Chapter Sixteen
Wings are the purest form of freedom. Take flight and escape from any hardship at will. Fly and you will find more tranquil places. Those cursed to the ground must endure and struggle while angels can flap their wings of liberty to greener pastures.
For the Blue Jay lazily hopping from one fence post to the next, it was like teasing every wingless creature. It could easily use its avian wings to fly to its desired location. Instead, it lingered down here, taunting those that were destined to remain grounded. At any moment, it could fly away, far from the ruined kingdom of Lordaeron. It could soar to the rolling plains of Arathi. It could glide to the sleepy forests of Elwynn. It could flap its tiny yet powerful wings all the way to the Stranglethorn jungles. Anywhere would be an improvement over the plaguelands.
And yet, it remained.
Sunlight filtered through the Blue Jay's feathers like the beams of light that cut through a church's painted glass. The sun was already on its descent, letting the bird know that high afternoon was past and evening was only a few hours away. While the afternoons were growing shorter, the first fallen leaves of autumn were still several weeks away. The sun's rays were growing longer as well as the shadows that accompanied them. The Blue Jay must not have been concerned. It basked in the gentle, warm sunlight and showed no rush to fly back to its secluded nest in some tree or rooftop.
While the Blue Jay was content, Daellin was far from it. The Blue Jay's light hops from one post to another interrupted his meditation; its teases of flight disrupted his concentration. The paladin, kneeling on both knees in the middle of the church's garden, peeled an eye open each time the bird made any movement. He checked to see if the Blue Jay would actually use its wings to fly away and leave him be. The bird mocked Lightheart with a shrill laugh every time it landed on a fence post.
"And so, Light was brought unto the world. All was well," the paladin calmly muttered.
The Blue Jay chirped. Based on the tone, it was hard to discern if it approved or mocked Daellin's statement.
"For mankind then prospered, illuminated in Light. Our fears banished to the darkest corners of the realm. The Light shined down upon the reaches of man. All was well."
Chirp.
Lightheart shot another side-eye glance at the bird. Their eyes locked in a standoff. "The Light designs us in a way that makes sense. We use the hands it gave us. We use the mind it bestowed. So why, dear friend, do you choose not to fly?"
The Blue Jay cocked its head to one side and chirped. This time it was certainly mocking.
Daellin rolled his eyes and sighed, "The luxury of flight and yet you still remain. I pray a cat does not use that to its advantage."
With yet another defiant chirp from his avian companion, Daellin turned his focus back to his meditation. He had been in the garden for hours, skipping meals and prayer services, to remedy his mind. For the past week, this had been his daily ritual. Normally, only a handful of people ventured to the church's garden; there was rarely time in Tyr's for pleasant walks. Since Daellin had taken up this corner of decayed greenery, fewer people dared to intrude.
Still on his knees, Daellin glided his fingers over Dawncrier, resting on his lap. The sword's blue pommel glistened in the light while the red-tinged blade reflected the sun's rays back to the distant star. The heat that resonated from it was muted; a distant presence that faintly reminded Daellin of its great power. While the blade was calm, its wielder was less so. Daellin's breathing, despite his best attempts at mindful meditation, was erratic. At times, his chest heaved deeply or shallowly without any rhyme or reason. His closed eyes fluttered, seeing visions that frustrated him. The fingers that rested on Dawncrier nervously fluttered from one end to the other. His forehead, damp from perspiration, was as red as his Scarlet uniform.
"And for the Light loved him. And so it gave him strength," the pious man muttered. The statement bounced off the wilting roses and the hedgerows that lined the walls that encircled the garden. Much like any other vegetation in Tyr's Hand, the colors that decorated the garden were dull and lifeless. This sad state was reflected on Daellin's face. Much like the wilted roses, Daellin was dejected. "Strength, dammit! Strength!"
Daellin opened his eyes and growled in exasperation. Out of habit, he gripped Dawncrier tightly as if he was going into battle. The sword responded in kind by kindling its heat, answering Lightheart's anguish with its own. A faint aura of shimmering heat resonated from the sword, creating a haze that swallowed Daellin. The grass around the paladin stood on its ends and the hedgerows swayed as if in the middle of a raging storm.
Daellin shook his head, disappointed in himself. "Uther would put me through the ringer if he saw me like this," he sighed.
He recalled a moment during his training at Stratholme. It was a few weeks into his basic training. He and Ahran were being lapped by other paladin aspirants in both combat and study. His frustration boiled over as he threw a childish tantrum in public. The onlookers were amused that one of the Silver Hand's latest recruits stormed around the street, complaining about a lack of tangible progress. Even his childhood friend could not bring him from the brink. A few street posts met the business end of his practice sword. Daellin would have continued with breaking fruit stands had not Uther intervened. With a firm grasp on his shoulder and an even firmer tone, the founding Knight of the Silver Hand reminded Daellin that the road was long and trying. There would be struggles and hardships. But as long as they have faith, they will eventually reach the mountain top. After natural consequences for destruction of private property, of course.
Daellin chuckled, remembering how little he understood Uther's sage words at the time. The concept of persevering through arduous hardships was foreign to the young man. The life he had known until walking through the gates of Stratholme was full of leisure and youthful ignorance. He wrapped his brain over Uther's statement that entire night, leaving him exhausted for the next day's training. As his head bobbed up and down behind the fortieth prayer book he read that day, fighting to stay awake, his mentor bellowed and made him do jumping jacks as he read.
"Bastard made me do those jumping jacks in front of everyone in the library. Gwen couldn't stop laughing. Uther the Lightbringer? More like Uther the Cockblocker," Daellin joked as a sense of calm flowed through his veins. As his body calmed, so, too, did Dawncrier. The blade ceased its radiant heat and returned to its own calm state. The garden, once afraid it would be set aflame, settled. The Blue Jay remained, chirping in approval. It now had company, a crimson red robin, hopping along the garden walls. The two birds, while still mocking Lightheart with their ability to fly away from their problems but choosing not to, turned to one another. They engaged in a song-like conversation that would have awoken the neighborhood if it was dawn.
"That is quite the nickname," a voice stated from behind. Daellin did not need to look to see who it was.
Daellin replied, "I'm sure you had plenty for the old man, Saidan."
Saidan walked past Daellin and leaned against a wall, letting the pale-green vines wrap around his body. The Grand Crusader was not wearing his full plate regalia, instead opting for a more casual attire. A rare sight for the leading Scarlet, he wore a loosely fitted red button-up shirt and beige trousers. A wide-brimmed straw hat completed the look. Lightheart could not help but be amused that the man that guided the remnants of Lordaeron was dressed so casually. What would the common folk of Tyr's Hand think if they saw Dathrohan right now? Would they applaud his ability to fit in with the common rabble or would they disapprove of the casualness in favor of a man always wearing full plate and bravado?
With a tap of the chin, Saidan said, "Uther the Workbringer, Uther the Uptightbritches, Uther the Alewhore…so on and so forth. Turalyon had one hell of one for him well before he bestowed the Lightbringer title. I dare not repeat it."
"Interesting," Daellin remarked before rising to his feet, sheathing Dawncrier in the process. He dragged his feet against the dry grass until he reached the wooden gazebo that served as the centerpiece for the garden. The gazebo, at one point painted white, was worn and missing a bench. Mimicking his superior, Daellin leaned back against one of the posts that held the decrepit structure and folded his arms.
"Countless titles came with limitless knowledge. Uther would always have the answer to any question, a verse for any problem. And he imparted us all with that knowledge, whether we knew it or not."
Daellin nodded slowly.
Saidan sighed and tossed his hands in the air. "Look, Daellin, let me get straight to the point," he began as the vines around him trembled from his massive body shaking the wall. "What I did was wrong. I should not have put you in that position. It was unfair of me to have you compromise your beliefs."
"Our beliefs," Daellin interjected.
Saidan nodded and continued, "Right. I suppose I got a little…carried away."
"Permission to speak freely, sir?"
"Granted."
Daellin pushed himself away from the gazebo and took a few steps towards his longtime ally. The two birds, the only other living things in attendance, gave their full attention to the paladin. With a stoic look, Daellin said, "I took that oath to honor all lives, even the accused and damned. You took that same oath alongside Uther."
Saidan nodded as he walked towards his companion. "Aye, I did," he mused. "Alonsus Faol himself had me utter that prayer alongside Uther. And I still love those that the Holy Light holds dear. But things change, Daellin."
Daellin raised an inquisitive brow and asked, "Change? Explain to me how our faith in the Holy Light and its tenets change?"
Saidan chuckled, catching Daellin off guard. The Grand Crusader walked past Lightheart and on to the ruined gazebo. The chipped wood paneling squealed under the immense weight as Dathrohan sauntered to one of the more intact railings. He leaned over the railing, somehow still able to support the giant beast of a man, and reached out for one of the wilted roses on the wall. The flower was minuscule in his large hand, like a single drop in the ocean.
"The Light hasn't changed, friend. You know better than anyone else how it is the one constant in our mercurial lives. No, it is our circumstances that have changed. In order to protect everything we hold near and dear, we need to…adapt," Saidan explained as he eyed the flower. He rubbed the delicate petals, making sure not to damage the flimsy flower. "We're at war, Daellin. I will do everything in my power to protect Tyr's Hand and the Holy Light. If that means a few rotten weeds must be cut to protect our beautiful garden, then so be it."
Daellin joined Saidan in the gazebo, sticking to the opposite side. As Saidan toyed with his personal flower, Daellin gleaned over the wall of vines. The vines, muted and flowerless, entrapped the wall like a series of jail bars. As he traced the webbed vines, Daellin mused, "We will do everything to protect humanity."
"Of course. I welcome the famed and devout Lightheart at my side."
"With all due respect, I ask that you do not need me at your side in those accursed dungeons. I will stand tall by the lava pits of Blackrock, I will remain resolute with the specter of undeath at our doorstep. But those dungeons…"
Saidan nodded. "Of course, friend. Request permitted."
A wave of relief fell over Daellin. He was content with his compatriot's response. However, based on Saidan's leering eyes, there was more. "Anything else, Saidan? Or shall you find some rodeo as I meditate?"
Saidan chuckled as he pinched the brim of his hat. "Just one more thing. I've arranged a meeting tonight. It would mean the world to me if you joined."
Daellin sighed. "With all due respect, I am not in the mood to be in some suffocating war room with the likes of Abbendis or Isillien. Perhaps some other time."
Saidan chuckled again as he closed the gap between the two men. With the flower still in his monstrous hand, the Grand Crusader replied, "I wouldn't blame you. Hotheads, hot room, hot summer. Too much even for me. I mean a private meeting between the two of us. Nice place, nice drinks, away from those hotheads and war duties."
Daellin paused for a moment. If this was a few weeks ago, the proposition would have been more tantalizing. Since then, the events following the attempt on his life had been nothing short but stressful. He recalled the times when the two of them would waste evenings away with booze and stories. Granted, that was years ago. Orcs were imprisoned and the dead stayed in the ground. Times had changed.
"I suppose it is time to get out," Daellin said with a hint of remorse. Even he knew spending more time wallowing in isolation in a wilted garden would only harm him further.
"Excellent. Our horses are already here," Saidan declared as he tossed the flower aside, landing in the dead grass with little fanfair.
The moment the flower landed on the ground, the Blue Jay that mocked Daellin finally flew away with a series of squawks. The robin remained, head cocked in amusement as it watched the two paladins walk away from the garden.
The horses that Saidan brought were more for ceremony than battle. They were snowwhite with flowing manes and draped with crimson silk and horse-sized tabards. Perfect for Saidan Dathrohan. The two regal horses trotted with pompous authority that made Daellin sick. He yearned for a humble, battle tested steed over these vain beasts that demanded attention.
And attention they got. As the pair trotted down the streets of Tyr's Hand, onlookers stopped whatever menial task they had to take in the glory the paladins and horses radiated. It bothered Daellin every time a citizen would stare into his swollen eyes. These were members of his flock he swore to relay the word of the Light. For the past several days, he had forsaken his duty by hiding in a dead garden. Shame flooded his cheeks as a little boy, a regular at his morning services, waved at the pastor with a gleeful smile. Daellin could only respond with a half smile and headnod.
"It never ceases to amaze me how beautiful this city is," Saidan mused as he excitedly waved to a crowd of ladies. They giggled among themselves like school girls, only adding to Saidan's hubris.
Daellin nodded. "Not nearly as beautiful as the people." His words lacked enthusiasm his younger self would boast.
Saidan bellowed in laughter with his horse joining with a powerful neigh. "There's the Daellin I know!"
Easy for you to say. I don't know that Daellin. You said it yourself- times change.
They passed the military quarter of the city with little regard. Wherever they were going, it would be far from the dull and depressing corridors that the Scarlet Crusade called home. With each passing street, it became clear to Daellin they were heading out east to the Scarlet Lands. The enclave that opened from Tyr's Hand all the way to the sprawling ocean served as a faint reminder of what Lordaeron looked like before the plague. The lush green forests and verdant fields provided a brief respite from the dead and decayed land to the west. While the merchants and artisans of Tyr's considered the city proper as their own, those that earned their keep by farming, mining, and other manual tasks called the hamlets and villages of the enclave home.
A light breeze swept across their faces, rustling a few leaves that littered the cobbled road. It was warm to the touch. The air must have pleased the horses as they nodded their majestic heads in gleeful unison. "He likes being out in the nice air," Saidan said as he patted the side of his horse. "Better out and about than being confined."
Daellin only nodded. The statement sent a dagger into his side as he put two and two together. For the past week, he was the one confined, isolated, from everything else. While the world continued and their struggles persisted, Daellin had wallowed in a garden with only a vexing Blue Jay as company. He could not tell if Saidan was purposely saying these things as a metaphor for Daellin or not. He could tell, however, that the Grand Crusader believed every word he said.
Their trot continued without further issue. The citizenry gawked at the sight of Saidan and his overpowering aura saddled atop his majestic steed. A few glanced over at Daellin, doing his best to hide in his superior's shadow. Soon enough, the compact streets and looming buildings gave way to sprawling fields and dirt paths.
As the trail dipped down, Daellin could see the expansive Forbidding Sea. The body of water was calm and tranquil, a stark contrast to the horrors and chaos that had fallen over Lordaeron. The singular port, King's Harbor, peaked behind a bend with a single ship docked. Years ago, not long after the Alliance's victory over the orcs, Daellin heard a tale from a fisherman how a nobleman procured a ship to venture out to sea in search of promises of gold and treasure. The fisherman, an old man at that point, was the only one to return. The fisherman recounted how following an unimaginably strong storm and a creature the size of the grandest cathedral that capsized the ship, he spent weeks alone on a rowboat, trapping birds for food and using its blood and his own piss for hydration. With his lifeforce seeping away and visions of his long dead family guiding him, the fisherman washed ashore. His harrowing story was all anyone needed to avoid sailing too far out east. Since the day he heard that story, Daellin swore he would never venture out to sea.
"We aren't too far," Saidan announced, interrupting the calm silence. "Up there," he pointed up towards a ridge that overlooked the Havenshire hamlet, "that's where we are going."
"Certainly far away from the rest of the Crusade," Daellin flatly said. "If I recall from our training in Stratholme, being dragged away from multiple eyes is a telltale sign of an ambush."
Saidan laughed as his horse joined. "And at those same lessons, you may recall being far away from prying eyes is a good strategy to keep conversations limited to the appropriate parties."
"Must've missed that lesson," Daellin said with a hint of life.
"You always liked to play hooky," Saidan pondered. "That reminds me of my favorite story during those early Silver Hand days. Uther had to stop his very important, very valuable lesson on establishing diplomatic relations with foreign entities to find two lost pupils. A few hours later, he found them knee deep in booze in a barn wooing a pair of sisters."
Daellin, even though he was a grown adult, blushed. It was a good story, a great one even. "Ahran swept the church's floor with the opposite end of a broom for the entire night. Uther and Alonsus put on a feast worthy of a dozen royal families just for themselves and I had to wash every dish by myself. How could I forget?"
Saidan turned, raised a knowing eyebrow, and asked, "But the worst part was apologizing to the entire order, no?"
Daellin shook his head. "I made several mistakes as a young man. It was almost a weekly event to beg forgiveness on the steps of the church. No, the worst part was disappointing Uther." His words trailed off, lost to sea.
"Daellin, if there's one thing you've never done was disappoint Uther," Saidan reassured, his words true and heartfelt. "He was many things, forgiving and understanding the most. In fact," he stopped for a second to make sure Daellin was looking in his direction, "I'm forever grateful that he bestowed his greatest qualities to you. It is like he never left."
Daellin only replied with a half-smile. While the remark was sincere, the validity of the statement missed its landing.
Kind words, friend, but Uther is gone. Gone forever.
After a few more minutes of riding, the pair rode up an incline that rested alongside the mountain range. As they got higher in elevation, the fields and villages below grew smaller. While they were only a few miles away, to Daellin, they felt like the distance was insurmountable. Suddenly, the incline leveled off and an impressive villa revealed itself. It was two stories tall with white marble walls that reflected the sun's glow. Two chimney stacks, devoid of any smoke, towered as high as some of the imposing structures in Tyr's Hand. Beside the building was an empty stable and vineyard of royal purple grapes. The smell of golden grain wafted through the air. Daellin traced the delectable smell to a humble silo that peaked its head behind the villa.
As Saidan got off his steed and tied the horse to an open post in the stable, he stated, "Nice place, huh? We came at a perfect time- the sun's rays bounce off the walls and windows perfectly."
Daellin, mimicking his companion by tying his mount, replied, "It truly is remarkable." His words were honest; this building was unlike anything in Tyr's Hand and certainly far more pompous than any homestead in Andorhal. Granted, there were not many homesteads still standing in Andorhal nowadays.
"If you're impressed by the outside, just wait until you see the inside," Saidan gloated as he waited by the front door. The front porch had a handful of rocking chairs, an enclosed fire pit, and a few fishing poles hung on the wall. The comfortable and homey appearance seemed to be at odds with the overpowering opulence coming from the villa.
With a hesitant step, Daellin waited beside Saidan. The Grand Crusader had a knowing and devilish grin, as if he knew the world's grandest secret and was just itching to reveal it. He swung the door open with a flourish akin to the gladiators that dance with bulls. The moment the solid mahogany door was open, a soothing chime welcomed them. It was awfully familiar to Daellin but he could not place a finger on it.
A look of bewilderment fell over Daellin. Saidan smirked and explained, "It's an arcane enchanted bell. The magi that installed it created a spell that would make each chime specific to each guest. It is a nice touch."
As the chime slowly died out in his ears, Daellin gleaned over the room they just entered. To say it was luxurious would be an understatement. The entryway alone was bigger than his little hole in the wall. Along the walls were masterfully painted portraits of people he had never met. Two brightly lit sconces welcomed the pair further down the entryway. As they walked, more hallways jutted out from the main walkway, each with their own countless portraits and endless paths. In a way, it was like the spiraling corridors of the Scarlet's headquarters. With the similarities, Daellin half-expected Valdelmar or Isillien to pop out from a corner to ruin his day.
The two paladins emerged into a refined dining room, adjacent to a kitchen that stretched two stories. Cabinets of beautiful redwood lined each wall all the way to the ceiling, requiring a rolling ladder to reach the upper tier. A long dining table with a dozen chairs patiently waited for a formal dinner or celebration. Each chair had a full silverware set placed, ready for a most exquisite meal. "So, what do you think?" Saidan asked as he grabbed the back of a chair and plopped down with a thud.
"You weren't lying, the inside is marvelous," Daellin answered as he paced around the table, taking in the numerous portraits and elegant furniture. "Certainly above my pay grade."
Saidan chuckled. "Maybe we need to raise taxes again so that the Crusade could afford such luxury." The Grand Crusader plopped himself down in the head chair with authority. "Don't just stand there and gawk, Daellin. C'mon, take a seat you fool."
Daellin hesitantly pulled out a chair a few spaces away from Saidan. With as much care as a mother bird in her nest, he sat down on the cushioned chair. It was unlike anything he had felt before; the sheer comfort and inherent royalty was overpowering. "Did not realize you had such a nice countryside chateau, Saidan."
"Oh, the orgies I've had here," Saidan laughed as he played with a silver fork, toying with it in a suggestive manner. "No, this was a recent Scarlet acquisition. A nobleman, richer than his own good, built this place years before the blight. The wonders someone can acquire if they finance a lucrative mining venture. Nowadays," he pointed to the grandest portrait of a balding man with a scornful look, "he has little use for it."
The portrait's stern visage was impressive. His handlebar mustache was far more-so. "Can't imagine there are nicer places, where is he now?" Daellin inquired as he traced the portrait's thick mustache with his eyes. The artist's brushstrokes masterfully portrayed just how bushy the brow was.
"Oh, he is still in the mine," Saidan slyly replied with a knowing smile. Daellin did not press the subject more. With a flick of the fork between his fingers, Saidan switched the topic. "I didn't drag you out here just to talk about some proprietor and his awful sense of facial hair. How are you, old friend?"
The question was unexpected. "Didn't you ask that already?" he asked absentmindedly.
"Aye, but that was in that garden where you've been holed up in. I find when you remove yourself from a negative environment, your true feelings show."
It was a kind sentiment, probably even true. Daellin fought back a sigh as that would show vulnerability. "Recent events have put a strain on me. My shoulders grow heavier with each day. It is one thing to live in this wasteland, it is another for the terrors to actively threaten our walls and from within."
Saidan nodded slowly, taking in his compatriot's concerns. It certainly was not the first time he listened to Lightheart go on about mortal struggles, but the renowned pastor not mentioning the Light in any capacity may have been. "But with each struggle, you have admirably stood strong. The way you defended Tyr's from the damned and that monstrosity was incredible. The way you can always manifest the Light in the face of darkness is inspiring and a good reminder of the Crusade's noble cause."
Anytime he praises the Light's, the Crusade must be included. As if scarlet had been with light since the beginning.
Saidan continued, "The Light and the Crusade will guide our path back towards Lordaeron's redemption. I know you feel the same."
"Of course, Saidan," Daellin softly muttered. "Nothing would make me happier than seeing Lordaeron thrive once again." His words rang true. Visions of a verdant Lordaeron, filled with prosperity and joy, filled his mind. Andorhal's bustling grain industry and citizenry. The rolling hills of the Eastweald. The proud city walls that stood as a monument to humanity's ingenuity. What he would do to have it all back. "With the Light, it will be done."
Saidan smiled, pleased with his friend's response. "With the Light, the blight will be undone and the Scourge will be annihilated from existence," he proudly declared. His pride sent a shockwave down the dining table and a few portraits shook uncentered.
"It would be nice if it happened in our lifetime," Daellin jokingly sighed as he sunk into his chair.
"You always make it sound like we are ancient! I may have white hair but my father worked the fields for another thirty years! C'mon, Daellin, where is your sense of youth!?" Saidan hollered.
Daellin stretched his arms in the air and rolled backwards. If he was Isillien, the entire villa would echo with the unbearable sound of cracked bones. "Waging a war against the walking dead for years will do a number on your back," he groaned with a grin.
Saidan, mimicking his fellow paladin, rolled his neck to one side, letting one pronounced crack travel down the table. "The damned have damned my neck to an early bout of brittle bones. Maybe we old men need to embrace retirement, step away from the battle lines, and settle down?" he rhetorically asked.
Daellin thought about such a life. For years he enjoyed his simplistic lifestyle as Andorhal's youthful pastor. While not every man would want the life of piety to be the centerpiece of their youth, Daellin was content. Now, into his forties and fighting a holy war against the walking dead, his body and mind were showing the inevitable signs of age. Certainly, he could keep fighting for years to come, as long as he had Dawncrier at his side and faith in his heart. Uther had defended Lordaeron well into his sixties, why couldn't he? But one part of Saidan's proposition resonated with him the most.
"Settling down sounds nice. Preferably in a less Scourge-infested world," he wondered aloud.
Saidan nodded and chuckled, "Aye, that would be the ideal. Who knows?" he raised a knowing brow, "Perhaps you can settle down with the Hearthglen gal and find some damn peace for once?"
A rose tinted blush swept across Daellin's face, highlighting his wide eyes and awkward grin. "You mean Demetria?" he asked. Saidan nodded and raised Daellin's grin with his own tenfold. "That seems a little sudden, doesn't it?" Daellin asked, somehow avoiding stumbling over his words, despite his tongue's best attempts.
Now in full blown laughter, Saidan replied, "Life comes at you fast, Lightheart! I can almost hear the bells now…"
"I think my duties for Tyr's Hand and the Scarlet Crusade ought to take priority for the time being. At least until things are…better."
"Perhaps," Saidan's voice suddenly turned from jovial to serious, "the time for change is quickly approaching."
"What do you mean?" Daellin asked, leaning in.
Saidan eyed the fork still resting in his fingers. Like letting go of a massive weight, he placed the fork down on the perfectly made silk napkin. To replace the fork, he grabbed a paring knife. "Lately, I've been thinking…it may be time for the youth to take the reins."
Daellin raised an eyebrow and asked, "Of the Crusade, you mean?"
"Yes," the Grand Crusader nodded. "The young'uns are ready for the task. Brigitte, Renault, Taelan, among others, have shown they are prepared to lead the Crusade and humanity through this war and beyond. Their faith, tenacity, and dedication are exemplary and second-to-none. Furthermore, their pedigree guarantees the masses will support them as they guide Lordaeron to a new age; lanterns of Light trudging through the darkness towards a better day."
It was an intriguing thought- the next generation of paladins taking the mantle of leadership. Just as Saidan mentioned, they were bred for this opportunity. The Abbendis, Mograine, and Fordring lineages were hallowed families that fought tooth and nail for Lordaeron for decades. Since the orcs invaded to the blight, they were paragons of Light. Daellin had learned and fought alongside each of them as knights of the Silver Hand. They were, in simplest terms, good men.
Of course, a child is not their parent. The elder Abbendis was stoic and calm in the face of fire, his daughter was hot-tempered. Alexandros Mograine smote divine justice at an unprecedented rate, Renault was more inclined to stay within protective walls. Tirion Fordring was part of the first generation of Silver Hand paladins, Taelan had to manage with the specter of his father's sins lingering over his head. Suffice to say, the next generation of paladins had much to learn.
But, despite their shortcomings, Daellin had faith. "They're a good crop. They'll handle the mantle and torch well. I'm sure they would handily defeat the Scourge and handle internal affairs."
"I'm glad you feel the same," Saidan murmured as he toyed with the knife. The blade, sharp enough to cut meat but dull enough to not cause bodily harm, glimmered as the Grand Crusader flicked it between his thick fingers. As the knife rolled between Saidan's fingers, Daellin recalled the countless times that an undead's rotten corpse would be crushed between those bullish fingers. "Speaking of internal affairs, I do have to be an ass and talk about work," Saidan continued with an exaggerated groan. For the Grand Crusader, he sure did love his job.
Daellin returned the groan back to him as he sunk back into his chair. "Figures," he muttered as his eyes locked with Saidan's.
"It is good news, I promise," Saidan began with assurance, "In the last few days, I've gotten much progress out of our guest in the chamber. She has given us names, addresses, and motives for the internal conspiracy in Tyr's. As was suspected, heretical terrorists and Cult of the Damned fanatics are lurking in the dark corners of the city, seeking to undermine our just cause."
Nothing too earth shattering, outside of specific names, I suppose.
"Thank the Light," Daellin declared with little enthusiasm. "The sooner this issue is put to rest, the sooner we can redouble our efforts against the Scourge."
"Exactly," Saidan excitedly said, a stark contrast from his compatriot, "I want to thank you for all you've done for this case, and your service to Tyr's in general. Light willing, with this new intel, we cut the weeds from its roots once and for all. Which is where you come in," he paused as he set the knife he had been toying with on the table and stood from his chair. The Grand Crusader's bulky body seemed to envelope everything in the room, from the excellently crafted portraits to the luxurious pieces of furniture tucked into every conceivable corner. "I need you to personally lead this mission to confront the heretics."
As he followed Saidan's stern eyes and broad shoulders, Daellin struggled to find any words. With a few deep breaths to help steady his body and mind, he replied, "It would be an honor, Saidan, but I am sure this task is more appropriate for some of the others-"
Dathrohan suddenly slammed a fist against the table and leaned forwards. "But it has to be you, Daellin!" His words were not of anger or frustration, as his actions would suggest, but rather of encouragement and pride. "The others will have their day in the light. But you, the most trusted man in Tyr's Hand, veteran of countless battles against orcs and undead, and a man of faith, will win the hearts of Tyr's Hand for good! No more will people be tempted by apostates down a dark path!"
The words were one part praise and one part demand. It was not the first time that the Grand Crusader wove his words in such a way. Typically they were reserved for mass gatherings of the Scarlet military might or for repetitive upper echelon meetings. Being in neither situation, Daellin felt a wave of chills go up his spine, culminating in a pang in his neck. "I hear you, Saidan, I really do," Daellin muttered weakly, "if this is something the Light has in its design, then I accept it."
A glow of satisfaction cascaded over Saidan's face. His previously stern demeanor shifted to that of joy. "There you are, Daellin," he pleasantly said. "I knew you had it in ya'."
That makes one of us.
Saidan's face once again shifted. The joy was replaced by a grim visage. "The black sheep hide themselves not too far from here, on the outskirts of Havenshire. I will assign some of my best men under your command to flush out the rats. I cannot stress this enough, Daellin- the heretics must be disposed of with great prejudice."
His tone was foreign and familiar; the voice of a military man barking orders from an old friend's mouth. Sweat was pooling around his hairline as his body trembled. The display of passion was enough to rattle a man of any constitution to his core. Daellin, included.
"Of course," Daellin softly muttered as his eyes wandered away from Saidan, resting on a fireplace on the opposite side of the dining room. "The sins of the wicked will be snuffed out with the flames of righteousness." The words rang hollow; sincere in idea but shallow in execution.
But it brought Saidan glee. His eyes lit up like a spectacle of fireworks. He opened his arms as if going in for a hug from a friend he had not seen in ages. "Blessed are you, Lightheart! Blessed!" His words were full and true. "I'll have you stay at this villa overnight and conduct the operation before dawn. The detachment will arrive with your equipment and horse. Daellin, when this is all over, and the conspirators and apostates alike are through, I promise you this-" he paused as he leaned over the table, bridging the gap between the two. His hulking body stretched near to Daellin, sweat cascading on the polished wood. "You will get to enjoy retirement and this villa will be yours. You can go about your days as a pastor and shagging with the Hearthglen girl."
A small glimmer of hope sprung within Daellin's chest. While his eyes did not beam with ecstasy like his compatriot, it did swell with anticipation. Retirement? No more worrying about fighting? Just…doing what I love? The thoughts were captivating, almost tantalizing. Daellin stood up from his chair, held out a hand, and declared, "With the Light's blessing, may this operation prove to be the end of our investigation."
With a wide smile, Saidan answered Daellin's outstretched hand with his own and replied, "I am sure of it, friend."
Saidan did not linger around for much longer; there was always something the Grand Crusader of the Scarlet Crusade had to attend to. As the dimming day flirted with dusk, Daellin found himself standing outside of the villa, looking over the darkening land. The view was astonishing. The growing shadows stretched over farmhouses and villages like interlocking fingers in a lovers' grasp. A few lights flickered in Havenshire as fewer small blots walked the dirt roads and instead returned to the safety of their homes. Daellin recalled Saidan's words that one of those buildings housed conspirators that had been his bane for weeks now. He wondered which one it was. Was it the modest tavern that held nightly jubilations? Or was it the puny shack that a family of a dozen called home?
As the shadows grew longer and more lights flickered, Daellin decided it was best to retire for the evening. He had a long day ahead of him. As he walked around the villa's perimeter, making sure that everything was in order, Daellin pondered on what life would be like here. Simple, but stable. Clam, but secure. He emulated what the farmfolk would do on a nightly basis, as if practicing for the next chapter in his life. Saidan took both horses with him so he did not have to worry about that. The silo was already locked from any opportunist and the vineyard was well-watered. He felt robbed that these simple tasks were already taken care of, but it did not bother him for long. Exhaustion was setting in, so he went for the front entrance. Just like before, once the door opened and he had one foot inside, the familiar chime filled the halls and his soul.
But something else accompanied it this time.
"Hi, Daellin."
The words, smooth as silk and as reassuring as the next day's sun, stabbed Daellin from behind. He turned to see Demetria standing as graceful as ever. Instead of her flowing robes of white and gold, she wore a puffy, simple dress that just passed her knees. Her ashen hair fell haphazardly, clearly not combed. But what drew Daellin the most was her eyes. Gloomy, murky.
"Demetria, I- I'm sorry," he stammered, skipping past pleasantries. "I should've said something…to you…"
She shook her head, lowering it slightly. "It is alright," she softly muttered. "Saidan told me everything. He told me you just needed some time alone."
How much Saidan told her briefly crossed his mind. Did he tell her of his heroics defending Tyr's? Did he tell her of the terrifying torture in the chambers? Did he tell her how he wallowed in a dying garden all by his lonesome? "Yeah, I suppose I did," was all he could muster.
"Didn't your mother teach you manners?" she asked. Daellin was caught off-guard by the question. Demetria continued, "You're supposed to let the lady inside when it gets dark." She laughed and a glowing smile grew across her pale face.
Daellin responded to the laugh in kind and ushered her in. He noticed her pause for a moment, taking in her individualized chime that welcomed her inside the villa. As he gave Demetria a brief tour of the villa, he noted how enthralled she was with every corner of the place. Her eyes danced from one knick-knack to the next. An unused porcelain vase, not much paler than her, drew her fascination as she traced the elegant designs with her finger. She tossed herself in royal blue curtains with an intricate magenta floral pattern that hung in front of the oversized windows that presented a wonderful view. She was enthused by a series of children's toys stored away in a chest; the miniature knights, hand painted and neatly ordered like a military column, being the most interesting.
After a few minutes, she cooled down and sat in a chair by the fireplace. The chair, regal and imposing in size, swallowed her in its lavish blend of cotton and leather. Daellin stoked the budding flames, letting the embers take hold of the kindling.
"A truly amazing home," Demetria gushed as she gazed into the growing fire. "The Crusade must be spoiled to the bones."
"You have no idea," Daellin replied as he sank into a chair.
The pair sat next to each other with a small table separating the two. An uncorked bottle of wine innocently stood on the table, eager for someone to initiate a night of celebration or misery. A younger Daellin would have already broken the ice with the wine and regaled about younger, better days. Instead, he was fixated with the growing fire. The flames danced, less so a joyous jaunt but more a somber swing. As the dance flickered and spun, it morphed into, as he perceived it, a series of house-like shapes. As the fire grew in intensity, so, too, did the shapes. Daellin shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment. When he looked back into the fireplace, the fire had returned to a series of lazy dancers, flickering and snapping with each burnt twig.
"Daellin," Demetria began with a weighted breath as she turned her attention to the paladin, "I know we've only known each other for a short time but I hope you know that if something troubles you, you can come to me."
Lightheart stifled a sarcastic chuckle. I have many troubles, Demetria. They are my burdens to carry. He knew he had to say something, anything, to the priestess. "I know, Demetria. I know. I should've gone to you," he said, almost pleading. To whom he was pleading to, he was not sure.
"What made you…" she paused, seemingly afraid to continue the thought, "What did you see?"
"The unspoken parts of war. The parts that not even the Light touches."
Demetria understood. She did not press the issue. "Well, the past is in the past. Under the Light's grace, we press on to the next dawn," she stated with a smile.
"Sounds like a passage I wrote," Daellin chuckled as he peered into the growing fire. The embers were in a full roar as the kindling gave way to the logs.
Demetria smiled and replied, "I may have talked with a few locals about your prayer services."
The statement swelled the fire and his heart. A childish smirk grew on his face from the implied praise. It was reassuring that his flock remembered his faithful messages. "I'm glad they remembered my words," he grinned. "May they take them to heart."
"You should've seen their faces light up, Daellin. They've most certainly taken them to heart, all because of you," Demetria beamed as she swirled a finger on the cork of the wine bottle. Perhaps she was looking to continue the brief merriment enjoyed at the Top N' Bottom Buns days ago. Perhaps she was simply absentmindedly fiddling with her digits to pass the time.
A few quiet moments passed with only the crack of the fire disturbing the silence. Dusk had given way to the chilling embrace of the evening. It was unusually cool for a summer evening, so Daellin was thankful for constructing the fire. Granted, the villa was surely well insulated with layers of thick wool within the walls; a luxury that most did not enjoy. Good company was another luxury that had grown increasingly rare. This house was filled with tension a few hours ago, brimming with expectations and duty. Now, with Demetria at his side, the air was peaceful. There were no intense conversations about war, conspiracies, or leadership. There was only a serene sense of calm.
The calm silence did not last. "Saidan mentioned to me," Demetria softly said, "that you will be leading a mission tomorrow morning."
All roads lead back to work. To duty.
"Yes," he sighed, disappointed that she had to end the serenity. "He has a lead on the conspirators. Somewhere hiding in Havenshire."
She nodded pensively. "I pray this will all end soon."
All? Interesting choice of words. Daellin did not elaborate further. If she asked anything, he would respectfully answer, but he would not initiate further conversation about the mission or the conspiracy. The last few weeks had been filled with trials and tribulations, in addition to the already wretched state of humanity. But if there was one consolation, one bright spot in the spiraling abyss, it was Demetria. Her grace, composure, and faithful dedication was a beacon in the torrent. He wished nothing more than to have this peaceful moment with her. But why did it have to be just this moment? Why could it not be more?
A sudden wave of confidence filled Daellin's lungs. "When this is all over, I pray we find our peace," he declared.
The fire replied to him first. It snapped, dislodging the logs and spewing ash and smoke at Daellin. He overdramatically flailed as if he was under a volley of arrows, swinging his hands in the air to swipe away the smoke from his face. It looked like when a toddler tried to swim in Darrowmere for the first time.
Demetria laughed, "I pray the fireplace finds peace!"
After another swipe of the hand, Daellin prevailed over the seemingly unstoppable might of smoke. He awkwardly chuckled as he brushed away any soot from his face. While his face was not stained with ash, it certainly was stained with a blush of embarrassment. "Not my proudest moment," he half-chuckled.
Demetria grinned as she stood up from her chair and leaned close to Daellin. With her this close, he admired the contrast between her pale complexion and her crimson lips. She put on lipstick today. Without warning, she wiped a thumb across his forehead and playfully said, "You missed a spot."
Their bright smiles lit up the dark night.