The tavern was loud and smoke-filled but it served the purpose Ryndan wanted it for. Finally wading his way through the lively flock – most of whom reeked of some form of ale or beer- Ryndan finally found his quarry seated in a dark corner with a lonely tankard as his only company. Seating himself uninvited, Ryndan squinted through the drifting pipe smoke to look at the Baron.
"Walden you look dreadful."
Walden lifted his head to acknowledge his new company. The skin across his cheek had deteriorated completely, showing a gaping hole into his mouth and throat. Many yellowed teeth were evident in the dim light through it and they moved visibly when he spoke.
"Death'll do that to you, Dan." Ryndan grimaced out of sympathy for the man. He'd not seen him properly since leaving Naxxramas, his recovery taking precedence over everything else.
"How have you been?"
Walden regarded him silently before taking a draft of his tankard. Some of the liquid spilled out of the hole but Walden paid it no heed. "Pretty shit, if I'm to be honest with you. Something changed in Naxxramas. I've never felt my age before, Dan, but by the Dark Lady I'm feeling it now in my Undeath."
"Is there anything we can do?"
"Unlikely, not unless you can cure this Forsaken curse," Walden spat bitterly. His eyes now adjusted to the darker corner, Ryndan could see that the Baron's clothes were dishevelled and dirty- something Walden never used to let happen. Ryndan was only a little surprised by his friend's deterioration. As a paladin he was well aware of the history of the Forsaken curse, and it had always been expressed that they knew there was no cure and no way to reproduce more without subjecting others to the Curse- and that was an impossibility since anyone with such a will lacked the means to make it come about. The Forsaken knew they were a dying race- literally- but for Ryndan to finally see it come to fruition via his own friend, it struck a chord in Ryndan that the paladin had been trying to keep still from resonating since Naxxramas.
Whether it was the expectation of this development or the numbing of his senses since the raid, he wasn't sure, but he was grateful that the shock wasn't as hard-hitting as it could have been were he unprepared for this eventuality.
"I am afraid I hold no such antidotes, but I was wondering if you'd like to accompany myself and Prelate Dawnstrider to an important meeting." Walden's brow rose high in curiosity. "It's about Cersae," Ryndan elaborated.
"Cersae? You've seen her?"
"Yes, I've spent quite a bit of time in her company as of late in fact." A brief image of holding her in his arms momentarily flashed in his mind's eye from only earlier that evening. "Have you not seen her upon your return from Naxxramas?" Ryndan was surprised. True, Cersae had made no mention of them meeting, Ryndan assumed that Cersae would have asked about Walden if she had not seen him since arriving in Dalaran. The absence of her concern for their mutual friend indicated that they had seen each other at least.
"No, I have not," he replied laconically. "The Society have kept me busy with things I cannot speak freely about here since I arrived." He paused, taking another messy draft of his drink. "Is she well?"
"She is making excellent progress in her recovery. You should visit- she would love to see you. You probably wouldn't recognise her in fact. She looks healthy, Walden. Lynara's healing is working a treat and then some on her. We're very lucky to know such a skilled healer."
"Is that so? I shall have to pay my gratitude to this healer then on behalf of a concerned guardian." Yellow eyes scrutinised Ryndan closely. "So this meeting- who is it with, specifically?"
"A few months ago, back in Valgarde, I spoke with a woman named Anchorite Yazmina about Death Knights and their origins. She directed me to a Warlock within Dalaran who may be able to aid us. I was set to go and meet him about two months ago but a newsbearer from Wintergarde warned us of the arrival of Naxxramas and I had to put my visit on hold. Today I managed to track down the Warlock from the address Yazmina supplied me with and arrange a meeting to see him about Cersae. He agreed- begrudgingly- on the basis that he owes Yazmina a favour and this is him repaying his debt otherwise he wouldn't even look at me, I reckon."
"Interesting, I could probably find out the debt if I was piqued enough," Walden drawled, a rare gleam shining in his eyes.
"Not just now, it's not of import. What is of import is that he needed to see Cersae, so I took her this afternoon to the bookstore he owns-"
"Oh I bet she just loved that."
"Like a child in a toy store, Walden. It was a beau-brilliant sight to see for sure. It was like a-" Ryndan stopped before going further. This wasn't something anyone- especially Walden- need to catch wise to. He cleared his throat. "He managed to get contact with her and I'm meeting him later tonight after his store closes. You're Cersae's oldest friend here, surely you'd like to hear what he has to say on how we can help her break free from this curse?"
Walden didn't jump straight away at the chance like Ryndan imagine he might. For all the Baron was sophisticated and collected most of the time, he was also a sly, jumpy character who leapt at the most ripe opportunities. Ryndan thought this was one of those. Eventually he replied.
"Yes, I think I shall attend and hear what this Warlock has to say for himself." Mort made to stand before indicating back to Ryndan. "Do you want a drink before we leave?"
"No, thank you. I'm abstaining for the meanwhile." Though he had been longing to steal one swig of the contents of the lone tankard but he kept his hands tightly clasped. He knew of others turning to alcohol and other substances to stay their nightmares but it was a lose-lose situation in the end.
"Indeed? Any particular reason?"
"Part of my decommission conditions," Ryndan lied smoothly not wishing to divulge any information about his state of mind the last few weeks. Despite the rapid improvements and lessening nightmares over the last few days most notably, he was still suffering more than he'd like and it was too private to share. "I'm officially off duty until cleared for a clean bill of health. No alcohol falls under that category."
"Once again, sucks to be you Dan. Vows of Chastity, Poverty, Sobriety…makes me wonder if you're living at all."
Lynara met them at the exit to the alleyway where the store resided that Cersae and Ryndan had only been in a few hours prior. The snow was falling fast and thick now, the three pairs of boots crunching softly as they walked. Like Ryndan, Lynara's cloak was drawn tight around him, a cowl donning his head attempting to keep in as much heat as possible. After greeting him fondly, Ryndan introduced him to Walden only to find they had conversed once or twice in the necropolis. Pleased, Ryndan then went into detail of that day's revelations with Ryndan's arm. He allowed Lynara to perform simple exercises to test the limb's capabilities but drew the same conclusions that Ryndan did- it was functioning well, just needed to build up strength again. He wanted to do a few more elaborate tests tomorrow, Ryndan was told, so be prepared for a strenuous visit. Happy with Lynara's mutual prognosis, they awaited the chiming of of the bells to indicate the hour before entering up to the shop.
A sharp rap on the door marked 'CLOSED' granted them entrance and the man from earlier greeted them. He was still garbed in the same robe but the semi-pleasant façade he held with Cersae was dropped in all pretence.
"Didn't know you were bringing company," he aimed to Ryndan specifically, dark eyes peering from underneath bushy, black eyebrows.
"Cersae's guardian and healer- I hoped they could provide useful insight, if that is well with you Sir?"
Garrick, as he was introduced in Yazmina's letter, grumbled at him and led him through the now-empty shop. The lanterns were dimmed and the pages silent as they strode past towards a room in the back.
"Oh yes, I imagine she had a grand old time in here," Walden mumbled looking around. Lynara was in a similar state of awe, appreciating the academic knowledge within reach of his fingertips, but was still first to reach the door being held open by the shop owner.
"Ladies first," Garrick indicated slightly-politely to Lynara. Ryndan's brother-by-brother-in-law chuckled and walked through into a room with a table and chairs, accompanied by a well-lit fire.
"Much obliged, sir." This earned Lynara a suspicious look and narrowed eyes from Garrick before he commented, "Catch many folk out like that do you?"
"I beg your pardon?"
The Warlock never answered because as they made to seat around the table the bespectacled draenei from earlier bustled in with a tea tray and set it down in the centre. Her common was heavily accented but highly fluent and a pleasure to listen to. Efficiently she made sure all were taken care of, offering sugar and milk in their beverages – Walden declined- and asking if anyone wanted food.
"Begone woman! I'm in the middle of business- take your tea parties elsewhere with your feminine fancies!" Garrick barked at her and even though the two elves winced, she did not. The lady- Neesa- didn't bat an eyelid and instead smiled sweetly at the older man.
"Of course, call if you need anything." And she left, but not before announcing that she was setting some soup on to heat. Walden chuckled, quietly commenting on her 'spunk', as he called it.
"Try being around her all day, a bloody nightmare if you ask me, like all womenfolk," Garrick sneered but taking a testing sip of his hot tea nevertheless. "Amen," Walden agreed.
"Right, down to business then. The sooner this is done with the sooner that blasted Yazmina can stop lauding over me." He looked to Ryndan directly across the table. "Your girl, you're correct that she is a Death Knight and there is powerful necromancy at work within her, but it is very weak. Very weak. And strange. It's nothing I'm used to."
"And how can we trust your credentials, Master Warlock?" Walden leered, leaning forward and resting on the tabletop. Ryndan sent Walden a warning look but he was pointedly ignored and instead smirked at Garrick.
"You can shut your trap for one, Undead. Your kind is taint enough as it is in my shop and home and it's a courtesy I even let you in. Now keep your mouth closed unless you have something to contribute to this conversation." Evidentially his credentials were not up for question but it was the only lead Ryndan had in the area. He turned back to Ryndan.
"Now, I know a lot about souls and how to manipulate them and because of this knowledge I know what a soul feels like. Your girl's soul is in a very strange place as far as I could tell. By holding her hand I was granted an intimate- albeit quick- look at it and there's something odd about the whereabouts of her soul." He paused, thinking hard. "From what I could tell it seems trapped. In a purgatory of some sort unable to move back towards her, and unable to pass over. Something is holding it forcibly and it's putting a great deal of strain on the girl."
"Her soul?" Ryndan ventured, carefully choosing his words. "I- that is, I'm not terribly versed on souls. They're something of a blank area for me, how vital is a soul to live?"
"Medically speaking," Lynara answered, holding his cup between both hands, no doubt to warm them up, "the soul has nothing to do with physical life. That being said, there is a clear correlation between mental health and physical health," he gave Ryndan a pointed look and knew he was referring to his just-healed arm. "Spiritually, I'd say that a soul has everything to do with living. Souls provide vitality and being in ways that simple blood and air cannot."
"Well spoken, Master Elf," Garrick appraised, looking thoughtful.
"I'm not saying it's non-existent, especially if it's you two saying that it's there, but I've not seen or heard any evidence of a soul in anything I've experienced. I've seen men and women die in less than an instant and nothing supernatural happens thereafter apart from they stop breathing and other less pleasant side effects."
"Well you wouldn't see anything supernatural, would you? It's the most natural thing in the world to do- is to die," Lynara supplied.
"Not childbirth?"
Garrick interjected. "Not quite. Only females of the species can bear children and even then not every one can or does. However every living entity in the universe dies eventually."
Ryndan nodded in understanding, but he was no clearer on the existence and understanding of the soul and its place in Cersae's troubles.
"What about the glorious Forsaken?" Walden spake at the Warlock, evidently trying to irritate the man but for what reason, Ryndan could garner no logic other than to be a pain. Surprisingly, Garrick answered him.
"Forcibly tethered to your own rotting corpses. The very act of doing so is accelerating the rot despite the semi-resurrected status you possess. You will not maintain this state for very long and your race will die out."
Walden jeered and muttered, "tell me something I don't know. We have teams working around the clock attempting to find a workaround. There were plants and organic matter gathered in Naxxramas but the study of it has come to naught. Combined with other failed experiments I have to believe that there's an answer elsewhere- can souls be transferred then, perhaps?"
The Baron became the subject of analysis from under Garrick's direct gaze. "No, you cannot. One soul per body for that is the Law of Nature. Even if there were a way, you would not be told by me."
"You are a charming fellow, aren't you? You see, I think you lie for I have heard rumour that Arthas is not in fact Arthas alone, and is holing up with someone else in that crazy melon of his."
"Arthas Menethil and the Lich King are not subjects I am willing to discuss on the basis that I know nothing on it. Even as an ex-Warlock, not even I ventured into that territory of research. Like I said, Nature does not allow it and these atrocities have consequences."
Walden scoffed at their host. Ryndan drank his hot tea instead, fighting the urge to kick him.
"You speak as if Nature has rules."
Garrick sharply snapped at him. "Of course She does. You have seen the other side of Death and you don't believe so? We mortals can harness great- and terrible- power, but we cannot control nature. Any attempt is gifted with dire consequences. Chaos is the natural order of things. You can try to tidy it up, bend it to your will, but in the end She will undo it."
Ryndan was slightly agape at the tirade. "'She'?" He asked.
"Nature. The Universe. The Macrocosm, take your pick- She is the Mother of All, The Mater Prime. She has her own agenda and it is Entropy."
Ryndan had to take a breath. The Warlock- for he was not a storekeeper of a simple book shop right now- was fanatic in his deliverance and Ryndan could see why. He spoke truths Ryndan never had time to dwell on. Garrick, Ryndan estimated, was perhaps in his late forties or early fifties going by human ageing standards. His black hair, tied with a thong at the back of his head, was streaked with occasional grey and the same held for the hair on his chin which indicated a good age, but past prime. Either that or this man had seen some things. All of this equated to Ryndan respecting what the man was talking about- for he knew what he was discussing without a reason of a doubt.
"So," Ryndan continued, "What does this have to do with Death Knights- and Arthas?"
Garrick leaned deeply into his highback chair- Ryndan momentarily missed his own back in Cersae's chamber. "Even Arthas cannot fully control Undeath. Your girl is in a state of limbo as I said before. But I did feel something- she is fighting back against His will and I'll tell you one more thing." He smirked a little. "She's winning."
Ryndan's heart soared and a released breath from Lynara's direction indicated the same relief felt.
"It's a game of tug of war," Garrick went on, "and she is straining against he motionless Ruler of the Scourge. Eventually the rope will give way and she will break free. It's then that she will fall- and hard." He took a long sip of his tea.
Lynara started first, not liking his matter-of-fact tone. "What do you mean by 'fall'?"
Garrick looked between the three men over his cup before setting it down seriously. "You cannot expect her to survive this ordeal, surely? It will take all of her energy and more to break the Will and in the end the tether was the only thing keeping her alive. Without it she'll be dropped mercilessly and she will stumble, trip and fall into Death. The Universe does not like to be tampered with and your friend should be dead by all means as it is. There are scars and wounds on her body that I could feel through a simple handshake- and I was feeling them. For that to happen in such a short connection…they're beyond fatal."
The startled silence didn't last a moment.
"No- there has to be something we can do! She's responding so well to Lynara's treatment and is even looking like a semblance of a- of a human being for Light's sake!" Ryndan cried, nearly rising to his feet. A gentle hand from Lynara on his forearm calmed him enough to sit back. Of course it's not Garrick's fault, he's just the messenger. The messenger bearing news that Ryndan wasn't expecting to hear.
Walden spoke up, "Is the healing process painful for her?" Ryndan turned to Lynara awaiting the answer. Cersae never spoke of pain, just the results. Under the expectant gazes, the priest shifted uncomfortably.
"Yes, it is," he admitted. "It was easier in the beginning because she was unconscious, but now it's agony. Even though she's healthier than I've ever seen her, it still bears her great pain to undergo my prayers. I fear that it will reach the point where I cannot do more in fear of causing more harm than good."
"She is still tethered to Arthas," Walden said. "That will be why The Light is painful and grievous to her body despite its healing capabilities. Her soul is in limbo therefore she isn't wholly alive, but neither is she dead. She herself is in a limbo in this world, as is her soul in another. Because of this inanimate tissue, the power mustered to mend her wounds will become more demanding and tortuous, I imagine." Ryndan listened carefully, appreciating the seriousness his friend adopted all of a sudden in light of the bad news.
"Why is is that The Light affects the Undead so? I mean, physically speaking? I've not really ever understood it on a simple level."
"There's a theory that it's to do with the Unholiness of the Forsaken and Undead," Lynara answered thoughtfully. He was paying special attention to the space in front of him, as if reading a book no one else could see. "The Light, so Holy and Gracious, forcibly reacts against the very opposite of itself which is manifested on the physical plane by the Forsaken and Scourge."
"You are half-correct, Master Elf, " Garrick said again.
"Half?"
"The Universe does not hold 'Holy' and 'Unholy' in her spiritual vocabulary. There exists only 'Is' and 'Is Not'. I don't mean to spit on your vocation, Sir Priest, but that's what it is. The Forsaken were not a part of her original plan, I would wager, and therefore you are pushing that is supposed to exist- that power which you call 'The Light'- against something that is not supposed to exist- the recreation of Life in the same body. It has been attempted before and will no doubt again, but to do so is to anger Nature."
"The Forsaken have yet to be punished by this mysterious force you so revere, Warlock." Walden snidely commented. Garrick sneered in return, crooked teeth flashing in the firelight.
"Your race, as I sated before, is set to die out because you cannot reproduce- and the whole world knows and does nothing to aid you. Are you saying that mass-extinction is not a suitable punishment for your very existence?"
Ryndan paled at the implications so he could only imagine the white fury and desperation Walden must be feeling.
"But we did not create ourselves!" The Baron declared, slamming one fist on the table causing the crockery to rattle.
Garrick shrugged. "Why would the Universe care about intentions and blame? You are the natural ones, therefore you are eradicated by your own design flaw. That is the beauty of the Universe, Forsaken."
The three men sat in quiet contemplation of his words, letting them sink in. For two of them, it was just a horrifying theory to wrap their heads around. For the third, it was a final death sentence.
"Wait- in Naxxramas, there was a paladin. Sir Zeliek he was called. He was undead and yet wielded The Light without causing undue harm unto himself," Ryndan spoke up.
"How do you know about that?" Lynara inquired.
"Commander Eligor Dawnbringer told me. He attended the first assault on Naxxramas two years ago and barely survived. Apparently Zeliek was under his command and MIA-assumed-dead."
Lynara blanched, nearly dropping his cup. Placing it carefully back on the table, he turned to Ryndan, his face tight. "That's atrocious. But that does explain the fervour the Alliance displayed in running to his corner of the chamber…to put him out of his unholy misery."
"Oh it's not all that bad," Walden said weakly. Ryndan threw him a long side glance in worry. If it was possible for a corpse to look tired, the Baron was certainly achieving it. He turned back to Garrick.
"But what about Cersae, what can we do to help her?"
"Maker her final days as easy as possible. When she is strong enough to break free, she will lose all that has stopped her from dying these past years and it will catch up with her." Despite the gruff demeanour, Garrick's apologetic tones were not lost on Ryndan, and he was grateful for the understanding. "The body is not supposed to undergo such a transformation and it will take its toll. Even in the unlikely event that she survives, she will not be able to live comfortably. She would be a shell, but I cannot see that ever happening."
"You cannot know this for sure," Ryndan declared, looking for a thread of hope in all of this.
"Sadly, I do and you only have to trust my word in that respect because I will say no more."
Ryndan slouched back into his chair and rubbed his hands wearily over his face.
"Lynara, what's her current progress with healing?"
"She's eating a little, digesting it too. She's gaining weight, her mind is healing a little too," he reported quietly. Ryndan threw his head back and examined the dark, flickering shadows on the ceiling. His mind supplied him with images of her from a few hours ago and he swore out loud.
"She's breathing too- I didn't even notice at the time. She's bloody breathing."
"I have to stop the healing sessions, if I push her too close to the edge she'll-"
"Yeah. Stop them for now- but don't tell her why. Just say that she's made enough progress and you think she's fine now. I don't want to cause her undue worry, not when she's finally enjoying herself."
A look passed between the two elves and Lynara nodded in understanding. "I'll do that then."
Ryndan turned back to Garrick. "What if we kill Arthas first? Would that free her without harming her?"
"No. In fact I very much believe that if Arthas ever dies, any Death Knight and Scourge not slain by then will drop en masse."
And there they were, back to square one. Unknowingly, Garrick had echoed something Ashwood had said to him many weeks and months ago at Westgarde.
"I see. Thank you, sir, your insight has been most useful and you may have bought us more time for her."
Mutually declaring the meeting over, the four men stood and left the shop. Neesa saw them off, offering a quick bowl of broth to which they politely declined but promised to come again to try. The hour was late and they had too much weight on their minds at the moment. At the front door, his friends leaving a little ahead of him already having bade their farewells, Ryndan shook the man's large, calloused hand.
"I am sorry I cannot bear better news. She was a lovely girl, I could tell that much. No one with a bad soul treats books like kin, and she revered them like-"
"Like her own children, yes. She daren't let go of that tome as we went home today," Ryndan smiled fondly. Garrick nodded.
"Good luck, Master Firesworn."
"Thank you Sir. And to Yazmina also, for introducing me to you. May I be so bold as to ask what the debt incurred was between you two?" For a moment Ryndan thought that Garrick might deck him.
"Bloody woman thinks she can lord over me, but no more! The damned debt is paid," he muttered. "You see that beautiful woman behind me bustling about pretending not to listen into this conversation?" Ryndan saw Neesa smile sheepishly from her not-so-conspicuous busy-bodying nearby. "I love her and like a fool I only went and married her, didn't I? And it wouldn't have happened if her sister, Yazmina, hadn't introduced me to her. I ended my dire career as a Warlock and took up shop as a bloody book-seller and now look at me," he patted his firm stomach through his robe. "Getting fat, ain't I? Bloody womenfolk, more trouble than they're worth I'm telling ya."
Ryndan found himself agreeing for the first time in his adult life, Ryndan understood what it was like to be troubled by a woman.
And it was hell.
