Chapter Six: Last Rites

Addy remembered when she was eleven years old and she'd gone with her grandfather to Sentinel Hill. Back then things had still been alright, they still grew enough crops and sold enough wine to live comfortably. But everywhere they looked you could see the growing fallow. The Defias practically ran Westfall and travelling was dangerous. Even the small trip from their farm to the hill was incredibly risky, and her grandfather kept several weapons on him at all times.

This particular trip always played in Addy's mind, because it was the first trip since the King had returned to Stormwind. She was too young to understand, but it was the first time the King had been free of the mental manipulation of the Black Dragonflight in years. When they approached the hill the banner of Stormwind flapped in the wind, and men and women of the army stood around massive carts, handing out food and tents and blankets and anything else the growing number of homeless needed.

Addy had been excited. She wanted new blankets, but her grandfather also told her they couldn't afford it. She had happily wandered around the hill while her grandfather sold their ware, talking with the soldiers.

She wandered up to one of them by a relatively empty cart, and reached over to pull at his tabard.

The man turned down to look at her, then gave her a toothy grin, "Hey there sweetheart, how are you?"

Addy blushed, looking down and kicking the dirt with her feet, "Can I have a blanket?"

The man beamed, and tapped his nose, "Sure thing. I think I have a special treat for you in here too."

Addy watched him with wide childlike wonder as he reached into his cart, pulling out a simple white wool blanket, and in his other hand a small brown stitched doll with wool braids. It had two black buttons for eyes and a crooked stitched smile.

Addy loved it immediately. The guard handed it to her and she took it, hugging it to her as he wrapped the blanket around her.

"Thank you, Sir!" She lisped through the small gap in her teeth.

She had spent the rest of her trip playing with her doll by herself near the campfire. She hummed to herself as she undid the braids in its hair and re-braided them over and over.

But the people of Westfall had long memories, and many of the homeless blamed the King for their situation, and for not doing anything about it sooner. Most saw the situation with the Black Dragonflight as nothing more than an excuse.

Her grandfather was one of those people.

"Where did you get that!" He snapped at her once he found her again. He was glaring at the doll like it had personally slighted him and Addy could smell that he'd been sampling his ware again.

"The nice man gave it to me, "She pointed to the solider by the cart, not sensing his foul mood, "He gave me a new blanket too! See!" She held out her blanket.

Her grandfather was silent for a moment, but then he had reached down, taking the doll from her hands and tossing it into the roaring fire.

"No!" She'd gasped, tears welling in her eyes as she leapt to her feat. She tried to reach for the doll, but her grandfather grabbed her arm, pulling her back before she burnt herself.

"Listen to me, Adeile." He'd crouched down to look her in the eye. Her eyes flickered from his angry gaze to the doll in the fire, watching as the braids she'd so carefully constructed turned to ash. "We're no beggars, or wretches or thieves. You understand me? We don't take charity!"

Addy sniffed, blinking tears and nodding. Her lip wobbled as she looked at the ground.

Her grandfather paused for a moment. His gaze softened.

"Listen to me Adeile." He pulled her into a hug, "I'll teach you how to make your own doll, alright? And it'll be better, and you'll love it more, and you'll care more about it...because you made it. Nobody gave it to you, you created it with your own two hands. There ain't nothin in this world that you can't do yourself, if you set your mind to it. You don't need charity."

Addy nodded sadly, still sniffing, but cheering up a bit at the idea of making her own doll, "Can I give it braids?"

Her grandfather chuckled, "You bet, sweetheart."

After he'd calmed down, he'd made her return the blanket and then bought her a blanket at a nearby vendor. He'd then got her everything she needed to make her own doll, and even got her little ribbons for its hair.

And he'd been right. Whenever she wasn't picking grapes or stomping them, she spent her time in the corner, clumsily stitching together a doll. She made hair and clothing and spent all her free time playing with it.

Of course that had been before things got rough. One by one her grandfather let go of his farmhands. Then, when the scourge had returned and the attack of Lich King started, memories resurfaced that turned him to drinking. The more he drank, the less they could sell. Things got worse, but Addy couldn't bring herself to stop him...

Her grandfather died before the Lich King did...it almost brought tears to her eyes to know he never got his closure.

But she also took his lesson to heart. No matter what happened, and how bad things got, she never once took charity. There was always something she could sell, something she could do to survive. She never really thought about what would'e happened once she ran out of things to do. But she never really had to, because it never happened.

Now that she sat in an inn, in a room paid for by the crown, she couldn't help but feel like she owed them something. She couldn't pay them, she'd run out of the few silvers and coppers she'd had on her days ago.

So she spent her days at the Cathedral. Eventually she learned the route herself, and every day she would make her way there, helping the priests and priestesses with whatever they needed. About a week after the refugees came, the last of them had been healed and sent to an inn or to the camp at Goldshire. Addy spent many hours outside behind the church washing the bloody sheets and napkins in the lake, beating them against rocks to try to get the stains out. Many of them were now pink, and even more of them were unsalvageable, having to be burnt.

She helped with small injuries brought in from around the city. A broken wrist here, a deep cut there. The people of the church never questioned her, they just let her help wherever she could.

A few days after the last of the refugees left, the full impact of the attack finally hit her.

A young priestess in training approached her while she was folding bandages in the corner of the cathedral. The young girl stood in front of her, clearing her throat a few times, until Addy noticed her there and looked up.

"Oh, hello Nysa." Addy smiled politely,

She was much younger than her, maybe fourteen at most. Most likely she was an orphan who started her priesthood to get out of the children's home.

"Hey Addy." Nysa smiled shyly at her, "Father Thompson was looking for you. He's outside by the lake."

Addy frowned, but nodded, watching as the girl ran off. Father Thompson was one of the many priests who worked at the church. She'd only met him a handful of times and she couldn't imagine why he'd want to speak with her. To be honest she'd be surprised if he even knew her name

Addy walked out to the lake, scanning the edge of the water until she saw him standing next to a small sapling, planting it into the ground with care.

She jogged up to him, stopping right in front of the small tree, "Father?"

The priest looked up at her and smiled gently. He was old, very old. Every time she touched him she felt like he would turn to dust in her hands. His skin was pale and translucent and thin as paper, and his pale blue eyes looked around like they couldn't see the world around them. HIs hair was white and thin, falling to his shoulders in straight wispy lines.

"Miss Fairchild." The priest tilted his head at her politely, "Thank you for meeting with me."

He climbed to his feet with more strength and grace than belonged to an old man. He grabbed his staff which was laying in the dirt, leaning against it as he walked.

"Grim tidings, very grim tidings..." He mumbled, walking back towards the church. Addy walking with him, looking between him and the church, wondering where he was leading her, "We saved as many lives as we could, but many unfortunately perished to their wounds."

Addy swallowed a lump that rose in her throat as she remembered the number of people that had died. Her mind flashes to the piles of corpses littering the hill as she ran towards the tower, and the look on James' face as he was ripped apart by a felbat.

"You are trained in the light, are you not?"

Addy paused for a moment, watching him with surprise, "Yes, a bit...how did you know?"

"Oh I can feel it! I suppose if you were more familiar with the light you would be able to sense it in others as well. But you don't need to be familiar with the light to perform what I ask."

"And what is that?" She asked.

They reached a small back door to the cathedral and he stopped, turning to look at her. His wrinkly eyes were heavy with sorrow and he leaned against his staff.

"I need someone to assist me. With final rites."

Addy felt her stomach drop and the blood rush from her face, "W-What? I...I can't do that." She shook her head violently, her eyes wide. "There must be someone else.'

"There will be several other's helping, trainees mostly. But I believe it to be important for one of their kin to be there. And you've been extremely kind and helpful with the survivors."

"I..." Addy swallowed. She felt a bit sick to her stomach at the idea. It wasn't seeing dead bodies - she'd seen dead bodies before. She'd even killed before - bandits and thieves mainly. But the idea of seeing someone she knew terrified her.

But she also felt like she had to. Maybe seeing a familiar face, a familiar presence, would sooth their restless souls.

She chewed her bottom lip, "I don't know how..."

"Hmm." Father Thompson nodded his head, looking pleased, "Do not worry. I'll teach you."

Addy still wasn't sure thought. There was a sort of reverence and respect these things required that she wasn't sure she had. She was awkward and clumsy with the light most days, and doing someone as respectful as laying someone to rest seemed beyond her.

But she nodded, ignoring her nerves. She'd wanted to help after all. And if this is where she was needed, this is where she would be.

She let Father Thompson leader her through the back exit of the church. He walked into the main Cathedral, and then over to the stairs leading into the basement. She followed him nervously, her eyes flickering over to the small library where the Prince had found the book with the ship. She wondered if he'd found anything else in the week or so since she'd last seen him. He had said he would keep her updated, but no doubt he had forgotten all about her by now.

But Father Thompson kept going, further down into the deep crypt of the Cathedral. They passed tombs with names that Addy didn't recognize, and even older ones worn to nothing. Many looked damaged, no doubt by the sacking of Stormwind.

They reached the bottom of the crypt and Addy had to stop for a moment in shock as she scanned the sight before her.

There had to be dozens of bodies. Far more than what she had expected. Most were laying flat on their backs, resting on white sheets with their eyes closed and hands resting on their chests. A handful of other trainees were standing over them, washing the bodies with warm water and rubbing oils and scents into the skin. Some were already finished, wearing fresh clothes and looking as though they had only just fallen asleep.

Addy studied the faces, trying to ignore the lump forming in her throat as her bottom lip loosened. She swallowed her tears and walked through the bodies, only stopping when she saw the body of a small child.

Addy stared at the girl on the floor, her brain unable to understand what she was seeing. She felt all the blood rush from her face and were vision went out of focus as she struggled to form words.

"N..No." Her lips started to shake as she crouched beside the girl. She wore a raggedy blue and white dress, and her dark curly hair was coated in blood. Addy remembered her - the little girl in Sentinel Hill with the mangled hand and the ribbons in her hair, little Katie.

She looked up at the Priest, her vision blurred by tears, "I-I healed her...she was fine."

Father Thompson walked over to her carefully, his eyes filled with pity, "She had bleeding on the inside. Nobody saw it until it was already too late."

Addy remembered how difficult it had been to heal her compared to when she healed her own injuries. She had thought it was because she was out of practice, but looking down at Katie's serene face she knew the truth. It was because Addy had started to try and heal her greater injuries, but she had pulled back when she'd run out of mana...she hadn't been strong enough...

"But she was fine..." Addy looked up at the priest, her eyes wide and desperate, "I healed her hand, she said it didn't hurt anywhere. I...I..."

She brought her hand up to her mouth, trying to hold back a sob. She looked around the room, the dozens of bodies laying on the floor waiting for their rites so they might peacefully pass. The whole room felt like it was spinning as she looked at their faces, these had been real people, with real lives and real families. The little girl next to her had had a family, someone who loved her enough to tie little ribbons into her hair.

Father Thompson rested his hand on her shoulder, "It is alright child, you do not need to participate in this part if you do not wish too."

"No." Addy shrugged his hand off, whipping her tears with the back of her hand. "No, I want to help."

She worked silently along Father Thompson and the other trainees, using sponges and strips of linen cloth to carefully clean the blood and dirt off the skin of the dead. Addy cleaned the girl, Katie, and dressed any visible wounds. She washed her hair and put the ribbons back the same way they'd been when she'd first seen her in Sentinel Hill

These bodies were only those who died out of the small group of injured brought to the city. There must be hundreds more in the refugee camps and even more left in their homes and farms as the world burned around them. It would take months...maybe years to bury all the dead.

Her hands were stained red by the end of the day. Once they were dressed Father Thompson spoke prayers while she and the others rubbed them with scented oils and laid flowers around them. They would be brought to Goldshire where they would either be laid to rest in a new cemetery there, or released to their families for burial elsewhere.

While Father Thompson spoke the last rites, the dark room lite only by candles seemed to brighten as though a window had been opened. It showered down on them and Addy felt momentarily uplifted. Katie's small face was illuminated, and for a moment it looked as if the corners of her mouth lifted upwards in a smile.

By the time they were finished it was dark outside. Addy knew that Gryan would be worried - he didn't like her being out in the city alone at night. But she couldn't bring herself to care. She wandered along the canals in a silent daze, not coming along anyone other than the occasional guard who nodded at her as she passed.

When she got to The Golden Keg the tavern was full, like it usually was at night. It was filled manly with dwarves, but also the occasional human or gnome and there was a plethora of noise and music. Addy swallowed and reached into the small bag tied to her waist and fiddled at the coin inside. The allowance given to her by the crown. She had been determined not to spend a copper more of it than she needed to, but right now she really needed a drink, and she really wanted the King to pay for it.

She wandered over to the bar, jumping onto a shaky stool and smiled at the man behind the counter.

"Hello, Miss." He gave her a polite head nod. "What can I get you."

"Something strong." She mumbled, "I don't really care what."

He poured something amber into a glass that promised to be vile and handed it to her. She handed him a few copper and sat there, nursing the drink silently.

She was no stranger to alcohol, growing up on a vinery. Back when business had been good she could afford to drink some of it herself. But once she got older and saw how it had affected her grandfather she never could allow herself to get drunk.

But there was a first time for everything.

Gryan found her there after her third drink. She was resting her head on her hand, her eyes unfocused as she stared at the drink.

"Thank the light." He let out a breathe when he saw her there, walking over and leaning against the bar next to her, "You scared the light out of me, girl."

"Sorry." She slurred lighted, sighing and downing the rest of her drink, "Lost track of time."

He was silent, most likely taking in her state, "How much have you drank?"

"Not much." She shrugged, "Enough."

She turned to look at him. His eyes were pinched and his furry salt and pepper eyebrows furrowed. She leaned forward and tried to smooth out the wrinkles between them with her thumb, not liking the way they made him look.

She thought he might scold her, but instead he moved onto a seat next to her, ordering a drink of his own, "What happened today?"

"Last rites." She mumbled lightly, tears coming to her eyes again.

"Ah." He didn't press any further, and Addy wondered if he had ever had to perform them. Addy couldn't imagine doing that all the time. She wondered how many times Father Thompson performed them. In a city this big, people must die every day. How many dead bodies do you bless before it becomes common place.

Addy didn't ever want death to feel common for her.

Gryan helped her to bed. The stairs were a bit of an issue for her after a few drinks. He convinced her to take off her shoes before going to bed and pulling her hair out of her face.

She was asleep before her face hit the pillow.

A/N: Thank you to everyone for the lovely support I've gotten for this story. I actually did manage to get some writing time in on my vacation so I can update. Not sure how many chances like this I'll get but who knows. Don't be afraid to leave a review with any comments, concerns or questions!

-Ash