#Sister Joy the Glaring Sentinel

[leona-florianova]

So I made an Eye Of Michael OC...

Sister Joy the Glaring Sentinel...

Or the Big Battle Nun With a Big Gun.

[draguta]

.a court of ash and smoke | twenty-six.

pairing: lucien vanserra x fem!reader

summary: five years before feyre archeron ever stepped foot in prythian, another human girl found herself in the spring court. but the trials and tribulations of her time under the mountain left her with nothing but a certain red-headed high fae emissary, who had once resented her entire presence, to help and guide her.

chapter warnings: violence

chapter word count: 2727

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Power

“What is the meaning of this?”

A heavy silence hung around the sentinels, none of them daring to even breathe. Even the laboured breaths of you and Wren seemed to stutter to a halt at the sight of him. Wren himself was standing straight in a second, sword held loosely at his side as he nodded his head low in respect of the High Lord.

“It’s the Munera, High Lord,” Silas stepped in, although his face no longer bore that gleeful joy that had been written across it mere moments ago. Now it was solemn, likely in anticipation of the punishment that he knew was coming his way. “You know we do this every year.”

“I do,” Tamlin growled, hands clenching at his sides - no signs of claws though. “But that doesn’t explain why my sister is taking part in it, does it?”

His eyes darted from Silas, to the sentinels that stood behind him, and then whirled around to Lucien, fierce and vicious and altogether terrifying. You knew him too well, you knew that this was not something he would let go. You knew that they would be punished for your insolence, for you having disobeyed your brother.

“It was my fault,” you stated firmly, taking a step closer to him. Behind you, Wren did the sensible thing and departed swiftly after a nudge from Silas. It would seem that the other sentinels all took the hint as well, turning away from you and mingling amongst themselves, waiting for the chastising to be over with so that they could return to their festivities. “I asked them to let me participate. So, if you’re going to punish anyone, then punish me, not them.”

Tamlin growled again, and within an instant Lucien was by your side, pushing you behind him slightly, Silas close to your right. You knew Silas would never fight his High Lord on your behalf, but perhaps if he was close enough and Tamlin lashed out, he might take the brunt of the force instead, or push you out of the way.

“Leave it, Tamlin,” Lucien said firmly, squaring his shoulders tightly. “It was a bit of harmless fun. No need to get angry.”

“She could have been hurt,” Tamlin snarled, taking a step toward Lucien, eyes glinting with rage. “And it would have been your fault for letting her think she could compete.”

“This is no one’s fault but my own,” you countered loudly, pushing past Lucien and Silas until you were standing directly in front of Tamlin. His eyes snapped to meet yours, but you didn’t cower or hide from his glare as you once would have. No, you stood your ground, feet planted solidly on the grass, chin raised. “I can be held accountable for my own actions, now and any other time. You cannot keep blaming the people around me for my decisions, Tamlin.”

Tamlin reached out, grasping at your upper-arm. You felt Lucien startle behind you, but Tamlin was already dragging you away from the sentinels, away from Silas, away from the training area, and back toward the manor. He pulled you across the fields, past the stables, Lucien hot on your heels.

“I cannot have my sister running wild about the court. Not now, not when we need to show a united front. What would people say?” He barked over his shoulder. You pulled at your arm to push him off, but to little avail, his tight grip holding you in place. “You are a Lady, they should have known better.”

You didn’t miss the scowl he shot at Lucien.

“I am not a Lady,” you argued back firmly. You were at the top of the hill now, overlooking the manor to the North, and the sentinel’s training grounds to the South. You gathered all of your remaining strength and yanked your arm away from his, causing you to stumble back slightly. But you caught yourself, staying planted on your feet as Tamlin whirled back to stare at you harshly. “Don’t you see? I am not the sweet, innocent girl that I was when I first came here anymore. And you are certainly not the kind-hearted male that took me in.”

Tamlin growled, and Lucien placed a calming hand on your arm, yet you shrugged even that off, your anger taking over. Your fists clenched at your sides, and your jaw gritted.

“We have changed, all of us,” you continued firmly. “And keeping us locked up in these grounds, keeping us in that house…it’s no better than what Amarantha did to us. She kept me trapped under that mountain for five years, and now, when I’m supposed to be home and be free? Now it is you who is keeping me trapped.”

You couldn’t be certain, but you were sure you saw Tamlin flinch. You didn’t blame him - the words were harsh, to compare him to her, yet they were truthful nonetheless.

He didn’t say anything for a minute, his stone-cold face faltering ever-so-slightly, until he gritted his teeth, and said, “If you cannot be trusted around the grounds alone, then you will not even leave the house. Is that understood?”

He reached for you again, but you stepped back, and pure, unbridled rage flooded through your body.

Lucien whispered your name, and you didn’t need to look at him, or look down at your hands to know what was happening. Only seeing the way that Tamlin’s face paled told you that those tendrils of red smoke were slinking from your palms, wrapping themselves around your wrists, reaching out toward Tamlin.

And for the first time, you weren’t scared of them. You didn’t try to stop them or hold them back. You let them out - you unleashed them, just as they had wanted. That tingling feeling, like being shocked by lightning, once again rippled through your body in waves, each and every hair on your body standing to attention as your back arched, and the power erupted from you. Even the leaves on the trees whooshed with the force of the explosion that had come from within you, red smoke bursting from your body in a dark, unyielding blanket that swept across the grounds with an unrelenting force.

Tamlin and Lucien were thrown back to the ground, Tamlin hitting his head against the trunk of a tree nearby, blood seeping from the wound that you knew would heal within minutes. He yelped in pain, but you didn’t stop. One more wave of power had the sentinels rushing toward you, lining the edge of the hill, swords in hand, ready to take on whatever threat was present in their court.

You were sure they hadn’t expected that threat to be you.

When the power finally dulled, you somehow felt lighter than you had since even before your days Under the Mountain, as if the very act of allowing that power to seep from you, to breathe, was taking a weight from your chest, letting you finally breathe too.

You snapped your eyes back down to Tamlin, where he lay on the ground clutching his head, his face pale and eyes filled with terror as he looked back up at you. You took a step closer, red eyes flashing with rage.

“Listen to me, Tamlin,” you spat ferociously. “I stand on my own two feet. I am strong. I am powerful. I killed Amarantha. I do not need you to protect me, or keep me locked away. Do you understand that?”

He blinked but did not speak, not as you turned on your heel, sparing one glance at Lucien to make sure he was okay - he was on the ground, but unhurt, eyes filled with concern as they trailed your steps - and began to descend the hill back toward the manor.

When you were finally back inside, storming up the stairs toward your room, that was when you felt the presence behind you. You couldn’t hear their footsteps, but you could feel them there. You paused, spinning around - the hallway was empty. You clenched your jaw and fists once more. You must have just been paranoid.

But as you turned back to your room, hand wrapping around the door handle, whoever that figure was came up behind you, giving you no time to fight back as they pressed a cloth against your face. The smell was strong and burning, but almost sweet, like lemon, and with each inhale that you took, the world around you grew more and more hazy, until eventually, you fell into a deep sleep.

“You did what?” Lucien all-but screamed, rounding on Tamlin.

They were in his study now, Tamlin having dragged him there almost immediately after giving orders to the sentinels following your outburst of power. Tamlin sighed, throwing himself into an armchair by the fire and running a hand through his hair as he moved to balance a leg on his opposite knee.

“She was a danger to the court,” Tamlin said quietly. “Something had to be done.”

“So, you pumped her full of faebane?” Lucien shouted. He turned in disbelief, gripping at the roots of his hair as if the action might stop him from bringing those fists into contact with Tamlin’s jaw.

“I didn’t pump her full of it. It’s a faebane collar,” Tamlin snapped. “And she gave me very little choice. Those powers of hers are unruly at best. This was the only way.”

“Her powers,” Lucien said through gritted teeth, “are only unruly because she’s been given no chance to learn how to control them! Because you would rather hide her away until you can find a way to get rid of them, than let her use them in any way. You know full damn well that when powers aren’t used they become uncontrollable. Cauldron, we were lucky it happened outside and not in the manor - she might have brought the place to the ground!”

“Exactly,” Tamlin snarled. “What would you have had me do, hm? Let her continue walking around, acting like a brute with the sentinels, until one day she snapped and took us all down with her?”

“Faebane was not the way.”

“Faebane was the only way.”

Lucien growled under his breath, turning back to look at his friend, his High Lord. "Where is she?” He asked, voice low and gravelly. Tamlin narrowed his eyes.

“She’s in her room,” he said matter-of-factly. “But the door is locked. She will not be getting out of there, and you will certainly not be going in.”

In two long strides, Lucien was crossing the room, looming over the High Lord of the Spring Court. “We’ll see about that.”

Your head pounded, almost as if someone were chiseling a nail directly into your very skull, into the heart of your brain. It took a long moment for you to gather the strength to open your eyes, and when you did you almost immediately regretted it, that head-splitting ache screeching itself through your skull, into your ringing ears. Your vision was blurred, although you weren’t sure if that was just from the darkness that loomed in your room.

You sighed, running a hand across your face as if that might quell the pain, but froze as your fingertips grazed over something metal around your neck. Bile rose in your throat.

In an instant you were on your feet, unsteady and wobbly as they were, clambering toward the mirror at your vanity table. Eyes wide, you let them run over your face – seemingly unharmed, despite the figure that had snuck up behind you – but when they fell to your neck, a sob caught in your chest.

A thin, golden band was wrapped tightly around your throat, encrusted with spring court green emeralds. But those emeralds glinted in a way that was different from any gemstone or diamond you had ever seen, almost as if they weren’t reflecting the light, but rather radiating their own, glowing illuminate. And there was a smell, one that caught in your nostrils as you ran my fingertips against the metal necklace, cool against your touch. It was an almost overwhelming smell, despite the dullness of it, that caught in your nostrils and throat, causing you to gag and choke slightly. Almost like smoke and carrion and rotting food. It wasn’t a smell you were familiar with.

You tugged at the necklace, but it didn’t budge. It stayed tightly in place, firm around your neck, and as you reached back, to your dismay, you found it to not have a catch at the back. Only the smooth gold remained, with no way of removing it.

Magic. Whatever this necklace was, it had been placed there with magic.

You stifled a sob.

A familiar voice sounded at the door, and you were on your feet in minutes. But as you reached for the door handle, you found that it would not turn, and the door itself would not open.

“Let me in,” Lucien said firmly from the other side, and you pulled harder at the door handle, to no avail. It would not budge. “I said let me in, dammit.”

“We can’t do that,” another voice – a sentinel, perhaps – replied. “The High Lord said that no one was to leave or enter this room without his express permission. You know that.”

“I don’t care what Tamlin said-“ Lucien began.

“Lucien?” You sobbed quietly through the crack in the door, and Lucien paused mid-sentence. A second later, through that tiny little gap between the door and its frame, you caught sight of red hair and a golden eye looking back at you.

“Y/N?” He whispered back. “Are you okay?”

“I-I think so,” you murmured, holding back a sob. “What’s happening? Why am I locked in here?”

Lucien’s face went grave. “It was Tamlin’s orders,” he explained. “As was that thing around your neck.”

Your hand drifted back up to the golden necklace – collar. It felt as if it were choking you, strangling you of your very life. “What is it?”

“Faebane.” He gritted the word out as if even saying it was difficult for him. “It dampens your powers, keeps them at bay.”

The nausea swirled in your gut. Tamlin had done this – all of this – locked you away in your room and choked you with a faebane collar, all because you had stood up to him in the grounds that afternoon. Because you had shown him your real power. He was scared of you, you could see that now.

He thought you were…dangerous.

You couldn’t stop the sobs from wracking your body this time, and instead let them flow free, let them shake your shoulders and drip from your eyes and grasp at your breath in their clutches.

“Hey,” Lucien whispered soothingly. “Look at me.”

You did, catching his golden eye with your own. He turned slightly, moving so that instead it was his russet eye that he was looking at you with, fire blazing behind that rusty-coloured iris. And then his hand came up to press against the wood, visible through that crack. You moved your own, and placed it against the door, and for a moment, you both stayed like that, so close yet untouching through the wood.

“I promise you,” he whispered. “I’m going to get you out of this. I swear it. And when I do, we’ll go far from this place, together.”

Another sob echoed through your body.

“I love you,” you whimpered. Lucien loosed a breath.

“I love you too.”

One more moment together, pressed against that door, and then he was gone.

You didn’t move from the door, squashed up on the floor, back pressed against the wood and knees curled to your chest. Your sobs didn’t stop either, and if the sentinels on the other side could hear you, they did nothing to ease your pain.

It was late now, but what time exactly it was, you didn’t know. The only thing you knew was that you were alone, once more, trapped in a room against your will, just as you had been under that mountain. It all came flooding back to you.

No, not alone.

There was something there in the shadows, in the corner of your room. Something moving. Coming toward you. A silhouette, figure in the night, great shadowed wings spread behind it, and a glint of something blue.

[gerec]

I started this short fic for a prompt by the lovely @irelise for Secret Mutant, but sadly couldn’t get it finished on time :(  Going to post the first half of it here, and hopefully finish the rest of it as I also try to wrap up my ‘Call Me By Your Name’ au ASAP lol. 

Shaw/Erik, historical/concubine au

The carriage came for Erik mid-morning, clattering through the mud caked streets of Varre, winding its way through the tiny village behind a contingent of the King’s personal guard. It was a rare sight outside the Capital to see so much gleaming armor and polished gold, His Majesty’s colours flying high above the standard that fluttered against the early summer breeze. The pageantry attracted all - the young and the old, the poor and the destitute - until the entire village seemed to trail behind the procession as it halted outside the smithy door.

His mother guided him away from the window when the Captain dismounted and knocked, motioning for Erik to stand beside his older sister. Ruth squeezed his hand reassuringly in an attempt to sooth his nerves, though her lopsided grin did not quite reach her eyes. His father hovered protectively like a sentinel behind his two children, his frustration palpable as the door opened and the king’s man stepped inside.

“Captain,” Edie said, and though she bowed her head to him in deference the chill of disdain in her voice was clear to all. “Be welcome in our humble home. Can I offer you refreshment?”

“That will not be necessary,” he answered politely. The man was gruff but did not seem callous or condescending, calmly accepting the hostility that permeated the room. “I have a letter from the palace that I will read to you now. Then we shall be on our way.”

He did not wait for a reply, unrolling the scroll in his hand and began to read, loud enough that those gathered outside could also hear the decree.

“On this day, the fourth day before Midsummer, Erik Magnus, son of Jakob and Edie Lehnsherr of Varre shall join the Royal Household and become the King’s concubine. As a token of good will, His Majesty has generously provided a sum of fifty gold pieces—”

“I don’t want your gold,” Jakob snapped, as Erik stumbled into his mother’s waiting arms, still in shock from all that had happened in the previous hour. “You think because we’re poor you can just pay us off? After what’s been done to my son by that…how dare you—”

The man Azazel – one of the guards in the alpha Lord’s company – raised a placating hand, though his other rested on his scabbard in clear and unmistakable warning. “Five gold pieces will feed your family for a year, Master Blacksmith. Be grateful for my Lord’s generosity, and the privilege of the…attention…he’s shown to your precious boy.”

“—for the family’s comfort, and for the care and dedication in raising a son worthy of the King’s favor.”

Outside the crowd cheered, though they all knew what had befallen Erik less than a week ago, and the sorry state he’d been in when he returned home from the lake. Few of the villagers felt any pity for him though, and most only bemoaned their own bad luck; that it was not their omega son or daughter that had attracted the roving eye of one so rich and powerful. His humiliation and his shame mattered little after all, when a life of luxury was the end result, and more money for his family than they could earn in a lifetime.

It certainly didn’t matter what Erik wanted, for none could gainsay the word of the King.

The Captain stepped forward, offering two jingling pouches he unclasped from his belt, and set them on the mantle when neither Edie nor Jakob reached to take them from his hand. “I advise you to take the gold and use it well,” he said with a sigh, “for the King will have him whether you take it or not. There is enough here to transform this entire village for the better, while your pride and anger will gain you nothing at all.”

Edie glared at him and asked, “What is your name, Captain?”

“Howlett.”

“Captain Howlett then,” she continued, taking two steps forward until she was standing before him, and had to tilt her head up to meet his eye. “Will you ensure that my Erik is safely delivered to the palace today? Do I have your word that no further ‘incidents’ will befall him while he is in your care?”

If the Captain was offended by the implication, he did not show it, simply shrugging his shoulders as Edie stared at him with dark eyes. “None would dare touch what belongs to His Majesty,” he said, and when Edie’s frown only deepened he added with sincerity, “though of course you have my word. I will protect him with my life, and deliver him unmolested to the King.”

“Where he will be molested by the King, for the rest of his life,” Jakob sneered, though Ruth shushed him quickly, and Edie shot him a warning glare. “Would you have us pretend to be happy with his ignominious fate?”

The Captain’s eyes landed on Erik with something like pity, or regret, before he shook his head and answered, “It is better to have the King’s interest than his ire, don’t you think? And he will live a life of leisure and luxury, surrounded by servants to do his bidding. It is a fate most people would envy.”

“You have no idea how lucky you are,” the alpha said, his body bracketing Erik and holding him in place. His breath hitched when he felt a hand slip deftly beneath his tunic, palming his flesh and pinching his nipples as Erik tried desperately to move away. “Of how many who would gladly be in your place.“

Erik shuddered, and Howlett quickly turned away, hollering to his men outside to ready for departure. When he turned back his expression was shuttered and his eyes hard, and he delivered the King’s last directive without the slightest hint of emotion.

“Say your goodbyes, and whatever else needs to be said, for it is unlikely that you will ever see him again.”

----

Erik rode alone in the carriage with his meager belongings, a few keepsakes from his childhood that he could not bear to leave behind. Even wearing his best outfit – the only one he had, for he would be given all new clothing at the palace – he felt awkward and wildly out of place, the finest linens they could afford mere rags compared to the velvet that lined his seat. Like a lark in a gilded cage he found no comfort in his surroundings, and little joy as his new life loomed closer with every mile they traveled.

They stopped midway to the Capital for a noon meal, and Erik was allowed to briefly stretch his legs under Howlett’s watchful eye. None of the guards approached or tried to speak to him, though he could feel them watching every time he turned away. The rapt attention of so many was both strange and unnerving, and Erik found himself oddly grateful for the Captain’s stoic presence at his side.

He ate the bread and cheese Howlett handed him, and emptied his waterskin, before he took a deep breath and sighed. “Do they all know about me? About what happened? With the King?”

The Captain stilled, looking up from the stick he’d been whittling to meet Erik’s eye. “Yes.”

Erik swallowed, and glanced away. “How did they…?”  

“From the guards that were there that day. Gossip travels fast, especially with matters that pertain to the King.”

“Do they think that I…” Erik dug his fingers into the grass and yanked until a clump came away in his hand. “That I wanted…because I didn’t—”

The frown on Howlett’s face stopped him mid-sentence, and he tried not to fidget like an unruly child under the man’s piercing gaze.  

“Doesn’t matter what happened,” he answered, “or what people say about you or the King. You are part of the royal household now, and the opinions of a few guards mean absolutely nothing. The only opinion that matters is His Majesty’s, for your wellbeing depends entirely on what he thinks. Remember that.”

Then he hauled Erik onto his feet, and herded him back onto the carriage.

[alleiradayne]

Have a Drink On Me

Summary: Dean and Sam close up Rocky’s Bar after an amazing opening night. Square Filled: Business AU Warnings/Tags: BROTHERLY PLATONIC FLUFF. NO WINCEST. Little bits of angst. Characters/Pairings: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, rando named Frank. Word Count: 1,367 A/N: For @spnfluffbingo2019​​, this fills the square Business AU. Thank you, as always, to @atc74​​ for beta’ing. Song: Have a Drink On Me by AC/DC

“You have to go, Frank, we’re closing.” 

Frank ambled to the door, drunker than a sailor on shore leave. “But it’s only twelve o’clock!” 

Sam pointed to the large digital clock behind the bar. “It’s two o’clock, Frank. That’s a zero, not a one. Gimme your keys, you can come back in the morning.” 

“Fine! See ya, Sammy,” Frank blurted as he slapped his keys into Sam’s palm. “Thanks again, Dean!” He waved over his shoulder towards the bar. 

When the door shut, Sam sighed, relieved that the last of the stragglers had finally gone into the night. 

“That was great!” Glasses clinked as Dean dried them and placed them on the racks behind the bar. “Good crowd, good music, good beer. Couldn’t ask for a better opener.”

Sam shuffled to a nearby stool and slumped onto it. “Yeah, it was.” A long sigh eased the weight on his shoulders. “I’m just glad it's over.” 

He stared into the middle distance, unseeing. If he were to be honest with Dean, the lead up to the opening night of Rocky's Bar had been complete chaos. Their much-needed kegs from the local brewery had arrived late that morning, and the shipment of hard liquor had arrived a mere two hours before the doors were scheduled to open. And true to their nature, Sam had done all the worrying while Dean had waved off his concerns while simultaneously piling shit on their plates. Between booking a last-minute band and decorations, Sam damn near lost his damn mind. 

But Dean had been right. Once the doors had opened, everything had come together and gone off without a hitch. It seemed all of Lawrence had come out to celebrate with the Winchesters; the bar had filled far quicker than either of them had anticipated, and spilled into the street. When the cops showed up, Sam thought the night doomed only to be met with offers to help control the crowd and direct traffic. 

A heavy glass clunked onto the freshly polished oak bar. Warm amber liquored bubbled into the crystal as Dean upended a hidden bottle of Pappy. He grabbed a second glass and poured an equally generous amount into it, then pushed the glass to Sam. 

Dean hefted his drink as he said, “Thanks, Sammy. You made it all happen.” 

His focus narrowed on the glass as he wrapped his fingers around the cold crystal. “It was your idea, man.” 

He could hear the crestfallen look on Dean's face. “Yeah, but without you, I wouldn't have even known where to start. You were the brains of this whole thing.” 

Sure. He had kept Dean organized the last eight months. “Still, it was your idea. You named the place, designed it, picked out everything from floor to ceiling. It's your bar.” 

“It's our bar,” Dean insisted. “Look at me. Please.” 

Sam peeled his eyes from his glass to find Dean holding not only his drink but a small bag. “It's only called Rocky’s Bar because of copyright issues.” He set the bag on the bar and gave it a push towards him. 

“What is this?” Sam asked. 

“Opening night gift for my business partner.” 

Sam didn't trust Dean's shit-eating grin as far as he could throw him. “I'm… scared.” 

“Oh, c’mon, of what?” Dean scoffed. 

Sam stopped and glared at him over the top of the bag. “Last present you got me was a practical joke. An exploding snake can.” 

Dean looked off to the right as though reliving the moment. “Hah. Yeah. I did. You screamed like—” 

“It was my fortieth birthday, dude!” he interrupted. 

Chastised, Dean looked nothing short of a scolded puppy. “I know. I… didn't have any money to get you anything. I’d put everything I had into the bar.” 

Great. Just great. “Look, Dean, I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. I’m just… stressed out. Been a rough couple of months, and a rougher week.” 

“It’s fine, I get it.” Dean waved him on to open the bag when Sam stared at him, unconvinced. “Seriously, though, I’m beat and need to get to bed. Open it.” 

With a resigned sigh, Sam dug into the bag and grasped a massively awkward and heavy object. Wrapped in at least a pound of tissue paper, he spent the better part of a minute unburying it to reveal a carved wooden statue of a moose standing nearly a foot tall. Golden lamplight gleamed on its polished surface, highlighting the deep red grain to a rich brown finish. 

“Like I said,” Dean started, “it’s only Rocky's Bar because of copyright issues.” 

There was no use hiding the unbidden tears that rushed down his cheeks. “God dammit, Dean. You didn't have to buy me anything, this must have cost—” 

“Forty bucks.” 

Sam gaped as he looked between Dean and the statue. “How?” 

“The block cost twenty dollars,” Dean said. “I fucked up on the first one. Burned it. Smelled nice.” 

“You? You… carved this?” he stuttered. 

Dean nodded. “Took me all year. Consider it your birthday present. Christmas present, too, since I didn't get you anything for either last year.” 

Beside himself, Sam could hardly think of anything to say. And maybe there were no words, none that could sufficiently encapsulate the way he felt. So instead of babbling an inadequate sentiment of gratitude, he reached to the floor beside his stool and grabbed the bag that sat there. 

“Not that I’m surprised,” he started as he set the bag on the bar. “We had the same idea. Except I don't whittle wood.” 

“That's what she said,” Dean said with a wink. 

“Just open the bag, dude.” 

Dean might as well have stuck his tongue out for the flippant look he shot back at him as he dug into the bag and withdrew a similarly wrapped, oddly shaped item. As Dean tore away the tissue paper and revealed the giant stuffed squirrel, complete with bomber jacket and aviator cap, Sam elated in the rapturous joy that widened Dean's smile. 

“Dammit, Sammy, you did enough for me over the last year,” Dean said as he cleared his throat. 

“You always complained about the copyright issue,” he said as he slid from his stool and rounded the end of the bar. He grabbed his moose statue and placed it on an empty shelf in the middle of the back wall below the large sign emblazoned with the bar's name. “Now everyone will understand.” 

Dean hefted the squirrel and placed it beside the moose. “Perfection.” 

Sam cocked his head as he regarded the display. If you had asked him fifteen years ago where he’d be today, owning a bar with Dean wouldn’t have even been on his list. But there he stood behind the bar that he and Dean had built from nothing. What a miraculous change of fate. And how lucky, too. If Sam didn't know any better, he’d argue that they had a guardian angel looking down on them. 

A loud yawn drew his attention to Dean who stretched as his mouth gaped. “Okay, I’m done.” He shuffled around the end of the bar and grabbed his coat. When he turned back, he asked, “You coming?” 

Sam followed, grabbing his jacket and the keys from the rack behind the bar. “Yeah. Let’s go get some sleep.” 

Shrugged into his coat, Dean headed for the door and pulled it aside. Sam took the first step into the night as he looked back over his shoulder and Dean hit the lights. The electric blue, yellow, and red glow of the FB Beer Company sign filled the bar, and before the door slammed shut, he regarded the shelf behind the rail one more time. 

Bathed in that eerie neon glow, moose and squirrel stood watch like gargoyles over the bar, sentinels on their vigil. The slam of the door punctuated Sam and Dean's departure, plunging the bar into silence but for the electric buzz of the neon sign. The roar of a monstrous motor burst to life only to fade away as it sped into the distance, it's decrescendo receding to nothing. 

Alone they sat, two friends, brothers, a moose and a squirrel on their shelf.

Feedback is appreciated! Feel free to reblog, too!

If you want in on any of my tags (Sam/Jared, Dean/Jensen), send me a DM or an ask!

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[sankta-arya]

nothing burns like the cold

Killing the Night King comes with a price. Jon makes his greatest sacrifice to save the world, and her.

Written for Jonsa: A Dream of Spring, Day 1: seasons

Nothing burns like the cold.

It burns and stings and pierces every inch of Jon's body. At times it lessens to a prickling in his skin, his flesh, all the way down to his bones, until it hits him again, full force, and he wishes he could thrash and scream, reach out to grab, something, anything, to hold on to.

It's nothing like the cool, sweet slumber that pulled him under the first time he died. There's no release from the pain in this death. Somewhere in a faraway corner of his mind he wonders if that is what's happening to him, whether he is in fact dying again. He was the stabber, not the stabbed. Did he succeed? Is it over? Did he save them?

He needs to get up and find out. He can't move, he can hardly feel his body. There's only the cold and the heavy weight of the pain. He tries to wiggle a toe, a finger, channels all of his strength into the tip of the pointer finger of his right hand, and for a moment he thinks there's a tingle, a twitch, but he's still being held down.

All around him is a white, deafening silence. All he can see is an icy blue glare inside of him, chilling him to the core of his heart and the pit of his stomach. Once he believes he spots a flash of bright red, but it's gone before he can reach out.

He's become used to the pain, so much so that he doesn't even realize that it has begun to dull down to a bearable throbbing, a thud pulsing in time with his idle heartbeat. When he opens his eyes, he still sees blue, but when he blinks, the blue is staring back at him from a pale face, framed by flames. There's fear in her eyes, but also wonder and hope, he thinks.

He hisses at the first touch of her fingers on his cheek. Her skin is so hot it should sear away his flesh, but instead it awakens him, and he covers her hand with his own.

"You're so cold," she whispers.

"You're so warm." His voice is ice cracking open, but her answering smile is like the first ray of sunlight after his darkest night.

She entwines their fingers and lifts his hand to her face, pressing her cheek into his palm. "You're still you," she muses as she nuzzles into his touch. "Just a little different." She kisses the inside of his wrist, and hours later, he can still feel her lips.

The dead have been defeated, the Night King is gone, but his generals are still waiting for him, frozen statues standing sentinel outside the walls of Winterfell. They are calling to him. He can feel the pull in this new body of his. Their voices are shrill and grating, like the cawing of crows, the screech of steel on stone. When he closes his eyes, he sees their home. They want to return, but they're awaiting his orders.

He won't go. He won't, he won't, he won't.

Nothing burns like the cold. It's consuming him from the inside out. He hardly sleeps, but when he does, he dreams of the heart of winter. It's calling to him. Still, he won't go.

When he can't bear it anymore, he goes to her. "Please," he begs her. "I need you."

He's no longer a wolf or even a dragon. He's cold and empty, nothing left inside of him but a hunger only she can still.

She embraces him, and he pulls her flush against his chest, capturing her lips in a greedy kiss, his hands unwinding the tresses of her hair from her braid.

With every pull of his lips, every nip of his teeth and every stroke of his tongue he is draining her, feeling her warmth pouring into him, coarsing through his veins and permeating every last inch of his body. He vaguely registers that her hands are fumbling at the laces of his tunic. His own leave their place, tangled up in her hair and replace hers, ripping the piece of clothing from his chest.

Her hands are fire on his exposed chest. He is burning up under her touch, but he won't make her stop. He opens his eyes, and her gown pools at her feet with a soft thud. She's standing bare before him, and he surrenders to her heat.

He feasts on the flame between her thighs, drinking her all up to quench his thirst. He fills her up, and with every thrust, he drives the cold from his body. When he gives her his seed, he almost feels warm again.

Nothing burns like the cold, except for the fire she's aroused inside of him. It doesn't hurt him. He believes it's what's keeping him alive.

"You have to go," Sansa tells him. She's known it since he first opened his eyes and she found blue ice staring back at her.

They're tangled up in each other under the furs, and his skin is warm to the touch after hours of languid lovemaking.

He pulls her closer, spearing his fingers into the mess he's made of her hair, resting his forehead against hers before nipping at her bottom lip. He soothes the sting with a feathery light kiss, and he groans: "I don't want to leave you."

She slides her fingers up his chest, splaying them on his neck, fingernails raking his beard. His eyes flutter closed under her touch as he presses himself closer. She skims the tip of her nose down the bridge of his and brushes her lips against his, letting them hover over the corner of his mouth as she whispers: "I don't want you to go."

Still he needs to. Winter has lasted long enough.

"One more night," he pleads or promises, she can't be sure. He rolls on top of her, and she opens her thighs so he can settle in the cradle of her hips. He leans in to kiss her, and she tangles her hands into his curls to keep him close.

"One more night," she repeats, when they finally part for air. "And after that, you'll give me another one. And then I'll beg you for one more."

"Will you?" he chuckles.

She hums in agreement, keening when he sucks on her neck. "Nights will turn into sennights," she continues, tilting her hips to give him access. "Sennights will turn into moons, and before you know--" her words dissolve into a gasp when he enters her again.

"Don't tempt me, woman," he grunts, starting to move inside of her.

She wraps her legs around his hips. "One more night."

Nothing burns like the cold, the empty spot in her bed, the coldness in her heart. But she's a Stark, she will endure. She always has.

Jon returns and winter comes with him. She's bathing in the hot springs when he arrives. He sheds his cloak and boots, bit he doesn't have any patience left for the rest of his clothes.

He leaps into the steaming pool, water splashing over the edge as he closes the distance between them. She's in his arms then, and their lips and teeth and tongues clash in their desperation.

He's still cold as ice when he thrusts himself inside of her, but she doesn't care. She's wet and ready for him, and the water around her is warm enough.

All of their children are born in the winter, always within a year of his return. It's after ten years and two children, a boy and a girl, and a third on the way, early in their fourth winter together, that Sansa notes: "You haven't aged a day."

"Neither have you," he tells her with a smile.

"Liar." It's true, time hasn't affected her that much, but Jon still looks exactly the way he did when he was three-and-twenty.

She knows it scares him, which is why they never speak of it, until one night during their sixth winter together. She's mending a shift by the fire, pausing to rub her expanding belly, when he says: "I want to take you with me."

She puts her needlework aside and sighs. "You can't."

"I know," he says after a pause.

They're quiet for a while.

"If I could, I would though," he tells her. "Perhaps it's selfish,  but I want to keep you with me, forever."

She has wanted that since before they knew it was possible, but she can't. She won't. Robb is only two-and-ten, Lyanna seven and Cat four. She's expecting another child, another boy, the maester says. She wants to name him Ned.

"Some day, when they're older perhaps." She reaches out to take his hand.

"Isn't it odd?" he muses. "Time doesn't affect me anymore,  but it's my enemy in every possible way."

"Don't be silly," she tells him. "It's not easy, but when have our lives ever been simple? You're here with me now, and you gave me our children."

It's far from perfect, but she can't change it, and at least there's joy in her life now. She doesn't like it when he talks like this. She hates to see him sullen and sad.

He shakes his head. "You don't look seven-and-thirty, but you have changed."

She purses her lips. "Are you saying you won't want me anymore when I'm old and grey?"

"No!" His nostrils flare and he pulls his hand from hers. "I'm saying I don't want to see you die."

"I promise, you won't," she assures him, taking his hand again.

She almost breaks her promise when she gives birth to their last children, twins, when she's three-and-forty. He can't bear to leave her, not after almost losing her, so that winter is the longest one the North has known in hundreds of years. Sam and Brienne are seven by the time he returns to the true North.

"Next time I come back," he tells Sansa when they're saying goodbye, "I'm taking you with me. I can't do this again, not anymore."

She nods, wrapping her arms around his neck, and he pulls her flush against him. He presses his lips to her temple and murmurs: "I'll give you as much time as I can."

Sansa is one-and-sixty when she says goodbye to her children, but standing next to her oldest son, no one would guess her his mother, she could pass for his twin sister. He and his siblings have never questioned it, but his children and Lyanna's have often asked her about it.

"It's magic," she whispered each time with a knowing smile.

In truth she doesn't understand it either, apart from what Jon told her once, many years ago: "Fire consumes, but ice preserves."  It's all she needs to know, she's grateful for the time she's been given to spend with her children.

And now she will never be parted from Jon again.

Nothing burns like the cold, but their love burns brighter than any flame in this world.

[ficsandpieces]

Not only is it almost father's day but it's summer!! Could I please get family beach/pool trip scenarios? Ahhh just imagining it is so cute. Individual family outings or maybe a whole group version just to see everyone's kids interact?? Whichever is best for you. Thanks so much in advance :D

(I’m sorry prompt fills are taking so long, real life keeps getting in the way OTL)

***

It’s Daddy’s day out! \o/

They go to Camus’ private beach because it was either that or a public one and Camus figured with great reluctance if he and his precious angel were going to be exposed to peasants it might as well be those he’s familiar with at least, much as it pains him to say it

Reiji rented a family van to pick everyone up and drove them over

Carpool karaoke happened and it was magnificent

They pull up to the beach and to the sight of Camus standing like a Greek god on the sand

His hair is up

His chest gleaming in the sun

His shins exposed

He’s possibly exposed more skin in public today than he had in over a year

It was only his opened shirt printed all over with cartoon heads of Alexander (a Father’s Day gift from his daughter via his S/O) that kept everyone present from being blinded

The deadly glare he shot anyone who even thought of commenting on his fashion sense today was enough to turn even the sun cold

Preparations before playtime see Camus and Ai diligently spraying their children down with sunblock, having brought with them metal canisters of it with spray nozzles attached for even coverage

Ranmaru’s barking at his kids to put it on while slapping it on himself

His son and daughter squeezing it on each other’s backs from a large economy tube of sunblock

When it comes to helping their father, they have fun drawing faces with the cream on Ranmaru’s back, quickly smearing the drawings away when he complains they’re taking too long 

Reiji and his twins have completely forgotten that sun protection exists and are already running into the sea, yelling and whooping, pool floats hooked under one arm and beach balls under the other

(His kids survive the day without sunburn

Unfortunately enough, the same cannot be said for Reiji

He returns to work red as a lobster with new patches of skin showing where his children helpfully assisted Daddy in peeling whatever was coming off

Manager-san banned Reiji from going under the sun for next month, swaddling him in long-sleeves, face-mask, a giant hat and pants, leading to Reiji almost being hospitalized for heat-stroke later)

Reiji and Ranmaru join their kids in the water

Ai and Camus prudently keeping to the shade

Ai’s son tugging on his hand for him to go play in the sea with him

Ai shaking his head

“You know that I’m no good with water. Go play with the others, I’ll be fine by myself here.”

His little boy is super disappointed

Halfheartedly joins the other kiddies in the water

(The disappointed look on his son’s face from that time stuck with him for months after that

The next beach trip sees Ai liberally dousing himself with sealant and wading grimly into the sea with his son and a steely determination not to let the water get in the way of quality father-son time)

Camus, horrified at how rowdy the other children are, at first stands like a stern sentinel between his daughter and the commoners, arms folded and face stern as thunder

But one small tug at his tailored capri trousers, his little girl looking up at him with forlorn eyes and he very literally melts

Compromises by shadowing her closely until he’s dragged off by Reiji to give the poor girl some breathing space 

Ranmaru gleefully assisting by putting Camus in a loose chokehold and literally towing him through the sand because as long as it causes the seaweed head distress he’s in

Ranmaru’s son, being the oldest of the lot, ends up keeping an eye on the other kids, to the silent approval of his father

Camus’ daughter is very excited to see other children her age because much like Camus she’s grown up surrounded by adults, although in very different circumstances 

(Camus is adamant on having his little angel home-schooled, since the alternative would be sending her to a boarding school in the mountains but he can’t uproot himself to join her there just yet due to work

His S/O is equally adamant she at the very least goes to a normal school and make friends with other children because their daughter is going to grow up in a literal ivory tower isolated from the rest of humanity over her dead body)

But she’s a little shy and doesn’t know how to approach them

Ranmaru’s daughter tends to stick to her big brother 

Then she spots Camus’ daughter fidgeting at the edge of the water, looking like she really wants to play with everyone else but is hesitant to do so

The Kurosaki siblings go over and take her hands, drawing her in to join them

Ranmaru’s son was the first boy to ever hold her hand

Little girl has her first crush when she looked up at him and he smiled back

(Camus, feeling a chill go down his body, fights tooth and nail to untangle himself from Reiji and Ranmaru and fly to his daughter’s side)

Ai’s son runs over when he sees them, excited that the little girl he’s always seen standing by the sidelines is finally here

Camus’ daughter’s heart melts when Ai’s son takes her hand and beams up at her

She’s never seen a boy younger than her, and so much smaller too!

Ai’s little son is normally shy and has a tendency to hide behind his parents’ legs when in public, but he’s very different with the other QN children whom he’s practically grown up with

He looks up to and sticks to Ranmaru’s son too, so he’s got two ducklings following him around everywhere he goes

Now with the addition of Camus’ daughter the duckling count has gone up to three

Both Kotobuki twins inherited their father’s boundless energy and appetite for fun

His son tends to be more on the serious side but enjoys a good prank like his sister

He and Ranmaru’s son are the ‘responsible’ ones who will pick up the younger kids and run like bats out of hell anytime a prank or joke goes wrong

The twins are the ones who come up with new games for everyone to play most of the time

Both of them have taken to calling Ranmaru’s son ‘Oniichan’, to his mild annoyance

Afternoon rolls around and both big and small stomachs are rumbling

Each papa brought their own homemade picnic lunch from home for potluck

Ai greatly approves of this

He’s a big believer in his boy getting as many experiences as possible, food included

Reiji’s karaage is naturally one of the more popular items on the menu, with Ran’s meatballs coming in a close second

Ai’s fruit and vitamin punch was left largely unfinished because it had more vitamins than fruit and tasted like it

(Both Ai and his son are puzzled by everyone’s reaction to the drink which was both healthy and absolutely fine to them, reminding all present that Ai’s little boy had inherited his father’s analytical taste buds)

Camus’ dessert tables (filled with nothing but cake and ice-cream and carried in by a crew) saved the day and everyone’s tongues

One table was graciously provided for the potluck

The other was reserved for him and his daughter, who to his dismay keeps trying to share her dessert with the Kurosaki spawn

The Kotobuki twins may be picky eaters but the sand and sea’s sharpened their appetites, making their father weep with joy when he saw empty plates and little hands holding them up, asking for seconds

Ranmaru’s drummed the principle of “clean your plate or starve” into his kids heads ever since they were old enough to eat solid food, so picky eating isn’t much of a problem for him

Except he isn’t exempted from every parent’s enemy of vegetables, which is a high hurdle for him to clear considering he’s not a fan of the green either

Apparently his children got around the ‘starving’ part of their father’s dining discipline by feeding their vegetables to the cats, technically still leaving their plates clean

Camus daughter has never eaten anything that wasn’t prepared by either her father or a professional chef, which should tell you enough about her upbringing

As mentioned, Ai’s son shares the same taste buds as his sire, hence he’ll eat anything and think it tastes alright

After lunch and a half-hour rest in the shade (with Ranmaru being awakened from his nap by his papa!radar going off and cracking open an eye to glare at any child who tries to sneak back on to the beach earlier than they’re supposed to), it’s back to the sun and waves and more fun

Ranmaru’s got his son hoisted up on his shoulders and his daughter hanging gleefully off one bicep, proudly showing off that he’s still got the muscles despite fatherhood

Reiji’s and his two-man army came armed with water soakers and are currently running for their lives from Camus, who is soaked and breathing frost and fury and advancing menacingly on the Kotobukis, his steps turning the surrounding water and sand to ice with his daughter perched on one arm, only slightly damp due to her father shielding her

Later on watermelons are brought out for an afternoon snack

The age-old game of watermelon smashing commences

When it’s Ranmaru’s turn to hit the watermelon he takes aim, spins and strikes alarmingly close to Camus, sending sand flying in all directions

“Eh, thought I sensed something soft headed around here. Guess my gut was right on the mark.”

He grins, taking off the blindfold and cracking his neck with an added smirk

Highly unamused, Camus feels around for the nearest thing at him to bash Ranmaru’s head in with, which turns out to be a plastic toy bucket still half-full with wet sand

Equally unamused and seeing red now, Ranmaru grabs another toy bucket, chooses an area of beach abundant with seashells and tiny crabs, fills it to the brim and dumps it down the back of Camus’ shirt

Their kids watching the sand, seashells and seaweed fly with the battle raging on 

(Good thing their wives had the foresight to pack more than one change of clothes for both the men and their kids)

Everyone eventually settles down to finish off the smashed watermelons

Ranmaru teaching the children how to spit out the seeds and unknowingly initiating a competition to see who can spit them the furthest

Camus has long carried away his daughter, mortified at her having to watch such a crass activity

Reiji’s been furiously taking photographs throughout the entire day and sending constant updates to his wifey at home

(He spams the Quartet Night group chat with the same photos and commentary later

Camus leaves the chat group in a fit of ire, only to be added back almost immediately by Reiji

“Myu-chan, you’re so careless! What’re you doing accidentally exiting the group chat like that? Think of all the news you’d have missed out on if I hadn’t noticed!”)

Closer to evening Ai’s son is worn out from playing and starts getting clingy with his father

“Hm? What’s the matter?” he asks him, rubbing his back with one hand. “Tired already?”

He presses his head against Ai’s shirt and pouts

“Want Mommy.”

“We still have three hours and forty-seven minutes left to go before we can see your mother. Do you want to take a nap in the shade first?”

“No. Want Mommy now!”

Off Ai goes, carrying away his cranky three-year-old to some place quiet where he can calmly explain to him how throwing a tantrum does not make time go by any faster

He returns an hour later, his toddler in his arms, now completely exhausted from his father’s lecture which turned out to be as hypnotic as a lullaby

Hearing Ai’s son whining for his mother makes the other children realise that they’ve gone an entire day without Mommy too

The mood’s going downhill fast, with all the adults frantically trying to stop their children from bursting into tears from suddenly missing their mothers

Reiji saves the day with a brilliant idea

“No summer night is complete without fireworks!”

Good thing he brought along enough to make Ai and Camus seriously worry about being caught by the police for possession of an abnormally large amount of explosives

Firecrackers, whizzlers, fountains, spinners, you name it, Reiji’s probably got more than ten of it

All papas present breath a sigh of relief when their children are distracted from thoughts of their mothers by the possibility of playing with something bright, shiny and noisy

Ai has his boy in his lap, placidly holding on to a sparkler

Baby boy wanted to do nothing but snuggle in his chest at first, but the bright lights and the noise the other children were making woke him up 

Camus hovering anxiously behind his little girl, a globe of water ready to materialize in his hand any second for fear that a stray firework might have the audacity to approach his angel

Ranmaru and Reiji’s children having the time of their lives running up and down the beach, setting off bottle rockets in the air

Ranmaru running after his kids when they gang up with the Kotobuki twins to chase Reiji down the length of the beach with roman candles at ready

At the end of the night, after cleaning up after themselves (junior chipping in to help), each papa carries their exhausted but happy child home in their arms, piling into the rented van

Camus is both stunned and aghast when his little girl tugs on the arm of Ran’s son, her head still resting against her father’s chest, and tells him to come and play again sometime

Ranmaru is just as mortified when the little boy yawns and nods

The two fathers share a mutual look of “WE SHALL NEVER SPEAK OF THIS AGAIN” before urgently bundling their children back home

Ran gives his confused son the “You can pick anyone you like, just not that one” talk

The poor man has never felt so threatened in his life before

Camus bathes his little girl in the Permafrost equivalent of holy water to exorcise whatever black magic that Kurosaki spawn must have cast on his precious angel

Reiji sends everyone home safe and sound

Bathes and carries both his children to bed and tucks them in

Pulls his wife down to sit next to him on the couch as he recounts the day and adds on even more commentary to the sea of photographs he had texted her throughout their day out

All of Quartet Night’s wives say the same thing to their exhausted husbands when they return home with sleeping children in their arms

“Welcome back. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

And they had to agree that it wasn’t

(Although whether they would do it again was still up for debate lol) 

[asbraveasrobb]

Can you point out more parallels between House Stark/the North and House Martell/Dorne, please??

Let me count the ways…

Between the North and Dorne, well let’s start with the obvious WOIAF passage:  

Archmaester Brude, who was born and raised in the shadow city that huddles beneath the crumbling walls of Sunspear, once famously observed that Dorne has more in common with the distant North than either does with the realms that lie between them. “One is hot and one is cold, yet these ancient kingdoms of sand and snow are set apart from the rest of Westeros by history, culture, and tradition. Both are thinly peopled, compared to the lands betwixt. Both cling stubbornly to their own laws and their own traditions. Neither was ever truly conquered by the dragons. The King in the North accepted Aegon Targaryen as his overlord peaceably, whilst Dorne resisted the might of the Targaryens valiantly for almost two hundred years, before finally submitting to the Iron Throne through marriage. Dornishmen and Northmen alike are derided as savages by the ignorant of the five ‘civilized’ kingdoms, and celebrated for their valor by those who have crossed swords with them.”

Unity and Identity

To be noted is this idea of being “other.” The North has the blood of the First Men and their strange, savage gods and Dorne has the blood of the Rhoynar and all the seemingly strange customs that go with that. Because of this “othering,” Dorne and the North have a sense of unity that the other kingdoms lack. We see this in Dorne refusing to kneel to foreign invaders, no Dornish lords betraying Sunspear even after the Targaryens tried to turn them against their liege, and when they are conquered the smallfolk of Dorne rise up in resistance. In the North, we see this in Greatjon Umber’s speech that “Why should they rule over me and mine, from some flowery seat in Highgarden or Dorne? What do they know of the Wall or the wolfswood or the barrows of the First Men? Even their gods are wrong.” We see it in Tyrion knowing even as an outsider that the Lord of Winterfell would always be a Stark, we see it in the Mountain Clans risking all to save “the Ned’s little girl.” As we hear a hundred times, there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. I think a key difference in their sense of unity is that in the North the lords will only bend a knee to the Starks but in Dorne the high and low will only bend their knee to a Dornishman. Dorne has a strong patriotism and national identity that high and low sacrificed thousands of lives to keep. Smallfolk of the North are loyal to the Starks because the Starks protect them during winter. But there is not nearly as strong patriotism for “the North.” Firstly, when Torrhen Stark surrenders to Aegon the Conqueror, the smallfolk do not rise in anger the way the smallfolk of Dorne do after the Submission of Sunspear. Secondly, Dorne is the only kingdom in Westeros that has a true name. “The North,” is not the name of a country. North of what? That puts their identity as related to another land. Dorne does not call itself “the South.” Dorne is a country, so Dorne must have a name. 

Even where there is disunity, Dorne and the North compare. House Bolton and House Yronwood—the vassals that were once kings of great power. House Bolton rebelled against the Kings of Winterfell and most recently…ya know…stabbed one and took his castle. House Yronwood fought against their Martell overlords in three of the Blackfyre rebellions. Many of the great houses have a powerful vassal who gives them pause, but only the Starks of Winterfell and the Martells of Sunspear have a rival within their realm with a turbulent history for centuries before Aegon’s Conquest.

Outsiders

As Meria Martell said, “This is Dorne. You are not wanted here.” That…that about sums it up. Both kingdoms have just one skinny border. Because of this, both the Northerners and Dornishmen express the idea of fighting better on their own soil, notably Moat Cailin or the Prince’s Pass and Boneway. It’s damn hard to get into either kingdom, and when you do…

You are not wanted. We see this in the POV’s of outsiders: 

He remembered their godswood; the tall sentinels armored in their grey-green needles, the great oaks, the hawthorn and ash and soldier pines, and at the center the heart tree standing like some pale giant frozen in time. He could almost smell the place, earthy and brooding, the smell of centuries, and he remembered how dark the wood had been even by day. That wood was Winterfell. It was the north. I never felt so out of place as I did when I walked there, so much an unwelcome intruder. He wondered if the Greyjoys would feel it too. The castle might well be theirs, but never that godswood. Not in a year, or ten, or fifty.

A Clash of Kings, Tyrion XI

This place is strange to him, and little to his liking. Hotah could understand that. Dorne had seemed a queer place to him as well when first he came here with his own princess, many years ago. The bearded priests had drilled him on the Common Speech of Westeros before they sent him forth, but the Dornishmen all spoke too quickly for him to understand. Dornish women were lewd, Dornish wine was sour, and Dornish food was full of queer hot spices. And the Dornish sun was hotter than the pale, wan sun of Norvos, glaring down from a blue sky day after day.

A Dance with Dragons, The Watcher

Ser Arys Oakheart pulled up his hood to cover his face. It would not do for him to be recognized. A fortnight past, a trader had been butchered in the shadow city, a harmless man who’d come to Dorne for fruit and found death instead of dates. His only crime was being from King’s Landing.

A Feast for Crows, The Soiled Knight (smallfolk loyalty, amirite?)

Which brings us to the Lady of Winterfell and the Lady of Sunspear, Catelyn and Mellario, who I talk about more here. Both wed to great lords for many years, both loved them, both bore them children, both always felt as outsiders. Catelyn wed a stranger and found love, Mellario wed her love and found a stranger. Because they did not just wed a man, the wed a land, a land that felt strange and queer to them.

When I first came to Winterfell, I was hurt whenever Ned went to the godswood to sit beneath his heart tree. Part of his soul was in that tree, I knew, a part I would never share. Yet without that part, I soon realized, he would not have been Ned. Jeyne, child, you have wed the north, as I did … 

A Storm of Swords, Catelyn III

Robert’s Rebellion to Present

The previous generation of House Stark and House Martell have similarities in plot, character, and themes. Unfortunately, we do not have as much information about the Princes of Sunspear during Robert’s Rebellion as we do about Ned. 

Elia and Lyanna

One woman, one girl, two lives that impacted their brothers so much, two deaths that their brothers never forgot. Because they are dead before AGOT, we know very little about their personalities, but what we do know seem all at odds. Sweet and gentle Elia, bold and brash Lyanna. AGOT opens the narrative of Robert’s Rebellion as a war between Rhaegar and Robert over Lyanna. Obviously there is more to it, the rights of lords, broken feudal contracts, etc, but if House Martell and House Stark have anything in common it is the bond of familial love. Elia and Lyanna were both a “princess in the tower” and their brothers were fighting to save them from their imprisonment. Elia and Lyanna’s most poignant similarity? They were both abandoned by Rhaegar. Elia was left in King’s Landing as a hostage to Rhaegar’s notoriously racist and unstable father, and Lyanna was left in the Tower of Joy. They both were powerless, striped of whatever agency they might have once had, and dead before their time. 

I assume that Lyanna went willingly with Rhaegar, whether for love or freedom or a combination of both, we do not know. If she went willingly, that means she ran off with Rhaegar and Arthur Dayne and Oswell Whent. And later, she watched the latter two try to kill her brother. Elia came to King’s Landing as the wife of the Prince of Dragonstone, and mother to his heir, yet when Rhaegar left she fell from princess to hostage. Another tragedy of similar style: both Elia and Lyanna watched their guardians turn to gaolers. 

And so Elia and Lyanna are the bookends of Robert’s Rebellion. Elia in King’s Landing watches Brandon Stark ride in and demand justice for his sister, not knowing that her own hotheaded brother would do the same fifteen years later. Elia is present in King’s Landing for the first death of the rebellion, and Lyanna is there for the last.

Ned and Doran

Superficially, the basic gist of their brothers’ personalities appear similar: Brandon and Oberyn are hotheaded, rash, bloodthirsty, lustful, and bold while Ned and Doran are quiet, temperate, and patient. But if we delve a little deeper into the latter two…

Innocents

Ned and Doran have a concern for the innocent that is (unfortunately) atypical in Westerosi lords. We see that all the Stark children have learned from their father that “a good lord protects his people.” Doran similarly expresses to his own daughter that “it is an easy thing for a prince to call the spears, but in the end the children pay the price. For their sake, the wise prince will wage no war without good cause, nor any war he cannot hope to win.”

And we see that these mindsets are not just individual to Ned and Doran, they are institutional, with the construction of the Water Gardens and the use of Winterfell during winter to preserve thousands of smallfolk.

In the end, the children pay the price. Which brings us to…

Rhaenys and Aegon

Lyanna’s death meant nothing to Doran and Oberyn, and Elia’s death meant nothing to Ned. But Rhaenys and Aegon, the death of innocent children was an injustice that no one cared about, no one mentioned, no one was punished for. Why, the only people who could not get over it were Doran, Oberyn, and Ned. These deaths and the lack of justice leads to Doran and Oberyn becoming disloyal to the throne and plotting against all responsible, and it drove a wedge between Ned and Robert that causes Ned to keep his own secret from Robert, the greatest and most terrible secret. Jon.

Secrets

Promise me, Ned, Lyanna once pleaded. And so Ned promised her. He took Jon as his own, and he never told a soul, not even Catelyn who he came to love or Jon who desperately wanted answers.

Some secrets are safer kept hidden. Some secrets are too dangerous to share, even with those you love and trust.

A Game of Thrones, Eddard VIII

Eddard cannot forget the murders of Rhaenys and Aegon no matter how hard he tries, and when Robert plans to murder Daenerys Ned is once again reminded of Robert’s darker side. And so Ned sacrifices his honor. He sacrifices his wife’s and child’s happiness. He sacrifices all for the shade of his beloved sister. Wait…this sounds familiar…

The old knight read the pact slowly. “If Robert had known of this, he would have smashed Sunspear as he once smashed Pyke, and claimed the heads of Prince Doran and the Red Viper … and like as not, the head of this Dornish princess too.”“No doubt that was why Prince Doran chose to keep the pact a secret,” suggested Daenerys. 

A Dance with Dragons, Daenerys VII

Themes

Grief

She had lived too long, and Ned was waiting.

A Storm of Swords, Catelyn VII

These books are all filled with grief, but something about Catelyn’s grief in the novels stuck with me. It was hopeless, it was one by one losing everything and trying to just roll over and give up. It was this old, worn out, lived too long type grief. It was losing the people who you were never supposed to lose. It was trying not to be consumed because people depend on you. Catelyn’s grief was losing her children until only Robb remained to her, but he had lost all his childhood as well. And then her POV ended.

But the grief returned, manifested somewhere new. 

“I was the oldest,” the prince said, “and yet I am the last. After Mors and Olyvar died in their cradles, I gave up hope of brothers. I was nine when Elia came, a squire in service at Salt Shore. When the raven arrived with word that my mother had been brought to bed a month too soon, I was old enough to understand that meant the child would not live. Even when Lord Gargalen told me that I had a sister, I assured him that she must shortly die. Yet she lived, by the Mother’s mercy. And a year later Oberyn arrived, squalling and kicking. I was a man grown when they were playing in these pools. Yet here I sit, and they are gone.”

A Feast for Crows, The Captain of the Guards

And we see a man still grieving for his sister after fifteen years, now fresh in the grief of his beloved brother. And we watch Areo Hotah stand guard over this sad, silent man, not privy to his thoughts like we were Catelyn’s. But we soon see those thoughts parallel beyond their grief.

Desire for peace vs. desire for justice

Both Catelyn and Doran share a similar thematic storyline as their grief unfolds and they are faced with conflicting desires: desire for peace vs. desire for justice. They both feel a great duty to defend their people. For Catelyn, this is her family. For Doran, it is Dorne; it is the children in the pools. And yet…they want justice and justice is not given easily. This conflict is central to their characters; it has caused Doran to not fight any war he cannot win. It leads Catelyn to choose the hope of her daughters over justice against Jaime Lannister.

“Oberyn wanted vengeance for Elia. Now the three of you want vengeance for him. I have four daughters, I remind you. Your sisters. My Elia is fourteen, almost a woman. Obella is twelve, on the brink of maidenhood. They worship you, as Dorea and Loreza worship them. If you should die, must El and Obella seek vengeance for you, then Dorea and Loree for them? Is that how it goes, round and round forever? I ask again, where does it end?” Ellaria Sand laid her hand on the Mountain’s head. “I saw your father die. Here is his killer. Can I take a skull to bed with me, to give me comfort in the night? Will it make me laugh, write me songs, care for me when I am old and sick?”

A Dance with Dragons, The Watcher

The Greatjon bellowed his approval, and other men added their voices, shouting and drawing swords and pounding their fists on the table. Catelyn waited until they had quieted. “My lords,” she said then, “Lord Eddard was your liege, but I shared his bed and bore his children. Do you think I love him any less than you?” Her voice almost broke with her grief, but Catelyn took a long breath and steadied herself. “Robb, if that sword could bring him back, I should never let you sheathe it until Ned stood at my side once more … but he is gone, and a hundred Whispering Woods will not change that. Ned is gone, and Daryn Hornwood, and Lord Karstark’s valiant sons, and many other good men besides, and none of them will return to us. Must we have more deaths still?”

A Game of Thrones, Catelyn XI

Catelyn and Ellaria are pleading for peace instead of getting caught in a cycle of vengeance. House Stark’s and House Martell’s desire for justice is very similar—it is not good enough that someone dies for it. They want to make it does not happen again. For Robb and the North, that meant declaring independence. For the Martells, we see it in Oberyn coming to King’s Landing to publically condemn Tywin and Ser Gregor. When Robb and his lords are faced with the prospect of peace, its not Brynden Tully’s warning that they could never trust a peace with Tywin anyways that makes them keep fighting. It is the idea of dying in vain and the desire to make death have meaning.

“What did Torrhen and my Eddard die for, if I am to return to Karhold with nothing but their bones?” asked Rickard Karstark.

“Aye,” said Lord Bracken. “Gregor Clegane laid waste to my fields, slaughtered my smallfolk, and left Stone Hedge a smoking ruin. Am I now to bend the knee to the ones who sent him? What have we fought for, if we are to put all back as it was before?”

A Game of Thrones, Catelyn XI

This sentiment to pursue the course in order to make life have meaning is found again in Quentyn’s storyline. But Quentyn is reminded, “Men’s lives have meaning, not their deaths.” Yet it still remains to be seen if that lesson died with him, and if Quentyn’s futile death becomes something Doran must give meaning.

As we know, Robb did not listen to Catelyn…but will Doran listen to Ellaria?

Secret princes: Jon Snow and Young Griff

(So help me if someone says the two Aegons…)

Not only do Doran and Ned have their secrets, they have their secret princes as well. The last remnant of lost sister. As of TWOW, Young Griff has reached out to his supposed Uncle for aid. Young Griff as a character is a foil for Jon, the two secret princes, one oblivious of his heritage and forging his own path, the other oblivious to his heritage and that he is only a mummer’s dragon on another’s strings. And it’s hinted that Aegon will meet his maker quite soon (most likely at the hands of Dany). Whether or not Dorne throws its lot in with him remains to be seen, but the fact of it is that Jon is the “true secret prince” we will naturally root for simply because the narrative introduced him in AGOT and not ADWD, just as the Martells were not introduced until ASOS. And that is the greatest and saddest distinction between these thematically very similar house storylines: the Martells were not given their own version of “The wolves will come again.”

[jsdragon56]

The Reluctant Worgen Pt1

In a quiet corner of the Northern Headlands, in the lands of Gilneas, sits a quiet apple orchard. It was small in size, but still worthy of a stall in the city marketplace. Every harvest a man, his wife, son, and daughter would be there with bushels of bright red apples. The family would always offer a smile, even when asked about the rumors of strange beasts roaming the wilds they call home. They would just shake their heads, calling them silly stories, and offer a free sample of their crop. They would leave the market with coin enough to buy supplies ample enough to last the coldest of winters, and still buy a treat for the children. But one year, the family never arrived, and was never seen again. ***** Priestess Alathea sighs, “Thank you soldier. That will be all.” The worgen warrior stands to attention and gives a salute before returning to his post. “Another wonderful lead hmm?” a gruff voice asks. The priestess rubs her forehead. “Every little bit helps captain.” She looks up to the armor clad man, another worgen from Gilneas, free of the curse. “I know how you feel about this, and I am truly sorry for everything that has happened.” “I lost three good men trying to recover your little goal here. I have said this before, it was a waste…” He looks over to the stocks, where a feral worgen struggles to get free. “We’ve given her six times the dosage of the elixir and nothing has happened. That amount should have killed her… We could have used that to help others clear their minds, and strengthened our number to fight off these undead… We should put her down now and end her suffering… and the noise.” “That’s not an option captain!” Alathea snaps. “She will be saved. We just need to clear her mind enough for the ritual.” She sighs again, watching the worgen woman struggle. “I wish I knew what she was thinking…” ***** “It’s raining again mama!” a young girl proclaims. With a chuckle, her mother turns away from her cooking pot and looks out the window. “Yes love, suppose it’ll be like this all day. Ope yer father an brother took their overcoats.” She glances at the front door where the coats are hung, rolling her eyes. “Mama, can I go look for the puppy?” “What? That stray? No dear, you’ll catch cold out there.” “But mama! He’s my buddy! I don’t want him to get sick!” “He’s your wha?” “My buddy! You know, my friend. He’s all alone out there. I wish he had a house… Like ours…” The little girl looks up at her mother with a pout. Her mother crosses her arms with a smirk, tilting her head slightly. “You know… If he lived with us,” the girl continues, “I wouldn’t have to go out in the rain looking for him.” “Flawless logic fer an eight year old.” Her mother says with a chuckle. “Right, ere’s the deal then. You ave ten minutes to find him. He can stay in the shed for now. Once yer father gets back, he and I will ave a talk about keepin yer ‘buddy.” “You… you mean it?!” the girl says, her eyes lighting up. “Cross me ‘eart. Now, get yer coat an overshoes on.” The girl screams with joy as she runs to get her clothes on. The mother sighs as she watches her daughter run around in the rain. “I bloody well ope that mutt is in the city right now. That girl will be the death of me.” She chuckles as she turn back to her stew. “Puppy?! Where are you?!” the girl calls as she moves about the yard. “Mama said that you could come live with us! Puppy?!” As she looks around, she hears something moving around a large berry bush. “Puppy! There you are!” As she moves closer, she hears a deep, low growl. “Puppy?” She reaches out to move the leaves of the bush aside. Suddenly a creature lashes out and bites her arm. As she screams, a large hound jumps out and attacks the creature. The beast releases its bite on the girl, and she goes running towards the house. She runs as fast as she can, but trips over something. Crying, she tries to stand. Then, something grabs a hold of her, bringing her to her feet.  Through tear filled eyes, she sees “Mama!” “Oi, wha appened?” Looking her daughter over, she sees the bite. “Bloody ell! Look at what that mutt did to you!” “It wasn’t him mama! It was the monster! The puppy saved me!” “Monster? What are you talkin…” Her question is cut short by a loud growl, and a dog letting out a short yipe. “Come on love… Back inside, now.” The two rush back to house. As they get inside, the beast lets out a long, piercing howl. The woman quickly bandages her daughters arm as another howl echoes through the air, followed by another, and another. “Wait ere…” She quickly moves to the fireplace where an old hunting rifle is hanging on the mantle. She grabs the rifle and fumbles with the ammunition. She finally manages to load the rifle, just as one of the beasts burst through the window. Stunned, she watches the beast stand and rise to its full height. She looks upon this, a bastardisation of man and beast. A worgen. She stares at the thing, its lip curling as it growls, it’s teeth red from a fresh kill. “Mama!” the girl screams. The beast turns to look at the girl, giving the mother a chance, her only chance. She aims, and pulls the trigger. ***** “I am wondering what you are thinking sister…” a very familiar voice asks. Alathea quickly stands and turns. “High Priestess Tyrande! What an unexpected surprise.” “Oh no sister, the surprise came when I found out that you left Darnassus without informing me. The bigger surprise was the fact that you have been ignoring my summons to return home for the last week. But my favourite surprise came when I found out that you came to the Gilnean front without Sentinel escort! Now please, explain to me what is so important that you disregard your duties in the temple, your personal safety, and your respect for me, to come here.” “High Priestess,” the captain speaks up, “I assure you that your kins safety has been one of…” “Solider…” Tyrande speaks calmly, “I highly recommend you go on patrol… Now.” The captain gulps and snaps a quick salute, and leaves. “Now sister… Where were we?” “I’m sorry High Priestess. I meant no disrespect, but this was an urgent matter. I believe I was given a vision. I saw the front, and just behind the Forsaken lines was a den. Inside was a worgen woman, this one.” Alathea gestures towards the stocks. “I feel that it is Elune’s wish that I save this woman. It has proven, challenging to say the least. As the captain would tell you, it cost the lives of several good men to bring her back across the lines. We have given her more of the Gilnean elixir that should have been required. Her mind is so clouded, I don’t know what to do.” “Are you so sure this was the woman from your vision?” “Positive. There is a mark on her chest, in the shape of a crescent moon. It is the same as in my vision, as well as my own pendant.” “You say you have given her the elixir?” Tyrande slowly walks towards the worgen woman, kneeling in front to look into her eyes. They seem to study each other for a moment. “Yes, High Priestess.” “And she hasn’t reacted to it?” “No, High Priestess…” “Are you so sure?” Tyrande glances back. Alathea blinks. “You see her here struggling to break free. Well, would you not try to escape this, barbaric thing?” She slowly reaches out towards the woman, and gently places a hand on her cheek. Alathea moves to stop Tyrande, but is shocked by what she sees. The worgen relaxes, her ears droop down as her eyes widen. “You see sister, each reaction is as unique as the individual. Look into her eyes and you will see her mind is quite clear, and that might be why she is so afraid. Imagine living under a constantly cloudy and stormy sky for all of your life, then to have it all stop and see the moon and stars for the first time.” Alathea blinks “By the Goddess…” She slowly walks over and kneels next to the High Priestess, softly placing a hand on the worgen’s other cheek, “I am so sorry miss…” The worgen lets out a soft whine. “It’s alright, you can speak. I am Priestess Alathea, and I am here to help you.” The worgen whines again, leaning into the priestess’ hand. “Why does she not speak?” “Perhaps she doesn’t remember how to sister.” “Then I’ll help her to.” She gently rubs the worgen’s cheek, just as the ground shakes as a Forsaken bomb goes off nearby, echoing through the air. In a panic, the worgen bites the priestess’ hand. Alathea pulls her hand back, holding it as blood begins to trickle down her arm. “Is everyone alright?” the captain asks, returning to check on his ‘guests’. He looks Alathea over and sees her wound. He turns and glares at the panicked worgen, hitting her with the back of his armored hand “Bitch!” Angered, Alathea knocks the captain back with a burst of energy. “Do NOT strike her again!” She quickly moves to the worgen woman, trying to calm her. “Don’t forget your place here priestess!” the captain growls. “Your people may be here to aid us, but you are still a guest here under my command.” “Hmm, and what is MY place here captain?” Tyrande asks. The captain blinks, forgetting who else was here. He clears his throat “It’s um, where ever you would like it to be, mam.” “Good.” Tyrande snaps, “Then I will be taking Priestess Alathea and her friend with me. My Sentinels shall assume control of our protection on our travels to the ritual site. This is now a Kaldorei matter. Release the woman from her bonds, and give her this.” Tyrande removes her cloak and hands it to one of her Sentinel guards. “Priestess, your hand.” Alathea nods, holding her hand out for the High Priestess to heal. “So be it…” the captain grumbles, “But just remember what else we found in her den.” He glares as the woman is freed. “What else did you find?” Tyrande asks, looking at Alathea. “Something we can discuss later, High Priestess.” Alathea sighs. “Really?” the captain raises an eyebrow, turning to the two. “I think your High Priestess aught know now. My men found remains all over her cave. Animal and man alike, gnawed on. We even found a fresh kill. We couldn’t tell who he was. It was a right bloody mess…” ***** “What a right bloody mess we’re in, eh love?” the mother grumbles. They’ve been wandering through the woods for what seems like ages. She looks down at her daughter, who hasn’t made a noise since the beast was shot in the house. They stop under a large tree, the mother placing her daughter down, checking her arm. “Aw, that bite ain’t so bad love. Beasty got me leg worse than that.” She sighs, her daughter not responding. She sits down, placing the now bent rifle against the tree. “Beasts skull was arder than I thought. That shot should ave done im in.” She pauses a moment, watching her daughter. “Well, I figure we should be in town soon enough. We’ll get the ealers to patch us up. Then we’ll get the guards all wound up. They’ll protect us. We can stop by the inn and get all cleaned up and ave a nice big meal.” “But…” the girl looks up, “What about papa, and big brother?” “I’ll betcha they’ve already pestered the guards enough to come lookin fer us, an aven a drink in the pub.” The mother looks down at her daughter with a fake smile. A lie, the mother thinks, but she’s young. She won’t know. “Mama… I’m tired, and hungry…” “I know love. Just needed a moment to rest me leg. Ya want me ta carry you a bit more?” The girl just nods. The woman picks up her daughter and looks around. She doesn’t know where they are, or how long they’ve been running for. She doesn’t know what to do. Run. All she can think to do is keep running. There has to be someone out here. She starts to walk deeper into the woods, leaving the old rifle leaning against the tree. She wanders in the woods for hours, her child beginning to fall ill. The canopy of trees offers little in the way of protection from the rain. Another hour of wandering passes when the pair stumbles across a small cave. “It’s no city, but it’ll do for a rest, eh love?” Her question goes unanswered. “Right, lets ave us a looksee then.” The cave is small, not too much room to move around. A large crack in the wall might be big enough for her daughter to crawl into in case something happens. She looks at her daughter. She’s pale, shivering, and is sweating. “You stay ere love. I’ll get us some food.” As the woman stands, she stagers slightly. She’s lost blood, and a good amount of it. She tightens the bandage on her leg and walks back into the woods. I can’t be gone long, she thinks, can’t leave er alone. As she wanders, she finds the odd berry bush, but nothing substantial until she comes across a lamb in a small clearing. Fresh meat. She was cooking a nice lamb stew for dinner before all this happened, but fresh off the bone sounds wonderful right now. Something spooks the lamb, it starts looking around. The woman knows it wasn’t her, and she has an idea on what it was. Slowly she starts to move back, just as one of the beasts pounce on the lamb, tarring it apart. She backs away terrified and bumps into something. Slowly she looks up, right into the eyes of another of the beasts. It curls its lip and growls as it slashes her back, sending her flying forward towards the first one. Both creatures begin to move closer to her, locking eyes with one another. They begin to circle the woman as she regains her senses. She can’t believe her eyes, these two creatures lunge for each other, biting and clawing. A fight to the finish for their next big meal. With the beast distracted, the woman starts to crawl away. She has to get back to her daughter, get her away from these things. She stagers to her feet, warmth trickling down her back from the three gashes, her left are totally numb. She tries to run through the woods, back towards the cave with her daughter. She’s safe there until I get back. She tries to run faster, but trips over a root sticking out from the ground. She lands with a dull thud on the cold wet forest floor. Trying to stand, she just collapses back down, not having the strength. Tired, cold, can’t feel anything now, perhaps she should rest a moment, closing her eyes. Her daughter is safe for now. Her daughter… The girl wakes up, the whole of her body hurting. She looks around, not knowing where she is, but she does know she’s hungry. Nothing to eat in here. Maybe outside… NO, outside bad! Very bad. Safe here in the cave. She perks up, hearing something moving outside the cave, coming inside. Hide. A crack in the wall, perfect for her. She squeezes in, just able to fit. A shadowy figure slowly enters the cave, searching. Looking, for her… ***** “There you are.” Alathea pokes her head through the bush, “Come on, the big bad tank is gone.”  She lets out a soft chuckle as she coaxes the worgen woman out of her hiding place. It’s been a slow trek to Tal’doren. Everything seems to frighten the woman, especially the mechanical things of the dwarves and gnomes. As the group approaches the Wild Home, they are met by a Kaldorei druid. He bows to the group to greet them. “Sisters, welcome. Unfortunately there is little time for formalities and pleasantries. The Forsaken war wagons are said to be approaching. We may only have an hour, perhaps two.” “Is that time enough for the ritual?” Alathea asks. “Just, if we hurry. We will have to explain the ritual quickly to your friend here.” “You’re going to have to explain it to me, brother. I will have to guide her through the ritual.” “So be it, bring her down to the site. High Priestess, I hate to ask anything of you, but our defences are somewhat lacking at the moment…” “Say no more brother.” Tyrande nods, “Sentinels, defensive positions.” The Sentinel commander nods and makes some quick hand gestures, sending her troops into the surrounding woods. Alathea and the druid lead the worgen woman down to the ritual site. Tyrande moves to the Sentinel leader and speaks quietly to her. “Keep your bow at the ready. If the ritual fails, and the woman loses control, be sure your arrow strikes true. I feel she has suffered enough. I pray to Elune that Alathea is right about her.” The Sentinel just nods and the two follow down the path. The ceremony moves slowly, but uninterrupted. As Tyrande watches, she is approached by a druidess and an elderly looking worgen. “Ishnu'alah, High Priestess. I believe I have found someone to help identify the woman you and Alathea have brought us. High Priestess Tyrande Whisperwind, this is Grandma Wahl. She claims to know every person that has ever owned a stall in the Gilneas market square.” “It’s nice to meet you, young miss.” Grandma Wahl smiles. “A pleasure elder.” Tyrande chuckles. “Oi, now don’t you be startin with that ‘elder’ stuff. Just call me Grandma. I’ll even let you call me granny.” “As you wish, grandma. You say you’re able to help us?” “Of course dearie. I know which family you think she’s from. We use to trade. A bushel of their apples for some preserved fruit and jellies. They use to always return my jars. They were such a nice family.” “It looks as though the ceremony is almost finished.” The druidess says. All eyes fall onto the woman as she drinks of the last pool. She stagers back, transforming back to her human form. A form that hasn’t been seen for so long. She looks around, trying to speak, but no words come out. She holds her throat, and then looks down at her hands. A look of fear fills her face. She tries to run, bumping into one of the few Gilnean guards here. She looks up at him and lets out a short, raspy scream before feinting. Alathea runs to her, putting her hand just over the woman’s mouth to see if she’s breathing. The priestess smiles and nods to Tyrande. “So grandmother,” Tyrande turns to Wahl, “I take it you recognise the woman. I’m assuming it’s the mother.” “Nope.” Wahl says. “Not her.” “Hmm, I suppose we’ll have to keep guessing.” “How about you let me finish here little missy. I said it wasn’t her, as in the wife. She had blond hair. But… It couldn’t be her… She was so young…” “Grandmother?” “Their daughter had red hair like that. So spirited she was… It has been over twelve years though…” “What are you talking about?” “Their daughter, she had red hair like that. So full of life she was. Last I seen of her, she was only, seven or eight I think. What was her name again… I think it was…” ***** “Alieca!” the mother calls. “I’m back love!” She staggers into the cave and collapses. “It’s okay love, where are yah?” She hears heavy breathing coming from the crack in the wall. “It’s alright hun. Look, I know where we are now. If we keep our backs to the cave, we should reach the city in no time. But, I might take a little nap… I’ll need you to be a big girl and go on ahead of me. Alright love?” She looks at the crack in the wall as one of the beasts crawls out. Small as a child, wearing the tattered remains of a blue dress and an overcoat, and it’s arm bandaged. It growls as it slowly approaches. “Alieca… Oh my little Alieca… I’m so sorry love…” She closes her eyes as the small beast lunges at her. ***** “How is the child sister?” Tyrande asks, peering into a small cabin onboard a ship bound for Teldrassil. “She’s still sleeping, High Priestess. She seems to be remembering how to speak again. She keeps asking for her mother.” Alathea reply’s quietly. She looks down at the woman sleeping on the bed, her head resting in Alathea’s lap. “Are you sure you want this responsibility sister? We could simply return her to her people in Darnassus.” “No, this is my task. I want to help her, and I know Elune wants me to help her.” “It will be difficult.” Tyrande pauses for a moment. “Just be sure it doesn’t interfere with your duties.” She nods to the priestess and goes to retire in her own cabin for the evening. “I promise you child,” Alathea says softly, running her fingers through Alieca’s red hair, “I will help you. You’ll never be alone again.” “Mama…” Alieca whimpers, squirming in her sleep. “Mama…” End of Part 1

[phaylenfairchild]

Chasten Buttigieg’s Brother is a Trump Supporter out to Destroy Mayor Pete’s Bid For Presidency

Rhyan Glezman is the kind of opportunist that feels all to familiar.

We’ve often seen distant family members of celebrities suddenly rise to the surface for a bit of roll-off fame. It happened to Meghan Markle, whose mostly absent Father and Step-Sister desperately tried to mar her character when they discovered the actress was marrying the Prince of England. They went on a tour across two continents as they wallowed in the limelight, guzzling any attention on offer as they made the past of England’s future Duchess’s public business.

Gross.

Rhyan Glezman is cut from that same cloth. Glezman is the brother of Presidential candidate Pete Buttigeig’s husband, Chasten. He appeared on FOX News recently with host Laura Ingraham to make the claim that Chasten has been telling porkies about his past, and of course that means Glezman, a born again christian Pastor, must set the record straight… live on the most hostile, homophobic network on television, and to a talk show host that has attacked the LGBT community, the immigrant community and, well, basically anyone who isn’t white, straight, cisgender and male.

That’s right: FOX News. The irony here, in a strange twist of fate, Ingraham’s own brother is gay and has publicly denounced her hateful rhetoric, dubbing her “A monster.”

Maybe this sit down between Ingraham and Glezman was a perfect pairing after all.

Glezman maintained not a shred of emotion as he accused his newly famous brother of mischaracterizing his family and the conditions of his upbringing to harvest political favor.

Chasten shared some of his coming out journey during a speech at an HRC Gala; “When I was 18-years-old I worked up the courage to tell my parents that I was gay. And while we have a great relationship now, back then things weren’t easy,” he said.

And that’s true. His Mother and Father often travel with Chasten to events around the country… so here I am, waiting for the lie that the big bad big brother insists he expose…

Chasten is the youngest son of three boys who grew up far away from the political spectacles of Washington DC; Instead he was brought up in a working-class family in Traverse City, Michigan.

He remained closeted throughout school, but came out the summer after his high school graduation. Upon telling his family that he was gay, Chasten faced a consequence that so many LGBTQ youth fear the most as a result- rejection.

He left home soon after, sleeping in his car and staying with friends off and on until his Mother reached out for reconciliation and invited him back into the family home, much to the protest of Chasten’s two older brothers who still refuse to acknowledge him. I’m sure these two make family holidays an absolute joy.

The Glezman Brothers remind me of the wicked Stepsisters from Disney’s Cinderella. They’re enraged that their lowly gay brother, who is far less qualified than them for God’s blessings, has wormed his way into such a high profile position and has the nerve to talk about the faith that they claim ownership of.

Those poor, pitiful Glezman brothers.

While Chasten and his Parents have made amends, oldest brother Rhyan is determined to put a dent in Mayor Pete’s Presidential bid by using Chasten- and his religion- to vilify the couple.

The problem with Christians like Rhyan is that they equate hate slinging with the love of Jesus that only they have the power to bestow. It is a holy commodity reserved explicitly for themselves, and those they deem worthy enough to share it with. They think their hate is love and their betrayal of family or a loved one is sanctioned, nay necessary to maintain status with the guy in the sky. He also plans to ride the coattails of Chasten’s newly discovered fame… by denying being exactly who Rhyan, himself, has demonstrated himself to be. A fame chasing bigot.

You ever notice how these people loathe being called a bigot? All of them. It’s quite bizarre how truly sensitive the men and women who shout words I wouldn’t even type at two men holding hands somehow take umbrage with being labeled a bigot. Racists hate being called racists. TERFs hate being called TERFs… there’s a theme here.

Saddest of all is how smug Rhyan Glezman is, when asked if he would vote for his brother’s husband in an election, sat back, smirked, folded his hands and said…

“Trump 2020.”

In that moment, my heart broke for Chasten Buttigeig and his brother hyan showed his entire hand. I realized that the world now knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that his Brothers are hypocritical fanatics who would rather him fail than succeed and only because they think his difference in belief renders him undeserving of happiness or success… Certainly when up against the paragon of virtue that is president pussy-grabber, repeat adulterer, hush money payments to porn star paying, disability mocking, calls Nazi’s some “Fine people” while branding Mexicans rapists and murders…. this is preferred over his own Brothers, and all because he happens to be gay.

How many of us see ourselves in this story- a family that wants us to lose and laughs when we fall? That’s if they bother to stick around long enough to see where you fall. Many simply opt for a one way ticket out of our lives, and they do so in the Name of Christ. Oddly, when success or attention is found, those same family members suddenly find a revolving door to either reopen the wounds the left you to lick, or to pretend they’re anxious to help when they really just plan to sell stories about you to the media or leverage your desire for their acceptance and distort it for their own benefit. If they aren’t getting something out of it, they don’t usually stick around.

So Christian of them.

Thankfully, not all Christians subscribe to this practice, just my own family, and clearly Chasten Buttigeig’s and maybe yours, too. However, there is a faction of Christians out there that have actually read the Bible and practice what it preaches without demanding you do the same, or denouncing your existence if you don’t think like they do, believe like they do, behave like they think you should… some Christians are more worried about the quality of their own lives and relationship with Christ than they are yours… I say that like it’s uncommon, maybe it’s not, but I’m still surprised when I meet a Christian willing to mind their own damn business.

It will be painful for those of us who have had a relationship with familial rejection to watch the Glezman Brothers campaign against their youngest brother and attempt to malign the efforts of he and his Husband, claiming it’s the Christian thing to do. So many of us have had the name of Christ weaponized against us, but it’s hard to watch it happen to someone who should be on top of the world and anxious to change it for the better. Watching their very own family come from the sidelines with a trip wire out of sheer jealousy is unsettling, at best.

No one knows that disheartening reality more than the LGBT community.

Fortunately, Chasten seems to have managed to maintain strong relationships with both his Mother and Father, as he recently tweeted:

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Just FYI: My parents walked me down the aisle. My dad leveled the parking lot of our reception venue with his own two hands. My mom and I danced and shared ice cream long into the night. My parents are amazing and Peter’s biggest fans. I’m so proud of them.

 — @chas10buttigieg

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This all makes big brother Glezman’s accusation of Chasten manufacturing stories about his youth less likely to be fiction, and more likely a glaring indication that Glezman is wholly consumed by his own bitterness and resents that his gay brother turned out okay and, despite a period of struggle, kept the ties that bind him and his parents in tact. Clearly Glezman doesn’t believe Chasten deserves the same kind of happiness that he himself enjoys with his wife… just don’t call him a bigot.

However, he may be a liar for claiming his brother virtually made up the trials of his past for if he were telling the truth himself, he would have had support from others in his declaration that Chasten “Had it easy.”

Right Rhyan, you seem like the kind of guy who would have made your young gay brother’s life pleasant- and the fact that you’ve alienated him and refused to associate with him for years now doesn’t really make you the most reliable resource for information regarding Chasten or Pete. No one is stepping forward to substantiate your claims that Chasten has lied for political favor, not even your own Mom or Dad…

Terry Glezman, Chasten Glezman Buttigieg, and Sherri Glezman overcame initial struggles with their youngest sons sexuality and went on to share his special day with him.

In fact, Chasten’s Mom and Dad seem to be simply celebrating the prospects of their Sons political future even as their two older sons stew in their own self righteous, hyper religious rage, angrily brandishing their Trump bumper stickers and MAGA hats.

Hey Chasten, knowing you’ve had to deal with Brothers like this, I imagine no enemy you’ll meet on the pathway to the White House will ever shake your foundation. Thanks for telling your story, it is one we all need to hear.

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[pussymagicuniverse]

Dear Llungwe

short story by Tope Ogundare

Dear Llungwe,

Today, I woke up in the land of my birth, to the sound of the owl hooting from the tree behind the window, and the symphony of soft snores from several bodies sprawled across the mats on the floor. I lay there for several minutes basking in the joy of togetherness and enjoying the distinct sound of the day waking up. I had not felt this much happiness and contentment in twenty years, and I was in no hurry to join the day. Abruptly, the fog lifted with the shrill cry of the alarm clock on my table, and I was dumped roughly back to reality. Tears welled up in my eyes and I had to squeeze my eyes shut to hold them back.

Today, I realized that you can run away from home but you carry it with you always. I have carried home with me all these years, and the burden of absence is becoming heavier daily. I have tried to immerse myself in the culture of the people here and to adopt the lifestyle; I have sucked every pleasure and freedom it has to offer, but in the quiet hours of dawn, I find myself back home – walking barefooted along the shores of the ocean, digging for shells, and savouring the briny air. I have silenced the roar of the ocean, and the merry laughter of innocence, but they have grown louder, and I cannot ignore their call any longer.

My soul never left home. I will always belong there. I am returning to the land of my nativity; to you. I know this news will bring you discomfort; the implications are glaring. These days, I have begun to think, with sinking despair, that we really do not have a choice in this matter; that our fight against tradition is one we cannot win. Twenty years of exile and isolation has proved this. We were young and full of ideas and thought we could take on the world; full of new knowledge and dreams, we were eager to kick against tradition and revolt. We wanted to change the old order.

Lately, I have begun to see things differently. Remember, how we were closer to each other than the others? We liked the same things and always shared the same opinions about issues; could that be coincidence or the careful craftsmanship of the gods? We spent many hours together, huddled over a book, sharing knowledge and dreaming. So, when I think about what we tried so hard to fight, I see that the foundation has been laid before either of us had any idea of what was required. Our parents must have noticed this too; some of their decisions, concessions and actions now make more sense.

Twenty years ago, the thought of doing the bidding of tradition was repulsive; twenty years ago, I was knowledgeable but unwise. Twenty years ago, I turned my back against my heritage and my destiny, denounced my clan and my people; twenty years, I wandered in the wilderness, nameless and without identity. Twenty wasted years.

Last night, a memory came to me. It was at the annual dance, the year that I left home. You were leading the trope of the dancers, and I was at the front of the circle formed around you. Seeing you dance, I was filled with a certain possessiveness that shocked and confused me. It was not like the familial belongingness and affection that I have always felt towards you but something deeper, stronger and primal.

I stumbled backwards and walked away from the crowd and towards the shore. I needed to clear my head; the cool, briny air of the ocean always helped. It was there that you found me, and held my hands, and we walked together, wordlessly. The moon was rounded and radiant, like a pregnant woman at term and the sea opened her arms to receive its silvery hues. I looked at your rounded face, radiant and broody and felt something strange, a new feeling possessing me – lust. You looked at me at that moment, held my gaze, and I knew that you knew what I was thinking. I looked away, ashamed, and you sighed.

I learnt of the tradition the next day. Mutu had been going on and on about you and how gracefully you danced the night before. He looked at me suddenly and stopped, and when I prodded, he offered an apology for talking about you that way. Seeing the confusion on my face, he had explained and then confusion gave way to shock. My shock had surprised him because he considered me lucky to be chosen one to marry you. How could any man not rejoice at the prospect? He added. Since the inception of the town, the first-born son of the village chief was required to marry the firstborn daughter, his sister.  It was also the day I decided to run away.

I am not running again Llungwe. Every day, for the past ten years, you have filled my dreams. The dream is always the same. I, sitting by the fire on the shore, staring at the ocean, and you, walking towards me, and then sitting beside me, saying nothing. We sit together staring at the ocean. And when the fire burns low, we take off our clothes and make love, softly. Then you dress up and walk away, not before telling me that you are waiting for me.

Yesterday, I ran into Mutu, and he told me you have refused to take a man. I did not ask him any further question, I will ask you when we see.  He also told me of the passing of father, and how the village awaits the return of its leader; the elders had told him to go in search of me, to begin from the market. I have given him my word that I will return. I did not tell him when.

Dear sister, I am returning, not because of the cry of the people for a leader, but for you, and to you. In my sojourn, I have learnt a lot and seen a lot – how in some cultures, cousins marry, and half-siblings marry, because they want to preserve a pure bloodline. It makes sense to me now, this tradition of ours, which is extreme, but not totally unheard of. But I am not returning to you because of the call of tradition, but rather because of the undeniable truth – that I am in love with you.

Now that I think about it, I realize that I have always loved you, only that I was slow in realizing it. And when I did, I was so scared, maybe not because of the strangeness of it then, but much more because of its intensity. It was a fire I could not contain, that threatened to burn us to the ground. They say, age makes the wine better, with the passage of time, my love for you have become purer and richer and fuller.

That night I refused to believe what I saw in your eyes, and even when you told me in my dreams – coming me to me night after night – I refused to acknowledge it. That sigh has haunted me every night since then. That night, the reflection of the moon in your eyes led me into your heart and I saw the longing in them: you wanted me to possess you, they told me you had been waiting for that moment. They told me that they would always follow me wherever I go, and your sigh was the vessel in which they would be borne.

That night, your performance had been for me, I realize now. Your eyes never left mine, they were intently searching for my pleasure and approval. It was how you knew when I slipped away from the crowd and followed me. You wanted to catch me alone, to tell me that the sudden possessiveness I felt that scared me away was your heart speaking to mine. I am ready to listen; to take you as mine, and to give myself to you.

Tope Ogundare is a Nigerian, and writes poetry, short stories and essays. His first full-length poetry book was released in 2018, titled ‘The Book of Pain’. His works have appeared in Brittle Paper, Kalahari Review, Sentinel Literary Quarterly, Pilcrow and Dagger, Moonchild Magazine, TinyTim Literary Review, DASH, Intima, Snapdragon, The Aquila, Argot Magazine, Pangolin Review, Minute Magazine and are forthcoming in Maple Tree Literary Supplement, Charles River Journal and elsewhere. His poems have also been featured in two anthologies and forthcoming in Cities, a poetry anthology edited by Paul Rowe. He shares his writing on www.topeogundare.wordpress.com and on Medium (@topazo).

[leona-florianova]

more of Sister Joy

[velondra]

Kalimdor Collective Kaldorei Memorial Service, 4 August 2018

8/4 18:03:31.282  Arilyne bows before Telrien. 8/4 18:03:34.022  Telrien bows down graciously. 8/4 18:03:35.701  You curtsey before Telrien. 8/4 18:03:38.981  Vivaaldi bows before Telrien. 8/4 18:03:43.281  Kysderal bows before Telrien. 8/4 18:03:47.334  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: Excellent, you have all made it here. 8/4 18:03:48.174  Aalesia bows before Telrien. 8/4 18:03:48.514  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord says: Commander, I was just welcome our newest recruits and our Sha'tor allies. 8/4 18:03:48.904  Soleth-WyrmrestAccord nods in greeting. 8/4 18:03:50.004  Vortigen-WyrmrestAccord inclines his head at Telrien 8/4 18:03:51.885  Klement bows before Telrien. 8/4 18:04:02.664  Telrien eyes you up and down. 8/4 18:04:12.355  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: Ah... yes, welcome to the Collective. 8/4 18:04:34.424  Velondra-WyrmrestAccord says: Thank you! I am honoured to be here... even under such terrible circumstances. 8/4 18:05:05.146  Caelvin-WyrmrestAccord looks over at the dwarf next to him, offering him a significant, if short, nod. 8/4 18:05:08.616  Caelvin nods at Kersal. 8/4 18:05:13.475  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: As you will hear, the circumstances are fine. 8/4 18:05:21.246  You smile at Telrien. 8/4 18:05:36.740  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: If everyone is ready, I would like to move over to the simple shrine placed here. 8/4 18:05:43.640  Arilyne nods at Telrien. 8/4 18:05:53.270  Kersal-WyrmrestAccord nods back to Caelvin. He quickly whispers, "Glad tae see yer well." 8/4 18:06:58.458  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord eyes everyone across the face. "If there is no objection, I would like to begin." 8/4 18:07:23.699  Caelvin-WyrmrestAccord murmurs: "Well as ever," as they walk. "You too." His gaze settles on Telrien. 8/4 18:07:26.258  Aalesia-WyrmrestAccord gestures for Telrien to continue, even though she has no real bearing over any of this. 8/4 18:07:42.608  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord moves aside so that Kersal may see beyond her. 8/4 18:07:54.759  Arilyne looks at Telrien. 8/4 18:08:21.532  Vortigen-WyrmrestAccord fidgets slightly, looking somehow both weary and restless all at once 8/4 18:08:34.972  Vivaaldi-WyrmrestAccord folds her arms in front of her, raising her head to watch the old bear. 8/4 18:08:49.102  Vaelenne-WyrmrestAccord places a hand on Vortigen's arm to still him, offering him a tired but reassuring smile. 8/4 18:09:07.431  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord sighs and nods. "As you know, we gather here to both remember and honor those lost. Both in the fighting along Ashenvale and Darkshore, as well as those during the burning of Teldrassil." 8/4 18:10:45.836  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: It is a strange thing, at times, how the mind adjusts. In times of war, we expect warriors to die. We mourn them, and honor them as heroes... 8/4 18:10:46.865  Vortigen-WyrmrestAccord returns the faint smile and manages to hold still as he turns his attention to Tel 8/4 18:11:25.389  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: Yet, when those who are attacked in their homes are killed, we move on to a level of atrocity. As if some line were crossed. 8/4 18:12:18.734  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: And in the past weeks, we have lost many to both levels of moral wrongs. The Horde has shown it has forgotten its honor. 8/4 18:12:54.340  Klement-WyrmrestAccord inclines his head as he listens intently, a small frown on his features. 8/4 18:13:12.202  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: And today, we will remember all those who perished. That their souls might find rest, and that their death not be senseless and vain. 8/4 18:13:43.125  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord looks off into the distance behind Telrien with an emotionless expression. 8/4 18:13:58.345  Vivaaldi-WyrmrestAccord lowers her eyes to patch of grass just at Telriens feet. Her hands gripped tightly together as she listens. 8/4 18:14:10.737  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: Even on a personal note, the Collective has lost some of their own. Among them a young woman, barely in her first centuries. A young woman of promise, of potential, of a life yet unlived. 8/4 18:14:18.787  Aalesia-WyrmrestAccord 's gaze drops to the grass, a glare passing over her features as if the plants had done it all. 8/4 18:15:19.892  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: Sister Thythena wish to join the Sentinels. To protect our lands and lives. To some degree she achieved this as she helped in the evacuation of Darnassus. 8/4 18:16:03.808  Redryn-WyrmrestAccord jaws tighten at the word Sentinels. 8/4 18:16:10.059  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: Life is a fragile thing. We may be here, thinking, knowing, imaging, reflected. And in the next moment, in a time between seconds, we are gone. 8/4 18:16:27.917  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord whispers quietly to herself:  "Rest well, Sentinel Thythena." 8/4 18:16:59.193  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: But, also, life is strong. Look at the tree above us. Nordrassil, the crown of the world. 8/4 18:17:36.089  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord looks up, spreading his arms. "It grows tall, strong, sturdy." Telrien beings his attention back down. "And here, are her roots." 8/4 18:17:48.909  Vortigen-WyrmrestAccord Glances upward--he cannot "see" the tree, physically, but its life-force pulses with vibrant energy 8/4 18:18:29.781  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: The roots feed the World Tree, as with any tree, They dig into the soil, and take what is good. Much the same way the wolf hunts and eats the deer. Or that the deer eats the grass. 8/4 18:18:54.492  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: The truth being, life does feed on death. While death feeds upon life. It is a balance. 8/4 18:19:01.252  Vivaaldi-WyrmrestAccord closed her eyes. She heard about the Sentinal who helped the Sha'tor and the Collective during their battle at Darkshore. Who rose to the skies to fell the bats... It seemed in an instant, her age caught up to her. 8/4 18:19:56.252  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: But today, we feel grief for those claimed from this side of the balance. They were loved, they were our friends and family. Our worlds. 8/4 18:21:24.095  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord looks down and sighs, then lifts his head to continue. "I barely knew Sister Thythena, and now I will never have the chance. She was young, frivolous, full of life. Eager. And she enjoyed life, down the smallest pleasantry. Sweets, deserts. A good view." 8/4 18:22:37.386  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: And so I grieve. For what could have been, what she might have accomplished before her future was stolen by a greedy and irredeemable corpse "queen". 8/4 18:22:58.083  Kymaeaa-WyrmrestAccord digs her fingers into Anton's mane. 8/4 18:23:06.955  Vivaaldi-WyrmrestAccord opened her eyes, but her expression remained somber. 8/4 18:23:36.290  Kysderal-WyrmrestAccord frowned, but remained respectful. 8/4 18:23:40.782  Vortigen-WyrmrestAccord sighs, his characteristic smirk entirely absent for the moment. 8/4 18:23:45.322  Vatherya-WyrmrestAccord folds her arms across her chest, bowing her head. 8/4 18:23:52.642  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord holds his neck. "I feel it as my heart beats slow, barely perceptible. As my thoughts are weighed down with dark, heavy clouds. As I stumble toward learning what I could do, if anything." 8/4 18:24:23.517  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord removes his hand from his neck. "But it is the capacity to feel consuming grief and pain and despair that also allows me to embrace love and joy and beauty with my whole heart. We must let it all in." 8/4 18:24:49.250  Kersal-WyrmrestAccord momentarily turns away and uses his beard to dab at the tears on his face. 8/4 18:24:56.229  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: You cannot stop the birds of sorrow from flying over your head, but you can stop them nesting in your mind. 8/4 18:25:21.273  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord quietly hands the Dwarf a silken handkerchief. 8/4 18:25:33.534  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: For sorrow and grief may seem similar, but one will destroy you, and the other will empower you. 8/4 18:25:58.059  Kersal-WyrmrestAccord silently accepts the handkerchief and mumbles out a thank you through the tears. 8/4 18:26:25.309  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: We should say not in grief they are no more, but live in thankfulness that they were. 8/4 18:26:57.243  Klement-WyrmrestAccord takes a deep breath and looks up to the skies. 8/4 18:26:59.406  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: Because if the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them. 8/4 18:27:18.985  Kysderal-WyrmrestAccord absently runs his thumb over a totem clutched in his hand. 8/4 18:27:39.648  Redryn-WyrmrestAccord takes out a small trinket and holds it tight in his hands. 8/4 18:27:43.488  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: Those we love and lose are always connected by heartstrings into eternity. Unable are the loved to die. For love is immortality. 8/4 18:27:44.447  Aalesia-WyrmrestAccord 's glare softens. 8/4 18:28:09.642  Velondra-WyrmrestAccord quietly wipes tears from her eyes. 8/4 18:28:14.743  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: That is why we remember. Why we grieve then accept. Why we honor their passing. 8/4 18:28:35.267  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: Grief is in two parts. The first is loss. The second is the remaking of life. 8/4 18:29:07.843  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: So let us all give thanks that we knew those we loved, even if they have been taken from us. 8/4 18:29:47.855  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: They will live through us, and we will carry that weight. And we will be sure their loss was not for nothing. 8/4 18:29:56.695  Telrien bows down graciously. 8/4 18:30:25.791  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: Farewell Sister. Ande'thoras-ethil. 8/4 18:30:44.283  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: Would any other wish to speak? 8/4 18:30:58.724  Velondra-WyrmrestAccord says: Very briefly, if I may? 8/4 18:31:05.675  Arilyne looks at you. 8/4 18:31:07.055  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: Of course. 8/4 18:31:07.795  Caelvin-WyrmrestAccord stands straight, unblinking. His features are expressionless during Telrien's speech, though his eyes seem to flare once or twice with that eerie blue glow. 8/4 18:31:31.979  Velondra-WyrmrestAccord says: I was born in Eldre'Thalas, amongst the Shen'Dralar in distant Feralas. 8/4 18:31:49.663  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord looks upon Velondra as his ears flicker. 8/4 18:31:59.566  Velondra-WyrmrestAccord says: When my people fled the city after the Cataclysm, though there were those who opposed it, we were granted sanctuary in Darnassus. 8/4 18:32:11.929  Velondra-WyrmrestAccord says: It was the most beautiful place I had ever seen. 8/4 18:32:31.946  Velondra-WyrmrestAccord says: And for all the years since, it is the only home I have known. 8/4 18:32:44.352  Velondra-WyrmrestAccord says: Words cannot express how very much I shall miss it. 8/4 18:32:55.395  Velondra-WyrmrestAccord , overcome, can clearly say no more. 8/4 18:33:09.515  Kysderal-WyrmrestAccord nods. 8/4 18:33:09.935  You cry. 8/4 18:33:10.365  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord nods her head once thanking Velondra for her words. 8/4 18:33:18.697  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord nods solemnly. 8/4 18:33:28.668  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: Any others? 8/4 18:33:40.657  Vortigen-WyrmrestAccord crosses his arms, frowning in sympathy, but keeping his silence 8/4 18:33:58.273  Redryn-WyrmrestAccord says: Do not weep for what it has become, treasure what it was. 8/4 18:34:02.433  Kysderal-WyrmrestAccord looks to Telrien, "I only wish to say goodbye, and I am unaccustomed to the ways of your people for this." 8/4 18:34:04.808  You nod at Redryn. 8/4 18:34:11.690  Arilyne looks at Kysderal. 8/4 18:34:22.522  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: Your customs are just as welcome, friend. 8/4 18:34:50.354  Varistus-WyrmrestAccord says: I will then, Brother Telrien. 8/4 18:34:57.563  Arilyne smiles at Varistus. 8/4 18:34:59.403  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord nods. 8/4 18:35:02.594  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: Please. 8/4 18:35:11.684  Vatherya looks at Varistus. 8/4 18:36:15.298  Kysderal-WyrmrestAccord waits for his Exarch to speak before he carries on. 8/4 18:36:21.299  Redryn-WyrmrestAccord looks down to his hand just now feeling the coldness of his blood running from his palm and puts the trinket away. 8/4 18:39:10.316  Vortigen-WyrmrestAccord nudges Soleth lightly, making sure the old druid hasn't dozed off, as he's sometimes prone to do at the worst possible moments 8/4 18:41:24.152  Soleth-WyrmrestAccord gently padded Vortgens arm, letting him know he was still awake. 8/4 18:42:32.305  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord lets her hands fall to her side to allow the evening breeze to run through her fingers. 8/4 18:43:16.887  Varistus-WyrmrestAccord says: Our people have known loss for as long as I have been alive, and one thing we have learned, is that life is to be cherished; protected. My heart breaks for the kaldorei. In a time of great loss, our own comfort would come from knowing that the souls of 8/4 18:43:16.887  Varistus-WyrmrestAccord says: our dead would be looked after and shephered to the Light. I am unfamiliar with the traditions of Elune, but from the blessings I have witnessed with my own eyes, I pray that your lost have found their way to your beloved goddess. Thythena Wildseeker was 8/4 18:43:16.887  Varistus-WyrmrestAccord says: brave, that much I saw in Darkshore - I, and the draenei, are honored to had fought by her side. Dioniss aca, Thythena. Light carry us all. 8/4 18:44:04.406  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord bows her head respectfully to Varistus. 8/4 18:44:11.716  Varistus bows down graciously. 8/4 18:44:19.736  Velondra-WyrmrestAccord smiles gratefully at Varistus. 8/4 18:44:22.245  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord nods solemnly. "Thank you Exarch, for your words." 8/4 18:44:49.548  Vortigen-WyrmrestAccord inclines his head at Varistus after a thoughtful pause 8/4 18:45:10.691  Klement-WyrmrestAccord nods to the Exarch´s words in silence. 8/4 18:45:41.751  Kysderal-WyrmrestAccord nods at his Exarch's words, ackowledging the wisdom in his old friend. He moved forward, looking nothing like the wide Elder Sage he was and everything like a tired old man who wished for nothing but to trade places with the one he lost. The old krokul 8/4 18:45:41.751  Kysderal-WyrmrestAccord reached the water's edge and placed the totem in his hands at its edge. He paused here in a moment, collecting his will together. 8/4 18:45:52.961  Arilyne looks at Kysderal. 8/4 18:48:56.379  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord watches with a curiosity of these people and their ways. 8/4 18:49:29.436  Romathis-WyrmrestAccord fluffles his feathers and nests back down. 8/4 18:50:17.919  Kysderal-WyrmrestAccord watched as the totem was pulled, as if by tiny hands deeper. It started to glow until it seemed a small wisp floated above the water's surface. Kysderal sighed, "Here we are my dear....the air is much more clearer up here. It will be easier to breath." 8/4 18:50:17.919  Kysderal-WyrmrestAccord Tears started to stream down the Auchenai's old, weathered face. It almost seemed like tiny hands reached up to wipe them. "It is time to rest, young one. In your Mother's arms, may you know peace. I know...when I see the stars" he chokes on his words 8/4 18:50:17.919  Kysderal-WyrmrestAccord before taking a deep breath, "I...I know you will be smiling at me. I will remember our songs." 8/4 18:50:53.787  Kysderal-WyrmrestAccord took a moment to compose himself before turning to address the others. 8/4 18:51:10.563  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord tilts his head in interest and to kind of hide the tear the was forming. 8/4 18:51:16.104  Velondra-WyrmrestAccord weeps at Kysderal's words. 8/4 18:51:26.417  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord bowed her head solemnly and sighs. 8/4 18:51:40.893  Kersal-WyrmrestAccord blubbers into the handkerchief he borrowed from the priestess. 8/4 18:51:54.417  Vaelenne-WyrmrestAccord dabs at unexpected tears with her sleeve, looking a little startled. 8/4 18:52:32.576  Vatherya-WyrmrestAccord furrows her brow, her lips downturned. 8/4 18:52:41.088  Varistus-WyrmrestAccord a single tear slides down the Exarch's cheek. He makes no attempt to wipe it away, simply standing with his hands clasped behind his back. 8/4 18:53:01.769  Aalesia-WyrmrestAccord studies the Elder Sage, trying to grasp what just happened. Trying to put her mental image of the Krokul together with what she now witnessed. 8/4 18:54:03.781  Vivaaldi-WyrmrestAccord watched, expressionless, though underneath her gloves her knuckles were white as she held it together. 8/4 18:54:06.492  Kysderal-WyrmrestAccord says: You live a thousand lifetimes but this doesn't get any easier. You guide a thousand souls but this doesn't get any easier. You know that such is the way of life, but it never gets any easier. It never does. Every life, every soul. Just as precious as the 8/4 18:54:06.492  Kysderal-WyrmrestAccord says: last. Just as precious as the next. 8/4 18:54:51.179  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord unconsciously nods in agreement. 8/4 18:57:31.069  Caelvin-WyrmrestAccord 's eyes widen slightly at Kysderal's words. They follow the path the wisp took for a moment before snapping back to the draenei. 8/4 18:57:36.369  Kysderal-WyrmrestAccord says: In days of old I counciled the giref stricten, but the words do not come to me anymore. You live to long. You lose the reasons why. Why do you survive when so many younger and fuller of life passed? I no longer ask why. I endure so that the lost and the 8/4 18:57:36.369  Kysderal-WyrmrestAccord says: fallen are remembered. Even if I am the only one who remembers. Even if you are the only ones who know. 8/4 18:58:49.846  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord 's old, for a kaldorei, face seems to set in solid agreement with the Elder's words. 8/4 18:59:59.944  Kysderal-WyrmrestAccord says: Know this, even when the words fail. When the memories seem like ghosts in the haunted halls of your mind: Know that you are here so that the lost and fallen are remembered. The enemy only wins when they have destroyed our memories. When they have 8/4 18:59:59.944  Kysderal-WyrmrestAccord says: destroyed our hope. But always know, if nothing else; where there are tears, there is hope. 8/4 19:00:37.802  Vatherya-WyrmrestAccord clasps her hands behind her back, nodding in agreement with the words of the Elder Sage. 8/4 19:01:16.337  Telrien eyes Decain up and down. 8/4 19:01:19.769  Kysderal-WyrmrestAccord bows. The wisp floats away, the giggles of a child echoing across the waters. The spent totem sinks into the depths, the only marker in memory of a young spirit gone too soon, returned home. 8/4 19:01:25.809  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord turns back to Kysderal. 8/4 19:01:43.079  Aalesia-WyrmrestAccord swallows hard against the lump in her throat. 8/4 19:01:59.269  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord looks directly ahead with a face void of emotion. 8/4 19:02:07.123  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord watches the totem in fascination. 8/4 19:02:15.444  Velondra-WyrmrestAccord weeps quietly. 8/4 19:02:29.654  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord looks about. "Any others?" 8/4 19:02:58.042  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord looks down the line for those that wish to speak. 8/4 19:03:03.053  Klement-WyrmrestAccord takes a ragged breath and smiles briefly at the Elder Sage before focusing on the sinking totem and the waters before them. 8/4 19:03:18.653  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: No? 8/4 19:03:28.177  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord says: I will lead us in prayer if no one else wishes to speak, Commander. 8/4 19:03:49.661  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord nods. "Please, Priestess." 8/4 19:04:19.795  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord pulls back her veil to reveal tired, somber eyes.  She then clasps her hands neatly in front of her and stands stoically before those gathered. 8/4 19:04:48.154  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord says: Sisters and Brothers, we have gathered this eve to remember our lost loved ones and— 8/4 19:04:52.014  Decain-WyrmrestAccord listens quietly, his face blank of emotion. 8/4 19:04:57.295  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord pauses suddenly mid-sentence.   8/4 19:05:08.023  Vivaaldi-WyrmrestAccord raises a brow, curious. 8/4 19:05:16.886  Ríverdown-WyrmrestAccord focus sharpens, having been somewhat in a daze before. 8/4 19:05:21.657  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord  flickers an ear. 8/4 19:05:24.407  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord then deeply sighs as her shoulders slump and her head hangs defeatedly. 8/4 19:05:37.880  Vatherya raises her eyebrow inquisitively at Arilyne. 8/4 19:05:52.454  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord says: You know, in the many years that Elune has allowed me to serve in Her name, I have presided over thousands of memorials like this one.   8/4 19:05:59.088  Vortigen-WyrmrestAccord tilts his head, sensing something amiss 8/4 19:06:13.589  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord says:  So many in fact that now the words are memorized, routine and effortless.   8/4 19:06:28.117  Vaelenne-WyrmrestAccord frowns. 8/4 19:06:36.033  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord raises her head and takes a moment to lock eyes briefly with each person gathered. 8/4 19:06:49.595  Vivaaldi-WyrmrestAccord cocks her head to the side a bit, paying more attention to the sudden candidness of it all. 8/4 19:07:19.187  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord says: These memorials have become just the predictable step in the endless cycle of death. 8/4 19:07:37.568  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord says: A cycle in which our people valiantly give their lives in wars caused by the selfish few with power.   8/4 19:07:59.620  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord tightly curls her hands into fists by her side causing her sharpen nails to cut the skin of her palms. 8/4 19:08:24.098  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord 's hands begin to curl and unfurl. 8/4 19:08:27.530  Caelvin-WyrmrestAccord remembers the last time he heard Arilyne lead a prayer. His chin lifts, eyes glancing towards the sky--the kaldorei custom, as she'd explained it. But this seems different, so his gaze settles once again. 8/4 19:08:27.890  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord says: But, as your Priestess, I *refuse* to believe that those that died in these recent days are just worthless pawns in that never-ending cycle.       8/4 19:08:30.131  Vortigen-WyrmrestAccord his ears twitch and his posture stiffens as he listens to Arilyne 8/4 19:09:00.227  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord body begins to shake with rage as blood trickles out of her clenched fists.   8/4 19:09:28.779  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord says: They are more than pawns, they are people, *our* people! 8/4 19:09:44.224  Vivaaldi-WyrmrestAccord looks to her right at Varistus, then at Vatherya, before turning her gaze back to Arilyne. 8/4 19:09:53.347  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord says: People who had families and friends whose hearts are now senselessly shattered. 8/4 19:10:02.477  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord begins to narrow his eyes with a look that is both solemn and approving. 8/4 19:10:07.877  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord says:  And for what reason?! 8/4 19:10:16.476  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord says:  Pride?  Selfishness? 8/4 19:10:21.277  Kysderal-WyrmrestAccord regards Arilyne with concern. 8/4 19:10:30.438  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord growls through gritted teeth: “…..Hatred?” 8/4 19:10:55.480  Ríverdown-WyrmrestAccord sets her jaw, eyes narrowing dangerously.  She nods her head. 8/4 19:11:02.601  Vortigen-WyrmrestAccord his lips peel back from his sharp teeth in an expression that might be a snarl or a smile--maybe both--and the fel-fire in his eyes flares brighter for an instant. 8/4 19:11:33.022  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord raises her shaking hands before her eyes and seeing her own uncontrollable rage, breaths in deeply to center herself. 8/4 19:12:06.321  Vaelenne-WyrmrestAccord says, barely above a whisper, "Sister..." 8/4 19:12:15.057  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord with a calmer yet still shaken voice:  “So tonight, if you will allow me, I would like to give a prayer of a different nature.” 8/4 19:12:25.789  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord looks to the crowd for signs of approval. 8/4 19:12:30.082  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord seems to grin. 8/4 19:12:38.832  Redryn nods at Arilyne. 8/4 19:12:39.272  Aalesia-WyrmrestAccord inclines her head, knowing the rage all too well. 8/4 19:12:45.154  Kysderal-WyrmrestAccord is cautious and concerned but doesn't object. 8/4 19:12:53.087  Varistus-WyrmrestAccord arched a brow. 8/4 19:12:56.066  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord might also have accidentally grown claws, which he recedes back into his fingers. 8/4 19:12:57.026  Ríverdown-WyrmrestAccord gazes in Arilyne's direction, an unusual look of fondness on her face. 8/4 19:13:02.853  Vivaaldi-WyrmrestAccord gently nods her head, a small smile tugs at the corner of her lips. 8/4 19:13:03.124  Kymaeaa listens intently to Arilyne. 8/4 19:13:09.696  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord says: Please hold the hands of those nearest to you so we may become one before our Goddess. 8/4 19:13:41.581  Aalesia-WyrmrestAccord reaches out for Kysderal and Vatherya's hands 8/4 19:13:44.573  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord quite violently takes the hand of Kersal. 8/4 19:13:48.123  Ríverdown-WyrmrestAccord 's expression falls flat a little, but she grudgingly reaches for the death knight's hand. 8/4 19:13:49.453  Kysderal-WyrmrestAccord extends his arms, palm up for those beside him. 8/4 19:13:52.865  Vatherya-WyrmrestAccord wrinkles her nose but holds her hands out to her left and right in respect. 8/4 19:14:04.468  Vaelenne-WyrmrestAccord offers a hand to Vortigen in silence. 8/4 19:14:13.819  Varistus-WyrmrestAccord places a hand out of Vivaaldi to take, but grasps Klement's. 8/4 19:14:22.431  Kersal-WyrmrestAccord wobbles a bit on his weak knees as he gets grabbed, and extends his other hand towards Caelvin. 8/4 19:14:25.621  Caelvin-WyrmrestAccord looks from Kersal to Riverdown and moves to take a step back just as his hand is taken. He stays, lightly clasping in return. 8/4 19:14:27.340  Ríverdown-WyrmrestAccord extends her other to Velondra, shrugging at the demon hunter ahead of them. 8/4 19:14:32.541  Vivaaldi-WyrmrestAccord gently takes Vatherya's hand, taking Varistus's other hand. 8/4 19:14:40.682  Klement-WyrmrestAccord raises an eyebrow at the whole display. In silence, he reaches for the Exarch´s and Kymaea´s hands. 8/4 19:14:45.572  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord raises her eyes to the sky. 8/4 19:14:48.532  Velondra-WyrmrestAccord takes her neighbor's hands gently. 8/4 19:15:10.265  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord lifts his eyes toward the Mother Moon as well. 8/4 19:15:26.547  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord says: Goddess of the Moon, 8/4 19:15:37.368  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord says: Creator of Life and Warrior of the Night, 8/4 19:15:54.921  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord says: We have gathered here to ask you to carry home the spirits of your children, -- 8/4 19:16:06.001  Decain-WyrmrestAccord keeps his hands folded on the reins of his saber, continuing to look on quietly. 8/4 19:16:19.207  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord says: And take their emptied shells back into the earth to become the seeds for life reborn. 8/4 19:16:47.164  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord says: And as you take home these brave warriors, please also look to the warriors that remain. 8/4 19:17:13.488  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord says:  Allow your grace to steel their minds and stir their hearts so they may rise up as one single, unified army. 8/4 19:17:47.075  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord says:  An army so powerful and great in their resolve that the Horde will regret having ever spilled a single drop of Kaldorei blood. 8/4 19:18:32.776  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord says: And if more are to die in your name, then so be it but this time.... 8/4 19:18:48.826  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord says: ……this time let it be now on our terms. 8/4 19:19:12.628  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord grins with a toothy, fanged grin. 8/4 19:19:27.981  Velondra-WyrmrestAccord feels uncharacteristically bellicose. 8/4 19:19:36.303  Ríverdown-WyrmrestAccord growls lowly in her throat, a predatory tone. 8/4 19:20:03.819  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord lowers her gaze and stands proudly and defiantly before her people. 8/4 19:20:36.133  Decain-WyrmrestAccord gives a small nod to the speaker. 8/4 19:20:45.663  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord says: Sisters, Brothers -- 8/4 19:20:48.573  Caelvin-WyrmrestAccord 's chin lifts, as -this- is a prayer he feels more suited to make. 8/4 19:21:34.565  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord lips curl showing her fangs and a warrior expression. 8/4 19:21:41.185  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord says:  Ana'duna thera!  ((Revenge will be ours!)).   8/4 19:22:00.325  Arilyne bows down graciously. 8/4 19:22:12.967  Ríverdown-WyrmrestAccord says: Andu-falah-dor! 8/4 19:22:19.838  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says through a grunt: "Tor ilisar'thera'nal!" 8/4 19:22:41.672  Kysderal-WyrmrestAccord nods in approval, a bit aggressive for this old pacifist but there was a righteous spirit to it. 8/4 19:22:43.552  Redryn-WyrmrestAccord says: We will make them suffer as we have. 8/4 19:22:46.902  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: Thank you, Sister. 8/4 19:22:50.443  Arilyne nods at Telrien. 8/4 19:23:24.806  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord looks around at those gathered. "Some of you are young. Some of you are unaware of our ways." 8/4 19:23:31.766  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: So I will make it known. 8/4 19:23:54.887  Vivaaldi-WyrmrestAccord letting go of Varistus and Vatherya's hands, she muttered under her breath. "Aar-don'sha, ki kahl'dos." ((In the Light, we triumph)) 8/4 19:24:33.015  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord narrows his eyes and growls before going on. "The kaldorei do not suffer injustice. We do not allow those would march on our -homes- to go unpunished, unchecked." 8/4 19:24:47.656  Aalesia-WyrmrestAccord quietly echoes Vivaaldi's sentiment. 8/4 19:25:42.780  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: As our Sister has said, many of our own were -burned-. And for what? The will of some damned woman who believes her own tragedies make her wiser? Smarter? Stronger? 8/4 19:25:51.390  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord snarls and spits on the ground. 8/4 19:26:37.977  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: There was a time our own people fought the Trolls of ancient times so fiercely they came to fear us, and would not come near us for superstition. 8/4 19:27:04.435  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: There was a time our own "queen" sold us to the Dark Titan for comfort and power. And they fled from us in the end. 8/4 19:27:41.025  Vortigen-WyrmrestAccord growls and regards the wilderness around him, then, his ears still keen to Tel's words, he nudges the old druid at his side once more and whispers something in his ear. 8/4 19:27:45.846  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: There was a time they returned, and we once again drove of a cosmic army of untold power from our world with tooth and claw. 8/4 19:27:52.415  Ríverdown-WyrmrestAccord smirks, clearly relishing the words. 8/4 19:28:21.137  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord slams a foot forward. "And this damned "banshee queen" thinks she is the on to ruin us?" 8/4 19:28:56.659  Vivaaldi-WyrmrestAccord suddenly feels like the air is a little thick, at the mention of Sargeras and the implication of Archimonde. 8/4 19:29:05.860  Vortigen-WyrmrestAccord mutters "She seems to have forgotten we broke the Legion -and- the Scourge...and that our people have endured far worse than anything she can muster." 8/4 19:29:08.732  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord a low rumbling growl echoes from the Priestess's throat. 8/4 19:29:20.994  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: If she were so wise from her suffering, so smart from her willingness to look into the dark, she would know. She would know that the day she stomped within our forests and set fire to our homes, she truly set fire to her own fate, and that of her people. 8/4 19:29:50.978  Aalesia-WyrmrestAccord shifts uncomfortably; this is not the memorial she was expecting. 8/4 19:29:50.978  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: I know not what the "Alliance" will do. I do not care. 8/4 19:30:08.670  Redryn-WyrmrestAccord lets out a small demonic growl. 8/4 19:30:25.063  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: This vile witch-bitch came to our children, our innocents, our very being and existence, and she spat on it. 8/4 19:31:20.506  Vatherya-WyrmrestAccord crosses her arms, understanding the full extent of the Kaldorei's rage. 8/4 19:31:35.485  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: So I will bring the fight to -her- home. Even if I am alone, even as if I single bear I run toward the walls of her precious tomb and am felled by a thousand poison arrows, I will roar that it will shake the foundations of her home, that her ears... 8/4 19:31:51.230  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: ... would never go a single day without hearing its echo. 8/4 19:32:31.016  Redryn-WyrmrestAccord says: You will not be alone, you will have my blade with you. 8/4 19:32:37.869  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: Elune is the Night Warrior. And her children as well. We will claw her from this world. 8/4 19:33:08.978  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord looks up toward Nordrassil and roars in a great ursine roar, with no hint of kaldorei voice within it. 8/4 19:33:31.533  Vaelenne-WyrmrestAccord steps forward. "Brother Rainwhisper. If I may?" 8/4 19:33:32.383  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord takes a few snorting breaths. 8/4 19:33:46.944  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord snaps his neck at Vaelenne. "Of course." 8/4 19:33:48.974  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord shoots Starshade a warning glance. 8/4 19:33:56.884  Klement-WyrmrestAccord clears his throat and glances at Varistus. Well then. 8/4 19:34:06.765  Vaelenne-WyrmrestAccord takes a deep, steadying breath, looking around at those gathered. 8/4 19:34:09.296  Vivaaldi-WyrmrestAccord , a little taken aback at the sudden out burst, she turns her attention to the lone ren'dorei. 8/4 19:34:09.955  Kymaeaa-WyrmrestAccord tightens her grip on Anton's mane. 8/4 19:34:16.036  Vaelenne-WyrmrestAccord says: Brothers and sisters... Allies of the Sha'tor. 8/4 19:34:27.157  Aalesia-WyrmrestAccord narrows her eyes at Vaelenne. 8/4 19:34:52.547  Varistus-WyrmrestAccord looks at Klement from the corner of his eyes and flicks his eyebrows briefly. Impressive speech. 8/4 19:34:56.058  Vaakren has joined the raid group. 8/4 19:35:36.859  Caelvin nods at Vaakren. 8/4 19:35:53.016  Vaelenne-WyrmrestAccord says: I've heard words of compassion, of sorrowful farewell. Of rage. There must be justice for Teldrassil.. for those who have fallen in this unjust war. But I would urge you, beg you, to avoid becoming that which we rage against. Innocents must not suffer for 8/4 19:36:01.506  Vaelenne-WyrmrestAccord says: the Banshee Queen's actions. 8/4 19:36:16.936  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord narrows her eyes on the young Priestess. 8/4 19:36:25.767  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord snorts. 8/4 19:36:32.908  Kysderal-WyrmrestAccord nods 8/4 19:36:35.888  Vaakren-WyrmrestAccord returns Caelvin's nod.  They were here in solidarity, and any personal disagreements can wait. 8/4 19:36:36.968  Klement-WyrmrestAccord nods to the Ren´dorei. 8/4 19:36:57.451  Vaelenne-WyrmrestAccord says: We hurt, but is it right of us in our hurt to inflict that same pain on others? Does that not continue this cycle of bloodshed that got us here in the first place? 8/4 19:37:14.874  Kersal-WyrmrestAccord takes a moment away from dabbing at tears to nod at Vaakren. 8/4 19:37:22.536  Ríverdown-WyrmrestAccord says: This cycle will continue until we dismantle the Horde. 8/4 19:37:27.287  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord mutters something about "abominations" and "do not bleed". 8/4 19:37:40.098  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord snarls.  "There are no innocents in her city of abominations, Sister." 8/4 19:37:41.287  Vaakren-WyrmrestAccord places a hand lightly on Kersal's pauldron as he approaches, a solemn expression painted across his face. 8/4 19:38:17.430  Vatherya-WyrmrestAccord furrows her brow in thought.  This was a grey area, not the clear black and white of the war with the Legion.  She was unsure, a soldier her entire life but how does that translate to this? 8/4 19:38:26.422  Vaelenne-WyrmrestAccord says: I ask that you temper your bloodlust. That you remain the people who I have come to know since joining your ranks. Not sink to the level of the Forsaken. 8/4 19:38:54.620  Vortigen-WyrmrestAccord growls softly, and sighs. "I draw the line myself at murdering children...but anyone of fighting age, and anyone who wields a blade against the Kaldorei? I will not show them mercy." 8/4 19:38:55.690  Kysderal-WyrmrestAccord frowns, "Please give her peace as she speaks, as she has give us as we did the same. She speaks from the heart as we all did." 8/4 19:39:02.328  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord narrows his eyes. 8/4 19:39:48.704  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord says: We respect the opinions of each member of our collective, Elder.  Even if we do not agree. 8/4 19:40:02.315  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord mumbles in Darnassian. 8/4 19:40:20.418  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord says: [Darnassian] Careful, Commander. 8/4 19:40:50.906  Vaelenne-WyrmrestAccord says: The Forsaken must pay for their actions. The Horde for its complicity. But I would not orphan children and widow mates more than necessary, and I would not strike out at the defenseless. I would urge you all to show such restraint as well. 8/4 19:40:56.747  Vivaaldi-WyrmrestAccord eyes shift over to the left, catching the whispers of darnassian spoken in secret. 8/4 19:41:00.399  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: [Darnassian] That she would even think we could sink to their level... she does not understand us and our ways. But she has her right to speak. 8/4 19:41:18.151  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord says: [Darnassian] So let us show her that respect and educate her on our ways in time. 8/4 19:41:21.671  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord snorts, trying to steady himself. 8/4 19:41:27.607  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord looks back to Vaelenne and listens. 8/4 19:41:29.071  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: [Darnassian] Of course. 8/4 19:41:31.873  Vaelenne-WyrmrestAccord sighs. "That is all." 8/4 19:41:43.786  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord says: [Darnassian] Thank you, Sister Starshade. 8/4 19:41:55.378  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord says: Thank you, Sister Starshade. 8/4 19:41:57.299  Kysderal-WyrmrestAccord says: Wise words, thank you. 8/4 19:42:03.474  Klement smiles at Vaelenne. 8/4 19:42:05.154  Ríverdown-WyrmrestAccord is simmering on rage, struggling to keep her mouth shut. 8/4 19:42:07.364  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: Your words ring with hints of truth. 8/4 19:42:30.507  Vaakren-WyrmrestAccord clears his throat.  "Even as a servant of the Light, sometimes we are called upon to make difficult decisions.  We save who we can, but some times call for retribution.  At some point, a decision must be made to put down the aggressor for the good of 8/4 19:42:37.557  Vortigen-WyrmrestAccord nods absently at Vaelenne, his face twisted into a grim, thoughtful scowl. 8/4 19:43:02.949  Vaakren-WyrmrestAccord says: every other living being, and we can only trust in the light that we have made the correct decision." 8/4 19:43:24.246  Ríverdown-WyrmrestAccord whispers: *a ripple of void energy laps at the fringe of your mind a few times, then subsides* 8/4 19:43:43.018  Arilyne smiles at Varistus. 8/4 19:43:45.219  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: Life feeds on death. Death feeds on life. We will all find our places among that balance in the weeks to come. 8/4 19:43:51.118  Vaakren-WyrmrestAccord says: "I believe that this is one of those times.  Would you sit by while she repeats her actions?  What is next?  Stormwind?  Ironforge?" 8/4 19:44:16.942  Aalesia-WyrmrestAccord resists the urge to prompt the Exodar. 8/4 19:44:20.324  To Ríverdown-WyrmrestAccord: Velondra's thoughts are somber, as she remembers her home as it was. 8/4 19:44:52.277  Kysderal-WyrmrestAccord hopes that if no one says it the Horde will forget that the Exodar is there, just like Blizzard 8/4 19:45:26.267  Vaakren-WyrmrestAccord says: "No.  We must end this threat here and now, and once it is ended, work to restore the peace that this world so sorely needs and deserves.  I have known valor from orcs, and tauren, and trolls.  But there is no valor in what has been done." 8/4 19:45:46.888  Klement looks at Vaakren. 8/4 19:45:53.340  Ríverdown-WyrmrestAccord whispers: *A voice of unknown origin whispers quietly, comfortingly.  "You have the power to ensure such travesties never happen again.  Destroy them all..."* 8/4 19:46:01.911  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord swallows his breath and nods in agreement. 8/4 19:46:08.651  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord nods her head in approval to Vaakren. 8/4 19:46:20.255  Varistus nods at Vaakren. 8/4 19:46:55.668  Vortigen-WyrmrestAccord speaks under his breath in his rough voice "Excuse me...I need to go think about what's been said. Ande'thoras-ethil, friends." 8/4 19:46:59.388  Vortigen bows down graciously. 8/4 19:47:07.548  To Ríverdown-WyrmrestAccord: Velondra frowns, her thoughts generally given to matters of fashion and etiquette. 8/4 19:47:15.848  Telrien bows before Vortigen. 8/4 19:47:22.178  Soleth bows down graciously. 8/4 19:47:26.300  You curtsey before Vortigen. 8/4 19:48:01.946  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: Do any others wise to speak? Otherwise I would deem this ceremony concluded, and those lost rightfully remembered. And to be avenged. 8/4 19:48:42.920  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: No? 8/4 19:48:58.642  Kysderal-WyrmrestAccord bows his head. 8/4 19:49:01.552  Vivaaldi-WyrmrestAccord decides best to hold her tongue, it has been a long night and tempers flared. 8/4 19:49:16.064  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: Then let us one last time thank Elune - or that Light - for all the blessing we have, for keeping out lost, and for resolve to do what must be done. 8/4 19:49:33.079  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord says: Elune be praised. 8/4 19:49:42.999  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: Farewell, everyone. Andu-falah-dor. 8/4 19:49:46.759  Telrien bows down graciously. 8/4 19:49:50.190  Arilyne bows down graciously. 8/4 19:49:51.420  Vivaaldi bows before Telrien. 8/4 19:49:55.294  Ríverdown bows down graciously. 8/4 19:49:57.043  You curtsey. 8/4 19:50:01.944  Kersal bows down graciously. 8/4 19:50:03.784  Vaakren bows down graciously. 8/4 19:50:08.554  Caelvin bows down graciously. 8/4 19:50:21.346  Ríverdown-WyrmrestAccord turns away from the group, and as she starts to distance herself stops in her tracks. 8/4 19:50:21.597  Kymaeaa-WyrmrestAccord bows respectfully. 8/4 19:50:21.807  Kysderal-WyrmrestAccord watches the water for a little bit, lost in thoughts, before finally taking his leave. 8/4 19:50:25.897  Arilyne-WyrmrestAccord says: Please excuse me, I wish to meditate with my Goddess this evening. 8/4 19:50:31.467  Decain-WyrmrestAccord nods at the speaker, then checks the straps on his satchels as he prepares to leave. 8/4 19:50:43.427  Ríverdown-WyrmrestAccord says: Why didn't you say you were here?! 8/4 19:50:45.287  Telrien-WyrmrestAccord says: I must go make my own preparations. 8/4 19:50:58.799  Ríverdown-WyrmrestAccord pulls Decain, trying to dismount him. 8/4 19:51:04.079  Vivaaldi-WyrmrestAccord says: [Draenei] Forgive me Exarch, Hierarch, I must head back to the Islands ASAP. I wish you all well. 8/4 19:51:10.639  Decain-WyrmrestAccord slides off his mount

[kaldoreiyarns]

Of Uncles and Nieces

[Edit: To get a better sense of what’s happening here, read Iyora’s Dear An’da #5 before this... Also, a big shout out and thank you to @bovira for letting me use her char Bo in this piece!]

A small, dim, ghostly wisp floated down out of the sky, winding through the trees until it came upon the Sentinel camp. All the indigo-hued tents were set up in military precision, the small, wooden crescent moons adorning their tops were catching the dying light of the day as the wisp rode the wind currents that blew lightly through them. People were already getting up and about, as sun-down was the natural time Kaldorei camps usually got moving as the wisp seemed to be searching for someone or something among the warrior women.

On the outskirts of the camp, several people were walking back with buckets of water, Iyora Silverhawk among them as she liked water duty in the evenings, going to the nearest source of water and collecting it for the camps’ use was similar to the Moonwell water fetching she’d use to do for evening rituals back in the Temple. Although there was one difference, the camp needed a ton more water than the Temple rituals ever did, but it was good exercise, building muscles on her arms that used to be so very skinny once upon a time. She used to be a lean little stick of a Priestess, but now that leanness was covered in a layer of muscles that added more definition to her form, muscles she was very proud of as she worked hard to become a proper Sentinel.

After setting down the last of the buckets near the cooking pit she gave Huntress Ever-Tear a big smile and a more proper salute as she was busy cooking breakfast for them all. Iyora spied that there would be enough time for her to go do her morning meditations and prayers before breakfast was ready, which was just how she liked it. She walked back to her tent as Nightpurr popped his giant head out of it sniffing and snuffling, obviously looking for his breakfast. Ducking into her tent she pulled out a ‘Saber meal’ which was packaged meat and other things (such as vitamins hidden in the meat) that were issued for the Sentinel Sabers to eat. She unwrapped it as the giant cat practically danced around her and then she put it down for him to grab and devour. With that done she got dressed in her duty uniform, grabbed her staff and washed her hands outside before going to a visible spot to her Sisters under a tree in the camp to start her morning Priestess rituals. She pulled out a small bit of incense, lit it and just as she started to go through the motions…

“Your ‘Uncle’ would like a word with you,” a gruff and gravelly female voice said above her in a tone of snooty amusement.

Looking up with alarm as she already had her staff in hand to fight she saw what at first looked like a wisp, a wisp that then turned into the familiar form of that small val’kyr that followed her Uncle around. The tiny winged woman smirked viciously at Iyora as Iyora just glared back, no one liked the creepy thing, including her own Uncle Ourrin Highblade. From what Iyora’s father had told her, the story was the little creature had to kill something to become a full val’kyr and had picked Ourrin for some reason. Iyora and her father Jartsam both surmised that since Ourrin was still walking around, that the creature had failed in her endeavors and now just followed their Twice-Born family member around due to some bit of twisted logic that only made sense to it. The val’kyr would do only what Ourrin told it (aside from ‘buzz off’, apparently when Ourrin told her that, she’d just do that creepy grin of hers and giggle and stay put) and if anyone else tried to talk to it, you’d be lucky if all you came away with was a series of painful gashes up an extremity or your face. Mostly he used her to send messages or be a spy/scout for his group of Twice-Born known as the Redeemed as if she kept insisting on hanging around, she might as well make herself useful.

When Iyora didn’t reply fast enough the little creature grinned wider trying to be as unnerving as possible, “He’s outside of camp waiting,” then she jumped off the branch she was perched on and sped off in the direction Ourrin probably was at.

Iyora’s irritated sigh came out more like a growl as she wondered what could her ‘Uncle’ could possibly want. She didn’t like him, he wasn’t her real Uncle Ourrin to her, as that man had died in the Third War. The Twice-born was just a walking, talking, unnerving abomination of his former self and she couldn’t stand being in his presence. Her brow furrowed, what under the Blue Child could he possibly want with her? All of his dealings with this Cadre has always been with the Commander only and thankfully he always left her out of it. He knew she didn’t like him even if her beloved An’da kept insisting his brother was still himself (despite being an ice-cold, no-pulse murder machine), and up until now Ourrin seemed to respect her wishes in giving her a wide berth. So what would…?

Then it hit her. Her last letter to her An’da… Oh. Ooh.

Getting up, she looked around for someone to tell, or go with her as she wasn’t about to walk out of camp proper alone. Finally she spied Guardian Nightbreeze getting out of her tent as she walked right up to her. Saluting her superior she let the Guardian know Ourrin wanted to speak with her. Bovira stood there for a moment digesting the news, looking around until finally she said she could spare some time to accompany her to where Ourrin was waiting. Iyora liked the Guardian the most out of all of her superior officers (if you could, could you do that? That may not be a proper thing to feel about your superiors) as she was the most… calm. Calm, unflappable, quiet and thoughtful, if Iyora needed help she knew out of anyone aside from the Commander, Bovira’s advice was usually the best to heed. Although, currently she hadn’t been exactly heeding Bovira’ advice of late, which made her feel rather guilty. The ursine-looking druidess followed Iyora to the edge of camp where the small val’kyr suddenly flared into existence again in front of them.

“You Sentinels sure are slow,” it chided, again with that smirk that made Iyora itch to slap it off of the thing’s face as then it regarded the Guardian, “But then bears are pretty slow and dumb, shouldn’t be too surprised I guess...”

Oo! Iyora wanted to rain down some holy fire on that smarmy little thing, but then she looked over to Bovira who didn’t even seem to notice it had said anything. The Guardian looked over to the Keeper with her usual serene gaze, a bit of humor dancing in the corner of her eye that somehow made Iyora’s anger just evaporate like morning mist on sunrise. The senior Sentinel wasn’t about to let the val’kyr get under her skin so, which made Iyora feel a bit sheepish that she was being rather thin skinned. The Guardian looked past the winged annoyance as there was Ourrin, mounted on something that almost made Iyora’s jaw drop right there and then.

“Sham’bala?” she choked out as it was indeed, she’d know that Moonsaber anywhere.

The female saber had been a gift between brothers, one of the first litters her Father had ever helped birth, he gave the biggest cub to Ourrin to train and ride as a battle partner and she did not disappoint either brother. She was a huge female and seemed to have just as much an appetite for battle as her rider did back in the day, she was also a proud mother several times over herself, putting off many fine kittens that were quite sought over as battle mounts themselves. Her bloodline is still the pride and joy of her Father, and well known amongst most Kaldorei saber-breeders. However the longer she looked at that Moonsaber, her shock faded into revulsion as she sensed something seriously off about her. As the large saber swung its head around to look at her, she gasped and almost staggered back, Sham’bala’s eyes were dead white and the more she looked the more she realized that Sham’bala was not of this world anymore, at least, not entirely; as one’s eyes traveled down the massive cat’s legs the paws seemed to disappear into vague, misty outlines. She had indeed died during the Third War with her rider and now, somehow she was back once more to follow Ourrin into whatever battle he chose to fight.

“Keeper? Are you alright?” Bovira asked quietly.

Iyora shook her head no, “Sham’bala… it’s a shock to see her like this. I don’t know if her coming back to Ourrin’s side is a blessing or a curse from Elune.”

The Guardian merely pursed her lips and said nothing to that as they saw Ourrin stiffen in his saddle a bit, probably over the fact he sensed Iyora’s discomfort as his jaw tightened under his seemingly paper-thin skin. He dismounted Sham’bala with a pat to the now undead cat’s great flank (a gesture he used to always do when they were alive too, which made the hairs on the back of Iyora’s neck prickle like a fiend) and walked down to meet them both. As he walked, the cat sat down and oddly enough started to clean one of her there-not-there ghostly paws (apparently even death couldn’t stave off feline habits!) as the val’kyr flew up and cackled at the Twice-Born Commander.

“Great job Commander Ourrin! You unsettled her more with your dumb cat than I could have ever hoped to achieve!” she called, very much loud enough to be overheard by Iyora and Bovira.

Suddenly a great paw shot through the air and SLAM! Sham’bala had neatly swatted the annoying val’kyr thing under her giant front paws in another display that alive or dead, a cat was a cat no matter what. The saber opened her translucent paws a bit to see if her prey was still trapped within as a faint groan could be heard accompanied by a small flash of light that meant the val’kyr had teleported herself somewhere. Sham’bala grunted in disappointment and returned to her position and to grooming her ghostly form waiting on her master.

It was Iyora’s turn to smirk now as it did have a satisfactory feel of karma striking the cruel creature, but it didn’t last long as she saw another mounted from behind the familiar Moonsaber as there sat Ourrin’s second-in-command, the only Twice-Born Iyora found even more disturbing than her Uncle, Mayet. Mayet was Ourrin’s shadow in every way as wherever Ourrin was, Mayet wasn’t far behind. The female worgen sat there, her unwavering undead stare seemed to lock into Iyora’s gaze as the Keeper had to turn away, she couldn’t handle the intensity of that woman’s stare for too long. Elune help her, she had stared down a demon once during a mission, but she couldn’t hold Mayet’s eyes for more than a moment without her skin crawling.

In the meantime Ourrin had stopped a few paces away from them and bowed perfectly in greetings to them both, “Guardian Nightbreeze, a pleasure,” his unnatural voice sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a deep well despite him keeping his tone mellow with the two Sentinels.

“Commander Highblade,” Bovira bowed back in kind as Iyora followed suit, but a tad more stiffly.

“I have been sent to speak with my Niece on behalf of my Brother if I may,” his own unnerving gaze landed on Iyora as she wished she could pull her hood up over not only her head, but her face as well. Although she had to admit, Ourrin’s gaze wasn’t as harsh as Mayet’s, but then maybe Ourrin was modulating his somehow unlike Mayet. Ourrin always seemed more… considerate of the living than Mayet.

Bovira nodded at this, “Very well, I see this is of a personal nature. I will go give my respects to your Second then while you speak,” and with that she clasped her hands behind her back as she walked over to where Mayet was sitting on her mount.

“That’s going to be a very one-sided conversation,” Iyora muttered under her breath as Mayet brought new meaning to ‘silent as the grave’ when it came to trying to talk with her. She wondered if the worgen was in reality mute, but she also had heard her respond to Ourrin once or twice in the past.

Ourrin nodded as Bovira walked by as he pulled a letter out from his belt-pouch and held it out for Iyora to take. Trying not to make a face at him she took it rather hastily and saw her An’da’s handwriting on it addressing her. She didn’t open it yet, instead she finally raised her eyes to meet her Uncle’s otherworldly ones.

After a moment Ourrin finally spoke, “Your Father is concerned about you,” his echoing voice low, soft.

She eyed him for another awkward moment, did this creature just sound concerned for her as well?

“So he told you to come talk to me?” she winced as that came out far more accusatory than she had meant it too.

The Twice-Born didn’t even seem to notice her irritation with him or the situation, “He recieved your letter and spoke with me. He would come himself to see you, but I reminded him he had duties in Darnassus and that the Isles are an open warzone. No place for a family reunion.”

“Yet you’re here,” Iyora muttered again as she rubbed her thumb over the paper of the letter.

He didn’t rise to her childish baiting at all, “You can read the letter now if you wish.”

Ourrin didn’t have to tell her twice as she opened it and started reading.

Dearest Iyora,

I hope this letter finds you in a better place than the last letter you sent me seemed to have you at. I do not think you a fool my daughter, far from it, but at the same time, I do know love can make fools of us all. While it does sound like you have yourself in something of a pickle, it sounds like you already know the answer to the issue with your first friend there, you just need to do it. Soon rather than later would probably be the best bet, while I know you wish to do it in person, I do not think your lifestyle will give you such a chance and it’s better to just get it over with and make your intentions crystal clear to her. As long as you are firm and clear she should back off and I am sorry it came to this between you as it’s never easy to let someone go. If she persists, well, lets just hope she doesn’t and burn that bridge if and when we get there, eh?

As for your other issues… Oh Iyora, you’ve always had such a big heart. Watching you grow up, you’d love every saber you’d meet and it would always break your heart if we lost one. You’d always be out with me tending to wounds and illnesses when other girls your age would rather be out hunting with a bow and arrow. I knew one day you’d fall in love, and you’re somewhat right I was making that face while reading your letter, but your heart is your biggest asset and your biggest weakness. I know, because I have the same big heart and so does your Min’da, you are so our child. We just worry about you as we know you have a good head on your shoulders, but hearts can and will get people into trouble.

All in all, I just want you to be happy and I know you want to heal this boy, but are you sure he’s worth it? I am not criticizing you, just asking questions you should be asking yourself is all. Like you said, being a Sentinel is what you want right now and that is what you should be focusing on, yes?

I know I don’t talk about it much, but I have seen the devastation of using fel energy can bring, and I’m pretty sure with your second deployment in the Isles that you’ve probably seen it too. I don’t quite agree with the ‘Illidari’ stance of fighting fire with fire as in my experience that just gets your and everything around you burned. Your Mother, your Uncle and I, we all survived the War of the Ancients and the Sundering, it is hard for those as old as we are to trust these ‘Illidari’ (Couldn’t they have come up with a better name for themselves? Bah), but please Iyora, if he is using such powers willingly, I fear it cannot end well even if this path was forced upon him.

However I digress, again, I just want you to be happy my Kitten. If he makes you happy, then so be it, just be careful. But, as a concerned An’da I’m sending Ourrin to get a sense of the boy. Don’t get mad at him, he’s doing this on my request to make your old man feel better.

Next time you come home though, I’d love to meet your Heart-Sister Liall! Please bring her by, she sounds very nice.

Know I love you too and always will no matter what.

Love,

Your An’da

P.S. - You’re using protection, yes?

A hot tear escaped her watering eyes and splashed on the letter, blurring the ink in one spot as she quickly wiped her eyes (as well as the postscript making her suddenly blush furiously - An’da!!). Looking up through her moist lashes she noticed Ourrin had turned a bit to give her some privacy and was either not or pretending not to notice her reaction to reading her letter as he was looking off into the distance absent-mindedly stroking his chin stubble. The familiar gesture made her hair stand back on end again as she quickly folded up the letter and put it away in her own belt pouch. Elune, why did he do those things and freak her out? She remembered him doing that all the time when he was thinking, back when he actually had a fuller beard and would get out his long pipe to smoke a bit as well. Was it as An’da said and his former self was still there, just buried?

Finally his eye swung down as he turned to look at her, the moment of seeing her old Uncle again broken and lost as he said nothing, waiting for her to make the first move.

She cleared her throat, “Did you read it?”

“No,” the way he denied it rang like the noise of a hammer hitting a nail home, “It wasn’t addressed to me.”

This shade of her Uncle was a brutally honest one; Iyora relaxed a bit, “Now what?”

“I speak with your Vilaxian Dawnstorm,” his tone slightly more casual now, “Where can I find him?”

She wanted to squirm but restrained herself, “I don’t know. He could be anywhere…”

He could be watching us right now, she thought as she refused to let herself look up into the nearby treeline, however she was being honest, Vilaxian could be anywhere.

The Death Knight studied her carefully for a time, then his gaze rose up, over her head as he scanned the Sentinel camp behind her.

“Dawnstorm…” he muttered as icy shivers ran down her spine, “There’s a Sentinel of that name in your cadre.”

“Lieutenant Dawnstorm, his sister,” she replied quietly.

“Ah,” was all he said, whatever his intentions he wasn’t going to give anything away, least of all to her it seemed.

“D-d-don’t go and talk with her, s-s-she probably w-w-wouldn’t know where he is either,” her studder finally reared its head as she winced.

Again, those cold, cold eyes regarded her, “I wouldn’t, I’d just speak with Commander Wintershade.”

“No!” she yelped then flushed, how under the Blue Child did this man get under her skin so? She’d damn him, but he was already damned!

“So your Commander doesn’t know…”

“She also wouldn’t know where he is, he’s not welcome in camp,” she rapidly tried to change the direction that the conversation was going in, “And if you must know, it’s not exactly a secret, two of my senior officers know… about him and… me…” she flicked her eyes towards where Guardian Nightbreeze was with Mayet and started to envy her and her probable non-conversation with the other Twice-Born.

Ourrin didn’t follow her gaze, “What is the Sentinel policy on dealing with Illidari then?”

Physically deflating she told him, “We are not to go after them unless they attack us first, but we’re not supposed to associate with them unless the circumstances are dire.”

Silence descended between them as finally his gaze lifted off of her again and scanned around. He didn’t have to say anything her guilty conscious was doing enough damage inside of her as it was, this just brought it all back up for her.

Finally she whispered, “H-h-he’s not really an Illidari… just like you’re not really my Uncle.”

She saw the impact of the words hit Ourrin as his cool gaze, dimmed, the skin around his eyes crinkling up a touch, the air around them suddenly getting colder. She bit her lip as her heart leapt into her throat.

Sadness, bottomless sadness sprang up in those dead eyes, “Iyora… I…” he started, and for that split second, he didn’t sound like a Death Knight with their hollow, echoing voices, he sounded like how he used to sound, like the living, breathing Ourrin Highblade of yore that had saved her life once - the man that was her personal hero - and she just lost it.

“No! I am Keeper Silverhawk to you! I don’t know what you are, and you may have my An’da fooled, but you won’t fool me! My Uncle Ourrin is dead! You’re just some poor facsimile!”

Whatever the Twice-Born was going to say, it died on his frozen lips as they just pressed back together and his eyes renewed their chilly, still gaze. Turning crisply on his heel he said nothing more to her as he walked away, leaving her shaking with anger and remorse in his wake.

Bovira and Mayet had already been looking over as they both probably heard her last outburst as the Guardian nodded at Mayet and amazingly enough Mayet briefly nodded back as the Druidess left to return to Iyora’s side. In passing Ourrin, they both bowed again and said their polite farewells as Ourrin swung up into Sham’bala’s saddle as he urged her into a walk, Mayet’s mount instantly falling into stride next to them as they left.

The Guardian looked on Iyora with concerned eyes and asked for the second time this evening, “Are you okay Keeper?”

Just shook her head no, but didn’t elaborate further to her superior. Already she felt and inch tall, she shouldn’t have said that, she shouldn’t have said that… Oh Elune, I am horrible, terrible...

“Come on, let’s go get some breakfast,” Bovira said with reassuring smile and a hand on Iyora’s shoulder as she nudged the Keeper into starting to walk back to the camp proper.

As they walked back, she finally found her voice to reply, “I think I’ve lost my appetite.”

“You know why she yelled at you, don’t you?” the male voice died giving way to the hissing and crackling that let one know the Gnomish device was actually working (and not about to blow up, that was when it started whining as they had learned the hard way once… or twice).

Ourrin stood there for a long moment, not hitting the button so he could speak back to his Brother through the Gnomecorder. Mayet looked up at him briefly from her mapping something out on the papers spread out before her and gave him a knowing look, but didn’t say a word. They didn’t need to, theirs was a relationship where words weren’t always needed.

Mulling it over, he finally hit the button, “I pushed her too far.”

Jartsam’s voice came back over the speaker, “No, it wasn’t entirely that.”

Rubbing an eyebrow with a finger he was finding communication with the living tedious as usual, moreso today as he knew he shouldn’t have gotten involved in this. Why did he feel such loyalty towards this male?

It was a rhetorical question as he knew the answer, they were brothers, but moreso that Jartsam was still one of the very few to accept him as he was currently. Also one of the very few that he could go to for answers when his fractured memories decided to act up. The other was his daughter Sharina Sylversword, but she had her own mountain of issues, so he didn’t like imposing his problems on top of hers.

“You probably don’t remember, but you saved her life once. She used to idolize you,” Jartsam paused for a moment to let that sink in and then chuckled, “Heh, I remember she once came home from Temple with a bloody nose from a fight with another acolyte that had been bad mouthing your good name and our usually docile Iyora apparently stomped her.”

“She’s not all that docile,” he replied dryly thinking back to earlier this evening, “And I don’t believe I ever had a ‘good name’,” a bodiless cackle followed that from the ever present val’kyr annoyance hiding somewhere in the room.

Mayet got up to get something from across the room next to him as she put a hand on Ourrin’s shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze. He gently lifted her hand to his lips for a moment before releasing it as she walked back to the desk.

Ourrin heard Jartsam sigh, “The point is, I feel with you she is still not over your death. It felt like betrayal to her for you to go off and die and now that you’re, well…”

“‘A poor facsimile of my former self?’” he quoted, banal.

“Elune, is that what she said?”

The Death Knight was not one to a) repeat himself or b) answer seemingly rhetorical questions so he just didn’t say anything as something of a grumbling noise could be heard over the line from Jartsam’s end.

“Aw, his little precious baby girl is just a big brat!” Serra cat-called from above them now, as he could pinpoint her location to be somewhere in the rafters above.

Mayet eyed the rafters of their room for a long moment, but then turned back to her papers, the worgen female had a propensity for attacking the val’kyr with her blood magics just on principle. His Second was also very good at biding her time.

The static broke to give way to Jartsam’s voice again, “She’s young… it’s probably just Kitten-love...”

“Don’t,” Ourrin stopped him dead, “She said her piece, the reasons aren’t important to the matter at hand. I will still go speak with this Vilaxian and get back with you.”

“Thank you Brother,” Jartsam signed off with a weary voice as Ourrin shut off the crackling machine back into stark silence.

Ourrin steeped his long fingers before him as he leaned back into his seat asking himself again why exactly he was doing this. However before he thought himself into a spiraling dark mood he felt Mayet slide up and press her body against his as he wrapped his arms around her. Her presence brought a measure of calm as the two just lay there, not saying anything as again, words were not required.

“By Odyn, you two are disgusting,” the val’kyr spat destroying the stillness which was promptly followed up by Mayet shooting a blood boil bolt, nailing Serra as the thing yelped and teleported off somewhere.

Silence descended once more as the two Death Knights just drank it in.