Chapter 1
Thirty-Five years ago...
The night was dark except for the oil lanterns which lit up the street lamps of Gilneas City. A seemingly perpetual cloud cover kept the starlight, or any light from the great white moon above from breaking through. A cold fog wound it's way lazily through the city streets as a plain, unadorned coach with a fresh coat of brown paint, drawn by visibly tired black geldings rambled through the circuitous cobblestone streets past district upon district of row houses. Inside, a hoary headed, gray bearded, hooded figure in white robes trimmed with purple and gold that were covered with a thick gray woolen outer coat sat minding a bundle in his lap carefully as his attention drifted between the passing sights outside, and the actions of dubious morality he was about to take tonight. He pulled the edges of the outer coat tighter as the chill mists found ways into the vehicle.
He had gone over it again and again in his mind as he looked at his tiny charge, gently saying quiet prayers to the Holy Light in an effort to keep the little one asleep and comfortable in the otherwise jilting and bumpy late night ride from Lordaeron. It was the right thing to do. More than that, it was the only thing to do.
The baby, a little girl with reddish blond hair and sea green eyes like her mother, was only days old, and not even weened yet. A bottle of milk with a nipple, cloth diapers, and an extra blanket sat in a basket next to the elderly man in the event the babe woke and became hungry or needed "other services". He had no experience with children himself, having chosen a different path than family, but did his best to care for her while she was briefly in his charge.
His heart ached a little for the child. It was not fair to her that she should grow up not knowing either her mother, or her lineage. He truly wished there had been a better solution, but he couldn't think of one then or now.
His mind drifted back to the difficult confession he had received which had begun his journey with the babe he now held. It had been last spring, just after the final snowfall of the year in the great cathedral in the kingdom of Lordaeron's capital. The princess herself had come to him privately as was her privilege due to her royal rank. At first he had noticed nothing particularly unusual about her appearance, but when she had told him her story he could not help but notice the slight enlargement of her stomach now showing through her expensive mageweave dress.
"No one can know, your grace! Especially not my brother or father!" Calia had pleaded with him a little over six months ago. "They will execute him!"
The princess of Lordaeron had been, and still remained, a promising student of his. But she was, after all, still a girl with all the inexperience with the world that brought. She was certainly no longer a child, but did not yet have the maturity of a woman. When she came to confess her transgression to him and beg for his help, he was disappointed in her to be sure. He himself had dedicated her to the Light after she was born, and had personally tutored her in the ways of the faith. She and her brother Arthas were, in many ways, like his own children, or a niece and nephew so to speak. They were like family to him.
And the princess had, like many girls her age, become entranced with a young man and it had gone too far. Under other circumstances, it might be an embarrassment to the family, but it wouldn't be more than that. Unlike other girls her age, however, Calia was the Princess of Lordaeron and second in line to the throne after her brother. And the young man who had so entranced her was a mere stable boy. Gil, he remembered his name. All were equally cared for under the Light, but mortal society tended to see things with less equanimity. Royal politics being what they were between the great families, and with the devastating wars where the recent Orcish invasions demanded that the kingdoms of Azeroth be more united than ever, both the baby and its father suddenly became problems that could shatter alliances and doom kingdoms.
An adherent of the Shadow faith might have found a more "efficient" solution, but the high cleric served the Holy Light and it called him to all that was good and right. The "disappearance" of an innocent infant, even one no one knew existed, could never be justified before it.
For the last six months, the princess had been on a secluded "spiritual retreat" far from the fishbowl that was the capital of her father's kingdom. It had been also been arranged for the stable boy to be quietly removed from the royal stables and sent to the small, fairly insignificant town of Corin's Crossing far to the east where no one knew him and where no one would believe or care about his exploits. The baby was born in a small cottage in the woods quietly three days before, tended to by a trusted priestess of his order who would say nothing of the matter to anyone. Calia had been exhausted, but was otherwise fairing well when, knowing when she was due, he came to check on them both.
When he found them in the cottage, to her credit, Calia was nursing the babe herself and tending to her well. But the elder cleric could see the fear and uncertainty in her eyes. A child like this could not be hidden for long so long as she remained with her mother. After thinking it through for some time, he told her his plan. When he had finished explaining it, the princess looked relieved but saddened and he could see that she had already formed a bond with her daughter.
"I believe this is for the best for the both of you, and for Lordaeron, your highness." Bishop Alonsus Faol had told her much earlier that day before setting out in the coach. "I have already contacted the bishop in Gilneas. Your daughter will be well cared for by the clerics at the Light's Dawn Cathedral cloister in Gilneas City. No one will know where she came from, and no one will ask who her parents were. She will be raised to serve the Holy Light, and you will be able to continue with your responsibilities as Princess."
Calia had nodded solemnly and sadly in response as she looked into her daughter's face. She understood the terrible weight of her position and what that meant. Before she had handed the girl to him however, she said, "I want to name her first."
"Of course." He had responded.
"Miriam." Calia had told him, a tear in her eye. "Her name is Miriam Menethil."
"Miriam Menethil." Alonsus mused at the name as the coach continued on its way towards the great spired temple to the Holy Light in the northwestern quadrant of the Gilnean capital. "I wonder what plans the Light has for you."
Twenty years ago…
Miriam checked the heavy paper calendar pinned to the thick wooden support beam in the wall of the dining hall of the cloister several times that morning after finishing the breakfast dishes. The normally musty air in the hall still held the smell of the herbed eggs, coffee, and fried spice bread which had been on the tables. It intermingled with the scent of the aging wood of the sturdy long table and benches on which they took their meals.
"That can't be right." She said aloud to no one but herself.
At fifteen she knew her monthly times were fairly regular and, though rarely discussed among the women, in sync with the few other acolytes of her order with whom she shared chores and living space. She knew she should have started the bleeding the week before at the same time as Sister Margaret, her roommate, but there was nothing.
She was an athletically built young woman of medium stature with shoulder length, reddish blond hair tied back into a practical pony tail, and intelligent, thoughtful green eyes set above high cheekbones and pretty, delicate but regal features which might have been more at home on one of the few remaining high elves from Quel'Thalas than a human. Her acolyte's robe was of a simple black woolen cloth with gold trim, signifying that she was a member of the Gilnean priesthood. The black was to remind her and her sisterhood that they were to die to themselves daily, and the gold thread signified their devotion to the Holy Light. The black was also practical. It kept the stains and normal wear from daily chores from showing as much.
The dining hall had been mostly empty after breakfast, the others having gone to their own business of chores, prayers, or study. There was only elder Sister Elizabeth who was finishing wiping down the table and preparing things for the next meal. She herself was almost overdue to meet Sister Veronica for her own instruction in contemplation and communion with the Light.
"That can't be right." She said again, emphasizing the "can't".
Am I ill? She wondered.
She didn't feel unwell at all, but that didn't always mean anything, she knew. There were many diseases and illnesses, she had been taught, that one might have where the afflicted might not feel anything for weeks or months. But if she had acquired an illness, from where had she gotten it?
Since she was a small baby, she hadn't left the safety of the Cathedral quarter or grounds in the city. The tasks that had been assigned to her as she grew and prepared to take orders as a priestess of the Light had always kept her within the church's protective embrace. Illness was a rarity among her sisterhood because of their communion with the Light and the healing abilities that communion brought. She knew it was always a possibility that she might contract something, just like it was for any other mortal. But if so, it was easily dealt with.
She remembered the simple purgative prayer that helped to maintain their health. She closed her eyes and reached within herself for the presence of the Holy Light. It had never been difficult for her to make such contact. The Light was warm, welcoming, and merciful. In some ways, throughout her relatively short life, the Light had always been there when she needed a mother or a father to comfort her.
"Purgo." She said, placing her right hand on her chest.
She felt the light move within her, searching for anything impure or unholy to burn away. She felt somewhat refreshed after it had passed, but that was all.
"Sister Miriam, are you feeling unwell?" An aged, matronly voice asked from across the room.
Miriam turned to see Sister Elizabeth leaning over the table, washcloth in one hand, looking up at her with some concern in her eyes.
"I… I don't know, Sister." She replied honestly. There were few real secrets within the cloister, and many of the sisters acted as confessors for each other.
"Come here child." The matronly woman responded kindly, returning her washcloth to the bucket of water which sat on the wooden floor, polished smooth from years of being trod upon. "Tell me what ails you."
Miriam came over to the older woman who had taken a seat on the table bench and sat down next to her. As she did, she suddenly found it difficult to say what was concerning her. There was nothing unkind in the elder Sister's expression, but she suddenly felt insecure and afraid. Sister Elizabeth reached over and took her young, supple hands into her own aged wet ones and held them.
"What is it child?" Sister Elizabeth asked. "You can tell me anything."
That much was true. Miriam had confided many things to the septuagenarian woman as she had gotten to know her.
"I'm late, Sister." She finally said. "And I don't know why."
"Late? Late for what?" Sister Elizabeth asked, confused.
Miriam struggled to explain. "My… womanly time is late." She finally managed to say.
The older priestess's eyes went wide. "Are you certain, child?"
"Yes." Miriam responded. "Sister Margaret started hers a week ago. Mine should have started at the same time."
Sister Elizabeth turned her eyes to look at the floor in thought. She then asked, "Have you been eating well? I know you to be devoted, child. Perhaps you have been fasting too much or working too hard? Sometimes that can interfere with or stop such things."
"I..." Miriam thought about it, but then dismissed the idea. She had eaten just as much as anyone else at the breakfast table, or at any meal recently. "I don't believe so. Not any more than Sister Margaret, I think, or anyone else."
Sister Elizabeth then took a deep breath and sighed, letting it out slowly. With a gentle, but firm voice, she asked, "Tell me honestly, Miriam. Have you..." She paused for a minute as though trying to think of a tactful way of speaking. "Have you been with anyone recently? Any young man?"
"No!" Miriam protested over loudly. "Sister Elizabeth I would never… How could you even suggest that?"
"I'm sorry, child. But it isn't as uncommon as you might think that some of our sisters might succumb to temptation once or twice in their lives. We are, after all, only human." The older woman told her, a certain look of memory in her eyes.
"I swear to you, I haven't been with anyone. I have never even left the Cathedral Quarter to see the rest of the city my entire life!" She maintained her innocence.
"Peace, child. I believe you." Sister Elizabeth told her. "But this is concerning."
"What should I do?" She asked, realizing then what conclusions others might come to as well.
"For now, nothing. Perhaps it is just late and it will start soon. Such things do happen. But as with all things, I believe your time today should be best spent in prayer. Perhaps you should make your way to the Cathedral and spend time before the altar. If you wish, I will make excuse for you with Sister Veronica." She then squeezed her hands gently and said, "Perhaps the Light is trying to speak to you through this in some way."
"Thank you, Sister." Miriam told her. "I will, and I will try and hear what the will of the Holy Light may be in this."
The Cathedral sanctuary was strangely empty later that morning. Usually there would be a few supplicants, or devoted laypersons seated in the wooden pews repeating their prayers or devotions. But that morning there was no one else as she approached past the antique bookcases lined with spiritual works near the entry, along the crimson carpet humbly and reverently. Above her, circular chandeliers provided a warm soft glow to add to the oil lamps which burned gently against the aged walls. The ancient, delicately carved wooden altar lay at the far end opposite the entry, elevated on the palance. Behind it, towering stained glass windows filtered the morning light into an otherworldly myriad of warm colors which descended on the sacred space. To either side, it was flanked by gilded, oil lit candelabras. Bright orange flowers in vases had been placed to either side of the altar, and on it's surface, the Tome of Divinity lay open to share its wisdom with all who would partake of it.
She herself would not dare to ascend to the altar itself, not yet having achieved the rank of priestess, but brought herself up short just before the steps that the Bishop and his attendants would normally ascend during services. It was there that she knelt in humility, closing her eyes, and focusing her attention on the presence of the Light within and around her.
She stayed like that for several minutes, quieting her mind as the light from the windows moved gently and slowly with the sun above. It soon began to surround her with its warmth and she felt comforted and at peace.
Except it shouldn't have, she realized. The sun was rising, and with it the light should have receded from her back towards the windows and the rear walls of the sanctuary.
Her eyes came open to see what was causing it, and they were immediately caught by the awe inspiring radiant presence which hovered in front of the altar before her. It took her breath away as she gazed on the… she didn't know what it was, but it was beautiful and otherworldly. It appeared to be here with her, and yet elsewhere on a different plane at the same time. A halo of pure light enveloped and surrounded the being whose form she could not make out.
"The Light be with you, Miriam!" The creature spoke to her, its voice sounding like beautiful music dancing in the air.
In fear at the creature and its greeting, she bowed lower on her knees, crossing her arms over her chest. And then she felt her fear bleeding away as encouragement and comfort replaced it in the radiance of the being's presence.
"Don't be afraid, blessed one. You have been chosen by the Light."
For several seconds, Miriam couldn't answer. She couldn't speak. And then, meekly, she found her voice.
"Who are you, great one?" She asked in a whisper.
"I am Sha'at, and I have been sent to tell you great things." The being replied.
"What things?" She asked.
"A great evil has been done to the people of this world. A great darkness has stolen the salvation and light from Azeroth's children. The Holy Light has heard the prayers and cries of your people."
"My people?" She asked, wondering what the being meant. She knew she was not Gilnean, that much was clear from her facial features. Other than that, having been orphaned before she was weened, she did not know what her ancestry was except that she was human.
Sha'at continued his message. "You have conceived a child, blessed one. This child will be the salvation of your people. He will redeem them from the darkness and death which have descended upon them."
Fear bled back into her emotions as the import of the being's message sank in.
"But that's not possible!" She protested. "I haven't been with anyone!"
"The Holy Light has brought this about through its own will." Sha'at responded tenderly. "You are to be the mother of the Light's own son."
She reeled from the revelation as though she had been struck. She had always kept herself pure. She made her devotions sincerely and regularly. She always followed the instructions of her superiors. She had felt a special connection to the Holy Light from early on.
"But I'm just a..." She began to whisper, tears forming and then dropping from her eyes. "I don't..."
What would her sisters say about her now? Would they even allow her to remain in the cloister? Would she be cast out? An exile? Homeless? Where would she go?
Don't be afraid. The being's exhortation floated to the forefront of her mind.
Her devotion had been to the Light. She had sworn herself to the service of the Light and to follow its will wherever it led. Now the Light was calling her to serve in a unique way. The Light would know what the consequences would be if she was to carry its child. The Light would guide her and see her through it.
She calmed herself, reaching out for the Light's embrace once more.
"What do I name this child?" She asked, her voice more steady, filled with a responsibility she hadn't expected just earlier that morning.
"Jeshua." Sha'at replied. "Because he will restore salvation to his people."
Miriam reflected on the name, and then nodded where she knelt.
"The will of the Light be done, great one." She responded.
The being of light appeared to accept this. It even appeared to gesture in something like a slight bow. And then it was gone, and the Cathedral was empty once more except for herself, her thoughts, and her newly revealed unborn child.
She couldn't move as she continued to kneel there, her thoughts racing as she attempted to comprehend the being's message. Time seemed to just stop, and she could no longer discern its passage.
I'm going to give birth. The thought ran through her mind, and right behind it, Sha'at's message. Over, and over, and over again.
"Miriam?" A matronly voice asked from behind her.
The voice brought her back into the present. How long had she been there? The light no longer shone on the altar as it had when she had entered.
She could hear the soft padded footsteps of the voice's owner approaching her from behind slowly but steadily. A part of her meant to rise to greet her Sister, but the rest of her would not comply. Then she felt an aged but strong hand on her shoulder.
"Child, you missed the midday meal." The older woman told her.
Miriam wanted to respond, but couldn't. She then managed to raise her head and look at the face of her concerned elderly confidant. Tears had streaked the girl's reddened face, and more threatened to cascade down her cheeks.
"Miriam, child. What has happened?" Came the voice of Sister Elizabeth, new fear rising in it.
"I..." She managed to say, and then stopped, unable to continue.
"You can tell me anything child, you know this." Sister Elizabeth reminded her tenderly as she knelt down and pulled the younger woman into a gentle embrace.
Can I? Can I really tell you this? She wondered at her.
Warmth began to flow from the older priestess into her. Warmth, and radiance meant to heal and comfort surrounded her in its embrace.
The Light has chosen you. The thought came unbidden as the older woman's prayer enveloped her. But how could she explain it to her?
And then Sister Elizabeth gasped in surprise and drew back. Her mouth had fallen open as her hands rushed to cover it. Tears began to fall down her own cheeks as she looked in wonder at her younger Sister.
"Dear child!" Sister Elizabeth exclaimed.
"You know, don't you?" Miriam finally managed to ask, but she already knew the answer. The look on Sister Elizabeth's face said it all.
"I..." Her elder began to respond, and then seemed at a loss for words. After a pause, she said, "I… I felt it through the Light when I was praying for you. The Light revealed its will to me."
Miriam nodded, and then dropped her head once more.
"Oh, child!" Sister Elizabeth embraced her then again fiercely and protectively. She kissed the top of her head as tears flowed freely between them. "The Light has chosen you, Miriam. The Light has chosen you."
Nineteen years ago…
The air in the alien, Night Elf city of Darnassus was fresher than any she had breathed before. It was invigorating and scented with herbs and spiced woods. It was pleasant enough, but it still wasn't home. That home was now gone forever, the teenage mother knew even as King Greymane addressed what was left of their people.
Miriam stood holding her infant son, barely three months old, among the other refugees from Gilneas within the huge hollowed out tree now called "The Howling Oak." Her black acolyte's robes were travel stained and tattered. Her feet were bare and scarred, her sandals along with all of her few other possessions having been left behind in a terrified hurry at the cloister in Gilneas City weeks ago. She possessed only what she wore, and what she carried.
She and her son had been among the the only survivors of the attack on Light's Dawn Cathedral, themselves rescued by a courageous Gilnean soldier as first the feral worgen, and then the Forsaken armies overran the city. That soldier had taken an arrow to the back for his heroism not far outside the city. She still remembered his last words to her, "Don't stop! Run to Keel Harbor! Don't look back!" They had been burned into her mind even as she obeyed them.
She had never run as hard or as far as she had that day clutching her son in her arms. The simple cloth and leather sandals she wore tore off her feet, unable to withstand the pounding they were never meant for. Her feet bare and bleeding, she nearly dropped from exhaustion when another group of refugees spotted her on the road and took her in among themselves. At first their appearances had frightened her, but her total exhaustion took over as she nearly fell to the ground before strong, furry arms caught her and hefted her like a babe herself.
"Sarah, take the baby!" A rough, feral voice instructed someone she had not been able to make out.
"They're still human!" Another masculine voice said. "They won't have the strength to make it."
"I'm not leaving the babe or its mother for those Forsaken bastards! You know what they'll do to them!" The first voice had replied with a snarl, ending the discussion.
Another, more feminine pair of Worgen arms took her infant son from her grasp and cradled him protectively. These and the others like them became salvation for her and her son as they completed the journey she had started, carrying them to safety. These, once thought monsters in their own right, made sure she and her child boarded the Kal'dorei transports safe from the monstrous Horde invaders.
"You're safe now, girl." She remembered hearing a growly voice tell her. "You're both safe."
And so they had been. Even through the weeks long journey across the Great Sea in the overcrowded transports. There had been precious little food, and nowhere to wash for anyone. The storms at sea threatened to overwhelm the ships, and there had been times all on board thought they would be lost. Cold winds and freezing nights promised frostbite to those without protection as the vessels' course carried them the northern route around the Maelstrom at the heart of the sea. But the ships continued their journey westward. In all, a little over a thousand people had been saved on the ships. Only a thousand out of tens of thousands. They and the other Gilneans that were already dispersed throughout the world through travel or business were all that were left of their nation.
She stood next to a black furred Worgen woman who listened intently, occasionally sniffing the air as she did. She wondered if that woman had been the "Sarah" who carried her son to the safety of the ships. She never learned the identity of their rescuers, or had a chance to thank them. Most of the Gilneans around her chose to wear their now true, lupine forms as a testament to the devil's choice they made to keep themselves from succumbing to the undeath the Forsaken would force upon them. For whatever reason, the Forsaken couldn't make use of Worgen bodies to add to their ranks.
Having spent weeks overhearing the events and decisions which led to those around her making this choice, she couldn't say she didn't understand why. The Gilneans were a proud people. They were angry at what the undead remnants of the northern kingdom had done to them, and they refused to allow their bodies to be desecrated in such a way should they die. It was even a choice she could respect, as difficult as it was to see so many of the once feared Worgen around her. She and her son owed their lives to them. But it was also a choice Miriam couldn't, and wouldn't bring herself to make either for herself, or her son.
Everything within her was repulsed against the idea of taking the worgen's blood in any form no matter what protection or strength it might appear to give them. And then there was the urging of the Light. She could feel the Holy Light telling her insistently, No, this isn't for either of you. But in so making that choice, the feeling within her grew that, even though no one had said anything of the kind, neither she nor her son belonged with the Gilneans any more. Even those few other survivors from the cloister had chosen out of pride and anger to accept the "gift", and those that recognized her, she could see in their expressions, looked at her now as though an outsider.
Quietly, while Lord Crowley was speaking to them, she slipped from the crowd with her son, and made her way out of the hollow of the great tree until she could feel the warm sun above on her face and the soft grass beneath her bare feet. She stood there in the sunlight, taking it in.
There were few others around that she could see. The Howling Oak was situated on the east side of the city on something of a hill or rise. A babbling brook ran into it forming a pool of water at the base. From where she was at, she could see both carved wooden structures which appeared to be largely open to the elements, and a few great marble edifices lined with ivy wrapped columns. Directly to the west, across a bridge was a great tree which appeared to be shaped like a bear. In the distance, on the west side of the city she could see what she had been told was the Temple of the Moon, dedicated to the Night Elf goddess, Elune. It was a great domed marble and stone structure, so very different from the organic wooden ones she could see nearby. It had been built in the ancient Kal'dorei style, or so she had overheard from others of the refugees. The Night Elves themselves appeared however to be few and far between during the daylight, being a naturally nocturnal people, except the well armed sentinels which patrolled its roads and bridges. Those that she could see were easily a head taller than she, even among the most diminutive of them. They were an exotic, pretty people with their azure or lavender skin, visible fangs when they smiled, and upswept, long pointed ears. She felt an unkempt waif in comparison to them.
The city appeared beautiful to her eyes, like nothing she had ever seen before. But it was alien and strange to her. She knew she could never feel at home there. Never having left the Cathedral quarter in Gilneas before, she didn't know if she could feel at home anywhere again. It was then that the loss began to overwhelm her and she sat down on the grass, her son in her arms.
She felt as though she had lost what family she knew; her home, and her nation were just gone. Those that remained she could no longer call her own people. All she had left were the tattered and dirty robes she now wore and her son. She didn't know where to go, or what to do. She had lived her entire sixteen years in devotion to the Holy Light secluded in their convent, and it was all now just… gone.
Tears began to flow, and wouldn't stop. The babe in her arms woke up and, sensing his mother's distress began to cry. She didn't know how to comfort him any more than she knew how to comfort herself, so she just held him to her breast and began to rock back and forth.
"Has the Light abandoned us?" She asked aloud in a whisper, closing her eyes. She said a silent prayer for help and guidance for them both.
A few minutes later, a kind human voice asked, "Are you okay, Miss?"
She opened her eyes to see a human man, maybe in his late forties, with a full salt and pepper beard. He wore a yellow flannel shirt and dark woolen breeches. His hands were calloused and rough like those of a man used to working with them. His brown eyes however were kind and his expression filled with paternal care.
"I..." She didn't know how to answer him. "You're human." She finally said. "Like me."
"Last time I checked." He responded with a smile, the concern never leaving his eyes. He sat down on the grass next to her. "My name's Jacob. Jacob Davidson that is. And yours?"
"Sis… Miriam." She responded, consciously dropping her title. "Miriam Menethil." Her order, after all, was gone.
"I'm a carpenter by trade. My son Joseph and I have been in Darnassus for the last couple of months trying to study the Kal'dorei's wood crafting techniques. We make furniture in our shop back in Stormwind in the Eastern Kingdoms. We're staying in the inn just up the road in the tradesman's section of the city. We haven't seen too many other humans since we got here either." He told her.
She nodded, trying to dry her eyes on her sleeve.
"You've got a good looking boy there, Miriam. May I?" He asked, reaching out his strong hands.
At first Miriam was hesitant, but then she allowed the man to take him and hold Jeshua. The baby quieted down almost immediately in the man's gentle embrace. "Looks like he likes me."
Miriam managed a smile at that as she wiped her eyes. "Yes it does." She replied.
"What's his name?" He asked.
"Jeshua." She replied.
"Jeshua," Jacob repeated. "That's a good name. Not too common though. Sounds northern. Where are you and Jeshua from, Miriam?" He asked, though she knew he must have already known the answer.
She answered anyway. "Gilneas." She replied. "Gilneas City."
"I see." He said, appearing to be considering something intently. "You got any family, Miriam? Anyone to help you and the boy get back on your feet?"
Tears came to her eyes again as she answered, "No. There's… no one left."
"You got any place to go?" He asked directly.
"No. I don't know where to go from here." She admitted.
The older man paused for a moment. Then, appearing to have made up his mind he said, "Well, my son and I are due to be on the next ship back to Stormwind tomorrow. Why don't you come with us?"
She looked at him in surprise, not believing what she had heard. "Really?" She asked. "But you don't even know me or anything about us."
"I know you're a young woman with a baby and nowhere to go. I'm not as religious a man as I should be, but I listen to the priests enough to know that should be good enough for me. My wife Martha and I have an extra bedroom in the house, and I know she'd be happy to have you. The offer's genuine if you want to take it." He explained.
"Th.. thank you." She said, gratitude filling her voice. "I… I thought the Light had abandoned us."
"That's another thing I've picked up on in my life, Miriam. The Light abandons no one." He replied genuinely. "Bad things happen. People may choose to walk away from it when they do, but the Light never abandons anyone. Its always there for us to step out of the shadows and turn back to. A Paladin I used to know from years ago after the Second War taught me that. He was a good man."
Jacob then stood up with the baby in one of his strong arms, and helped Miriam to her feet with the other. "Let me introduce you to my son, Joseph. He's not that much older than you actually."
Miriam still had trouble believing what was happening. After all that had happened, why should this stranger have just stepped in and offered her a home and another family? "I can't thank you enough."
He smiled again, "You don't need to." Then, appearing to try and make a joke he asked, "So, do you and the baby sprout fur and fangs too, then? Not that it's a bad thing, I mean."
"No." She almost laughed in spite of herself at the man's awkward attempt. "No, we don't."
"Well, that's kind of a relief. It'll be one less thing to have to explain to Martha." He replied.