The ball rested just outside of her reach, and the girl glared impotently at it. She had tried reaching through the slats in the gate, and could come close, but not quite close enough, to touch it. She had tried climbing the gate, but it was designed well to hold in the generations of toddlers it had been used against. The child glanced back, at the cot behind her, but he slept. Her twin was slightly larger than she was, and might be able to reach the ball, but he would only cry if she woke him.
"Grrrh." She breathed throatily, again resting on her belly and squirming to reach, again with no luck. She heard the click of boot heels against the plank floor beyond, and glanced up. Her expression brightened immediately and she stood, watching the form slide from the shadows before her.
"Ah." The man breathed, capturing the ball and stepping towards the gate. "Lost this, little one?"
She held her hands out for it, and he rested it gently within her grasp. She grinned, a lovely and wide smile, and did not struggle when he lifted her from her feet and rested her weight against his chest. "Beautiful, beautiful one." He sighed, stepping over the gate and moving into the dark silence of the room. He rested her in her cot, leaning against it to sing a soothing lullaby to her. "You need to sleep when it is dark." He stated, and she pouted.
"Don't want to." She hissed, and he chuckled.
"Still. Sleep when your twin does. For now. We come for you later, Tabitha." He glanced at the deeply asleep boy, still oblivious. "We come for you later."
Aislinn Tiegan sighed, resting her forehead against her palm. War was for the young, that she understood, and she was young no more. Her place was to support the young, her young, which now fought. And part of that was to give them a safe, secure place to leave their little ones. So she, and her husband, was proud to raise their grandchildren while their children fought in Northrend.
Their grandchildren, yes. But the youngest of her children had brought her children which were not his. Claimed they were his responsibility and his honor to raise. A little boy with wide, innocent brown eyes. A little boy with an eager smile and a puppy wiggle. A little boy named after greatness, Tirion. That one had fit into the clutch of young ones like he was born to. A scion of paladins, Anselm had claimed, the heir of two great and wondrous members of the Order. And Aislinn could believe that.
But the other was strange and contrary. A little girl, Tabitha, whom Anselm doted on. Quiet. Brooding. Watchful. She hated certain people on sight, and trusted few others. She babbled nonsense words to empty corners and dark shadows, and watched the other children as if they were oddities conjured up for her amusement. Also supposedly the scion of paladins, twinned of young Rion, and that Aislinn had issues with. The child held a darkness within her that did not seem to fit with the admittedly sparse story that Anselm had seen fit to grant them when he'd dropped the children off. Why would Anselm, of all people, be responsible for two of the Order's orphans? Why would he have willingly taken that up? Why had he been allowed to? Even now, the child sang to herself, no song that Aislinn had ever heard, a haunting melody with nonsense syllables. Even now, the child was alone, steadfastly ignoring the children playing outside in the yard. And Aislinn found herself watching the toddler more and more, as if expecting something she couldn't figure out.
"Tabitha." She called, and the little girl appeared, dragging a disreputable toy sheep by one sagging leg.
"Da, Meya?" The little girl asked, and Aislinn sighed. Half the time it seemed as if she spoke an entirely different language. Except that was ridiculous. The child had supposedly been raised in Stormwind. By the Order.
The child should be adorable. She hinted at a beauty to come later, eyes that changed colors depending on her moods, blue, green, gray. Thick, deep, reddish blonde hair. A flawless, rose and cream complexion. "There are kittens in the barn." Aislinn stated, and the girl nodded, dragging the sheep along behind her as she moved for the yard. The child harmed nothing, was amazingly cautious with small newborns, and could be trusted with the new lives. "It's our secret." Aislinn cautioned, and the little girl paused.
"No." She disagreed. "John knows they're there. But I told him, he can't hurt them."
"And John listens to you?" Aislinn asked. Tabitha wasn't the first to come up with an imaginary friend, and the best way was to just go along with it. At least, on this subject, she spoke Common.
"Declan told him to. So he does…." Tabitha shrugged. "Mostly."
Why wasn't Aislinn at all surprised that this one wouldn't find one imaginary friend enough? John was a common name, but Declan was not. And oddly, for a girl child, neither were female names. "John listens to Declan?"
"Mostly."
"And John's a man?"
"No." The little girl clambered up on the chair across from Aislinn. "He's not. Declan says he's like a dog that can fly." She scrunched up her nose and awkwardly patted the sheep's head. "But dogs don't talk, do they?"
"No, sweetie, dogs don't talk. But John does?"
"Not good." The girl pondered the toy. "And dogs don't fly."
"John flies?"
The little girl nodded, and Aislinn swallowed concern. What, exactly, had Anselm left with her? This had gone beyond a childhood fancy; she could feel it deep in her gut. "Go see the kitties, Tabitha."
"Alright, Meya." The girl slithered down and was gone. Aislinn watched her go for a long moment before following. The kittens were in the barn loft, and the horses were in the barn. And Aislinn needed a horse, for the trip to Stormwind.
"I am Aislinn Tiegan." She told the young paladin guarding the gates. She didn't recognize him, but then, most of the paladins she had served with were long dead. But the family name still resonated within the Order; she'd given it five children. All still in service. "I need access to the Order's rolls." She'd see about this child of paladins story….
"Of course, Lady Tiegan. With me." He nodded to his companion, and led the way down. She knew the way, but did not argue with his silent insistence to accompany her. "The rolls." He gestured vaguely at the stored books. "Which were you looking for?"
She considered. Anselm gave the twins' ages as three, and for the most part, she'd believe it. The girl seemed a good bit older, wiser, and more devious than that, but physically, both seemed an older three. "Last five years."
He rested the five volumes before her, and excused himself. She took the most recent, and flipped to Anselm's entry.
"Tiegan, Anselm. 21. Northrend offensive, Icecrown. Dependents, Tirion and Tabitha Kellemen."
There was more, but that was enough to make Aislinn blink. Kellemen? Tirion and Tabitha Kellemen? While that family line was noble, and Aislinn cared little for Stormwind nobility, it had produced exactly one male she considered worthy, and she flipped the pages.
"Kellemen, Tibault. 40. On extended leave, Elwynn district. Dependents, Tirion and Tabitha Kellemen. Widower- Besseth Kellemen, died Northrend offensive…"
The mental count startled Aislinn, according to the date given, the children had been born the same year Tibault Kellemen's wife had died. And Aislinn had never even heard that there had been a wife…in the Order, no less. She took the book from the year that the children had been born, and apparently, their mother had been lost.
"Kellemen, Besseth. (Southcross). Lost Northrend offensive."
Aislinn sighed, frowned. So far, exactly as Anselm had claimed. Children of two paladins, one lost in Northrend, the other….Tibault Kellemen. And it had given so many more questions than answers. According to the rolls, Tibault Kellemen still lived, but she was raising his children. His wife, whom she had never heard of, was dead. "I don't understand."
"Don't understand what, Aislinn?"
Even after all these years, Aislinn knew that voice. "Why Tibault Kellemen is not raising his own children? Why Anselm was, and why I am now?" It was the safest part to start with.
"Losing his wife has brought Tibault to his knees. He is unfit to raise her children as he is now. They are Anselm's until Tibault is strong enough to be their father again."
"Why Anselm, Tirion? He's young. They are no relation to him…"
The Highlord sat across from her at the table, his gaze calm. "In blood, no. In heart, yes. You bridle at raising the children of the Order? If they are a hardship, if you are unwilling, we will not see them in place they are not welcomed…"
"The little girl is…" What, precisely, Aislinn did not know. "…difficult." She settled upon. "Odd. Wrong. Touched by darkness, for all that she apparently comes from paladins? I know Tibault Kellemen. His soul is bathed in the Light. Their mother was a paladin, for all that I've never heard of her…"
"Besseth was with us but a short and fleeting time. She came late to the Order, and did not survive long. But the hold she had on Tibault, and indeed Anselm, should not be underestimated. But, returning to Tabitha…what has the child done to disturb you so?"
"She is…bizarre, Highlord." How to put into words things that were mostly feelings? "She feels…dark. She hates people within a moment of meeting them. She seems both older than she is, and younger at the same time. Most of the time she babbles like a babe barely walking, then turns around and carries on a conversation as if she is much older than she is. She would stay awake all night and sleep all day if we'd permit it. She is the only child I know who has two imaginary friends…both male…who talk about each other. Rudely, I might add."
"Rudely?"
"The one calls the other…as she puts it…a dog that flies. She seems disturbed, Highlord."
"A dog that flies. And do these…imaginary…friends have names, Aislinn? You call them male…"
"John and Declan."
The Highlord's face stilled, his eyes going dark. "And John is the dog who flies." He breathed. "Aislinn. These are not imaginary friends. I'm afraid they're quite real. Please. Come with me, there is another I need to get before we delve into this."
Another? And Tirion did not dismiss the words of a three year old out of hand, as most would. Aislinn was led to Tirion's office, and shown a seat. He stepped out for a moment, and then returned, sitting in his own seat to wait. He was silent as he did so, and Aislinn was unwilling to break the silence he seemed so willing to cultivate. After awhile, there was a booming, ominous knock at the door.
"In." Tirion ordered, and Aislinn's stomach fell as the door opened. The man in the doorway was large, his clothing dark. He reeked of death and a twisted wrongness. She felt an urge she had not felt in years, and wished she bore a weapon to attack this one on sight. It was a death knight. She knew them. She'd eluded them before. She knew some had supposedly left the Scourge, but deep in her heart, she doubted.
"Darion. Good of you to come so quickly." Tirion breathed, and Aislinn felt even more ill. Mograine. The son of the great Ashbringer. Fallen, never to be returned to them. "This is Aislinn Tiegan." His identification of her, allowing this one to see her, remember her, recognize her, felt like a betrayal and Aislinn stared back. "Anselm Tiegan's mother."
"My honor, lady." He took the final remaining seat, his lambent blue eyes flicking between Tirion and Aislinn. "Why am I here, Tirion?" He finally asked when the silence grew long.
"With Anselm in Northrend…doing what he is doing…Aislinn has been given custody of the Kellemen twins."
The death knight leaned back in the chair, his expression guarded. "And?" He finally pushed.
"There are…issues….with young Tabitha." Tirion glanced at Aislinn. "Only Tabitha, or is the boy also a problem?"
"Rion is a wonderful child." She stated slowly, knowing how empty it sounded because she could not say the same about the other. "Tabitha is…difficult. And now you tell me her imaginary friends are not imaginary?" The death knight stared at Tirion, who nodded slowly under the weight of his stare.
"Imaginary friends who are not." Mograine breathed. "Let me hazard a guess. Declan."
"Declan and John." The Highlord affirmed, and the death knight went silent, pensively regarding the window. "How much of a problem is this, Mograine? What am I looking at here?"
"Difficult how?" Mograine seemed willing to ignore, or push back, Tirion's question.
"She dislikes certain people immediately, on sight." Tirion was willing to answer, and let his question hang. "She speaks what to Aislinn seems to be a babble. She seems both too old for her age, and oddly too young for her age. She has marked nocturnal leanings. Anselm adores her…."
"Because she is so much like her mother." Mograine pushed out his chair to stand, and pace. "Which would have attracted Declan, as well. Losing Besseth was a blow. If her daughter is much like her, Tirion, the child is bound to attract attention. Unwanted attention. Declan will stay close to the twins merely because they are her children, and he would cherish them for that. Others of her children will do the same. The only words that bother me in this are that…" Those eyes fell on Aislinn, and she felt the stillness she had always felt facing darkness. "She dislikes people immediately? Unreasoningly? And cannot be swayed once that split second determination has been made?"
"Exactly."
"She likes paladins? The better the paladin, the more quickly and easily she takes to them? You? Your husband? Anselm's siblings?"
"Yeeesssss…."
"But ordinary people are beneath her? Those who do not hold the power to wield the weight of their souls? The more powerful a creature, the more drawn she is to it?"
Put that way, that obviously, Aislinn could only nod. "So." The death knight locked eyes with Tirion. "Tabitha Kellemen has probably inherited her mother's gift. She has the attention of her mother's most devoted of children…who has bothered to spend enough time with her to, by my guess, teach her at least the rudiments of Thalassian and totally borked her sleep schedule. Is that what you wanted to hear from me?"
"I wanted you to guess what Declan will do with this information."
Mograine sat, frowning. "The question is how much of it Declan can hide from his master and his less trustworthy siblings… if he is the same as he was before. He belongs to the Lich King, Tirion. There is little he really can hide. A replacement for Besseth would be priceless."
"I don't understand." Aislinn finally broke in, too confused to let the questions remain unaired. "This Besseth is Tabitha's mother, according to the census. Tibault Kellemen's wife. A paladin….?"
"Besseth was an exemplary paladin." Tirion brooded, while the death knight snorted in disgust.
"An exemplary paladin." Mograine mocked. "That was a disaster from the beginning, Tirion. Of all the hare brained ideas, that one had to stand at the pinnacle. That doomed Besseth. Once she was on that path, there was no good end…"
"You think I have not thought that a thousand times, Mograine? You think that I have not considered the fact that I played a great role in destroying Besseth? Tibault? I just don't know what I should have done differently. She would not have gone with you, even at the beginning, so do not bring that up as an option. Besseth is dead. She cannot be returned to us."
Aislinn glanced between the pair, beyond confused and not bothering to hide it. How could a woman being an exemplary paladin, such a superlative statement from the greatest living paladin, be such a bad thing that Tirion considered it something he should be blamed for? She would have loved to hear him label her anything close to that.
"Besseth was a death knight, Tirion. Her heart, her soul, her every last breath belonged to the master. You meddled in things you should have not."
A death knight? What were the two of them babbling on about? Aislinn felt like her presence had been pushed away, and that these two were finally having an argument long in coming.
"What would you have had me do, Mograine? Since you seem to understand this so well?"
"Besseth should have been executed, or jailed, immediately upon her capture. Both would have been preferable to this…debacle."
"Both would have given the Lich King Besseth as a true death knight." Tirion growled. "Jailed…they would have come for her. Executed, they would have come for her. She would be raised, standing behind him."
"It would have spared Tibault. Anselm. Her children. My people. The Light does not conquer all. It didn't save Besseth when the Lich King came for her."
"So…" Some glimmers of sense were beginning to peek through. "This…Besseth…was a death knight before she was initiated into the Order?" It was a difficult idea to swallow, but if true, would make sense of much of Tabitha's oddities. Tibault had always leaned towards the impossible tasks, and redeeming a death knight would have been a task he would have relished.
"Besseth Southcross trained death knights for the Lich King before she was captured at Light's Hope. I gave her into Tibault's custody then because I felt she was redeemable. She made a wonderful paladin…"
"Until he came to reclaim her. Two weeks after she had those babies. She was allowed to give birth, Tirion, and died for her crimes afterwards. I should have had custody of her. I would have handled it better."
"She disliked you." The Highlord sighed, defeat in his voice. This was obviously ground he had been over many, many times before, if not with this one, if not with another, then in his own mind.
"Besseth disliked everyone who wasn't worthy. That was just how she was. Even as a paladin, Tirion. I wouldn't have tried to make her anything she wasn't going to be. Or worse, could have been, had things gone differently. I would have left her as she was."
"A dying, mediocre death knight?"
"A dying, mediocre death knight." Mograine confirmed. " But now, we seem to be revisiting this, all over again, in the person of her daughter. Can we do better this time, Tirion? Learn from our mistakes?"
Tirion raked fingers through his thinning, silver hair, annoyed and not bothering to hide it. "How do you suggest we do that, Mograine?"
"You want the brutal, honest truth?"
"I think I don't, but you're going to tell me anyway." Tirion chuckled, but there was little humor in his tone.
"Give Declan the child. Now." Those eyes, so blue, turned to Aislinn. "Only the one is odd, correct? The little boy seems normal? Doesn't seem to have these imaginary friends?"
"He is just fine." Aislinn was stunned by the suggestion. Give away the child that Anselm loved so much? The child he had given into her safe keeping? "Who is this Declan? And what is this John?"
"Declan Noonshimmer is one of the Lich King's death knights. A great and fine one. The first of the ones that Besseth raised from the dead and marked as her own. Her firstborn, along with his twin brother, Diarmid. John is the family…pet. A geist."
"You want to give a three year old child, Tibault Kellemen's daughter, to a death knight." Tirion growled, shaking his head. "That will destroy Tibault irrevocably. And Anselm…. No. He adores that child."
Mograine stared back. "So we do this all over again?" He finally demanded. "Try to take something from the Lich King which he will consider rightfully his. Something he will value. Try to keep Besseth's family away from her flesh and blood child, the one who now takes after her. Allow more paladins, members of your Order, to love and cherish her. And then let the fight erupt over her? No one won with Besseth, Tirion. She lies dead in Stormwind's chapel."
"I know that! I gave her marriage oaths in that chapel, and I was the one who laid her to rest in that chapel. I counted Besseth as a sister of mine, under arms. She trained Anselm into one of the finest young paladins currently serving in the Order. I valued her as much as…" The Highlord's voice faded off and he stood to stare out of the window. "This is.."
"Very sad. You could always give the child to me… I have a better chance of keeping Declan at bay than most. Raise her in Acherus, understanding what she is and what she can be."
"Raise a child in a necropolis." Tirion's voice condemned the very idea, and Aislinn felt ill. She had problems with Tabitha, but not to the extent of sending her off to live in a bastion of darkness. And Anselm loved the child.
"Declan will raise the child in Icecrown if he gets the chance. You know that."
"He hasn't tried yet."
"Declan is one of the wiser of Besseth's children. He'd rather have someone else…" those blue, blue eyes fell on Aislinn, "Raise a baby he knows he's unfit to raise. When she's bigger, he'll decide that he and Bredit are up to the task from there. Just because he's dead doesn't mean he's not brilliant, Tirion. Don't believe he won't try to make what he believes are the right decisions for this child. Don't believe he can't love, in his own way. Those that Besseth created are special."
It was daylight, but Kel'thuzad was still awake. Since death had given him the gift of endless time, he often spent long spates of time consumed by a project, and today was little different. The man in the room with him was becoming tired, and that was part of his weakness for refusing to give up his body when he'd given up his life. Declan could have been a lich, with his magical aptitude and training, but he had instead refused to leave his mother to come train with Kel'thuzad. She had tied his soul strongly to his body, intertwining, interweaving an intricate tapestry that the lich could not determine the beginning and end of. And that was precisely what held his fascination this day. The children of Besseth were superlative examples of what they sought to create. Somehow, she had managed these. Still clinging stubbornly to her own life, only a pale imitation of a death knight, she had borne the magical aptitude to create…these. And Kel'thuzad could respect that. More to the point, he could begin to see, with the tools at his disposal, a way to fix one of his failures. Failing the master was a shame he would rise above, finally.
"I need Besseth's remains returned to me." He breathed, and the quel'dorei gazed warily back.
"Why?" Declan demanded. "It is an insult that she lies in Stormwind, so far from us, but why do you need her back? For what? She's not an experiment…."
That was precisely what she was, but the lich knew better than to say that outwardly. "A thought has occurred to me, Declan. A very, very fascinating thought that I want to see through. Besseth would not rise for me. Besseth would not rise for the master….a disturbing idea, but one that was. Perhaps what Besseth needs would be to be risen by…Besseth. Only the best, for the best?"
"Besseth is dead. She cannot raise herself."
If the lich could, he would have sighed. Perhaps that was why Declan clung to a corporeal form; such linear thinking from one that Kel'thuzad knew was capable of such brilliant leaps of logic and insight. "Besseth is dead." He agreed slowly. "She cannot raise herself. However… We both know we have another showing Besseth's gifts. Only the best to raise the best, Declan. I am willing to swallow my pride on this one, to serve Him best. Besseth turned away from me, but would she turn away from her own daughter? A daughter that, it is beginning to seem, has the potential to raise death knights on the same level as Besseth could? Think on it, Declan. We have time. The child is still very young, too young to try yet. But… if someone in the Order, in the Church, has a flash of insight and destroys Besseth's remains, then this final hope is taken from us. Your mother would be irrevocably gone. I will have failed our master without a way to make amends."
The epiphany flashed across Declan's face. "I…see." He breathed slowly. "That…might….just work, Kel'thuzad."
The lich remained silent. Of course it might work. That went without saying. "Get me Besseth's remains, Declan. Before something unfortunate happens to them."
Get Besseth's remains back. From the consecrated depths of Stormwind's chapel. Not long before, that would have been insanity neck and neck with impossibility, but that was also before Darion Mograine had done the groveling and sniveling necessary to actually get honest to goodness death knights walking the streets of Stormwind. Declan would be too recognizable, too many of the remaining quel'dorei would recognize him on sight, but Raien was not. He was from Lordaeron, and Lordaeron had fallen. The few who might recognize him were Forsaken, and those did not walk Stormwind's streets. Why Declan had decided that he suddenly needed Besseth returned was beyond Raien, but Raien was bored enough, and now curious enough, to play along. And certainly, Besseth should have never been removed from the Cathedral of Darkness during its desecration. She had been theirs much longer than she had ever been a paladin. The thought made him spit onto the dusty road leading into Stormwind. The Order had come late to Besseth's life, and now they had the nerve to believe that they should hold her remains. Besseth wouldn't be dead and gone if it were not for the Order's meddling. They had dangled the one thing she could not resist before her, another child, and destroyed her with that. He missed her. His family had not been the same since her death.
He was not the only death knight on the streets, but it had been laughably easy to secure the correct gear to pass himself off as one of Mograine's clutch of fools. And Raien had always had one of those faces that blended in with a crowd. Unlike Declan, and his identical twin Diarmid, who were born to be noticed, be recognized, Raien was simply normal looking. Nothing noteworthy at all. It was one of his greatest gifts, and he wouldn't trade it for the world.
He paused at a corner, thoughtfully surveying his surroundings. He felt…another. Familiar. Mograine, here in Stormwind, instead of at Acherus, where he belonged. That was fine. Mograine was unworthy, and would not stand in his way. He moved on, deeper into Stormwind, studiously avoiding the Order's stronghold, and most of the paladins on the streets. He cut through the docks, coming up behind the Cathedral.
The Light was supposed to be accessible by all, even Mograine's misanthropes, and he was merely watched as he boldly walked in. Ironically, he discovered her resting place, in almost the same corresponding point she had lain in the Cathedral of Darkness. "Good morning, Mother." He whispered, resting his fingertips against the cold stone. "We've come for you."
Aislinn startled at the sudden eruption of noise in the hall, dragging her attention from the two males locked in stares before her. They both startled as well, Darion making it to the door first and throwing it open. There was a paladin standing in the hallway, breathless.
"Milords!" He yelped, "There are death knights in the Cathedral!"
"Death knights in the Cathedral?" Mograine echoed dubiously, "Why…?"
"No, my lord! Not of the Ebon Blade! These are death knights! Of the Scourge! They're attacking the Cathedral as I speak…" Mograine pushed him aside, and he stayed pushed aside as Tirion and Aislinn followed.
The courtyard before the majestic Cathedral foamed with chaos, people fleeing the building while guards pushed towards it. There were two men framing the main entrance, and Aislinn blinked. First, because they were two of the most majestic creatures she had ever clapped eyes on, beautiful as only quel'dorei males could be… long sunset blond hair, tall, imposing. Secondly, because they were a matched set, impossible to tell apart. And thirdly, because they were obviously at least two of the death knights assaulting the Cathedral, harnessed in ossified, midnight black armor, their cloaks bearing the symbol of the Scourge army. They allowed those who were fleeing free passage between them, their attention firmly focused on those moving towards the Cathedral instead of away from it.
"Declan and Diarmid." Mograine hissed from beside Aislinn. "They've come for Besseth's remains. We can assume the others are in the Cathedral…"
"So there are at least nine of them… If they didn't bring help."
"Yes. My guess is that they have help. This is bold…"
Tirion cursed, galvanizing into motion. The nearest of the two death knights turned to watch him come, and the moment Tirion, with Darion just a step behind him, hit the apron of steps leading to the main doors, the pair of quel'dorei spun as one, retreating into the depths of the Cathedral.
They were not here to make a stand, Aislinn knew, they were here for a snatch and grab. They'd probably had all the time they needed to complete it, already. She wasn't surprised that the interior of the cathedral was quiet, empty, the death knights long gone. The only hint of their presence was a shattered face stone and three dead priests.
All the pieces. Collect all the pieces before anyone else could put them together and understand. Mograine would already be pushing to get Tabitha, he was the most informed. But he probably wouldn't grasp what Kel'thuzad had told Declan. Use Tabitha, correctly raised and trained, to raise Besseth. It was brilliant in its simplicity. Brilliant in its insight. Only the best, the lich had promised, and he was correct. If anyone could do it, it would be Tabitha.
"Beautiful little one." He breathed in the only language he had ever used with the little girl, the language of his own childhood. She was cocooned in a nest of straw, admiring a litter of new kittens. She raised eyes to him, a fleeting grin chasing its way across her face.
"Declan!" She whispered. "Baby kitties."
"I see them, Tabitha." He felt them as well, tiny, fragile little lives. He waited, well beyond their range. They were too delicate for him to approach without killing, and that would bother the child. "It's time to go." Yes, now that they had played their hand, this casual security around the child would end. Acherus would not be so easy to get in and out of. "Get your sheep."
She nodded, rescued the abused toy from its resting place, and came right back to him. She held up her hands to be picked up, and Declan obliged, and within a moment, Tabitha Kellemen was gone.
Anselm Tiegan seethed. "So. They took both Besseth's body and Tabitha. Within a half hour period?" And had left a puzzled and crying Rion behind.
"Declan left Stormwind immediately after the attack on the Cathedral, to go get Tabitha." Tirion sighed, and Anselm's eyes moved from the Highlord to the dark form behind him. Mograine remained silent, as he had since the beginning of this.
"I don't understand why they went after Besseth's body." He finally admitted when Anselm's gaze stopped on him. "I understand why they went after Tabitha, but the other was outright foolish. Assaulting Stormwind. In broad daylight. To reclaim something they really have no use for. Certainly, they hold Besseth in high regard, but it was a dangerous move with little reason. It is not as if the Order was insulting, injuring, her remains. She was laid to rest with honor and respect. They had their time to raise her, and she didn't. And this…required outside help. I understand that they got one of them in, probably Raien, masquerading as one of my people." He frowned bitterly. "Everything after that required a mage. An archmage."
"In other words, a lich, or an archlich." Anselm retorted, and Darion nodded.
"All those I know would not just volunteer for this. They'd want something in return. Or were under orders from the Throne. And this was a good one. The Kirin Tor may be able to tell you which one it was."
"But they left Rion." Anselm grumbled, and Mograine shrugged.
"According to your mother, Tabitha is the one Declan has been looking at for a long time. There are hints…" He glanced at Tirion. "That she inherited much of her mother. If she has the ability to judge the worthy, as Besseth did…"
"Will they…harm her?"
"I do not believe they will. Declan is an odd sort. I would have loved to have convinced him to follow me, but he would not. He is almost redeemable. He will hold his family sacred. Tabitha is part of that. He will protect her and keep her if he can."
Bredit stared at Declan. He had lost his mind. Somehow, some way, he had. "So." She began slowly, eying the child asleep in his bed. "We…assaulted Stormwind Cathedral. Took Besseth's body… and her daughter, while Kel'thuzad handled the portals?" That was the difficult part. How had Declan managed to convince Kel'thuzad, of all entities, to play a part in this?
"You were there." Declan muttered. "How are her remains?"
Odd question, and Bredit pondered it. "She is just as she was. The magic does not wane. How did you convince Kel'thuzad to go along with this idea?" Answering that would answer so many questions.
"It was Kel'thuzad's idea."
Kel'thuzad's idea. That made this that much more interesting. She sat patiently on the ottoman beside the empty fireplace, watching the one who had preceded her in death. He was the one they all looked to when Besseth was absent, and with her death, that meant always now. He had held them together this long, and she was willing to still work with him.
"Besseth was the best at raising us. Her call was strong, and she tied us strongly to ourselves."
Bredit nodded slowly. She understood that better than he could hope to. Declan had been an aspiring mage before he'd been cut down and then raised. Nothing in his background, upbringing, explained to him the level of just what Besseth accomplished. Accomplished with no training, only from the power of her soul and a mind boggling ability. If the woman had been trained…raised… her eyes fell on the slumbering toddler. If she had been found at that age, carefully pruned and painstakingly taught, the world would have trembled before her.
Bredit had been a priest, well versed in the matters of souls and their relationships to their bodies. She understood that Besseth had been a prodigy, immensely gifted.
"Tabby…" He motioned at the toddler, "Has begun to show many of Besseth's abilities. Kel'thuzad believes she may exhibit that one as well."
"To raise Besseth." It all fell together, and she didn't need to see his affirming nod. "We have her now. Raise her here, with the upbringing that Besseth lacked. She would be…"
"Glorious. And Kel'thuzad believes she might be able to raise Besseth."
"Raise….Besseth." Bredit frowned. "Declan, Besseth did not want to raise."
"I refuse to believe that Besseth wanted to cease to be." He sighed. "Besseth got caught in a no win place. I refuse to believe that she would want to leave that..." He jerked his chin at the sleeping babe. "Behind. Us, behind. I can't believe that. She wouldn't abandon us, Bred. She wouldn't. This way, none of us have her. Not us. Not her flesh and blood children. Not the Master. Not the Order. Not Tibault. Not Anselm. This isn't her way."
"It's worth the try." Bredit finally admitted. At least there was some reason behind this insanity. Something approaching logic, even if it was Kel'thuzad's often bizarre thoughts. She had felt Besseth's call. If her child could even come close to that, then yes, they had a chance. And a hope to hold their family together. "So we raise the little one?" That was not such a bad prospect. It had grown past the blob stage. It was adorable, stamped with Besseth's undeniable maternity. It seethed with its own internal power.
"We raise the little one. But not here. Nor do we keep Besseth here. That did not work so well the last time."
Bredit wrinkled her nose in thought. "Besseth is not decomposing."
"She is not."
"Then she doesn't have to be treated as a corpse. What is the point in burying her? The Order will look for her, buried. We can put her any number of places until the little one is ready to try." She stared at the toddler for a long moment. "And the other one?"
"Other one?" He repeated, his gaze drawn outside of the windows, his thoughts miles away.
"There are two of them. Tabitha and Tirion. What about the boy? Surely you weren't so overwhelmed by the idea of the little girl that you never bothered to take a look at the male?"
"Do you think I am that blind?" He demanded, craning to glare down at her. Bredit had long since stopped letting the massive sizes of Besseth's chosen sons annoy her, and merely glared back. "No. I am not that blind. The boy is Tibault Kellemen's son, by his paladin wife. I make him cry. I make him sidle away from me and look for someone else to come rescue him from my presence. I can already sense the stirrings of the Light within his soul. It is as if this one is the death knight's child," he waved at Tabitha, "And the other is the paladin's. One for each facet of her soul. One for this family. One for the other."
Perhaps it really was that simple. Fates worked in mysterious ways. "So you seek to raise her elsewhere. Away from the target that is Icecrown?"