settling in.  He squeezed her hand.  “G’night, Quin.”

She ruffled his hair gently.  “Sweet dreams, Xaq.  G’night.”  She exhaled slowly, trying to relax.  Tomorrow was another day, full of terrifying possibilities.  She was almost afraid to think of what the morning would bring. So she didn’t.  She closed her eyes and listened to her friend’s breathing as he slowly drifted off to sleep.  She joined him soon after, struggling against the nightmares she feared would come to haunt her sleep once more.

 Six and a half months after ships began sailing to Northrend from Stormwind

 “Miss Quin?”

She woke slowly in her chair near the dying fire, blanket-wrapped, and cursed herself silently.  She was slipping since coming home.  If the orphan had been an assassin—or Scourge—she would have been done for before she could grasp the blade hanging from the arm of her chair.  “Umph.  Good morning, Julian.”  She paused.  “It is still morning, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Miss Quin.”  The boy closed the door behind him, setting the latch carefully, as he always did.  “I picked up your correspondences, and the parchment and herbs you asked for.”

“Thank you.”  She rubbed at her blind eyes, slowly standing and throwing the blanket across the back of her chair.  “Have you had breakfast yet, Julian?”

“Yes’m,” he answered, sitting down in the smaller of the two chairs she kept near her desk.  “It’s past the second Cathedral bell.”

She grunted, putting a kettle of water over the fire.  I overslept.  I was supposed to meet…

“There’s a response to the letter you sent Lady Castelon, Miss Quin.  Do you want me to read it?”

Quin shook her head.  “Not right now.”  She took down two mugs from the shelf near the hearth, for the tea.  “Did you get the mint leaf?  The spices?”

“Master Pestle said that he didn’t have all that you wanted, but he sent some of his special blend as apology.”

She nodded.  “Let’s have some of that, then.  What else, beyond Lady Castelon’s letter?”

There was an audible clink of coins against each other as Julian sifted through the rest of her correspondences.  “Payment for services rendered.  Lady Jude writes to thank you for the glyph you created for her.  She says once she can figure out how to make them stay penguins, she’ll send one to you.”  The boy looked up at her.  “Is she joking?”

Quin laughed weakly.  “Knowing her?  Likely not.”  She reached down and tousled his hair.  She’d never asked him what color it is.  Perhaps she’d ask the orphan matron instead.  “Anything else?”

“There’s something else here with the House Auroran seal.”

She nodded slightly.  “Open it.  It’s probably from Sam.”

Parchment rustled against itself.  There was a pause as Julian read the letter.  “It’s not from Lord Auroran,” Julian said, a hint of confusion in his voice.  “It’s from someone called Tanitharil.  Who’s that, Miss Quin?”

Quin closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, feeling her stomach turn over.  “Never mind, Julian.  Let’s have that letter from Lady Castelon, shall we?”

“Of course.”  He sifted through the letters and found the right one, then read aloud to her, “ ‘Miss Adama, I’d be pleased to meet with you, soon. Perhaps within the next few days. I fear currently I have my hands a bit full. The Veil may be, just what you are looking for.’ ”  He set down the letter, peering up toward her.  “Why would you go to them, Miss Quin?   Wouldn’t you be happier elsewhere?”

Quin turned away as the kettle began to scream, shaking her head slowly.  “My world is a very lonely one, Julian, by my own design.  And I’m sick of it.”  She swung the kettle off the fire.  “Get those mugs ready for the tea, and then take a letter.”

“Yes’m,” he murmured.  “To whom?”

“To Priest-Confessor Xaquriel McCullouch.  Apologies for the missive coming so close to his nuptials, but I need to see him.”

“Yes’m,” Julian murmured again.  He began to mix the tea.  Quin paced to the window, pressed her forehead against the cool glass.  The sun was warm on her face.

Forgive me, Xaq, for not listening to you in the first place.

 Four months before ships started sailing to Northrend from Stormwind

 Someone—no, several someones—were singing a bawdy tune in the other room.  Quin rolled onto her belly, mumbling to herself and wondering half-asleep what time it was.  As the song ended in laughter, she concluded that she wasn’t going to be able to get back to sleep, so it really didn’t matter what time it was.  She stumbled up from the bunk—Xaq was absent, which emant it was more than past a decent hour to be getting out of bed—and made her way to the door, rubbing at her eyes as she pulled it open.

“Quin!”  It was Tyrin’s voice that rang out over the laughter.  “My squad!  They’re here.  They’re not dead!” The laughter tapered off abruptly, a hard stop coming within seconds.  She felt sick.  His squad… She managed to smile.

“That’s great.”

“By the Light,” uttered a quiet, almost reverent voice.  “Quinlis Adama!  Sir Tanith’s going to shit something when he sees you.”

Sir Tanith.  Not “Lord Tanith.” It had always been Lord Tanith before, before she left.  “That’s exactly why he can’t know, Petyr.”  She felt a hint of relief within the haze of dread.  At least he wasn’t in the room.  “I’m not going to disrupt whatever he’s built without me.  As far as Lord Tanitharil is concerned…I’m still dead.”  She smelled coffee.  Someone filled her hands with a mug of it as she sat down on the edge of an unoccupied bunk.  Silence dragged for a few moments before one of the members of Tyrin’s former unit, from before Lordaeron fell, before he volunteered for Lord Ardente’s mission, found his voice.

“It’s just ‘Sir Tanith’ now, Quin,” one of them said softly.  Was that Benj?  She couldn’t tell, and she didn’t dare tap any of the eddies and currents of magic she could sense to get a better idea.  It didn’t matter anyway.  Her concentration shattered with the words that followed.  “Lord Auroran named the Rose as heir apparent almost three years ago.”

Why would he name Jude as heir to the House?  She belongs to Dalaran and the Kirin-Tor. Her brow furrowed.  A tremor sent hot coffee splashing across her hand and thigh.  She uttered a curse and shook her head.  “I don’t understand.”

Silence stretched for another few long moments and she imagined that the members of the squad were exchanging

glances.  Her frown deepened.

“You…you may not want to understand, Quin,” Tyrin said gently.  “From what they told me while you were sleeping, it’s kind of messy.”

She felt even sicker.  “Tell me.”  Goddess, is he all right?  He must be!  Sam would have…would have said something if he wasn’t…

There was another pause, then Benj began talking.  “It was after your expedition left.  There was a battle at a place called Mount Hyjal.  Sir Tanith…left us and volunteered to travel to northern Kalimdor.  To help.”

Another silence came, this one seeming to take forever.  Quin nearly threw her mug on the floor in frustration.  “Damn you, Benj!  Just tell me.”  She hated the note of desperation in her voice, hated herself even more for the feelings stirring inside.  “Please…”

“He was hurt,” Benj said.  “Badly.  Took yars for him to recover.”  He paused, then continued.  “ ‘bout halfway through, rumor has it he told Lord Auroran he didn’t want the House.  I’m not sure it’s a true rumor, but that’s what I heard.”

“He’s got House Merovingiae to worry about now, anyhow,” Petyr muttered.

Why would he have to worry about House Merovingiae? “Shouldn’t that be Joshua’s concern?”

Sickening silence dragged again.  Her mouth dried out as she came to the realization of what that silence meant.  “What happened to Joshua?”

“He’s dead, Quin,” Benj said quietly.  “Died near Nethergarde.  Lady Judeann herself penned the letter to tell us, and to tell Lady Xaral.”

Oh Jude.  I’m so sorry. Quin licked her lips and pressed them together in a tight line.  “When?”

“A few years ago, now.  She’s…recovered from the loss.”  Benj seemed like he was choosing his words carefully, seeming hesitant.  “She married last year.  A northman.”

Tyrin sounded curious.  “That the scary red-haired man I saw on the wall yesterday?”

“If he was wearing a burgundy tabard with a blade on it, yes, that’d be him.”

Quin found herself momentarily lost, mind reeling.  If Joshua’s dead and Jude married some stranger…then why is House Merovingiae Tanith’s problem?  Unless… Her stomach turned.  “Tanith married Xaral?”

Benj must have nodded hesitantly.  “Y-yes, Quin.  Last year.  They…they have a son.”

They have a son. Something died inside of her.  Her hands trembled and she set aside the mug, standing slowly.  She hadn’t thought it would hurt so much, knowing that he’d moved on, knowing that he’d found love and happiness with someone else.  They have a son.  This couldn’t have been politics, not with the city gone, not with her brother dead.  No.  No, he chose her.  Good.  I’m glad.  I’m glad he’s happy.  I’m glad he’s happy!  He deserves to be happy.

“Quin?”  Tyrin touched her shoulder and she leaned into the touch, squeezing her eyes shut and sighing.  “You all right?”

“Yes,” she managed to say in a bare whisper.  “Yes, I’m fine.  I’m fine.”  I am fine.  I will be fine.  I will.  I’m glad he’s happy.  I’m glad he’s alive.  Goddess, a son!  I wonder what he looks like… She felt a sudden pang at the realization that she’d never know what the boy looked like, not really.  Of all the things the Scourge took from me, of all the things they could have taken…they took my sight.  Goddess, they took my sight.  Why? Her lips parted to ask the question and she pulled away from Tyrin, moving back toward her small room.  She closed the door tight behind her.

His voice followed her, even as she thumped the door shut.  “Quin?”

“Just let me sleep, Tyrin.  I’m all right.”

He hesitated, then finally called quietly, “Tell me if you need something.”

She nodded, even though he couldn’t see it.  “I will, Tyrin.  Thank you.”  She sank down on the edge of the bed, squeezing her eyes shut.  Thank you.

 Quin nursed a mug of tea, alone in the barrack, for once.  If she held the mug just so, her hands didn’t shake, her fingers didn’t twitch.  So nice to be finally warm again. She closed her eyes, letting the steam from her mug wreath her face. He has a son, she thought again, and managed to smile.  The gnawing ache of knowing she’d never see the child’s face abated a little as she imagined what he must look like, with his father’s hair and Xaral’s big blue eyes.  Maybe there would be hints of Joshua in him, too.  Poor Joshua.  Poor Jude…

So much had gone so terribly, terribly awry.

There were footsteps, voices in the hall.  She didn’t care.  She took a long, slow swallow of tea, letting the heat trickle down her throat, soothing old aches from screams now only a memory.  Never want to go back there.  Never want to go back.  Never will.

“If we’re going to house troops and supplies here while we’re preparing to ship to Northrend, I need to know the full layout, Lieutenant.”

“It’s just like the other side where I showed you, ma’am.  Storage layout’s only slightly different, and this area hasn’t seen use since it was built.”

“It’s certainly clean.”

“Well, yes, ma’am.  Cleaning details have to clean here, too, just the same.  His lordship wouldn’t stand for just doing half the job, you know?”

“Mmm.”

The footsteps were growing closer, but the voices were unfamiliar.  More refugees from Lordaeron who’d found a new life here in Theramore?  Probably.  Her fingers tightened around the mug as a tremor ran through her left hand.  Mounting a new expedition to Northrend?  Goddess safekeep them.  I hope they realize the hell they’ll be facing there.

“There’s a lamp lit in one of those rooms.  I thought you said it was empty up here.”

“Except for that room, ma’am.  Off-limits to unauthorized personnel, by order of Lord Samuel Auroran.”

“I’m on the Council, Lieutenant.  I think I’m authorized personnel.”

Quin took another sip of tea, lifting her face as the door opened.

The first voice, a woman’s, swore in elven.

“Ma’am?”

“You get Lord Samuel up here now, Lieutenant,” the woman spat.  “He has a lot of explaining to do.”

Quin could feel the magic in the room stirring, swirling around the woman.  Her stomach turned over.  She set down her mug, mind reeling.  Oh no. Her voice came out small, frightened.  “Mina?”  No, no, I didn’t want you to know, I didn’t want you to know!

Footsteps crossed the floor—heavier than Mina’s tread, even the boots sounded heavier.  Hands took hers and squeezed. Not Mina, Quin realized, squeezing her eyes shut against sudden tears.  Not Mina. She hugged the other woman, tightly.

“We thought you were dead,” the other woman breathed.  “They told us that you all must be dead.”

“Only mostly dead,” Quin whispered, clinging to the woman who had been like a sister to her.  “Now we’re here and having to learn how to live again.”

The other woman laughed, joy and pain mixed in the sound.  Quin’s shoulders shook in a mixture of laughter and tears.

Home.  I’m home.

 “How long have you been here?”

Quin shook her head a little, picking her mug up again, cradling it in both hands.  “A week, maybe two? I lost track.  Have you seen Xaq?”

Jude Auroran, the girl who had been the sister she’d never had, shook her head slightly.  “I thought I had, but then I thought to myself ‘that’s impossible, they’re all dead in Northrend.’  How did you get back here?”

“The zepplins your father keeps sending north.  I’m guessing that Faren and Triv have already left again?” Jude hesitated.  “…I didn’t think to ask why, but yes.  Usually they stay a week or two before they go back north, to scout…where were you all this time?”

Quin squeezed her eyes shut, taking a long, slow, deep breath.  “Rather not talk about it.”

“But Quin, I—”  Jude stopped herself, going quiet.  “Never mind.  I understand.  Some of our people have had…well.  Piss-poor experiences in the north, too.”

There was something in the way she said ‘our people’ that rang strangely in Quin’s ears.  She’s not talking about survivors from Lordaeron, or from Dalaran.  There’s something different there.  What could she be talking about? “You were talking to someone about using this as a staging point.  Staging point for what?  For who?”

“You heard that?”  Jude sighed, sitting down on the floor and resting her temple against her old friend’s knee.  “I got recruited about eight months ago into an organization that’s making the Scourge—and the Forsaken—pay for what they’ve done to the world.  We’ve been throwing ourselves against the Burning Legion lately—kind of shutting the barn door after the horses have run away—but we’re gearing up to head north.  Something’s stirring and we can all feel it.  Intelligence says the Scourge are massing…”

Quin shuddered, hands tightening on her mug.  Her friend fell quiet.

“I’m sorry,” Jude murmured. “Are you all right?”

“I’ll be fine,” Quin murmured, then laughed.  “For some reason, I thought I’d come back south and be safe again.  Stupid, huh?”

Jude turned squeezing one of her hands.  “I don’t think it’s stupid, Quin.  Everyone’s got a right to dream.”  She smiled wryly.  “Just that sometimes we have to fight to make dreams come true.”

Quin laughed bitterly.  I’m not sure how much fight I have left in me, seler’ai.  Not that much at all, I’m afraid.

A tentative voice came from the doorway.  “Magister?  Lord Samuel is waiting for you downstairs.”

“Tell him I’ll be along in a moment.”  Jude turned back to Quin, squeezing her hand again.  “I’ll be back.”

Quin managed a smile.  “No rush.  You’ve got an entire life to worry about, not just me.  I’ll be here when you’re done taking care of business.”  I’ve got no business to worry about. She flexed one hand idly.  Not anymore.  I did what I set out to do—we made it back.  That’s all I wanted.

“I’ll be back,” Jude said again, more firmly, but with a smile in her voice.  She stood slowly and withdrew, shutting the door behind her.

Quin smiled down into her cup of tea, almost wistfully.  Don’t be too hard on him, Jude.  After all, he was only doing what I asked.  You’ll yell and rant and he’ll just listen and watch, and then he’ll tell you, and you’ll be all fire and ice at me for it.  It’ll be just like old times.  Except it’s not old times.  No turns in the salle.  No spellduels. She closed her eyes for a moment.  Everything’s different now.  Where do I go from here?  Where am I meant to go, meant to be? When am I going to figure out what my new path is?

 Twilight was gathering, and the coming night found Quin up on the roof of the barracks, leaning back into the rushes that were laid over a section of the rooftop that was under repair.  She closed her eyes, letting the chill salt wind off the harbor whisper across her face and body.  She sighed, trying to relax.

“Aren’t you cold?”

Quin winced at the voice.  Just when I thought she wouldn’t think to look up here for me…goddess, but I should’ve known. “I don’t think I’ll ever really be warm again, so I guess cold is immaterial.”  She was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Are you angry at me?”

There was a pause as the other woman settled down amongst the thatching with her.  “I don’t know.  I was, for a long time—angry at you for leaving.”  The corner of Jude’s mouth curled in a slight, wry smile.  “Of course, I was angry because I wouldn’t have been allowed to go with you if you’d told me you were leaving.”  She paused a beat, then asked softly, “Why didn’t you say goodbye?”

“You were already gone,” Quin murmured.  “You and your master were already bound for Nethergarde..  She closed her eyes and sighed.  “It was bad enough saying good-bye to Tanith, Jude.  He didn’t make me tell Lyyn.”

“Mina took it hard.  I took it hard.”  She hesitated again.  “If Tanith hadn’t…well.  It’s good that he slept as much as he did, after that.”

Quin’s stomach twisted.  “Is he well?  Now?  Benj told me…”

Jude’s laugh was bitter.  “Well enough to go for my husband’s throat the first time they met.  Maybe a little more bitter than he used to be.  Did Benj tell you about Xaral and the baby?”

Quin nodded.  Goddess, but I want to hold that baby.  I do.  But I don’t want Tanith to know… “He sort of slipped.  I…is he happy, Jude?”

The silence that followed was all the answer she needed.

 “Let me tell Mother you’re still alive, Quin’lisse, please?”

Quin blinked, brow furrowing.  They’d lapsed into silence, lying there on the thatched roof.  She licked her lips and shook her head.  “I didn’t even want you or Sam to know, Jude.  Why would I want your mother to know, too?”  That’s as good as Tanith finding out.  I won’t visit more hell upon him than what he’s already living with.  I won’t reopen that old wound, not for either of us.

“She blames herself, Quin,” Jude said after another long silence.  “She hasn’t taken another student since you left.  She won’t.  And she’s told the Kirin-Tor that she has no intention of taking on another apprentice ever again.”

You can’t be serious. Quin shook her head slowly, not bothering to sit up.  “It’s not about me, Jude.  There’s got to be another reason for it.”

“If there’s another reason for it, Quin, then I honestly don’t know what it is.  I wish I did.”  The younger woman sighed, rolling over onto her belly.  “She needs to know she didn’t fail you.”

Quin’s fingers twitched and she winced a little.  It’s not fair. “The only person who failed me is me, Jude.  It has nothing to do with what she taught me, or failed to teach me.”  She held up her hands to catch the moonlight peeking through the clouds.  “We fought like hell and ran like hell to not get captured.  Then Xaq fell, broke his leg.  We weren’t going to abandon him, Jude, not Tyrin and I, and the others weren’t going to leave us.  We were completely overrun.  They broke my hands and Tyrin’s fingers when they took us, so I couldn’t cast and he couldn’t draw a bow even if he got his hands on one.”  She closed her eyes and shook her head slightly.  “Nothing Mina taught me—nothing any mage could have taught me—could have helped us, save patience and sheer strength of will.”

“Mm.”  Jude’s hands closed around Quin’s fingers, the younger woman pressing them between her palms.  Quin exhaled, squeezing her eyes shut as warmth washed into her chilled appendages.  “What’re the rest of them supposed to say to her?”

Quin frowned, blind eyes coming open.  “What do you mean?”

“When my mother asks Tyrin or Xaq what’s become of you.  How you died.  What are they supposed to tell her?” Quin felt all the blood drain from her face.  Oh goddess.  Of course she’d ask.  Tyrin will make up some awful story about how I died, and Xaq will tell a completely different story about how I didn’t feel any pain when I did go. She exhaled a shaky breath, sitting up and shaking her head.  “You can’t let her ask them, Jude.”

“You’re the one that’s dead-set on keeping my mother in the dark about your survival, Quin.  I’m tired of watching her hurt because of a failure that wasn’t.”

“Jude!”

She shook her head.  “If you won’t let me tell her that you’re alive, then I’m just going to keep my mouth shut.  About all of it.  I won’t lie to her and tell her you’re dead.  There’s a lot of things I’d do for you, Quin’lisse, but that’s not one of them.”

Quin winced and turned away, hugging her knees against her chest.  “Sam promised he wouldn’t tell her.”

“My father never promised he would lie about it, either, Quin.”  Jude’s arms closed around her shoulders and Quin leaned back into her friend’s chest, squeezing her eyes shut.  “I’m sure she hasn’t seen Tyrin yet, but I don’t know about Xaq.  It wouldn’t surprise me if he’d been all over town by now.”  Jude swallowed.  “And Mallory will be here in two days.”

“Then she lived?”

“Oh yes,” Jude murmured.  “She lives in Stormwind, works for the Cathedral, teaching.”  She paused and shook her head slightly.  “She never stopped waiting for Xaq to come home to her.”

“Good.  I’m glad.”  She rested her temple against Jude’s cheek.  “I’d have hated to be wrong about that, you know?”

Jude laughed and gave her a squeeze before releasing her.  “Your intuition in that, at least, is as it always was.”  She started to crawl toward the edge of the roof.

Quin twisted, following the sound.  “Where are you going?”

“To bed,” Jude said simply.  “A gryphon just landed and I’m willing to lay odds it was carrying my husband.  I don’t see him nearly often enough to turn down an opportunity for it.”  She grinned.  “He’ll just be finishing kissing our daughter good-night by the time I get back.”

“Oh,” Quin licked her lips.  So she has a family now, too. “…will you let me hold her, someday?”

“Maybe when you decide to join the realm of the living again, Quin’lisse.”

Quin lay back down amongst the rushes after Jude had gone, taking a long, slow, deep breath of the salt air.  Rejoining the realm of the living, eh, seler’ai?  I wish it wasn’t easier said than done. She closed her eyes, rolling onto her side.  I’ll go back inside in a few minutes.  So cold up here.  Though it’s nothing compared to…

Sleep claimed her before she finished the thought.

 Her teeth were chattering and her hair was wet, her shoulder throbbing with a bone-deep pain that pulsed out of rhythm with her heartbeat.  She groaned weakly and then coughed, shivering as someone bound blankets tighter around her. “W-what?”  She mumbled through chattering teeth, though it came out more slurred and less clear than she’d intended.

“Shh.”  It was Jude’s voice.  “You fell off the bloody roof.  You’re lucky you didn’t land on your head!”

“C-cold.”

“And wet.  Only you and my brother could ever fall asleep on an unfinished roof and get caught in the mother of all storms.  Now lay here a few minutes while I see if the tub’s ready for you.”

She exhaled, burrowing deeper underneath the pile of quilts that shrouded her.  It felt safe and warm—she felt safe and warm, and it was a feeling that she was coming to enjoy again after so long going without it.  And then the thought of hot water…

“Quin?  Can you stand?”

She nodded a little and started to slowly work her way free of the blankets.  Jude reached down to help untangle her and helped her up.  Quin shivered, suddenly chilled again, feeling the draft from a window that was somewhere beyond her ability to sense.  Jude shook her head, muttering something under her breath as they passed from one room into another, this one warmer, more snug.

“What?”

“Nothing, Quin.  Just marveling at how alike you two can be, that’s all.”  Jude sighed, leading her friend over to the rim of a long stone tub.  “Think you can manage not to drown?”

Quin laughed weakly.  “I think so.  Is there soap?”

“To the left. I’ll be back.”

She listened to the mage’s receding footsteps before easing into the tub, sinking into the hot water with a sigh.  Aching muscles loosened, though her shoulder only ached deeper as she relaxed into the hot, lightly scented water.

Roses.  Where did they get roses in a swamp? She pushed the thought aside, sinking to her chin in the water, letting it force the numbness from her fingers and toes, sending an almost delightful tingle through her skin.

Slumped in the tub, luxuriating in the warmth, she forgot all about the soap and drifted off again.

The door creaked open, waking her.  Drowsily, she mumbled something unpleasant under her breath about falling asleep in a self-heating tub—one of those small luxuries that she’d miss when she left a household where two of the women were mages, she was certain.  “How long were you gone, Jude?”

Something metal clattered to the floor and Quin startled slightly, grasping the sides of the tub and pushing herself partway up and out of the still-hot water, brow furrowed deeply.  “Who’s there?”

Silence hung heavy before a man’s whisper answered her.  “…but you’re dead.”

She splashed back into the tub, suddenly cold and blushing all at once.  Tanith… All she wanted was to sink under the water and never come back up again.  She slipped underwater to just below her nostrils.  If you’re going to get back, Jude, now would be the time for it.

Footsteps crossed the floor and a quiet clank heralded the paladin going to his knees.  “Quin.”

She actually winced at the pain in his voice.  Oh, Tanith…I’m…I’m so… Quin squeezed her eyes shut.  Her stomach twisted in on itself.  …so hopeless.

“Quin,” he repeated, voice pained, urgent, hopeful all at once.  Chilled hands cupped her face.  He drew her lips toward his.

Somewhere between the touch and her lips meeting his, she stopped resisting, stopped thinking.  All of her thoughts swirled away, scattered like ashes in the wind.  He even smelled the same.  The hands were maybe a touch rougher, but that didn’t matter.  What mattered was the sound of his voice whispering her name and the taste of their tears as the mixed on faces, on lips.

She struggled to breathe as his arms crushed her against his breastplate and the rim of the tub. Her arms went around his neck and she clung there, fingers lacing through hair like spun silvered steel. He breathed her name again against her mouth, eyes squeezed shut. After an eternity, Tanitharil reared back, gasping for air and holding her face in both of his hands. His voice shook.

“Tell me this isn’t a dream.”

Quin trembled, her fingers slowly untangling from his hair, closing her eyes against her own tears. She shook her head slowly, whispering, “No. No, it’s real.”

“They told me you were dead.”

She swallowed hard. “We might as well have been, for all the hope we had of escaping.” Her fingertips dug into the side of his face, feeling new scars there, fading now with time and exposure. “I’m sorry.”

He pressed his forehead against hers, exhaling a pained sigh, shaking his head slowly. “Oh, Quin. Don’t be sorry. Please.”

He kissed her again, then, lacing his fingers in her short hair.

She whimpered, resisting for a moment, then her fingers found the catches on his armor and the old motions came back, the old habits. Shaking hands and trembling fingers fumbled with the straps and fasteners, freeing him clumsily at first, then with more speed as she remembered the motions. His armor, at least, hadn’t changed much. He came up for air long enough to let his breastplate clatter to the floor and then he hoisted her up and out of the tub, clinging to her tightly, fingers digging into the flesh of her lower back. Her hands went for his belt as she kissed him hungrily again.

“By the Light,” he managed to mumble against her lips. “By the Light, I missed you, Quin. I missed you…”

“I missed you, too.” Her voice was a bare whisper as she clung to him, hands falling away from his belt now that it was unfastened. Tanith held her up with one arm as he unstrapped the catches holding his leggings on in the back, then stepped clear of them. She wrapped one leg around his, burying her face in his neck so he wouldn’t watch her cry. There would be too many painful questions. They would still come, but later.

Much later.

 He ran his fingers gently through her hair in the early hours of the morning, tangled in blankets and each other, her head on his chest.  Her eyes were closed as she listened to his heartbeat, fingers splayed and hand pressed against his belly beneath the covers.  Comfortable as it was, familiar as it was, her heart was heavy.

This can never happen again. She sighed softly.

“What’s wrong?”

“This can’t ever happen again, Tanith.”

He tensed, fingers stilling against her scalp.  His voice came not quite hoarse as he asked, “Why not?”

“Why not?”  Quin pushed herself upright, raking hair back from her face as she shook her head.  “You’re married, that’s why not.”

There was a long silence and she shook her head again.

“That’s the way it is, Tanith.  I won’t be your mistress.”

“But I love you.”  He reached for her, fingers trailing down her arm as she started to get out of bed.  “Quin.”

She found a robe and pulled it on, belting it tightly at the waist.  “Tanith.  Listen to me.”

“No, Quin, you listen.”  The pain in his voice stilled her tongue.  He eased to the edge of the bed and perched there for a moment, then sighed.  “Someone had to take care of Xaral before she was irredeemable.  There wasn’t anyone else.  I don’t love her.  I don’t think I ever did.  But someone had to…to do something.  To take care of her.  If I had known you were still alive…”  His voice trailed away.  Quin turned her back, pressing her lips tightly together, determined not to let him see her cry again.

If he’d known I was still alive, he never would have married her.  He would have waited for me.  Maybe forever. She squeezed her eyes shut.  “I can’t be your mistress, Tanith.  I just…I can’t.”

His voice was small, almost like a child’s.  “But I love you.  And you love me.”

“I’m a different woman, Tanith.  I’m not the girl you fell in love with.  We’re both in love with memories that aren’t what exist now in reality.”  She heard herself saying the words, felt cold growing inside of her.  She took a deep breath.  What’s happening to me? “Please go.”

There was a hesitation, then she heard him get up and go to retrieve his armor.  She drifted toward the window, pulled tightly shut against the storm that howled outside.

The quiet clink of armor told her he’d returned.  He cleared his throat quietly.  “She doesn’t need to know.”

“No,” Quin agreed quietly.  “So long as it’s just this once…she never needs to know.  And I think if she ever learned, because it was just this once, the way it…it happened…she’d forgive you, and maybe me, too.  But not if it happened again, Tanith.  She’d make your life hell, and what sort of existence would that be for your son?”

“…I’d set her aside if I could.”

“Not for me, Tanith.  She’s lost enough.  I won’t take you away from her, too.  Please go.”

He lingered a moment, then moved toward the door, pausing before he opened it.  “I’ll always love you, Quin.”  Then he opened the door and was gone.

Quin leaned against the casement, the glass cool against her face, even as hot tears began to flow down her cheeks.  She leaned there, in the window, until her tears were spent and the first few rays of dawn touched the walls at Theramore.

 “Sam, I can’t stay.”

She was standing near the window, feeling the warmth of the sun against her face, though it didn’t warm the ice coiling in her guts, in her heart.  Her hands were curled into tight fists, nails digging into the fleshy part of her palms.  At least they weren’t shaking.  Not yet, anyway.

Samuel Auroran was pouring tea at the table nearby, though he paused, tilting his head to watch her for a moment.  He set the kettle down, bringing one of the heavy ceramic mugs to her, setting it carefully down on the windowsill before speaking.  “Why not, Quin’lisse?  You’re safe here.”

She thought of the pain in Tanith’s voice and swallowed against the lump that rose in her throat.  Quin shook her head slowly.  “No, Sam.  I’m not.”  Her hand wrapped around the mug and she took a long swallow of the tea, letting it warm her, if only slightly.  “I need to go away.  Far away.”

“He knows, doesn’t he?”

She flinched.  “How did you know?”

Sam rested a hand on her shoulder.  “He took an early breakfast in the kitchens and then asked to be sent on a scouting circle.  He won’t be back for a week, and he’ll leave with Faren and Triv almost as soon as he comes back from that.  It doesn’t take a genius to figure him out sometimes, Quin’lisse.  What happened?”

“I’d rather not talk about it, Sam.”  She took another swallow of tea.  The old soldier squeezed her shoulder.

“Are you leaving for him, or for yourself?”

She hesitated only for a moment.  “A little of both, Sam.  I can’t…I’m not the same person I was.  And I can’t be what he wants me to be, and he can’t change what’s already done.  So…”  She let her voice trail away.  Sam’s arms slid around her slowly, comfortingly.

“So you’ll leave so he can mourn you anew?”

She winced.  “That’s not what I want, Sam.  But I can’t be his mistress, and he can’t abandon Xaral, or his son.”

“I know,” he said softly, then kissed her forehead, brushed hair back out of her face.  “But that doesn’t change what will happen.  Are you sure you want to leave?”

Quin nodded, biting her lip.  “I’m sure, Sam.  I don’t want to be cloistered away here for the rest of my life anyway.  There has to be a reason I’m still alive.  I need to figure out what it is.”

The old soldier nodded slowly, then smiled, kissing her forehead again.  “Eat your breakfast.  Meet me in the salle in an hour.”

The salle?  For what? Quin blinked a little, brow furrowing.  “What for?”

“You’ll see, Quin’lisse,” Sam smiled.  “Might want to wear something you can move in.  Like pants.”  He gave her a last squeeze and left, abandoning his mug of tea untouched on the sideboard.

She turned her face back toward the window, brow furrowed as she took another long swallow of tea.  What sort of game is he playing at?  The salle?  In an hour? She sighed softly.  Breakfast first.  I’ll know what game he’s playing at in an hour.

 It was three hours past dawn when Quin came down to the salle, the open practice area along the wall that bounded the land held by Samuel Auroran and his family.  It had taken a little work finding it, given the unfamiliar surroundings, but she found it in roughly the same place it had been in House Auroran’s old holdings, in Lordaeron before the fall.

Following Sam’s advice, she’d found a pair of breeches and a tunic to wear rather than a gown or a robe and despite herself found them more comfortable.  There had been new boots under her bed, of soft leather.  They would take some getting used to, being new, but they were a vast improvement over her old boots, which had been falling apart after years of privation.  It was a warm morning, despite the frigid rain of the night before.  She could almost imagine the sun shining off dew on the tree she knew must stand at the far end of the salle, next to the shed where Sam would store extra weapons and armor and the practice blades.

 She and Jude leaned against the split rail fence that bounded the salle, watching Sam and Tanith square off.  It was years before the war began.  Tanith had been home from the abbey for barely a month, looking nervous and proud every time he picked up the hand and a half sword he favored.  He would be knighted come Hallow’s End, in a few short weeks.  That didn’t stop his father from running him in circles in the salle.

Sam leaned forward, tapping his son’s instep.

“Shoulder-width, Tanith.  Set yourself.”

“Yes, Father.”

Sam nodded.  “Good.  En garde.”

Jude leaned into her ear.  “He’s going to try to impress you, you know.”

Quin winced and blushed.  “You’re awful,” she hissed at the younger girl.  “He is not!”

“Watch.”  The other girl smirked knowingly.

 She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, as if that would stop the memory from continuing.  Quin sighed quietly.

Thwack.

She stumbled backwards, cursing and groping for the finger-thick wooden practice wand.  Her head throbbed where the flat of it had caught her, clearly lofted in her direction by Sam, who stood near the fence bounding the salle.

“You’re going to have to pay more attention, Quin’lisse, if you’re going to learn how to do this blind.  What have I always told you about situational awareness?”

She uttered a curse, getting her hands around the hilt of the practice sword.  “You could have warned me, Sam.”

“Just like some Forsaken is going to warn you when he’s coming at you with a crowbar?”

Quin shook her head to clear it, straightening slowly.  “Point taken.”  She slowly made her way into the salle, rolling her neck slowly and wincing as she heard it crack.  “What’s this about, Sam?”  She held the practice sword in one hand, point to the packed dirt beneath her feet.

“I’m not going to send you south until I’m confident that you can fight without your eyes.”  He set himself.  “Set yourself, Quin’lisse, and lay on.  There’ll be another partner here in an hour or so.  I’m just the warm-up.”

Fight without my eyes?  Blade to blade? She blinked.  “…Sam…where are you planning to send me?”

“Northshire,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.  “Set.”

She snapped to, setting her stance.  He was on her in a heartbeat.  It took her another moment to grasp her other senses enough to prevent herself from being forced to the ground.  She danced away from a blow that glanced off her thigh, cursing under her breath.  “Northshire?  What’s at Northshire?”

The next blow was coming toward the side of her head.  She ducked, risking a tentative slash at his shin.  Thock. Sam cursed.  “What’s at Northshire?  What do you think is at Northshire, Quin’lisse?”

He was moving forward again.  She rolled clear and to her feet, barely avoiding a blow that would have caught her across her trailing shoulder had she not moved.  “I don’t know, Sam!”  She ducked away again, a swipe sailing over her head.

“Goddess, are you trying to kill me?”

“I’m not going to kill you, you dodge too quickly for that.”  He laughed, then oofed as she managed to catch him across the ribs.  He poked her in the knee with his practice sword.  She backpedaled, running up against the rail and trying to catch her breath.  He didn’t follow, straightening slowly.  “Northshire is your future, Quin’lisse,” he said finally.  “They’ll train you to fight with your faith and a sword bigger than you are.”

“I don’t have any faith left, Sam.  Least of all in the Light.”

“You trust in the Goddess, no?”

She canted her head to one side.  “What does that have to do with anything?”

“That’s faith, Quin’lisse.”  He moved toward her slowly and touched her face, cradling her cheek and jaw in one rough hand.  “The Silver Hand wanted you twenty years ago.  It’s time they have their chance now.”  He smiled.  “I think Grayson is up for the challenge.  You’re tempered steel, Quin’lisse.  You’ve bent, but not broken.  It’s time for you to find your use in this world.”

She bowed her head, leaning into his hand.  “Sam…I don’t…I just don’t know.”

“Trust me,” he said, smiling again.  He kissed her forehead, then stepped back.  “Come on, now.  Hit me.  Garmir will be here inside of an hour, and he won’t be happy if you’re only dodging his blows.”

Quin straightened, trying not to laugh.  “Is he that fearsome?  I’ve only heard whispers.”

“That and more, Quin’lisse, but he’s family.”  Sam tapped her instep with the tip of his blade.  “Shoulder-width, Quin’lisse.” She nodded, setting her stance and smiling.  “Yes, Sam.”

“Good.  En garde.”

 She had never been more sore in her entire life by the time Sam bundled her onto a ship headed to Menethil Harbor with papers for her to be transported to Northshire Abbey and as much gear as she could carry—and then some.  Most, he’d admitted, would be delivered to an apartment he was arranging for in Stormwind, one that would be hers so long as she decided to keep it.  Quin could not appreciate the gesture more—or so she thought, until he confided that he wouldn’t tell his son where she’d gone.

“You’re right,” he’d said.  “It’s better this way.”

Jude was aboard ship with her, overseeing the transport of some cargo from Theramore to Menethil and then on to Stormwind.  They would part company in Menethil, they both assumed.  Quin would take a gryphon to Stormwind and then be taken by coach to Northshire.  Jude would need to stay behind for a while in Menethil.

They were sharing a cabin on the ship, one of the heavier-hulled vessels that made the journey from one continent to the other.  Jude had taken the higher bunk, leaving Quin the easier time of laying back, which she was, wishing there was a part of her body that didn’t ache from welts and bruises.

“Your husband hits hard, Jude.”

She laughed, perched precariously on the stool that stood next to the desk that was bolted to the deck, papers scattered across the surface.  “Did you expect him not to?  He thinks most of us down here are puny weaklings.  He was shocked that you got him as well as you did.”

Quin wrinkled her nose, shifting and trying to get comfortable on the straw mattress.  “I just hit him square.  That’s why it felt like I actually hit him hard.”  Sparring hadn’t done her as much good as she might have hoped it would have, but Sam had been satisfied after nearly a week of work.  There wasn’t any more that he could teach, anyway, nothing that the trainers at Northshire couldn’t teach her just as well.  Having his son-in-law put her through her paces—that had made her learn to dodge even more quickly and to be even more acutely aware of her surroundings.

Grasping at the flows of magic to “see” was starting to slowly get easier, and the headaches it caused were slowly becoming less severe.  Was that a good sign?  She wasn’t sure.

Jude shook her head slightly, grasping for papers as the ship lurched.  The flame-haired mage uttered a growl.  “Of course there’d be a storm on the voyage.  Of bloody course.”

Quin smiled faintly.  “Goddess forbids you from working on anything on the trip, I guess.”  She rolled gingerly onto her side, pillowing her head on one arm.  “What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?”

“The Alliance.  Now.  What’s it like?  The night elves and the…what did you say they were called?  The goat-people.”

“Draenei.”

“Those.  What are they like, Jude?  What’s it like, serving now?”

Her friend was silent for a few long moments before she shook her head slowly.  “I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything in the world, Quin.  But it’s not an easy life.  It’s probably not one you want, after everything.”

Quin exhaled.  I was afraid you’d say that. She shook her head a little.  “What else do I have, Jude?  No family, ‘cept for yours.  No home, except for what your father’s giving me.  I’m not going to be trapped in the Cathedral at Stormwind for the rest of my life, and I’m sure as hell not going to stay at Northshire for the rest of my life.  So what else is there for me?  Service to the Alliance.”

Jude shook her head again, tucking away the papers and starting to climb up onto the upper bunk.  “There’s got to be something else, Quin.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.  Something.”

Quin wrinkled her nose.  “I can’t think of anything.”

“I can’t think of anything either, not yet.  But I’ll come up with something.”

Quin tried not to laugh.  “Something, huh?”

Jude swatted her with a pillow from above.  “Stop!”

This time, Quin did laugh.