Sarlin knelt behind Neralda and placed a damp cloth against her head. Neralda's brother, Arnjold, was busying himself preparing for the arrival of the baby. Neralda was four hours into labour, with agonizing contractions and a painful need to push, yet there were no signs of the baby yet.
Sarlin Starstriker, a Blood Elf who alone wielded extraordinary powers of the Light, beyond that of an average Paladin, decided to assist in the birth of Neralda's child. They had never met, and knew nothing of each other, but Sarlin felt it was right that she stay. She admitted to not being much of an expert in childcare or, of course, labour, but Arnjold told her he couldn't keep his sister consoled while he was keeping an eye on the progress of the birth itself. Sarlin looked bizarre, having just ridden by Elwynn Forest on her horse, Winter, when she saw Neralda collapse at the roadside, screaming, clutching her large, swollen belly. Sarlin's long, black hair stuck out in big, fuzzy curls, with one sparkling white strand hiding among the mess of waves and her eyes, once a powerful Fel green, were flickering with blue and gold. She always presumed that the Light had cleansed the Fel from her body and spirit, but there was no way to tell if it would've faded had she simply gotten out of the presence of it for long enough. When she managed to get Neralda to her brother's house, she was in a state of panic, but managed to stay calm for Arnjold's sake.
Arnjold wielded an expression of extreme concentration, like he was completely lost in his job. What Sarlin managed to pick up while he was getting Neralda on some cushions and wrapping a blanket around her was that he'd delivered two of his since-deceased wife's children, so he knew what he was doing. He was a simple-looking man, with casual clothing and loose, messy blonde hair, eyes grey like a thunderstorm. Sarlin couldn't help feeling that if she wasn't so worried about Neralda's child, she'd be somewhat attracted to those eyes. Nothing else about him caught her attention, though, apart from the fact that his hair was very much like her own, but blonde. He was bustling around, getting his sister into the right position, boiling water over a stove, telling Neralda when to push and when to stop, keeping an eye on the progress. Sarlin couldn't help but envy his love for Neralda. She'd never had anyone to love since her adoptive Night Elven mother, Lydia's, death several years before. Some people she could truthfully say she loved like family…but it wasn't the same as a real one.
Neralda was lying on the cream-coloured blanket on Arnjold's pristine double bed. She looked little like her brother. Her hair was blonde, but not messy and wavy. Slick and straight, it had not one kink or static strand. Her skin was pale, clammy and drenched in sweat. Her teeth were gritted in determination and her eyes, bright, electric blue, were flooded with tears. One of her hands was on her kicking stomach, the other clasped in the Blood Elf's trembling fingers.
Now, Arnjold had placed a soft, blue blanket over Neralda to give her some dignity and was preparing the cot for the baby when he or she should come. Sarlin sat behind her, one arm across her shoulder, the other holding her hand. Her eyes flickered mysteriously from blue to gold, occasionally back to their original Fel green, but never for long.
After a while, Neralda found the strength to speak. "Sarlin, why were you riding through here?" she said hoarsely.
Sarlin smiled. "I've been riding around for a while, giving Winter a chance to stretch his legs. When I was younger, my adoptive mother, Lydia, said she'd take me to see all of Azeroth when I was older, regardless of whom we stood by. Of course, she never lived to see it…" her voice cracked, but she consoled herself. "…so, I thought I'd do it on my own. Still hang onto our little dream,"
"And you…you weren't afraid of leaving your home?" Neralda asked.
"Truthfully, I never had a home, Alda. Me and Lydia lived in the Ghostlands for a few years, but after that, I was on my own. I spent the first few months in a tree…I mean, the other Elves were willing to take me in, but I just…I just couldn't imagine anyone replacing Lydia. But I wasn't getting anywhere just sitting on an oversized branch waiting for animals to wander by and shoot. So I moved to Lordaeron for a short time, by the Bulwark, the area that leads into the Western Plaguelands. I hunted and traded there, just to get enough gold to keep me alive but…I was never happy. So I joined the Argent Dawn. And then Hearthglen became my home," she smiled, thinking back to her first meeting with Tirion Fordring.
"You were at the fight in Northrend, weren't you?" Neralda asked.
Sarlin nodded. "Yes. We left Hearthglen and tore down the gates of Icecrown. After that, I became captain of the archers in the Argent Crusade, and we were travelling for…so long. I could scarcely remember what a warm bed looked like. As if we had any time to sleep at all. After…" again, her voice wavered as her memories overwhelmed her. "…after we'd defeated Arthas and…and left the Citadel, I didn't leave Northrend itself. I couldn't. I was…I lost faith. Not in the Light, but in myself. In life itself. The Crusaders returned home almost immediately, but I…I could hardly imagine the thought of returning home, knowing that there'd be several too many empty beds in the quarters…we lost so many over there. So many brave Crusaders, champions of the Alliance and Horde alike…I stayed behind in Dalaran for several months, until I finally worked up the courage to return home. I've been going back and forth between Hearthglen and Dalaran ever since…they're my two most treasured places,"
"You've had a tough life," Neralda said sympathetically.
"It wasn't easy," Sarlin agreed. "But I've changed things, I know I have. And that's what keeps me going. My actions alone have saved thousands of lives. I'm not prepared to let that go,"
"Did you?" Neralda asked.
Sarlin hesitated. "Of late, I've been…tired. I don't want to return to Silvermoon, as I'm officially a soldier of the Alliance now. I can't ever go back to Orgrimmar, and there's…there's little left I wish to fight for. I feel I've lived my life already and I haven't even seen my twentieth summer…life is strange, Alda,"
Neralda nodded. "My husband died four months ago. He left one day and just…never came home. They say he died an honourable death at the hands of the "True Horde" or whatever they call it, but I don't care. Hellscream robbed me of my husband, and my child of a father," she growled. "You should have killed him, Sarlin,"
Sarlin stroked Neralda's shoulder. "The decision wasn't mine to make. I assisted in Garrosh Hellscream's his downfall because he…he's a dangerous, bloodthirsty bastard. I said as much to his face, and…well, that's what initially got me exiled from the Horde," she laughed shakily. "But the decision lied with the Varian and Thrall. They agreed it was best to leave him in the custody of Taran Zhu to stand trial in Pandaria. You…haven't seen what he did to that place, Alda. I can only imagine how beautiful it must have been before," she sighed. "Pandaria became a shell of its former glory when our blades leaked onto its grass. We destroyed it. We like to blame it all on the Horde but the Alliance…they had a great role in the awakening of the Sha too. The Prince was willing to see reason. The others? They were not,"
Neralda sighed. "You're right. I've lived so close to Stormwind all my life, and the stories I hear about their ways, were just what I grew old with. Your people, are they peaceful now that they are blessed with the Light?"
Sarlin winced. "Not recently. The regent lord, Lor'Themar…he's committed dastardly crimes of late. From what I hear…I was not present in Dalaran at the time, and I should have been, since I busied myself in the protection of Prince Anduin…I cannot bear to say it aloud. I haven't been to Dalaran since Rhonin was killed. It simply won't be the same,"
"Oh," Neralda said sadly. "Maybe the stories I grew up with were right…"
Sarlin shook her head. "Not all of them. The Tauren…they are peaceful. Dezco, one of the heroes from Pandaria, he lost his wife recently…" she decided not to mention that Leza had died during labour. "…but he still begged, alongside Anduin, for passage into the Vale. The Dawnchasers wanted to rebuild the Vale. Protect it. If that's not noble…"
"You have so many stories, Blood Elf. I envy your eagerness to see what opportunities our world can offer. I was never one for war…I always wanted to grow old with my husband and my children. And war's taken even that. I wish I'd gotten onto battle while I had the chance…"
Sarlin again shook her head. "Neralda, I'm not even seventeen years old and I haven't slept properly since Icecrown. They...they tortured us. Mutilated us, drove so many of us to madness. I've seen my friends, my family, die before my eyes. Some heroes' voices I've only ever heard in screams. All this pain comes back to me. I'm afraid of the dark. The stars bring me no peace. War's taken everything I have but my life, my faith and my purpose. You should be thankful you haven't seen battle. You'd never forget it,"
Neralda sighed. "Maybe you're right. I've had so many dreams…and some of them I achieved,"
Sarlin smiled. "Tell me the happiest moment of your life,"
Neralda leant her head back into Sarlin's chest. "It was only a few years ago. Marrying my husband, Damian…I told him I wanted to marry in a red dress with a red rose in my hair. So I did. Oh, Sarlin, you should have seen the dress! It wasn't just red, it was crimson! Every ripple was like the wick of a Midsummer flame…and the rose was there too. My mother curled my hair for me. I'd never felt so beautiful…Damian, my love, hardly recognized me. I felt like some kind of ethereal queen. It was a moment I wanted to live in forever. I still have the dress," she finished the sentence matter-of-factly, smiling up at Sarlin with crystal-like tears in her eyes.
"I know you looked beautiful," Sarlin whispered.
"I felt like I was of royal blood…" she suddenly screamed as a contraction ripped through her. Sarlin squeezed her hand tightly.
Arnjold charged in with a glass of water. He ordered Sarlin up and slowly coaxed his sister into drinking the water. When her screams turned to terrified gasps, it was almost obvious that the baby was coming.
"Arnjold, can you see it!?" Neralda screamed.
Sarlin sat beside Neralda and ran her fingers through her flowing hair. "I'm so scared…" Neralda whispered.
Sarlin smiled sympathetically. "You're going to be a great mother," she said kindly.
"No, what if I…it's hurting…what if he…if it…" she began to cry.
"Neralda, the baby's okay. It's facing the right way, but you're a little early. It needs to stay in just for a little while, okay? Only push when I say to,"
"Arnjold, where are you!? Why can't I see you!?" Neralda sobbed.
"I have to watch the baby, you know I do. Just try to relax," Arnjold soothed.
Neralda grabbed Sarlin's hand and squeezed her eyes shut, tears seeping through the slits of her eyes. "Sarlin, please...stay with me. Don't leave me sight for a second!"
"I won't, don't worry," Sarlin replied, clenching Neralda's trembling fingers.
"I'm so scared…I wish my husband was here to see this. This isn't how it was meant to be!" Neralda cried. "The baby…I…I love it so much already. You can't possibly imagine, Sarlin…it's my world. It's…everything. Everything to live for…everything I am…I can't lose it!"
"You won't lose it, Neralda. It's in the safest position possible," Arnjold said reassuringly.
"But what if it doesn't love me? What if it's just…cold? Distant?"
"Alda, I don't know how that little angel couldn't love you. You're kind, you're beautiful, and you love it so much when you haven't even seen its face or heard its voice. That child…you will be its world. And I promise, whatever it may be, that baby will love you more than air," Sarlin said, unsure if the words were sufficient…but they were.
"I'll never love anything quite as much…it's…AARGH!"
The piercing cry filled the room before even Arnjold could react.
"I need to…AH! AARGH!"
"Arnjold, is the baby ready?" Sarlin asked.
Arnjold addressed his sister when he answered.
"Neralda, it's time. You need to push, okay? Ready?"
Neralda wrapped her hand around Sarlin's, who ran the fingers from her free hand through her hair. She nodded.
"Okay…push,"
The screaming was probably the hardest for Sarlin to bear. She had been physically and mentally tormented herself on some occasions in Northrend and under the Horde in Pandaria…but she couldn't bear to see someone else suffering. All she could do was hold Neralda's hand while she screamed, and hold onto the hope that the agony would be worth it.
"Shh…it's okay…you're going to be okay…"
The pushing only lasted five minutes, and Arnjold gathered up the wailing bundle immediately to be cleaned and dressed. For a moment, however, Sarlin noticed he gazed upon what would be his godchild with such love and affection for a moment, she hardly recognized the determined, concentrated man she'd met while half-carrying Neralda to his front door.
Neralda was exhausted, but Sarlin helped her sit up and placed the pillows behind her head, removing the bloodied towels on the bed and replacing them with a fluffy, blue quilt. When she was done, she sat by Neralda again put her arm around her shoulder. Neralda leant into her weakly and whispered "That was the most painful thing I have ever felt,"
Sarlin merely replied "It's over now,"
Arnjold wasn't long readying the baby. From what Sarlin could see, he never wanted to put the little bundle down, but it wasn't his child. The little one was dressed in pink…which meant…
"My niece," Arnjold said, quite tearfully. "Sister, your baby girl,"
He slowly walked over to Neralda and handed her the baby, then sat at the other side of her. Neralda's eyes once again filled with tears as the baby wriggled its chubby little arms around, tugging at a strand of her long, blonde hair.
"Oh, Arnjold. Your first godchild…your goddaughter…" she sobbed.
Arnjold was crying too. "Damian would be proud of you, Neralda. He'll always be her father, you know that?"
Neralda nodded. "Oh, she's…she's perfect. I love her…I love her so much…no words…can express…"
For a moment, they all sat, the siblings crying, Sarlin smiling at the little girl, whose eyes were clamped shut, hands searching for something to grab.
"Give her your finger," she whispered to Neralda.
Neralda gently tapped her daughter's hand and immediately, it clamped itself around her index, so tightly that it looked as though she may never let go.
The baby was beyond beautiful, and Sarlin had only just realized that she'd been at a stranger's house for six hours, assisting in the birth of a stranger's baby. She was planning on stopping at Stormwind that night, so she thought it'd be easier if she bid her farewells as soon as possible and let them have a proper family moment.
But Neralda wouldn't have it.
"Wait, Sarlin…I can't believe you've done this. I don't even know who you are…you've been here so long…that's a kindness I thought no longer existed. I can't let you walk off unrewarded," she said.
"I couldn't accept anything off either of you. I did what I knew was right," Sarlin said.
Neralda sighed. But then her blue eyes brightened, and Sarlin knew some bright idea had ticked in her brain.
"What's your middle name?" she asked suddenly.
Sarlin blinked, startled. Lydia had named her Sarlinia-Grace. She told her that Sarlinia derived from an ancient, long-forgotten, unspoken language. The word apparently meant "Elven Huntress of the Nightfall," a name so startlingly perfect for Night Elves. However, in the tongue, it sounded sunny and warm, nothing like the nightfall. Lydia said that Sarlin alone meant Elven Huntress, so they went by that more often, as Sarlin certainly once a huntress, although she preferred to hunt during the day, when the sun was still up. When she asked Lydia of Grace, the conversation suddenly took on an icy feel, but Lydia admitted that Grace was her older sister and a close friend of Maiev Shadowsong, who was a Watcher that died when Illidan collapsed the Tomb of Sargeras in an attempt to kill Maiev, who, ironically, was the only one who survived. Grace was, according to Lydia, one of the most determined people she ever knew, and one of the only people she ever had reason to love. Sarlinia-Grace became her full first name, but since Grace was so rarely used, be it because it hurt Lydia to talk about her deceased sister or that it would just add too much unnecessary time onto the name, it was good enough to call her middle name.
"It's Grace," she said to Neralda.
Neralda looked down at the little girl in her arms. She was relaxing now her mother's finger was safely in her grasp.
"Then I shall call her Grace, after you,"
Sarlin's mouth dropped ever so slightly, and her ever-changing eyes filled with tears.
Arnjold nodded. "Sarlin, we couldn't have done this without you. I wish the armies spat out soldiers like you more often. You have a kindness, one that, at least here, will never be forgotten,"
Sarlin smiled. "Thank you,"
Neralda shook her head. "I'll never forget this, Sarlin. I am…forever in your debt,"
Perhaps it was sheer exhaustion or unfathomable happiness that drove them to such a bizarre conclusion, but it had named the child Grace.
Arnjold rewarded the reluctant Blood Elf with gold and food for her time and effort, and Sarlin mounted Winter, who had been whinnying outside for the past two hours. They set off to Stormwind together, and Sarlin knew that this was a day she wouldn't soon forget.
Not only had she assisted a stranger from the Alliance in birth, the said stranger had named the child after her.