The Romancer Greatfather Winter

(Disclaimer: This story is based upon a game called World of Warcraft. Therefore, I do not claim any rights to their story, or game.)

Episode One:

Like any good Kaldorei rogue, Alessandre knew how to blend into the Stormwind crowds. There were more people out on the street than usual, especially in the Trade District. Adventurers of all makes and types ran in and out of the Auction House, the armories, the wineries, all in search of the perfect Winter's Veil gifts. Alessandre tried not to be too startled by this year's crop of patrons. Beyond being Kaldorei, and more accustomed to the quiet of Kalimdor's dark forests, Alessandre never remembered the holiday being so popular, and he'd lived a very long life.

"Ishnu'allah. Syr dell idrielle vindria Gallina?" it took Alessandre a while to process the question directed at him. Firstly, the question was in Darnassian, and secondly, he had to remember whether or not he was working under cover today.

Then, Alessandre sized up the speaker, saw that he and his friends were druids and decided instantly that he would enjoy being a jerk. He hated druids.

"What?" he asked rudely in Common and began to take out his pipe.

Long purple ears bobbed curiously as the three Night Elves decked out in animal skins and armor that imitated tree branches looked at each other in confusion.

"Ini, dial deb nur'ah Darnassus." Alessander answered slyly. Yes, he spoke Darnassian. But then, Alessandre made a show of raising the pipe to his lips and striking… once, twice, three times, the small bit of flint and tinder he always carried in his bag. Then, he stuffed the pipe and lit it. The three druids recoiled in horror as they watched what appeared to be a tree burning in Alessandre's mouth.

"Ay Elune!"

"Speak Common. Do you think anyone here will take you seriously if you go about speaking our tongue? And just how do you expect to haggle with merchants at the Gallina Winery if they can't understand you. That is where you're headed isn't it?"

The first druid frowned, and consulted his companions briefly. Then, he said. "Sir, that is disgusting, and offensive to Elune. Please put that fire out."

Alessandre took a long drag from his pipe and then blew it in the other man's face. "It's a free city… well since they ran the orcs out anyways. If you want my help finding what you need, then you have to accept that I smoke like a dwarf. In fact, I'd watch my coinpurse too. How much do you have there? Seventy gold? The size of your purse seems to be about seventy gold."

Another quick consultation with his friends, and Alessandre waited for the hasty translation to finally register with his kinsmen.

"How dare you!"

"How dare you. This is a merry holiday season, and you have the audacity to ask an upstanding rogue like myself for help? I'm insulted that you did not at least eye me with suspicion, or hide your gold. I could be hard at work for all you know, fleecing the jingling crowds. Beyond that, you did not wish me a happy Winter's Veil."

"We will ask directions of someone else." The druid grunted and ushered his friends away.

Alessandre just smiled at the affront. He enjoyed a few more puffs from his pipe before strutting off.

The whole city was going crazy. He'd never taken Winter's Veil so seriously, but if even the humble druids were getting excited about the gift giving, didn't that mean he'd finally be pegged as ungrateful if he didn't pay his dues this year?

"No matter your station, no matter your class or race, someone is expecting a gift from you this year!" a merchant came out on her doorstep and began to call to the crowd. It was like the perfect answer to Alessandre's question. "Don't wait until the final moment and be left out. The season will be soon ending!"

Should he buy a gift for someone? And if so, whom? Alessandre wondered as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. He had been on his way to Cathedral Square, to spy on his unwitting charge Opalbane. He'd have to keep watch for a few more days, at least, to gauge the priestess' situation before making contact with her. He liked to be informed when he got into new situations. But would a gift for the unsuspecting Priestess Opalbane help endear her to him? It could help…

"Many ladies like a good dress, or perhaps a tuxedo for your gentleman friend—"

"You say you sell dresses?" Alessandre came up and interrupted the shouting woman.

She flinched when she saw him. Alessandre tried not to make a big deal out of her reaction. He got that kind of attention from women all the time, and making her feel self conscious about it would only make the encounter more embarrassing for him. He knew this from experience. "Uh… yes. What's your name sir?"

Now she definitely did not need to know his name to sell him something. "Farindrell." Alessandre lied smoothly. Why give out his real name if it wasn't important?

"Oh, yes, Mister Farindrell, we sell dresses. You have a lady friend in mind?"

Furthermore, this woman did not need to know if he was taken to sell him something. Alessandre sighed heavily. "I'm not sure yet. But I do need to impress her. Show me what you have."

The human woman curtsied graciously and showed him into the store. They walked past rows of dresses, embroidered gloves, hats… all things that Alessandre could care less about. The last Winter's Veil he'd been excited about was more than twenty years ago, and he was nothing like himself at the time. More of an innocent boy who would cry if someone blew pipe smoke in his face the way Alessandre had done to those druids hours ago. Now, he was a grown man with priorities, and one of them was not wasting time chatting up a patron for a date.

"Excuse me, miss." Alessandre interrupted the woman abruptly when she flew into a tangent about how his complexion complemented a dark silk scarf she was holding. "I don't see anything here worth my time. Thanks all the same—"

"No, don't go! I… would you like to…"

Alessandre thought he would die from boredom while she worked up the courage to ask him out.

"Well, maybe you don't want a dress for your lady friend." She quickly changed the subject. "Perhaps… well we have some men's underthings here too."

Alessandre balked at that bald attempt. "You've got to be kidding me, right?"

"Oh no, I am quite serious. Actually, we don't normally sell these kinds of things, except that we got an irresistible offer from a local artisan. Her name is Willypearl."

Alessandre thought that name sounded familiar, but just to be sure, "Let's see what you have from this Willypearl."

The woman blushed a great deal and led Alessandre to a small room in the back. She held back the curtain in the doorway, and the closet-sized space filled with light. Alessandre lost his composure instantly when he saw what Willypearl had made.

"This," the shopkeeper said, and pulled one of the water silk gowns off a hanger, "Is a new kind of lingerie. I've never seen a make like this before. Let me give you an idea," she said, and held it up against herself. Alessandre tried to keep himself in check. Why would a woman, especially one like the Willypearl he'd read about make something with so many holes…in so many places?

"Perhaps you don't like it?" the shopkeeper worried, and brought out another. "This is an evening dress—"

"It is not!" Alessandre argued with the woman, but he should have known better.

The woman only smiled sweetly and said, "Indeed, it is. I don't normally offer, but I could demonstrate for you if—"

"No thank you." Alessandre said hurriedly. The black dress had slits cut up the sides that were so huge the woman would appear naked if glimpsed in profile.

"Excuse me, I forgot that I said she made things for men too. Here they are." And then the woman reached back behind the rows of dresses and retrieved a box. It looked innocent enough, but then she opened it…

"No man, in his right mind would ever wear something like that. Beyond looking completely impractical, it is no doubt uncomfortable, and just…"

"Hard to imagine yourself in it? Well, Miss Willypearl said that she measured it for a male Night Elf. At the time, she had someone special in mind, but no longer. She sold these things to us because she did not need them anymore, and wanted some kind of compensation."

Alessandre's stomach lurched on hearing that. He'd heard of women having fetishes for male Night Elves, but never to this extreme.

"I think I've seen enough."

"Are you sure? I can guarantee you that no sane woman could ever turn down a man who wore this garment." Alessandre seriously doubted her use of the word 'garment.' Something that left so much of the male areas exposed and unsupported could hardly be classified as a garment. "In fact, I've shown many men this particular item, but none were brave enough to buy it. However, all the women who saw it snatched it right from my palm, and paid whatever I asked. This is the last one you know."

Alessandre looked from the woman to the daring lava red underwear, and slowly shook his head.

"Won't you… at least try it on? For me?"

That was when Alessandre had enough.

"No thank you. I think I'm done here." And his mane of midnight blue hair whipped around as he turned to leave.

"But sir—"

"This was a terrible mistake. I'm not cut out for Winter's Veil shopping, I—"

"Please sir!" the woman shouted, and held the flimsy underwear up over her head, as if she were a daring Field Marshall waving the flag of the Alliance on the snowy fields of Arathi for all the Horde to see. "Be inspired! Don't give up on the spirit of Winter's Veil, or Greatfather Winter! If there was ever a woman that you loved, a woman that you needed… If there was ever a wish deep in your heart, a fantasy that you needed fulfilled, a love that was lost or broken… I assure you that this is the key! You can have all that you seek."

Alessandre whirled around at the plain brunette shopkeeper and raised a shocked eyebrow. His pipe hung from the side of his mouth. "Just who are you to make such a claim? Creative underthings cannot bring a woman back to life, can they? They can't make you the man you were when you were innocent to the harshness of the world, when you would have done anything in your power to save her—"then Alessandre remembered himself. "Underwear just can't do that, I'm sorry." He finished up quickly.

"Oh, yes it can." The woman insisted, a wild look in her eye as she closed the distance between them. "The maker of this underwear, Willypearl, told me her story. She could have had this secret lover of hers, but on her date, she chose to use one of the dresses I showed you, not this. The underwear she made for him was her secret weapon, and in failing to use it, she lost that man. I, myself, took a pair home to my Reginald—"

"Good grief. I don't think I want to hear—"

"And I feel like a school girl again!" the woman hugged the underwear to her chest.

Alessander considered stealthing right then and there to get out of the store, when a thought came to him.

"You say… this garment can drive any woman, or man wild?"

"Oh yes. He has only but to put it on—"

"It would even… break a bond between people? For example, let's say this Willypearl was pursuing a man that already belonged to someone else…"

The woman was nodding instantly. "Oh yes, and that was her situation exactly. But, she lacked the courage."

Alessandre could think of only one woman in his life so deserving of that kind of pain. If only he played his card right… "I'll take it. Oh, and you see that tag there, with the artisan's name on it? Leave it in." and then Alessandre the rogue smiled wickedly.

A few days later in Ashenvale…

Onyxbane had found a little cottage for Wisthera and himself near Astranaar. It was much further from Darkshore than he would have liked, but at least this close to the base, it was safe from the Horde, and there were far too many Horde about in the sacred forests of Ashenvale these days.

This morning, his love was nowhere to be found. So, Onyxbane decided he would simply start the morning without Wisthera. He got dressed and headed out to the mailbox in Astranaar. When he got there, he had to wait a long time for his turn. A big crowd of people was gathered around the poor little mailbox, and each person was making a big deal out of the Winter's Veil presents they'd received.

"Why is everyone announcing what they got?" Onyxbane asked a young male Night Elf on his right. He looked just as impatient as Onyxbane felt.

"Well, it's a new thing they started in Ironforge. I guess it's catching on. This year, people have started sending presents to their friends without return addresses. A really good friend can guess who the gift is from right away. If not, well, they say those two people don't really belong in a relationship."

"That doesn't make any sense. Why would someone give a gift in secret? And, how can one little suspicious present unravel months of effort you put into building something with another person?"

The other Night Elf shrugged. "Don't ask me. I think it's stupid. But people will think you are a monster or something if you don't figure out who gave the gift right away. Better to just make a big deal over it here, than to have the whole town talking about you later."

This worried Onyxbane. He and Wisthera had barely found a place to work, let alone a place to live and fit in with the local population. Wisthera had a bad reputation as a con artist and rogue, and she'd narrowly escaped her enemies back in Stormwind. Onyxbane had a far better reputation, and it was only his good word that kept them both fed and housed these days.

When it was his turn, Onyxbane found a package addressed to him. He considered saying nothing at all, or opening it at home. But all the other Kaldorei around him stared, expectantly, and he even thought he saw a stalwart Sentinel look up from under her helmet. He had to do this, for Wisthera and himself.

Onyxbane figured it was probably something harmless from one of his old friends anyway…

Until he opened it. "What is that?" a woman nearby demanded. Onyxbane wasn't exactly sure.

"I don't know. It's a strange little red thing isn't it? Maybe it's a handkerchief?"

"No it's not. It looks like it goes here," the female Kaldorei took it from him and tried to hold it over Onyxbane's waist. No, lower I think—"

A roar of girlish screams rose up from around the mailbox and Onyxbane panicked.

"Oh man! Do you know who that's from?" the young male Night Elf asked him. "Some woman must really love you!" he started to buckle with laughter.

Onyxbane was blushing a great deal, and started to smile as he held up the underwear. He held it above the roaring crowd, in the moonlight. How nice of Wisthera, to show the world just how much she cared for him—

"The tag says Willypearl!" Onyxbane yelped, and the crowd around the mailbox started screaming and congratulating Onyxbane on his rare gift. But Onyxbane stuffed the bright red underwear into his pocket and ran.

Back at his home, Wisthera was struggling with a secret gift of her own.

In the dim moonlight, she read the letter again, and again, but could not make much sense of it. "It's all smudged," she worried aloud to herself.

One line of the letter really stumped her:

I've never stopped thinking about you, and after all these years I forgive you. Please accept this gift as a token of my passion.

Wisthera pulled the beautiful lace dress out of the box, and held it against herself. She'd tried it on in private some time ago. It didn't fit exactly. Actually, it fit perfectly, but it fit the old Wisthera, who'd spent a lot of time in taverns drinking thick mead and beer basted boar ribs in Thelsamar. Today's Wisthera had been running halfway across the world after a man she loved, sometimes braving days without food in the wilderness.

"Whoever had this made for me…knows me well. But by Elune, I can't figure out who! If Onyxbane sees this, he's going to kill me!" Wisthera folded the revealing dress back up and stuffed it in the box. "Not after betraying his sister… he'd never forgive me this if he ever found out.

She read the closing of the letter again, and struggled with the signature.

Soon, we will be together again, and you will be a witness to all I have accomplished. My revenge will be complete against you, the reunion sweet, and you will stand before everyone, even Shadowstep, and have to bear the sight of my success. Do wear this dress on that day, for me, and I will know that you care for me.

But the signature… too washed out. Why had she insisted that all her mail be sent to Darkshore and the Great Sea? Was keeping her correspondence safe from the man she loved so important? Now, because she was being too careful, she would never know who plotted against her after all these years.

"Think Wisthera, think! Who would do this to you? Who would be so angry…" many male faces flashed in her mind. It surprised Wisthera how many there were. But, one, the most beautiful one she had ever seen, and the most recent, stayed with her.

"Alessandre." She said, and stared at the letter in horror.

"Who?" Onyxbane demanded as he came into their bedroom.

Wisthera looked up at Onyxbane, terrified. Maybe if she pretended she hadn't seen the dress… "What is that you have in your hand? A handkerchief?" Wisthera spied the wispy red thing Onyxbane had in a death grip.

"Oh, this? Aah…"

"That tag says, 'Willypearl.'" Wisthera snatched it from Onyxbane faster than he could react. She was a rogue, afterall. "Did she… why were you hiding this from me?"

"Who is that dress from, Wisthera? Are you hiding something from me?" anger heated Onyxbane's accusation.

The two lovers faced off in the winter moonlight, each fearful of what this Winter's Veil would mean for their fragile reconciliation.