"Luciya, I'm worried about you."
The object of my worries didn't seem nearly so concerned by her garish purple cheek as I did, instead offering me a toothy smile only to wince at the action.
"Don't be, this?" she indicated to her shiner, "just a client getting hot and heavy is all. It was expected with this particular client before I went ahead with it, so don't muss that pretty face of yours with a frown."
I stayed silent, observing her. She had entered my room this morning with a notable limp and bruised wrists poorly hidden by her threadbare jumper. She obviously knew how she looked, one half of her face scarred and rough, the other tender and bruised. People probably stared at her on her way here but thought nothing more of it given that she was in a hospital- people weren't supposed to look healthy here.
"Can you defend yourself? Do you need a weapon or- or want to learn self-defence?" If she said 'yes', then I had no idea what I was going to do from that point onwards but I'd think of something. I just wanted to help.
"Cers-"
"Are you able to say 'no' to these kind of clients, Luce? I really don't like seeing you like this," I pressed. I think I got a brief surprised look from her but it was hard to tell under the palette of umber and plum, her copper eyes near-slits with swelling. I've never openly said anything about her profession, just went with it because why not, so my outspokenness about it now was new for both of us.
"Cers," she admonished me gently, riling me a bit. "I'm fine, honestly." A pause. "But thank you, I appreciate the worry." She flashed me another grin and flexed her arm, patting the limb's meagre muscle. "Big strong girl, me! I can take care of myself, promise."
She was clearly set on continuing like this and there was little I could do where she didn't want help. Perhaps Bart could help me instead. I made a mental note to consult with him this afternoon if he came with Lynara. Nodding solemnly, I granted her one final look of 'you better' before freeing the worry from my face. The conversation was finished with an expectant air of 'now what to talk about' when it was swung on to me. I wasn't terribly surprised, she was good at deflection.
"How are you feeling anyway? Any worse for wear since Naxxramas?"
Shaking my head, I felt the headscarf loosen a little and I shifted it back in place. "No, not really. It's surreal for me, you know? I don't remember much of it. I think I've dreamt about it, but it evades me when I come to." It wasn't a whole lie. Those dreams were memorable enough for sure, but they seemed like exaggerated fears and scenes- constant screaming, skeletal figures marching, dancing rune blades and blue eyes cruel with laughter. There was nothing solid but it was enough to leave me in a cold sweat some nights. Since Ryndan changed his visits to afternoons and evenings only, I woke up these nights alone and shaky, sometimes seeing Mort seated in the chair only to be wiped away by my palms as I cling to wakefulness. I had yet to see him since that one night.
Part of me wished he would just arrive and fall through with his threats. That same part of me wanted to spill all of the secrets, the lies and the how-it-all-happeneds to someone just to goad him into action. The constant waiting, the anticipation and fear was the worst. But then I would look to the alchemy book on my table and recall Edmund. And how I hadn't found him yet and so held my tongue.
Mort had said something about annals cataloguing all travellers whenever they entered and exited the major towns and cities. It had been nagging at me and I was waiting for an opportunity to visit the local offices to seek the information. I was growing stronger day by day, my thoughts coming clearer and my bones feeling sturdier. I was still on a simple diet, but it was steady and nutritious and the benefits of it were telling, to me at least. I was sleeping- albeit fitfully, but sleeping nonetheless. There was clarity in my mind now where a haze once resided and I wasn't even aware of its looming presence until I drew focus. Things started to matter now. Before, with hindsight, I was alone in myself, only caring for me. Now I was around people who I not only liked their company, but physically mattered to me and I found myself worried about their own welfares outside of my visits with them. Out of my small group, Luciya was causing me the most trouble. I hadn't wanted to say much to her on the subject before but when she walks into my small chamber looking no better than a thoroughly used training dummy, I had decided to take action. Efforts evaded, however, I could only follow her wishes and focus on other things. Like my growing affects.
My satchel sat untouched in the corner, I had no reason insofar to look in it, all of my meagre clothes folded neatly by the window. The washbowl and cloth were part of the room but the bar of scented soap was a gift from Lynara. Most of the things that had come my way in the last few weeks were. Charity, he called it, for those in need and apparently I fell under that category. I'd accepted these gifts with a shy smile and other times they just appeared without my knowledge. It was nice.
Luciya's mini-library had dwindled when I told her to put them back and bring decent material in and even though she had thrown her head back in laughter, the pile had dissipated between visits. There were two books in this room that were mine. The alchemical one that Ryndan bought me and the journal gifted to me in the past by Edmund. I hadn't read it, not expecting anything to come of it, if I were honest. I had since moved it from its position behind the bedside table, electing to keep it on my person when I started to leave my room daily with Ryndan. If Mort ever took the time to seek my room out when I was absent, I didn't want him coming across it. It didn't stop multiple scenarios in my head of him sneaking in through the night, slitting my throat, or choking me or –
"Cers? You alright there? Where did you go?"
Now it was Luci's turn to look concerned. "Sorry," I said. "Daydreaming."
"Hmm. Do you know what I think? We need to get out at some time. I want you to meet Jerry, you'd love her." A mischievous smile transformed her battered face and I felt my gut twisting in sight of it. Luciya and scheming never went well together.
And so I learned of 'Jerewyn', or 'she-who-hates-to-be-referred-to-by-her-actual-name' and spent the day laughing. Luciya parted with a fond goodbye and I couldn't stay my worry that the next time I see her she'll be sporting a cast or worse, she won't return through my door and I won't know where she is.
So when Lynara and Bart did visit later that afternoon, I found myself spilling my concerns to them in an effort to help her. Lynara wore a grave look and listened attentively but it was Bart who was the real subject of my plea, who I was placing my trust in- and I was let down. I knew things weren't great between the two of them but did he have to look so bored? I expected immediate action and outrage, not a frown.
Bart was distracted upon their return. Cersae's description of Luciya was troubling but not worthy of his time and efforts. She was more than capable of handling herself, he had witnessed (though luckily not experienced) it first hand. Her lithe frame gave the false impression of weakness, but she could choke-hold a grown man when necessary. And the needles she kept on her person were more than enough to ward off unwanted advances, so why was she so beaten?
A few ideas ran themselves through his mind, each one worse than the last and making him scowl even further. Disgusted with himself for even delving into such a train of thought with her, he shook himself and drew attention elsewhere. Like the distracted elf shuffling alongside him.
They walked slowly through the streets, now headed to a small tavern near Bart's residing inn. Whenever Bart accompanied Lynara to visit Cersae, for it was not every day if the priest had other pressing matters to attend, their routine fell into allotting themselves an extra hour afterwards to eat. Lynara had fed little in Bart's presence and his weight was slowly dropping- something he couldn't really afford and he was sure that without that robe, Lynara was even skinnier than he appeared to be.
His concern for the priest was a transfer, Bart had long decided, since losing Luciya's company and companionship and since that day in the tailoring shop, Bart had waged between two feelings- spending time with the priest or dropping it entirely and favouring the presence of a bottle instead.
Lynara won out in the end but the bottle had made a very tempting argument.
He had found himself often thinking back to their first meeting- Lynara gathering Cersae in his arms and carrying her through Naxxramas, Bart at his side, axe at the ready and torch raised high. He had been in his element then- they both had. High on rush and urgency had they travelled through the haunting corridors of Naxxramas to the central bay and Bart had very disturbing feelings about those few moments before he stepped through the portal. He had not witnessed that level of intensity from priest's gaze since that day, but the tailoring shop had come close. Sometimes his wish for the priest's presence angered him, other times it soothed and the rest it baffled. He was just as friendly with Ryndan- whom he'd visited a few times with Lynara also, with his permission- but didn't crave his company nearly so much. Cersae was also a pleasant part of his day and he did enjoy watching her heal and grow. She was charming when they first met at Valgarde- all wide eyed and confused, but now she was just endearing. Her laugh was one of the most pleasing sounds he had heard recently and they had induced it today with a funny tale from Lynara's training days as a priest and even Bart had given a smile.
But there was something underlying in today's session. A tension that Cersae didn't seem to sense after she had calmed down from her torrent of worry about Luciya. A tightness was evident in Lynara's eyes, his smile a little too drawn in as he focussed on her. And then the rest of the hour passed by in a flurry of storytelling. Now free from Cersae's earshot, he addressed the elf about it when they were seated at the tavern, a jug of flavoured water planted on the table and a goblet of wine presented to the darker man.
"Why were you lying to Cersae today?" he asked smoothly, habitually pouring from the water jug and handing it to Lynara. Bart was rewarded with a sharp look of surprise that hardened into a gaze tense enough to rival that one from Naxxramas, though it was noticeably cooler. Lynara's own strife appeared to take hold in those moments, eyes searching his own gravely, before he settled on a decision.
And so Lynara spilled about a visit to a Warlock late last night.
Silence hung over them, the priest having had more time to digest the information and looking exhausted for having done so, whereas Bart was suspended between disbelief and fear. Neither won this time as logic wormed its head in and stated that it wasn't so bad since they were doing something about it. He was a little shocked as to how much he cared for the being of that young girl, however.
"But you're acting accordingly," he said carefully, both ignoring the plates that settled in front of them. Murmured thanks delayed Lynara's reaction but he did answer.
"Yes, we are, but it doesn't settle my nerves any. I'm not even sure if this is the right move. Shouldn't we consult with her on this? It is her life, after all, surely she gets a say in whether we help or hinder her?"
"That's not really my place to say. Your intentions are good but you know what they say about those," he paused, taking a hearty mouthful of his baked potato. It was deliciously hot and burned his tongue. Swallowing, he waved his fork at his company before eating again, "That's what you holym'n are for, isn't it? Deliberating such moral dilemmas as part of some daily ritual? Nothing like some difficult ethics to get the day started, eh?" His attempt at humour was washed down with a swill from the goblet and Lynara didn't even appear to have heard him.
"There's something else," Bart stated, setting his cutlery down and granting him his full attention. Another startled look from green eyes.
His mouth stopped and started several times before divulging anyway. "It's a selfish thing, really. Cersae's case is forefront in my mind but I find myself with my own…concerns." The topic was clearly straining the priest who had yet to even glance at his bowl of broth, favouring picking out minute details in the bare wall beside them. "I'm…having doubts," he started carefully, "about my faith."
Bart's brow shot skyward, least expecting this from Lynara and expecting even less that he would consult with Bart on the issue. Surely another cleric would be preferable to a prostitute- oh, Bart thought wryly, Lynara wasn't aware that was what Bart was. A moment's warring within himself decided that it was best not to tell him right now, not when he was already so vulnerable about …this. He swallowed the creeping shame with wine.
"I see, concerning what specifically? And why?" He thanked Elune for a steady voice.
"I have been thinking a lot about what the warlock said- about the Universe' idea of being." Bart nodded along, the conversation and details imprinted fresh in his mind and waited for Lynara to continue. It was slow, he was struggling to formulate his thoughts and Bart could only guess that this was a major contributor through the night to the bags beneath his eyes.
"He preaches the notion that there exists only 'Is' or 'Is not' and that anything outside that isn't real."
"As I understand it."
"And yet The Light- I wield it for healing and offensive purposes," his hands cradled in front of his chest, almost to contain what he was expressing. "I can feel it inside of me, pulsing, warm and there. Why would he say it doesn't exist when I experience it?" Desperation and fear churned in front of him.
Bart only listened, the words coming faster now as the priest drew himself into a small frenzy- for him at least. His head was going this way and that, trying to make sense of the thoughts he could only hear and blond hair was escaping from its plait.
"He said that there is no 'Holy' or 'Unholy' , what if he's right?" he continued, voice climbing a little higher. "Then what do I do? After all of this, what if my vocation for most of my life has been dedicated to something that isn't even real?"
This wasn't just doubts, this was a crisis. Staying practically level headed, Bart approached the subject delicately and stretched one hand out to him minimally across the table.
"Lynara, what have you done in the past- what, ten years of priesthood?"
"Just over twenty years, I entered the vocation when I was twelve."
That took him by surprise, this put the elf at thirty years his junior- the same age as Luciya. Fighting the urge to swear he pressed on.
"Right, so two decades of dedicating yourself to a just and good cause- regardless of what it was in the name of. You've done great and helpful things, have you not? Come to the aid and rescue of so many others?"
Lynara nodded slightly, frowning.
"And due to that, you have saved who knows how many lives. I saw you in Naxxramas, you are a force to be reckoned with when it comes to the lives of your peers." He paused, admiring the fragility of the moment and how it was resting on his words alone. "What I'm saying is regardless of why you joined, or what you think you serve by- in this case The Light- you have done so much good in the name of it that I can't see what leg your argument has to stand on. If The Light is 'real' then you've nothing to be concerned about. If it isn't real, then perhaps what it simply is is a metaphor for all the good deeds you do in its name. Maybe you make The Light, are The Light by your actions and words to all those around you. Nobody can take what you feel away from you, only you can. And that's what I believe faith should be about."
Religion and faith were not his forte and he actively avoided the subject in favour of more down-to-earth activities. He had never been so theological in all of his decades, but there was something troubling, upsetting, about seeing the steadfast man before him waiver to one side, his faith shaken and taking a blow. He may not believe himself, but why does that mean it shouldn't hold this kind of weight on this priest? This priest with the sun-touched hair and burning jade eyes that regarded him anew.
"I never thought of it like that."
Silence stretched between them, their gaze unbroken as one tried to adjust to a new line of thought and the other a new idea of faith.
"Thank you."
The words were sincere and meant. Bart forced himself not to flinch.
"I entered to help people, to travel and reach as many as I could. My brother was set to overtake my mother's business and I was free to do what I want. How simple it is to forget one's reasons for doing something." He smiled, genuinely and helped himself to his goblet, flooring Bart where he thought he was confident.
"We own a tailoring shop- or my mother and brother does, hence my knowledge in it- and one day, when I was young, a thief set upon us. He didn't make it far into the streets, abducted by the local guards, but a passing paladin in a black tabard with a shining crest interceded. He looked important and official and he must have been because the guards parted and allowed him to reside over the man. He spoke quietly with the thief, but I remember eavesdropping with burning curiosity." A nostalgic expression settled over Lynara's face, softening it with peace of mind. "He said to the thief, 'come with me and I can help you. You can be cared for and forgiven, not punished, for salvation was created for sinners' and I've never forgotten those words."
Salvation was created for sinners. A noble sentiment, but a sentiment nonetheless, Bart thought sourly.
"Soon thereafter I made up my mind to enter the vocation and favoured priesthood over paladinship." He threw a cheeky grin to Bart who had listened in rapt silence. "Can you imagine me with a sword and armour? I wouldn't be able to get off the ground with this body!" he laughed and spread his arms wide.
His shoulders were broad but not bulked and combined with thin waist, he was most definitely not suited for armour like Ryndan was and the very image cracked a smile onto Bart's face as he agreed.
"A wise choice, I think. I wish I had as grand a tale as you, Master Priest, but alas I am a wanderer and rogue. I started out with nothing and have most of it left," he earned another laugh from Lynara, both content to have moved past the problem and they broke bread.
The pit of Bart's stomach churned and he had a feeling it wasn't due to his dinner. Forcing through a grimace, Bart vowed to ignore it.
The censer swung rhythmically and Ryndan watched it over his folded hands. The cleric holding it was chanting and walking in a dreamlike way, engrossed in his duty and spreading the familiar scent wherever he tread in the small chapel.
It wasn't a large building. It was intimate and unadorned, the stained windows towards the back letting in little light. Candles were now lit, glowing softly in reverence for the holy place they illuminated. Rows of pews striped the church floor, only a few occupied by other kneeling people like himself. A mixture sat here- some praying softly under their breath. Others were chanting along quietly with the cleric and several others were merely silent. Sitting in one of the most distant pews from the altar, Ryndan was granted an entire view to the supplicants sharing the roof. There were three draenei, several humans, two other sin'dorei, one kaldorei and surprisingly a tauren and an orc seated separately. The tauren he vaguely recognised from Naxxramas and he didn't begrudge the man attempting to find peace of mind in some where like this following the raid.
It was partially the reason he was here himself.
Ryndan had actively avoided any kind of religious practice and form since the funerals, his distaste in the Crusade and what it stood for causing him unkind feelings in his gut. However, last night's revelations brought him back as a whim, the paladin yearning for familiarity, for security and comfort.
It was this small church he found in his wandering, wanting to free his mind from worries and pray for any kind of clarity and blessing to come his way. Expertly did his lips partake in benediction long-since memorised. Automatically did his knees sink to the wooden planks, knotting his hands together in front of his face to adopt a pose of prayer. And all too soon did comfort and warmth fill his chilled soul, the scented fumes enveloping him in an embrace, whispering 'welcome home'.
Time passed and so did his worries. One by one he brought them forward in his mind, panic and fear threatening to overtake and reacquaintance with his vows and guidance from years ago quietening them softly, smothering them into nothing. His knees ached, his back spasmed but the tension released in those hours was swallowed by the solemnity and privacy of the chapel in those few hours. The clarity he sought was making its way through, kissing each trouble and telling him that it will be all right. He will be well. He can move past this.
And Ryndan believed it.
Feeling mended in ways he didn't realise he was damaged, Ryndan straightened, knots in his back and numbness evident in places it had no business being. A curse nearly escaped his lips when he noticed the company kneeling immediately beside him, smirking at him beneath closed eyes.
"Sorry, didn't want to disturb you, you looked peaceful," Lynara whispered. Glancing around, Ryndan saw that the church was a little fuller than before, late night mass probably due to start soon.
"How long have you been here?" Ryndan hissed, though he was slightly amused.
"A while, I lost count after about four verses of that hymn."
Ryndan regarded the man beside him. Even in the dim light, bags were evident beneath his eyes and his cheeks were looking sharper than he'd like. The belt around his waist looked too small and was hanging too loosely for Ryndan's comfort at the base of his straight back and yet despite that Ryndan sensed an energy about the man that had been missing. An aura was now exuding from the priest and Ryndan, in his own good mood, found it a little contagious.
"You're in a silly mood tonight," he observed amusedly. Lynara flashed him a sidelong grin.
"Had a good day. I know last night was a little frightening, but I have a good feeling that we're doing the right thing now. We're not so much in the dark and we have The Light to thank for that." Ryndan was surprised. Lynara had never been one for too much religious spouting, the paladin simply observing that the priest wanted to do all of the charity and aid regardless of which religion it was for, so large was his heart, but this was something new.
"You're right, I had drawn a similar conclusion myself." Cersae's problem was not inescapable and he felt stronger now to tackle it, to research and do whatever possible. He could admit to himself that even if they could find a way to 'cure' her of her death knight-ism before…well, before… then they could possibly do the same to other knights, but that he was doing it for her regardless, hang the other knights. It was selfish and cruel but he had managed to filter his thoughts down to that one goal- save Cersae.
"Lynara, I've had a thought," he kept his voice low, hoping to not disturb the sanctity around them. "There was an incident, a few months ago in the catacombs of Utgarde, where I utilised The Light rather brutally in front of Cersae." He recalled her screams, claiming that it burned and it was tortuous and winced. Lynara was watching him attentively out of the corner of his eye, kneeling in prayer pose. "I wielded it quite strongly and afterwards we came across a dying man. Now, I can't vouch for it entirely, but I have a feeling that The Light was enough to weaken her Death Knight persona to bring humanity forth a little. She comforted a dying man, Lynara. I don't think she would have done it if I hadn't exposed her to The Light like that. It was like a barrier had dropped and stayed so until the connection to Arthas-" he whispered the name even lower, wondering if such talk was sacrilegious. "-Seeped its way back into her until she was as before. What do you think?"
His friend was silent while he ruminated over it, Ryndan's own thoughts haven run amok since the late hours of last night, desperate to find anything to help her before his mind had supplied him with that memory.
"It's an interesting theory. Since I've begun healing her," Lynara murmured in turn, "she has come out of her shell and this humanity you've described is more and more evident. I recall her at New Agamand. She was closed off and distrusting. Now she is social and caring and worrisome about her friends. This barrier you mentioned, it may have contained her. Perhaps her soul isn't so far off as Master Garrick has us believe." A swell of hope surged in Ryndan and he quashed it quickly, not wishing to count his eggs before they'd hatched. "Also," Lynara continued, "now that you mention it there was an incident in Venom Point." He trailed off, his brow furrowing deeply as he stared ahead of him. "We got into an argument when I realised her plans for the plague and how she was sabotaging it. She panicked, and it was almost like I could see the bondage Arthas has her in take control. She was going to go for me and I don't think it was in her control." Ryndan sucked in a breath, knowing what she looked like in that battle state of mind. "I smote her, Ryndan. I smote her with The Light to ward her off and it was like the chains within her, the strings controlling her just snapped and she came back to me. But then- then that undead friend of hers appeared and took off with her. I managed to follow them briefly and they were silent and tense until they left the encampment."
Lynara's face grew more severe as he turned to him fully. "Ryndan, she disappeared that day, entered Naxxramas- or was captured. What if- what if my smiting her weakened her enough to fall into a trap? What if that hell she went through in there is my fault?"
Ryndan placed one hand on his shoulder. There was a weariness in his eyes, a fatigue that no amount of sleep would sate. His guildmates had departed from Dalaran a few days ago to return to Durotar. Zul'khar's healing hadn't been progressing well despite Lynara's efforts and a witchdoctor and so they had left with sad goodbyes to seek help at home. Lynara volunteered to stay, feeling more useful here, but he knew that the priest was missing them fiercely. Coupled with the workload he had thrust upon himself in charity, Lynara was stretched to his limits and this was one more thing he needed to quell. "It wasn't your fault, Lynara. In fact, if she hadn't gone in we may never have been able to have healed her like we're doing now. She'd still be a full death knight, waning away by Arthas' power. She's never looked better in the months I've known her and that is your fault," he offered a small smile and was grateful to receive one in return. One pale hand patted his fondly and his eyes spoke volumes of gratitude. Content, they returned to their prayers as mass began to start, the rows mostly full around them now and familiar ritual took over.
A little while later, Ryndan decided he was finished with his reconciliation and made to move. A glance in Lynara's direction told him all he needed to know. Forehead resting heavily against folded hands, shoulders slumped and mouth slightly open, the priest was asleep, the last few week's burdens finally freeing themselves from his care. Ryndan smiled fondly and pressed one kiss into his hair. He was grateful for many things, and hoping that his friend could find peace and start to heal now was certainly one of them.
With a light heart and hope fluttering, Ryndan vacated the church surmising that it was a good decision of his today and that he should make a great many more of them in future, starting with getting recommissioned and back into his post as Lieutenant-Commander. He had a lot to accomplish now and he would be granted more freedom and power to achieve those goals surrounded by people he trusted and was trusted by.
He only prayed that Cersae could hold on that long.
A/N- Lolwat, over 200k words. When did that happen?
