Notes: So it's probably common speculation by now that the conversation Vereesa had with Alleria aboard the Vindicaar during the early stages of the Argus campaign is implied to have been tailored in a way that either left some key details out or done so to put the Horde in a negative light so that Alleria could maintain what little ill will she still harbors the Horde (understandably so, given that they were the cause of Lirath's death and many others in the Second War, as well as being weapons for the Legion) and also convince the blood elves to go back to the Alliance where they belong.
I'm positive there's going to be some clarification down the line as to what exactly Vereesa dressed up that would make sense to Alleria (and that entirely hinges on whether or not Before the Storm and the two novellas that will be included - and will later be available online - in the Battle for Azeroth Collector's Edition set will go in-depth into that). The drabble this little light of mine only mentions a very small part of a possible interpretation of the conversation I believe to had happened, whereas this story decides to be flesh out that assumption more fully but in a condensed format that doesn't drag on too much. It's neither right or wrong, but given the implications surrounding the gossip text in-game, it's safe to say the game itself is casting Vereesa in an unreliable context that leaves what went on between her and Alleria openly ambiguous until such a time the matter is addressed.
I will also admit that, as much as I tried to be impartial to her as possible, I have a love-hate relationship with Vereesa. As I main a blood elf hunter, it annoyed me throughout the expansion that Vereesa flip-flopped between distrust for wanting to reclaim Thas'dorah, admiration for becoming Huntmaster, and then distrust again upon having Horde soldiers among Alliance forces and the Kirin Tor assault Legion-occupied Suramar City. I think what bothered me the most that...you know, she's Ranger-General of the Silver Covenant, and she's out there firing on the Sunreavers. You would think she'd know better than that by now, especially with Khadgar and a ton of battlemages around (and in plain sight) to keep her ass in line. But I digress.
Notes2: This makes some mention of the War Crimes novel, although Sylvanas herself doesn't say anything; she's pretty much window dressing where this story is concerned. Also, as a forewarning, in the beginning there are a couple instances of in-universe but meta-inspired bashing of the World of Warcraft community as a...well, not exactly a whole, but the people that scream the loudest can often be confused as the majority, so I have no shame nor regrets for bashing them here.
Notes3: There was going to be more included in the flashbacks, such as Elisande being condescending of the Quel'dorei turning to the lesser races to increase their numbers (though it also meant diluting their blood), as well as very quick glimpses of events the Horde and the blood elves were involved in (i.e. the Purge of Dalaran). Somehow these never made into the original document as I was writing it, so they're more a case of 'having never left the mental storyboard' than being intentionally cut for transitional purposes.
This is for the best, and nothing, no one, can take that from her.
Things have quieted in the past couple months since the Argus expedition, although every now and then Vereesa will still hear the whispers the Illidari utter under their breaths when her daily walks take her through the Mage Quarter: of 'Lord Illidan' and 'the Unmaker', 'Titans' and 'the greatest sacrifice committed'. She didn't participate too much in the fighting on the planet's surface with the Huntmaster and the other heroes aboard the Vindicaar, but it doesn't take much to connect the dots to see the bigger picture for what it was: Illidan did something on Argus that elevated him even further in the eyes of his demon hunters, and whatever it was, he is the reason this world has risen above the ashes of the Burning Legion and Sargeras is no more.
She purses her lips, chews on the inside of her cheek. Indeed, it must have been the greatest sacrifice the Betrayer could have afforded to make to have pulled the Dark Titan away from Azeroth—forever, if she's understanding the demon hunters correctly (after all, it would unwise to get a little too close for comfort; they're certainly not the most sociable lot, but at least they are more so than their death knight brethren). They keep to themselves, although some have begun venturing from the hideaways they've carved for themselves in Stormwind's walls (with the High King's permission, of course) and mingling with people again, some of whom they haven't seen in centuries.
Their progress is slow and there have been those curious enough to get close enough (be brave enough) to strike a conversation. It's a small step, but there are many more that must be taken. Perhaps it will never be enough, for suspicion and prejudice run deep among the night elves, and it simmers brightly within the druids and the followers of the Light. "Aberrations," they say, and "Traitors," and these are some of the many names they mutter to themselves when they think the demon hunter isn't listening, hands close to the vest and eyes tracking their every movement.
Vereesa crosses under the arch and backpedals just in time for a gaggle of children to scurry past her, all laughter and flailing limbs. She smiles to herself, rolls her shoulders, and continues up the path that levels out and turns into cobblestone.
People tend to forget an elf's hearing is much better than a human's. Even better than a goblin's; they could definitely hear more than the sound of clinking gold, hallucinatory or not. Just because their ears don't twitch as often as people say they should doesn't mean they didn't blithely miss the ignorant comments sent their way.
No one ever seems to remember that words hurt more than physical maladies.
She emerges into the sunlight, where the air is clearer and nary a cloud in the sky; there's a halo around the sun, a particular phenomenon that emphasizes how encapsulated the world, emphasizes how much smaller she is, how far away and far removed everything is now that the fighting has stopped. If she were anyone else, she wouldn't believe that there was any going on beyond the occasional Legion invasion, at least the ones that had attempted to overrun Kalimdor and the Eastern Kingdoms. In time those had stopped, but after the first assault on the Broken Shore had failed they had recouped and redirected their ire upon the Isles.
Yes, she thinks, feet setting north upon the winding path. No one would blame the other (especially amidst all the hysteria, once the portal to Argus had opened) if they had forgotten that someplace, somewhere, the Alliance was braying for Horde blood. Varian Wrynn is dead—she doesn't quite know how he went out (although the look in King Greymane's eyes at the funeral was haunted, lifeless, and it is seared into her memory and her heart forever), but seeing the triad of monument stones rise up the closer she approaches is testament to that fact.
Compared to the rest of Stormwind City, it's notably quiet.
The air here isn't quite so somber than it was at the onset.
It's…serene.
(It's so much different, so jarring, when one takes into account just how much damage has been done to the world. All the fighting, all the chaos, all the pain….
(Vereesa stops by the steps leading down to the tomb and doesn't go any farther. The center monument slab, and the largest of the three, can be seen on the farthest side of the rotunda away from the fountains. This one is dedicated solely to King Varian, its brethren next to that inscribed with the names of all those who have died upon the Shore, confirmed dead or otherwise presumed as such.
(How it must have been for King Anduin to visit his father's tomb, coming into adulthood and having no experience in wartime diplomacy, only to suddenly be thrust into the role that should have been passed down to him later on in life. Death by natural causes, in that one last sleep, is a much better and a more preferable way to go than whatever fate Varian endured in his final moments.
(Death by sleep is so much better than being incinerated, mind and body and soul, by magic, where all thought, all feeling, is cut short and suddenly as though by a pair of shears.
(Vereesa takes a shaky breath, digs her nails into the meat of her palms—allowed to grow to fine, talon-like points for just this purpose—and walks the rest of the way around the fountain, bidding night elf druids and Stonemason workers going on their lunch break good afternoon in a voice she hopes doesn't sound too strained.
(Rhonin was beloved—perhaps not as much as Antonidas, but he had had a positive reception. But he had his detractors, people who criticized him for enforcing neutrality upon Dalaran when the Northrend campaign was at its peak, and their anger had seemed to spill forth as a leaking dam the closer the armies of Azeroth drew closer upon Icecrown Citadel. Not even the Argent Tournament could keep soldiers of both factions from trying to spear the other in the jousting competitions, a notion Tirion Fordring insisted on so as to help them harness their energy, their determination against all odds, upon their true enemy the Lich King.
(Some people were happy when Jaina had broken the news to the Council that, if it hadn't been for Rhonin pushing her through the portal meant for him, she would not be here. Finally, finally, the Alliance could step in and put down the Horde dogs for their insolence. Rhonin was too kind, too soft, and it was partly his fault Garrosh—the Sunreavers—stole the Focusing Iris and made the mana bomb that nuked Theramore off the map…and out of existence in all realities. With Jaina as Archmage, they could finally deal the hand Rhonin should have rightfully dealt them with.
("His fault," they said. "He let them get out of control. Good riddance."
("One less human man to take a woman from us," said some of the more cavalier elven men, one day in a corner away from the crowd at the Legerdemain Lounge, and they tapped their glasses together.
Vereesa stretched her arms above her head, tips her head back, and yawns. Tears pinprick the corners of her eyes.
(Would people feel the same way if King Anduin took an elf maiden as his bride? A dwarf? Maybe a draenei or someone from the other races?
(Her lips twist, her teeth flash, bared at the sun.)
"Good afternoon, Lady Windrunner," says the elf as she takes the steps two at a time back onto the leveled path. He bows his head to her in deference. "Lovely weather, isn't it?" His accent is smooth and accented with an inflection that sounds vaguely Gilnean.
"Good afternoon," says Vereesa, and when she lowers her head it is with a pretty smile that makes the purple on the man's skin flush mauve. "And yes, it's beautiful outside." She gets a good look at him: he stands a good head taller than her, with short black hair that barely touches the slopes of his shoulders. He has a beard—a full beard—and sideburns, neither of which are anywhere as thick as a night elf's but neatly trimmed and shaved to fine stubble. His ears are long, slim, foliate and upright. He wears a necklace over his vest; it's an inverted sigil of the Sin'dorei Icon of Blood, but purple and gold and in the fashion of a winged helm.
One of them, a voice whispers in her ear, so close as to be leaning over her shoulder. Once a blood elf, always a blood elf. Their name may change, but their nature will not.
Her smile dims, ever so slightly. She hopes he doesn't notice.
"Lady Alleria was asking for you," says the void elf. "She says the boys are wondering where you're at. They're at the park past the Cathedral."
She nods. "I know. I was just on my way there. But thank you for letting me know, Mister…?"
"Please, milady, no 'mister'," he laughs. "I'm not that old; not yet! Just call me Marvolo. Marvolo Darkstrider."
Her smile almost falls; she catches it just in time to make it into a thin line. "I'll be sure to remember that. Thank you, Marvolo. You have a nice day."
"You as well, milady." They part ways.
Vereesa forces herself not to look back.
She looks over her shoulder—slightly, then fully. Watches Marvolo go down the steps and around the hedges lining the automated, flowing fountain. He keeps going.
Her chest loosens. She turns back where she's looking and does the same. She stays focused and keeps focused as she continues down the road, greeting fellow Stormwindians and making small talk along the way.
In the past couple months, she's seen more draenei and elves in the city than the usual. This hasn't gone unnoticed, for the area around the Cathedral of Light is…simultaneously brighter and darker. Brighter, for the lightforged draenei that had descended to the surface with Turalyon and Captain Fareeya have taken to construct a beacon nearby and, although the houses here are probably a bit too small for them, have settled in among the inhabitants. Their warriors and mages had gone in opposite directions, to either the Mage Quarter or the Dwarven District, but for each morning, afternoon, and evening, most everyone in the Army of the Light congregate within the Cathedral for one single purpose: to bask in the Light and walk away with the renewed purpose of spreading its teachings far and wide. The air is cleaner, the air is brighter; it would seem as though they are wearing the Light itself, they are not blinding but mutedly radiating with it. It feels good, whenever she makes the time to take the family to the sermons.
Yet the Cathedral Square has also become…not darker, like midnight, or gloomy like a swamp. It's almost as if it's caught in that blue, golden hour that signals the coming and going of sunrise and sunset. The shadows from the sconces that are lit before nightfall are a smidge blacker, the sky at morning and the sky in the evening are bluer, almost purple, like a tea bag steeped too long in water; and the light from the sun, on cloudless days, from when it rises and from when it sets is more gold than yellow, more red than pink. The closest she's come to feel gloomy, funereal, is on days when it is cloudy or threatening rain, bringing powerful winds that give the city and kingdom its name.
It shouldn't have surprised her to have seen an uptick in paladins and priests of the holy and discipline denominations patrol the Cathedral more often. Even the clergymen that have only had some minimal experience healing on the fields by the farmsteads—minor things like hungry gnolls and kobolds wandering too far from their dens—watch the void elves come and go with wary eyes, but they're not very subtle in their movements and what few words they exchange to them make no attempt to hide the displeasure of the shadows that stretch too far long after the sun has set, of the ends of their hair tapering off in thick, ropy tendrils, their skin that is either a bruised purple, snow white, or royal blue (like the Nightborne that have turned away from Tyrande, the Nightborne were once Kal'dorei but no longer, the Nightborne that are now Horde). The paladins, at least, have the courtesy of not making the sudden movements of brandishing their weapons, but they stand a bit straighter, keep their shield and weapon close, and let their eyes follow them.
Lady Alleria's word will only carry you so far, Vereesa overheard a guard say to a void elf one day. Tread carefully.
As Vereesa makes her away around the Cathedral, she gazes at the sconces. They are empty, filled with neither light nor shadow.
One will give way to the other, and vice versa.
Though the weather is warm, she convulses. Vereesa quickens her pace and puts the Cathedral behind her. The road branches off to the right, becomes more paved and symmetrical with mowed grass on each side. The trees are tall, pine and rowan. Acorns litter the floor. Sunlight filters through and weaves on a light breeze. She takes it.
She forges on ahead, keeping her eyes peeled for Alleria and the boys. They don't stray far from the path; the trees are merely peripheral.
Suddenly, she hears laughter, high and clear and pure. Then, following that, a rustle of leaves and a tall, lithe shadow flies across the path, in and out in seconds before it disappears into the woods. Two boys chase after it; one of them, Galadin (it's always Galadin), stumbles but catches himself just as Giramar spins around to catch him, and then they're off, grinning.
Vereesa smirks, bites back laughter, and walks the rest of the way at a slow, leisurely pace. There's a solid thump as Alleria hits the ground, and when Vereesa rounds the corner and into view it's to the sight of her oldest sister backed up against a tree, huddling and shaking in 'terror' as the twins creep toward her.
"No! I was so close!" Alleria cries, and holds her arms up to shield herself. "I almost got away!"
"It's the end of the line for you, monster!" says Galadin, and the light in his eyes is both joyful and utterly manic. (There's a part of Vereesa that quails seeing it; she's instantly reminded of the same look that was in her eyes at his age, and she doesn't know whether to find that amusing or embarrassing.)
"There's nowhere left for you to run," says Giramar, a little less passionately, but there's a spark of mischief in the quirk of his lips. It aches a bit: Rhonin had that same, boyish smile. (So did Sylvanas; hers was full of a cool, feline curiosity that was both quick and flighty. Vereesa shifts from one foot to the other.) "It's time for you to face justice!"
Alleria laughed. "Justice! More like vengeance! Fine, then! Bring it! All of it! Show me your spirit—oof!" She barely has the chance to finish when the boys set upon her and she's bowled right over, joining in their laughter.
Just as high, just as clear, and still so very, very melodic. The warmth of it banishes the chill from Vereesa's heart, makes her smile fully and sweetly. It's been too long since she's heard that sound, has thought she never would for the rest of her life. And yet, there it is, it's real and not a trick of her imagination.
It's missing something, don't you think? The voice whispers again, a little more quietly. The picture is not quite complete.
Vereesa sinks her nails down against her palms again, just a pinch, and then she lets them. Puts her smile back on and walks over to extract Alleria from the tangle of limbs and bright red hair, but they're already getting up and taking one of her hands in theirs and help her onto her feet. "I'm back," she announces.
The boys dash over to her. "Mama!" "Welcome back, ma."
"Hey, boys," she says, and goes to ruffle each of their hair; Giramar makes a small, pouty noise, but he smiles and shakes his head with the motion of her hand. "Are you having fun with Auntie Ally?"
"Yeah!" says Galadin. "We were playing tag and me and Gir were trying to catch her! She's really fast! She almost got away!"
"We got her, though," says Giramar, and directs an evil smirk Alleria's way. "She's fast, but not that fast. She's not a master of tag like Din and I are."
"You got lucky," Alleria says, pouting, and starts picking twigs out of her hair. "I won't let them get me next time."
Vereesa rolls her eyes. "Sure you will." As if Alleria is ever going to admit she let them catch her…but they're kids. They could afford to keep thinking that way for a few more years.
"Did your meeting with the King go okay?" Galadin asks.
"Yeah, how'd it go?" Giramar joins in, and looks up at her with childish curiosity and furrowed brows that show he's just a tiny bit concerned. "Everything alright? You were kinda gone a long time."
She gives him a reassuring pat on the head, and this time he doesn't grouse and smiles. "Oh, it went alright. King Anduin and I were just talking about things that went on a little longer than intended. I'm sorry if I made you worry. Why don't I take you two over to the pond with the bridge? Consider it my treat for making you wait so long."
Galadin brightens. "Yeah! I wanna see the cranes again! You've seen the cranes, right, Auntie? D'you think they laid their eggs yet?"
Alleria hums thoughtfully. "I'm not too sure; but we can look and see if they did. How does that sound? We can skip stones along the water, too…preferably away from them. Birds can get pretty nasty when they're upset, especially when eggs and chicks are involved."
He makes a show of mimicking his mother's eye roll and sighs dramatically. "It was one time, Auntie! I didn't know my stone was gonna go that far! Honest!"
"Oh I know you didn't mean any harm. You've got a very strong arm."
"Please don't fill his head, Auntie," Giramar groans. "He throws far, but not as far as me."
Galadin whirls on him and gives him a look so bug-eyed and scandalous it almost makes Vereesa break out into giggles again. "Nuh-uh! No, you can't! I've seen you! You couldn't make it across the pond even if you enchanted your arm with super strength!"
"Well let's go and find out," Giramar insists. "You get your stones and I'll get mine. Pick a spot away from the cranes, that way when we start throwing it won't bother them. Race you there?"
Galadin cracks a grin. "What race?" He turns sharply on his heel and starts running away from the group, further down the path and into the trees. "Last one there's a rotten raptor egg!" he calls aloud.
Giramar flushes from his neck to his tiny, stubby ears. "Rotten? I'm not rotten, you are! I'll show you! Din!" He takes off after him, bobs and ducks and weaves through the trees just shy of slamming facefirst into them, and then he too is gone.
"Not too far! Wait for us!" Vereesa shouts after them. She hopes they hear her, but when there isn't a response she sighs in defeat and gives Alleria a weary, sideways look. "We were seriously like that when we were kids?"
"Oh, totally," Alleria agrees, grinning shamelessly. "You were just the absolute worst."
"No I wasn't!" she scoffs, and turns away, arms folded over her chest.
"Oh yeah. You were." Alleria claps her hands on her shoulder and jostles her back and forth. Her grin splits even wider at the feline scowl curdling deeper and more severely across her face. "You were such a pint-sized hellion of mass destruction."
"Only because you goaded me on," Vereesa growls.
"But we had fun, didn't we? So much fun. Come on. Admit it. You liked it."
She turns her head away, trying to hide the blush coloring her cheeks. "N-Not really," she says. Then, after a pause, "Okay, maybe a little. Not that much, but…just a little. I-It's not like I wanted to cause trouble. You were practically pressuring me."
"That wasn't pressuring, dear. That's persuading to partake in the joy of childhood."
"So we did…before Mother went on her tirades."
"She meant well. She was a girl, too, once. I bet that's where we got it from." Alleria knocks her head against Vereesa. "It's good to see the patented Windrunner charm is being passed down to the future generation."
"Oh for Light's sake, Ally, that's bull and you know it." Vereesa takes this opportunity to remove herself from Alleria's grip.
"Says you! You should see how red your ears right now!" Alleria exclaims, and leans over to tweak the tip of the ear closest to her with her fingertips. It flicks, flaps her away. She cackles. "You haven't changed a bit!"
"I don't know about you but I've changed plenty."
"Not for this!" Alleria grazes her fingers along the shell of the ear, and again it shivers and urges her away. "That's so cute!"
Vereesa grumbles and starts walking toward the tree line the boys went into. "Older sisters are supposed to be smart. Smart, I tell you. I should've been born first, but no, I had to be the last. Now I see why Sylvanas kept her mouth shut; no amount of negotiating could convince you otherwise."
There's a pause then, longer and stillborn on the air, and somehow it feels as though the temperature has plummeted several degrees. Vereesa tries not to wince, but the heart does; her body tingles with the utterance of that name, like a word or piece of incantation that is taboo and must never give voice to.
You know what it is you're missing—
You shouldn't have—
Vereesa wants to look back and see Alleria, wants to see her face and what she could be thinking. Except she doesn't. She can't bring herself to.
A hand on her shoulder again, and it turns Vereesa enough to see Alleria smiling, eyes crinkling with the force of it. It's warm and soft and helps soothe the tension residing her bones until they slough away as snow melting in spring. "Sylvanas was smart, but not too smart to resist me. You and I both know she wanted it, too. She was just shy, y'know."
Now she really does scoff. "Sylvanas? Shy? This is our sister we're talking about, not some middling girl in trade school. 'Shy' doesn't even belong in her vocabulary. When she wanted something, she'd get it—most of the time."
Alleria makes a low, soft sound in her throat that Vereesa can't tell what it's supposed to convey. There's a small smile, somewhat fond, but she pulls away before she can get a better look. "Yeah. Most of the time."
She says no more on the matter.
(It's for the best.)
They catch up with the kids to find them going up and down the bank, crouching down and gathering what appear to be the biggest, flattest stones they can find. They seem to getting on well but it's not clear who won the race, and if they bickered and locked horns over it then that had already come and gone by the time they arrived. The greensward dips away from them, morphs from gravel and shale to blue pristine water interspersed with lily pads, and on the opposite side, amidst a strand of wild ferns and foxgloves, are tall, slender cranes standing guard over straw-packed nests. From this distance, neither can tell if there are any eggs.
There are several benches strewn across the length of the bridge, some of which are beneath unlit streetlamps. Vereesa strolls over to one overlooking the pond and the closest where she can watch the twins, although she's more than certain Alleria will go down there and linger nearby, making sure neither falls in or, Light forbid, they anger the cranes again with whatever half-baked shenanigans Giramar tries to cook up and drag Galadin into.
"Any news?" Alleria asks, before she decides to go downhill where the boys are.
"Nothing you or I haven't been told already," Vereesa says, taking a seat and stretching out. "Just the usual stuff about what's going on in Silithus." The goblins are out there, mining, and have been toiling away under sun and moon for who knows how long. There's something there that's caught their attention, something that's making the gold signs ding in their heads and show in their eyes. It takes a lot of persuasion and wheedling on her part to get King Anduin open up about it, and though the past few times he's shown hesitant to speak (always looking to Lord Greymane, she notices, though she doesn't blame him) this go-around he finally does. He doesn't give her the full account, per se, but as with the information about what befell Argus and the Betrayer it doesn't take much to put the pieces together.
If the goblins were sent by Gallywix, then it is for a fact that Warchief Sylvanas commanded them to excavate the strange crystal that's appeared in the Wound of the World. Crystals, King Anduin reiterates (and this time he looks to Mathias Shaw for confirmation), that are cropping up all over not just Kalimdor but all over the world.
(What could you want? What could you possibly want—)
"Nothing else?"
Vereesa thinks it over. "For now? No. I think he will have the spies watch them for a just little longer."
"He should move," Alleria says, "and soon, otherwise it'll be gone before he knows it."
"And when he does? What then?"
(Wrong question—)
Alleria winces; it's barely noticeable, but Vereesa sees it in the way she turns away too quickly. Her ears are tall and straight. They are also flattened against the sides of her head and trying in vain not to droop. "That's up to him. But…I think he'll know what to do. Lord Greymane and Master Shaw will help him if he needs it."
"You think so?"
"Yeah. I think…he'll make the right decision. After all, it's the things we do for those we love that keeps the world spinning one more day at a time. I know I will, and I know you will, too. That's why we're here now, eh?" Alleria follows the decline of the grade and leans over the lip. Giramar and Galadin have finished collecting stones and made their own separate piles next to each other; they're stacked so high the ones at the top look like they're about to bring the whole thing tumbling down. They grab a rock and start discussing the terms and conditions of their competition. From what Vereesa can hear, they seem simple enough…and she hopes they stay that way.
She looks over at Alleria, drinks her in standing in the daylight, hood drawn back to let it catch in her hair. Lady Sun, was her nickname when they were teenagers, and then young adults come fresh out of the Farstrider Academy. Lirath had been Little Sun back in the day—way back; and she thinks now, if were he alive today, he would have deigned to the moniker of Lord Sun. She wonders how he would have taken it.
She wonders about a lot of things, but for this, for Alleria, she won't have to wonder anymore. It's so utterly strange, having her back again, not dead as she feared but vibrant with life. She feels…a little less empty.
(A little more alive—)
"Ah, I'm sorry," Alleria says, smiling sheepishly. "I'm kind of bringing down the mood, aren't I?"
Vereesa shakes her head. "I should be the one apologizing. It's just…you know, with the way things are going…you never know. I'd do anything to keep my family safe, you know?"
(Anything?)
Now Alleria grins. "Of course you would. You're a mother. I'm a mother. Moms are tough, so we have to kick ass and take names. That's why I'm going to fight. I don't need any more reason than that. Speaking of which, Vee, you need to show me how much you've improved on your marksmanship. I don't have anything important planned for the next few days, and Duskwalker and Locus-Walker have ensured they'll be teaching the Ren'dorei in the Rift until I'm needed again. How about it? Just like old times, eh?"
"Motherhood hasn't stopped me from sharpening my arrows. Name the time and place and I'll be there."
She laughs. "Cocky, aren't we? Monday, then, when the boys are at school by the first bell. All throughout Elwynn. Whoever shoots the most spiders by the time classes are let out gets to buy the night's round at Lion's Pride. Done deal?"
"Still have that taste for fine wines and alcohol, don't you? Very well. I'll take you up on it. Just don't be surprised if I'm leading you by ten to one."
"Ooh, ten to one? You really are cruisin' for a bruisin', aren't you? Guess we'll see tomorrow if you're not just blowing hot air."
"As Ranger-General of the Silver Covenant, it is more than expected of me to be above the rest."
"Titles don't always equate skill, Vee…but now I really want to see how far you've come."
"You'll just have to wait."
Alleria clicks her tongue. "Cheeky." She looks over the bridge, Vereesa following her line of sight. The boys are engrossed in their game, taking turns flicking their wrists toward the water and watching with rapt attention how far their stones will go. "Ah, they've already started. I think I'll go down there and play scorekeeper. Wouldn't want them trying to one-up the other and break out the fisticuffs, now do we?"
Vereesa rolls her eyes again. "They start out so young," she drawls dryly.
"Want to join me?"
"I'll be there in a moment. You go ahead. Show them how to be unbiased."
Alleria chuckles and pushes off the rail with both hands. "As you wish. Come down when you're ready."
Vereesa sees her off, and when she's gone and reappears underneath by the bank shortly thereafter she heaves a slow, heavy sigh and lounges back. She cranes her head back and turns her face toward the sun, warming it.
She wasn't sure how Giramar and Galadin would take to Alleria at first. They had only ever heard of her from the stories she used to tell them by the fireside back in Dalaran, many, many moons ago, stories of how she defied King Anasterian and the Convocation by proving to them that the Horde was indeed a very real threat and, if they didn't do something soon, they would indeed encroach upon Silvermoon before they ever knew what hit them. Stories of her flying to Stormwind to meet the first of the men who had become the Knights of the Silver Hand to bolster their forces with her own rangers, and how it was there she met and fell in love with Turalyon their uncle. Stories of her and Aunt Sylvanas fending off the orcs with their quiver full of arrows even as the forests of Quel'Thalas were set ablaze. Stories of her seeking to put an end to their conquest once and for all by embarking on the bravest, most dire Quest of crossing the Dark Portal and taking the fight to Draenor.
No one knew what became of her and Turalyon, she would always cap it off, but some say that somewhere out there, among the stars, they are still fighting evil and will only return when the last of the fel flames are snuffed and the light of a new dawn graces the darkness once more.
(Light of a new dawn, huh? It's the very definition of a miracle the planet wasn't torn asunder by the sword sticking out of it. But Azeroth is a strong planet, she has endured catastrophes far, far worse than what Sargeras intended to do in his desperation; and she will last. She will, even as the minerals sprout from the earth and Sylvanas commands those money-grubbing lackeys halfway across the globe to secure as much as she can get her hands on—)
So one day, when the fighting on Argus wasn't so chaotic, she had decided to talk to Alleria. She had pulled her to the side, away from the hubbub, let Khadgar know she needed some privacy (and Khadgar was a good man, and very good at keeping his word), and took her to the cargo bay where they could have some peace and quiet. She said that though Alleria and Turalyon had been in the Twisting Nether for an accumulated one thousand years, only twenty-five years have passed on Azeroth. She's missed much, so much, most of which Vereesa is both grateful (and thanks the Titans) Alleria wasn't present for what transpired and sad that she did not get to see her son grow nor be there to have met Rhonin, attended their wedding, and see the birth of her sons.
"…I have nephews?" was all Alleria could say, and very lamely at that. She was sweat-drenched and disheveled, and there was a bit of color coming back to her cheeks and her eyes were starting to look less wild and vacant.
Vereesa nodded. "Yes. I had boys. Twins."
Alleria just blinked at her. Her mouth worked, but nothing seemed to come out. Then, when she could, "…I'm an auntie?"
"Yes, Alleria. You're an aunt now."
"I'm an aunt now," she echoed, and blinked some more. Life came back to her eyes. Her flesh was rosy again and didn't make her tattoo so stark anymore. She set her mouth in a line. "When do I get to meet them?"
"When all of this is over," Vereesa had said. "Arator has played with them a few times. You can, too."
"Play with them," said Alleria. She looked down at her hands, gazed at each of them intensely. When she looked back up, it was with utter loss. "How do I do that?"
"We'll show you."
They did, several weeks later. Together, when they're back on Azeroth, her and Arator deliver Alleria and Turalyon to Stormwind in the home Vereesa has inhabited since Rhonin's passing—a home away from home, a sanctuary where she can find solace away from the ruthless politicking and factional tension held in check by magocratic neutrality laws.
When they meet, it's to the sight of all three elves—two nine-year-old boys and one adult woman—staring back at each other, wide-eyed and silent. Studying. Wondering. Dissecting preconceptions from the real deal in front of them. Turalyon marvels at them; he would explain later how much he can see the human in them, he would explain—with awe and wonder and plenty of repetition—at how tiny their ears are, he has never really seen a half-elf grown to full adulthood before. He marvels, and then comes to, smiles and approaches them, heavy armor clanking.
"I've heard a lot about you two from your mother," he had said. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Giramar, Galadin. I'm Turalyon, your uncle."
Giramar, quieter and more attune to his surroundings than Galadin ever will be, could only gawp at him. "You mean…you're the Turalyon?"
"The one and only!"
"You're really our uncle?"
"I am."
"No way," he breathed, and exchanged disbelieving glances with his brother.
"What about the woman?" Galadin asked, pointing at Alleria.
Turalyon looked back over his shoulder, got up, and went over to her. "That's Alleria. She's your aunt and my wife." He extended a hand that wants to touch but hovered close to her and gestured them to with a sweep of the arm. "Go on, Alleria. It's okay. They're your nephews."
"My nephews," she uttered in Thalassian. "Mine," she added, and with an audible swallow she forced herself forward and eased past Turalyon until she was standing before the twins.
Vereesa never got to see the look on her face, but she imagined, in that moment, it was akin to finding a pearl uncovered of sand by the wind on a beach, picking it up, and never letting go.
"H-Hi there," Alleria began in Common, lowering onto her knees so that was she level with them. "So you're…Giramar and Galadin, huh? I'm…I'm Alleria. I'm your auntie. Y-You can call me Ally, if you want."
"Aunt Ally," Giramar said, testing the words on his tongue. It came easily and they would be said as so in the days to come.
"You're really real?" Galadin asked, staring up into her face. Vereesa would later learn he had been studying the blue tattoo slashing haphazardly over Alleria's left eye. "Mom said…Mom said you were lost, so I thought you were…you know." He shifted uncomfortably.
"Dead?" Alleria finished for him, smiling gently. "No, dear. I've just been…gone, for a very long time. Your uncle and I have been away all this time, fighting evil and keeping it away so it would never come and harm you."
"So you won?"
"We did. But evil will always try to find a way to get back at the good guys; it might hide for a time, but it will get back up again."
"That won't happen, will it?" Giramar asked her. "You'll stop the bad guys, won't you?"
"You bet I will," Alleria said, more heartfelt and genuinely sincere. "We've learned a lot of cool things while we were out there, and we've practiced with them enough times that we have the hang of them. So we're going to use them to protect Azeroth from the bad guys. That's a promise your Auntie swears by. An elvish oath, if you will, and you're my witnesses." She holds up a hand, every finger closed save for her pinky. "Will you hold me to that?"
They did, each boy crowding next to the other to hold out their own fingers and bind her to it.
Since then, they've been almost inseparable. She had been busy for a while, readjusting to life on Azeroth and disappearing for stretches at a time ("Finding her place," Turalyon had said, and looked back toward the entrance where their statues engraved with their epitaphs still stand today). Then she had been away to Silvermoon—Silvermoon, of all places, for King Anduin had made mention that things were starting to heat up over in Silithus, the goblins had been carting the mineral—Azerite, the SI:7 were calling it—from the sites and putting them on trains of kodos to take back to Mulgore so as not to arouse suspicion that orc zeppelins would. Something was going to break, sooner rather than later. This time it was not going to be a tide as it had been in Pandaria but a full-fledged, grade-A flood, and he wanted to keep abreast with whatever Sylvanas was planning to do with the shipments that eluded their agents. Allies would have to be found and, hope willing, made.
Turalyon had suggested going to Captain Fareeya aboard the Vindicaar and discussing with her the prospect of inviting the draenei lightforged into the Alliance.
Alleria declared she would head north, to Eversong, and bring the rest of her people—who had decided altogether shortly after the Fall to call themselves Sin'dorei, Children of the Blood—back into the Alliance's good graces. Them being in the Horde was…a dalliance of convenience, but it was time to go back home. She would make them see reason.
She came back a few days later looking crestfallen and with a group of elves whose shadows fell too long in the day and made the daylight dim wherever they tread. They had been banished, Alleria had said. She had been banished, for her presence had conflicted with that of the holy energies in the Sunwell, and even after she had helped Liadrin and the others close off the Void portals and slew the renegade ethereal behind the attack, Lor'themar could not be swayed.
"He said I was a threat," she told Vereesa one day, when the shock had worn off and she had at last come around on her own terms. "I and the other elves that were studying Dar'Khan's notes. He said if we stayed, then it would spell the end of Quel'Thalas." She gazed upon her owlishly. "Can you believe that?"
"You're not a threat!" Vereesa had exclaimed. "You saved them!"
"And yet, here I am." Alleria flexed her hands, moved them to and fro. "Do I look evil, Vee? Do you think I'm evil? For using the Void?"
"You're not evil, Alleria! But what on Azeroth's name were you thinking, looking through that traitor's books? You should've burned them! No good will come out of wielding the Void."
"But that's the thing: it doesn't have to be. I—we—can tame it. We will make it serve us instead of the other way around and use that knowledge to protect Azeroth. I'll protect you!" Alleria snatched Vereesa's hands and held them together in a grip that was almost deathly; she could recall how tight it was, the way the bones were nearly pressing together. "I know it's dangerous, Vee. I know exactly what it will do to me if I slip up. But I won't let it; the day I do is the day I'll die, and I have no intentions of going out for real a third time no matter what history may tell me otherwise!" The light in her eyes was wild and frantic, her fangs were bared, and Vereesa grew afraid.
(She has seen that look before, in the mirror that is in her house when the nightmares get to be too much and in the mirror that must have been Sylvanas's face when she realized, some years ago and must surely have realized even up until this day, Vereesa was not going to poison Garrosh, she would have the court of law strike him down in the name of justice and not give him the taste of vengeance as was her right, and that—as though the knife is twisted even more—that one decision was what lead to Azeroth to suffer as it has suffered now and will continue to suffer in the following years.)
Then the light receded, the death-grip on her hands loosened considerably. The ferocity fled, and Alleria gave her an easy smile and reassuring squeeze of her hands before letting them go. "I'm sorry, Vee. I'm just…I'm still worked up over that, you know? My best friend in the world…he's just doing what's best for him and his people. I don't blame him. Really, I don't. I'd have done the same thing."
"I know," Vereesa said. "I don't like it, either, but at least banishment is better than getting arrested."
Alleria doesn't say anything to that, just shrugs and stares off to Vereesa's side. It lasts a second, but then they snap back to her face and the look in them is harder, tougher, stronger than steel. "Please have faith in me, Vee. You don't have to believe the Void will be good; with the way it works, it never will be…but there's always a bit of good to be found in everything, and I'm going to make it for myself and the rest of the Ren'dorei. On my word as a Windrunner."
(Words mean nothing if you can't commit to them.)
Except the Void has never been a force for good, she had wanted to emphasize to her. Drill into her head, if it meant steering her away from that dark, lonely path. But Alleria was a stubborn girl, always had been and always will be, and she had found kinship in people who should be her enemy and brought into the cold shadows where they could learn to decipher its secrets and outwit the darkness together.
What about Arator?
What about me?
Vereesa looks at her hands, flexes them in the sunlight. Studies the nails she's let grown.
"I look weird, don't I?" Alleria had asked her, the first time she showed her the voidform. She had invited her to meet her in the cellars underneath The Slaughtered Lamb, had oh so casually asked to rent out 'a room' for the night under the auspice that she needed to do a little 'meditation' away from the Light's prying eyes. Needless to say, when Vereesa had arrived the patrons at the bar gave her a wide berth; Jarel Moor, the bartender, simply pointed her to the stairwell downstairs leading into the cool, damp gloom. "I mean, look at this way; it makes my tats stick out more than a shadowform would, don't you think?" She laughed halfheartedly at her own joke, a laugh that trailed off and died when Vereesa didn't react.
Vereesa could only stare, eyes wide and heart thumping lowly, maddeningly, against her breast.
The coloration was different, it was darker and made her eyes and tattoos glow white and scream to attention, but the woman standing in front had not been Alleria then. No, that woman was not Alleria Windrunner. That woman was Sylvanas—
Alleria gave her a soft smile. "Please don't be afraid, Vee. I can control it. See?" And as if she flicked a light switch the shadows disappeared, seeped back into her. Her flesh regained its rosy hue, her hair its lustrous golden color, and her eyes and her tattoos, her armor and cloak and her weapons were returned as to how they appeared before. "Pretty convenient, eh? I'm the only one that can do it so far, but I hope in time I'll be able to have everyone else up to speed and do the same just as effortlessly. It'll certainly help the Alliance in the long run."
(She recalls, in sporadic flashes, the way Sylvanas carried herself in the halls of the Temple of the White Tiger: tall, proud, imperious. Her steps were slow and measured and her gaze was steel that could still catch the light through the blood spattered over it. They darted back and forth, catching everyone that stood within her presence and committed them to her memory where they stayed forever; and if it could not, then the shadows would remind her. They clung to her as static, as leeches; they wafted from her being and drained the color from the sun. Wherever she tread, the shadows followed, borne on an ill, black wind.)
"Of course," Vereesa had said. Mumbled, now that she thinks back on it.
"I'll do whatever it takes to protect this world, Vereesa. People can shun me and spit on me and call me abomination, but that won't stop me from doing what needs to be done. No sacrifice is too great if it means one more day. One more day…if it means I can stop the Shadow from snuffing out the Light…and vice versa."
You sound like him, Vereesa had thought, and an image of Illidan Stormrage came to her. Standing before the Vindicaar's console, looming as an ancient tree above middling saplings such as the forces of Azeroth, gazing upon the ruined wastelands that had been part of Argus for twenty-five thousand years and the Burning Throne that awaited them, mocked them, over the horizon. You sound just like him.
She will become like him, the voice had said, and she remembered the moment Illidan had torn through the bonds and shattered Xe'ra. Shattered her into pieces that would power the Netherlight Crucible, and crumpled to the floor as all but the last vestiges of strength fled from him.
He had just enough to stop the swing of Turalyon's blade from cutting him in twain. Caught it in his bear-like paw, closed down on it, and harrumphed at the horror dawning on the man's face when only green blood spilled forth. "Your faith has blinded you. There can be no chosen one. Only we…can save ourselves, and no other." Then he pushed away the sword, stood up, and stalked away.
(The shadows clung to him as they cling to Sylvanas as they cling to Alleria now—)
I don't want to lose you again, Vereesa thinks, watching Alleria walk back and forth between Giramar and Galadin. I won't lose you again. Not now. Not ever. I'd do anything to keep you safe.
Anything?
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE'S WARCHIEF OF THE HORDE?!" Alleria roared, and if Vereesa hadn't known any better she would have thought the end of the world had come at last. So quiet did the Vindicaar's bridge become, drawing tense glances and shuffling feet to look their way. Half the soldiers mingling there were Horde, orcs and trolls and blood elves and so many others, and they regarded them with varying degrees of discomfort, trepidation, and distrust.
(How could you ever forget that last one?)
Vereesa had flinched, ears flattening. "Ally…sis…let me explain—"
"I will never forgive them for what they've done to our people! To us! T-To Lirath!" Alleria choked out, swallowed, and resigned herself to clench her fists—sink her nails in deep, shaking uncontrollably. "Why?" she asked her, quietly, a little more steadily. "Why would she…? What made her think…?" She froze and, as if remembering where she was, looked around her wildly. The Horde was still there. "Tell me," she said to Vereesa, snagging her by the shoulders. "Tell me everything! I need to know! What's happened to Sylvanas?"
"I-I will, Alleria—"
"Tell me what the hell's going on! Please!"
Vereesa threw off her hands and held them tight and didn't let go. She stared into her eyes, stared hard and true, willing her to calm, and slowly, achingly, Alleria did. "I don't know how to tell you this or where to even begin," she said, her mind turning. "So much has changed while you were gone."
Alleria's mouth worked. "How bad?" she uttered. Then, a little more loudly, but low enough for only Vereesa to hear, "How bad was it?"
(How?)
Vereesa's eyes veered downstairs. "Let's take this somewhere a little more…private, okay? Come on. Come with me. I'll tell you everything." She began to guide her below decks, away from the eyes, away from them. (She looked back at the Horde and dared them.)
"Please," Alleria pleaded. "Please tell me what happened to Sylvie. Tell me why our people are with the orcs and the trolls and…and…" Alleria shook her head. "Please, Vereesa, tell me everything. I need to know."
So Vereesa did. She brought her to the cargo hold beneath the bridge level and, after checking to make sure no one was working nearby, brought her to a corner where she could rest and pay heed.
From there, everything came naturally.
It was just like telling the boys their favorite bedtime story.
"Sylvanas is…undead," Vereesa said, when Alleria waited on her to talk. "She fell, Ally. It wasn't a kind death, although she had given her life for everyone that were either defending the gates or had fled for safety. You know of Prince Arthas, right? Of Lordaeron? Something…happened to him. Something bad. There was a plague, you see, a very terrible plague that swept through all of the Eastern Kingdoms. Arthas was trying to find a cure for it. He worked with the Silver Hand, went far and wide to find an answer…anything that would help him save not just his people but the Kingdoms. He couldn't find it. He didn't. He became more and more desperate, more angry and upset that everything he did was for naught. It ate away at him, tore his mind apart. Then he just…snapped. Just snapped. So one day he gathered everyone who had become disillusioned with the state of the world, took up his sword, and killed his father. One fell swoop." She added a chopping motion with her hand, cutting through the air. "Just like that. Lordaeron descended into complete and total chaos."
(They tried. Oh they tried, but it wasn't enough. It would never be enough; the Scourge was too numerous, too powerful. Not even the Light could banish the chill of rot and death from the land. Frostmourne hungered, and Frostmourne fed.
(She didn't have to know he had Frostmourne. It was just a blade, a very simple blade. If guns could turn a man into a god, then might a blade make him? No different than a pious man spouting zealous rhetoric, and she drew upon the anger, the betrayal, simmering in her belly—anger at Arthas for turning on his father and on his people with his evil power, anger at the way he forced the death back into unlife and unleashed them on her kin, her friends, her family.
(She saw the way Alleria's eyes widened, saw her face pale, and was glad to have her attention.)
(She felt like shit.)
(But she kept on going.)
"No one could stop them; they were not prepared, they didn't know Arthas would turn on them." Vereesa sighed. "But he did, Ally; everything just…got to him. He just wanted it to stop. He wanted all the madness to end. He thought he was doing the right thing. So he wasted Lordaeron, him and his men. They tore down its bricks and cast aside its stones and turned the river beneath the portcullis into a river of blood; that's how many people were slain. But he wasn't done, Ally; no, he was far from finished. The plague was still going strong up north…so north he went…and that was where Sylvanas fell." Her ears drooped. It ached to remember. It hurt to know she hadn't been there to save Sylvanas from her fate.
(She wasn't there in the city proper. She was far away from it in fact…but Alleria didn't have to know the truth.
(So she kept on going.)
"Arthas had some…men in his group when they made the march. Evil men, Ally, who had been going behind the Kirin Tor's back. They wanted more knowledge, more power, they didn't want to be constrained by rules and policies. They were practicing necromancy, and they had been caught, got thrown out, and that made them angry even more. They taught Arthas and his troops how to use that power; it was a gift that would not just stave off death. It would make it subservient to them. They taught them this as they were going north, and when they were ready and their efforts pleased them they insisted they hurry right away to Silvermoon. 'The more numbers we have, the more power we have at our disposal to end the plague,' was what they told him, and Arthas agreed. Not even death from sickness would be able to triumph in the face of death by the damned."
Vereesa swallowed thickly, searched for the best way to forge onward. "I tried, Ally," she said, voice trembling. "I tried to save Sylvanas. I wanted to help her, but she wouldn't let me. She sent me away, told me to go with Rhonin and run. Run far away and never look back; she didn't want me to be there when she fell. So I did. I didn't want to…but I did." She took that moment to slam her palms against her eyes, wiping away tears. She sniffed harshly. "She didn't stand a chance, she went on, but she gave her life for us. We would have all been dead and enthralled if it wasn't for her."
"And then they killed her," Alleria said, quietly. Lifelessly.
"Arthas killed her. Killed her and raised her as the first banshee…but I didn't know she had been brought back…brought back and made his weapon until a while later…." She shook her head fiercely. "I stayed away from Quel'Thalas. I couldn't go near it. The Sunwell was corrupted. Silvermoon was destroyed. I…I didn't want to be there. I couldn't bring myself to go back. Not yet."
(And when she finally did and refused to partake in Lor'themar's cruel means to sate their addiction, she had been sent away. Banished, for if she could not put her survival above her selfish integrity, then she could never be among the Sin'dorei.
(This she did tell Alleria, but only just that. She told her that this was magic for themselves. For the orcs and the trolls that wanted it all for themselves, to make them better than the Alliance and stronger than ever before.
(She didn't have to know the truth.
(And still she kept on going.)
"What about now?" Alleria asked.
For a moment, Vereesa didn't know what to say. She was at a loss for words, and her pervading silence made Alleria twitchy and restless.
Yes, what about her?
"She…does," she said, tentatively. "But she's…not the same. The transformation changed her."
"How?"
How?
(Vereesa thinks back to crimson eyes beholding her, bleached yellow hair made ghostly white. Thinks how cold and cruel they are, how even the light from the Temple's sconces can't breach the shadow around her. Thinks of the skull-patterned armor, the stitched cloak, the blue skin, the life that had been ripped from the body and was stuffed back into—)
"How?" Alleria repeated. She was so very quiet, so very still. She may as well have been on the brink of death.
(She's had a taste of it before. She will never have it again. Not if I have anything to say or do about it.)
So Vereesa told her.
She weaved her a tale: of how Sylvanas had become as cold and ruthless as Arthas in his madness, and how she blackmailed the surviving high elves—who had then taken to calling themselves blood elves—into her service or be left to fend for themselves against the might of the damned. She told her how the orcs and the trolls had struck a bargain with the tauren and the goblins and even the undead that were swayed by the promise of coin and sanctuary across Kalimdor and the Kingdoms to bolster their Horde; and told her how they caught Sylvanas and the blood elves by surprise and pressed them into their service or fall beneath their blade. "She didn't have a choice," Vereesa had said, "but if it meant being one step closer to her goal, one step closer to seeing the world burn for forsaking her in her darkest hour, then she would ally her and her kith and kin to their vile cause."
So she kept on going.
And going.
And going, conjuring the Horde as a force of shady mercenaries, sullen brutes, uncivilized savages kept in check by Sylvanas and the blood elves, and warmongers seeking coin, land, and glory not seen since the First and Second Wars.
Until at long last, she had reached the end. Vereesa didn't know how much time had passed. She didn't care. If Velen and Turalyon were wise, and they were wise, they would have told curious bystanders to mind their own business a long time ago.
"Are you okay?" Vereesa asked Alleria. She had been quiet, captivated in the most dreadful, morbid way throughout the whole thing, and only spoke when she had to. But now she was quieter, and it wormed worryingly in her gut. Could it be she had noticed something amiss? What would she say if she did? How hard and fast would the lies unravel?
The worm dissipated when Alleria looked up—hook, line, and sinker. "I…I see," she said. "I had thought the Horde might've changed. I thought they would have done right and prove the Legion they were better than they had been made to be. I guess I was wrong."
"When evil is beset by an even greater evil, desperate times call for desperate actions. After all, no one likes to die when it's not on their terms."
And I won't let you die on your terms, Ally, Vereesa thinks resolutely. Limbs growing stiff and lax, she pushes up onto her feet, stretches out, and walks over to the bridge. Puts her arms on the rail and leans forward. Alleria is showing Giramar and Galadin how she throws a stone, and they watch in rapt fascination as her wrist darts forth lightning-quick and the stone goes sailing across the pond until it stops and sinks below the surface close to the other side. They exclaim and crowd around her and ask her how she did it.
Alleria is beaming proudly—too proudly; with the way she's tossing her hair back and puffing her chest out, she looks more like a peacock in heat than an elf. She picks up another rock, gets them to move back a bit so she can show them, and when they do she tells them the right way—"the Windrunner way"—to make a rock skip from one side to the other.
Vereesa smiles and buries a cheek against the palm of an upturned hand. 'We do what we must for those we love'…that's what you said, right, Ally? They're wise words to live by. I will do anything to protect my family. I will keep you safe. I will not let you die until you and I are old and grey and the Windrunner family flourishes once more. We will see to it that Arator and the boys do so. I will see to it.
(And Sylvanas?)
Her eyelids fall half-mast. Sylvanas won't touch her. I won't let her.
Then, more sullenly, like the final nail in a coffin being hammered in: Sylvanas is gone. She's not family anymore. She's with the Horde now.
(Her family—)
(You pushed her away when she needed you the most—)
And no one will ever have to know. No one except the King…and he's a smart kid. He'll keep his mouth shut if he knows what's good for him. What's good for her.
(You're a piece of shit, you know that? You're the real deal.)
If that's what it takes to keep them safe, she tells herself. Anything or nothing at all. On my word as a Windrunner.
She sinks her nails against her hand, and doesn't care when they bite through the skin.
"Mama, come down here!" Galadin calls from below. In one hand is a stone bigger than his fist, and he's waving it back and forth above his head with boyish zeal. "We're gonna start a new game!"
"Yeah! Auntie Ally said she's going to play! Come join us!" Giramar agrees, and already he has a couple stones on hand, ready to be lobbed across the water.
Alleria shrugged dramatically. "Help me out here, Vee! I don't wanna be upstaged by a couple kids! Give your sister a hand!"
Vereesa laughs and pushes off the bridge. "Coming!" she says, and jogs her way down the bridge, her shadow trailing after her.