The frothy blue waves lapped at the white-sand shore, their methodical rise and fall slowly lulling a prone figure to sleep. The figure was a woman, lying on the beach, a thick towel placed beneath her to keep off the gritty sand. Above her rose sheer cliffs of rough gray granite, vines and small trees were growing among the many ledges and cracks. Far above even the jungle topped cliffs rested a cloudless blue sky, reaching down to become entangled with the ocean below, the horizon lost in the rich vastness of sapphire waves. The cool, salty, ocean breeze slipped across the shore and the woman breathed deeply of its strong but pleasant odor. The swish, swash of the waves continued as the sun lazily made its way down the sky, setting out its purple rays of twilight for any who might see.
Finally, the woman got up slowly and gracefully, like a cat, and rolled up her beach towel. With the towel roll under one arm, she set off down the beach. Night had almost completely set, and the noises from the jungle above calmed her nerves. Little night insects were out and the seagulls were flying back to their nests, everything was well with the world. By now the stars had twinkled into existence, banishing the soft light of twilight for the subtle glow of starlight. The moon was almost full, but waning from the huge silver globe it had been only several nights before.
Then, above the call off insects and hoot of nocturnal birds, something caught the woman's ear. It was a sound so slight that it practically wasn't even there. In fact, more than a sound, it was a lack of sound; it was the sound of the disruption of waves. The woman stopped and her shadowy frame noticeably bent foreword, throwing all its senses out over the sea. The wait paid off as the slap of water on the side of a boat became more and more audible. Out of the gloom came a small little wooden boat, its sail shredded and from what the woman could see, appeared to contain no pilot. Like a pirate ghost ship the vessel came floating over the waves, its barnacle encrusted sides a testament to how long the tiny craft had been at sea. With a crunch of sand the boat was pushed up onto the beach by a helpful wave, and came to rest with a sigh. The whole situation had caught the woman by surprise, and it was not until she had taken a few deep breaths that she was able to approach the craft to see what it may contain. With the light of the moon to guide her, the woman peeked over the side of the boat and found nothing but a bundle of rags. It actually disappointed her, after all the dramatics she had hoped to find something of interest, but as she turned to leave, the pile of rags coughed.
Her hands moved faster than the eye, and instantly a light flared up over both her and the boat. She was in the boat in a second and tearing away the rags to reveal what might have once been a man lying underneath.
His skin was dry as leather from the long days at sea, his hide tanned from the salt in the air and waves. His hair and beard grew raggedly about the long white scars which crisscrossed his scalp and face. Where his left eye should have been, only a mass of scar tissue remained; the front of his nose had been chopped off, revealing the upside down heart within.
However, the woman could see these were all old wounds which he had recovered from, what worried her most was the thinness of the man. She could not be sure, but the woman estimated that he had not eaten anything for a very long time, water, she was sure, had probably been sparse as well. She thought about going to get help, but she did not want to leave the man alone. So, being as gentle as she could, she picked up his silent form, and began to walk back down the beach in the direction she had been headed.
He was thinner than she had guessed; she could count his ribs beneath her fingers, and he was lighter than any human should be.
Carrying her charge was an almost effortless exercise, and she made good time. Turning on a point of rocks she started down the beach which shot off in a totally new direction. There, carved into the very cliffs themselves sat a house. Lamps had been placed at many of the windows, so that a warm glow filtered down onto the beach below, guiding the woman's path.
She walked up the stone steps carved from the very rock itself, up to a heavy wood and iron clad door. She lifted up the heavy door knocker and let it fall back with a crash that resounded off the stone. Almost instantly there was the sound of bolts being opened from the inside, and then a splinter of light shown out as the door creaked open an inch. A shadow blocked the light for a moment as someone stared out to see who was there, then the gate swung open wide to reveal the thin, pale, but noble face of a High Elf.
"I'm so glad to see you're save milady," he said, "I was getting worried, and was about ready to go out looking for you."
"Well," the woman replied, "I'm here aren't I?"
"Yes…I took the liberty of laying the lady's dinner out, so…" said the elven butler as he noticed the prostrate form lying in front of the woman where she had placed him.
"Oh yes," she said, seeing the butler's unease, "I found him down on the beach, his boat washed up with the tide. He's obviously been tortured and I just couldn't leave him there to die…do you think you could help him Lyoss?"
The butler knelt down and looked over the unconscious man.
"The lady knows I have some skill as a healer," he said, "but this man is very far gone…very close to death. I will do what I can, but I make no promises. Now, if you will allow me to carry him up to the guest room your dinner is waiting for you on the veranda, and not getting any warmer I might imagine."
The woman laughed, it was a very pretty laugh, "I knew I could count on you Lyoss."
"I only try to serve as best I can milady," was the only reply as the elven servant carried the body out of the main hall and up a set of spiral stairs.
****
The sun was just peaking in through the open window, a warm ocean breeze wafted up to the room, rustling the blankets on a large bed. The bed was in a room built by a person who had not only been obviously rich, but had possessed something even rarer, taste. The floor was polished stone, as were the walls. A chair and desk sat off to one side, as did a stone basin that was filled with pure clean water. A beautiful couch sat against another wall, but it was the window that drew the eye. It was quite large and surrounded by intricately carved stone, but the view was the most magnificent part of it. It looked out over the vast beach and wide ocean even as the sun rose above it, setting the water off to sparkle like glass.
Now the silk sheets were moving all on their own, with no help from the breeze at all. A hand reached out and pulled back the sheets, revealing the body of a man. He looked around the room, obviously confused, but he did find a clean tunic lying folded on the couch. This he donned without much thought, and tied it off with a silk sash.
There did not seem to be any doors in this place, only marble-inlaid passages that let the cool breeze blow throughout the house. The man could smell the sea from here at the top of the spiral staircase, but also spices, and flowers he did not know the names of. With a noticeable limp he made his way down the staircase, barely even looking at the exceptional stone work which surrounded him.
Finally, breathing a little heavily, he stepped out from the stairwell into a large, but not oversized hall. Here the stones had been set in the floor to make very specific patterns which could grip the eye and keep a person busy for hours just trying to figure out where one single line ended, or at least where it began. 'Elf handiwork,' the man thought to himself as he moved his head to take in the rest of his surroundings, but was stopped by a sudden movement which he caught out of the corner of his one remaining eye. His warped and twisted body could move surprisingly fast, and he used this speed to turn around so quickly that the elven butler actually looked a little amazed.
"Who are you?" the man growled between scarred and misshapen lips. By now the elf had regained his cool composure, and only cocked an eyebrow at the man's request.
"I am called Lyoss," replied the elf, "but since you are a stranger and I was the one who nursed you back to health, I think I might have your name in return."
The man was breathing heavily now, his back slumped as if from a great weight.
"My name…" he tried, but was caught in a fit of hacking. By the time he wiped the spittle from his chin and raised his head another figure stood before him. It was an incredibly beautiful woman in a light-blue silk dress, tied around the waist with a golden sash. However, it was her electric blue-white eyes that caught one's attention.
Lyoss caught the look of shock on the man's face, but misinterpreted it as awe.
"This," the elf began, "is…" he was interrupted by a wave of the woman's hand.
"There will be time enough for introductions later Lyoss," she said, "but for now I can smell breakfast cooking and I think our guest may be hungry."
****
Ten minutes later the stranger and his hostess were seated on the open stone veranda overlooking the crystal blue sea. A warm breeze was blowing in off the ocean. Around the two, wonderful and exotic flowers grew in carefully tended nooks and crannies carved directly out of the cliff wall, as was the entire house.
Before them was a wooden table laden with fried eggs and freshly baked rolls with butter. Fruit had been carried out in bowls with an entire smoked salmon on a platter with sour cream garnish.
"I'm sorry," the woman said, softly smiling, "but Lyoss doesn't often get a chance to cook for anyone else besides me, and I'm afraid my tastes are a little simpler than this."
"Do not apologize my lady," the man said, some remnant of what he'd once called manners the only thing keeping him from gorging himself on the banquet before him. "It has been a very long time since I last ate anything…and I cannot remember the last time I feasted on such a fine meal. Lyoss, who'd been standing in the shadow of the doorway, partially to wait on his lady, and partially to make sure she wasn't left alone with the stranger, blushed ever so slightly with pride.
"Now," said the woman, "I do hope you'll eat your fill and enjoy."
The man did eat his fill, and only barely avoided using his bare hands to more quickly stuff the food into his mouth. The lady ate very little, but sat serenely and waited until the man leaned back in his chair, wiped off the crumbs, and let out a long sigh of contentment.
Lyoss, taking his silent queue, swooped in and cleared away the dishes only to disappear back into the house.
The woman got up slowly and motioned for the man to follow her. She led him around a corner and down a thin flight of stairs onto another floor of the house, a garden. Colorful flowers, sweet smelling herbs, and a myriad of trees and shrubs seemed to almost instantly surround them and embrace them.
"This is where I like to come and think," said the woman. "Lyoss takes care of most of the house, but this garden is mine…please," she said, "walk with me." It did not take the man long to realize that the garden actually consisted of several stone terraces all interconnected with fern-lined steps. The woman eventually led him up to the very top terrace, where a fountain and pond where the main attractions. The water ran out of the pool as a tiny stream and fell away down into the garden as a series of waterfalls and irrigation trenches. The woman sat down on the stone ledge overlooking the cool pool and let her finger tips trail over its icy surface. The man found a stone bench opposite her and set himself down in it.
The woman looked up and stared straight into the man's eyes. It was a glare to make even the strongest man flinch, but this one took it all in stride, taking her stare and giving out his own one-eyed version. Finally she turned away, disconcerted by the single, white, unblinking orb.
"I brought you here," she began, "because when I found you I somehow felt that I had once known you…from somewhere. I know that it may sound silly, but that is basically why you are here…and because Lyoss, despite his pessimistic surmise of your condition, is really quite an amazing doctor." She smiled to herself, "oh he would be so happy to hear me say that." She looked back at the man, "he pretends to scorn compliments, but I know he secretly enjoys being praised for his skills. Now," she continued, "you're probably wondering who I am…"
"Lady Jaina Proudmoore," replied the man, attempting to smile but only managing to curl half of his mouth.
The woman looked surprised, "Why yes," she said, but…but how did you know. I know I said that I thought I might have once seen you, but truly I do not remember ever meeting you before."
"As you said," the man replied, "you though you had once met me, and you have…but my long years spent in shadow have no doubt changed me even more than I thought. I was once known as Captain Drainur of the Royal Guard. You know me…I was the second in command of your one time love. I was the lieutenant of the traitor Arthas."
Jaina gasped, her hand flying to her mouth to hide her shock. She wanted so very much to run over to this man and demand…something…she could not be sure. For so long she'd thought that she'd left that part of her life far behind, but now she realized that she had only been hiding her true feelings…she wanted to know so very much…so very very much.
However, she held herself back and allowed the man to continue.
"Please," she said, "tell me what happened…tell me everything, I beg you…perhaps you can shed some light on why Arthas did what he did. It has haunted me for so very long." So the man started to talk.
"It all started when the reports of the plague began coming in. Since being named chief of the Royal Guards several years before when I first came out of the military academy Arthas and I were friends, and I could see how troubled he was with the rumors.
He'd always wanted to prove himself, more than anything else in the world he wanted to show his father…and Uther, that he deserved the throne. But the wars were over and the Orcs soundly beaten, there was no one left to fight. So, as you can imagine, the messengers not only brought news of suffering, but that of hope. Arthas though that if he stopped the plague, whatever it was, that he would finally be deemed worthy to someday be king. If he'd only known how highly his father and Uther already thought of him he might have avoided the destiny that awaited him. The first chance he got he asked his father to send him to investigate. His father could not forbid his newly declared Paladin son this thing, but he did send Uther to keep an eye on the boy. Arthas loved Uther like a son loves his father, but he still resented the man's presence, believing that it unnecessary…and that it might lower his own role in the curing of the plague. So, to counter this to some extent he brought me with him. I was only too happy to fight along side these great Heroes and came gladly.
However, things started out badly from the very beginning…as you no doubt know Jaina. The renegade Orcs severely shook Arthas' faith when they sacrificed those prisoners to the demons, and when Uther chided him for his anger, well…let's just say that the seeds of chaos were already sown.
He tracked down the spreader of the plague, a powerful necromancer named Kel'Thuzad, and killed him, but the damage was already done and the evil mage's words had shaken Arthas' resolve even more. You were there Jaina, but after you two broke up I suppose he never felt that he could open up to you…and so I often ended up being his confidant. I did not mind really, Arthas was proud yes…but not a bad man. In fact he was one of the most decent humans I've ever met…before he turned that is.
Then came the battle of Hearthglen. The undead armies crashed against our defenses again and again, but we held them off. Arthas himself would often wade into the sea of sickly green blood and rotting limbs to deal out justice amongst the foul abominations with his war-hammer. He had hoped to win the battle single handedly, but the enemy was too great in number and we looked sure to loose until Uther rode in at the last second with a legion of knights at his back.
Instead of appreciating the victory Arthas only resented Uther all the more…and truth be told I did not blame him. Uther had become old and though he loved Arthas like a son, he truly did not know how to discipline the boy. His words with Arthas after the battle were meant to sooth, but they only succeeded in stirring up anger in Arthas' proud heart. After that Arthas became determined to find the source of the plague and destroy it.
When he found that the plague had reached Stratholme he did not know what to do. The order to purge the city was the most difficult he had ever given…he told me himself afterwards. He had hoped that Uther would understand, but the old Paladin would not listen to reason. If he had fought at Hearthglen he would have realized that what Arthas was proposing was salvation, not damnation for those poor citizens. Instead, he rebelled against Arthas and so the Prince relieved Uther of his command.
I sometimes wonder what Uther might have tried to do had Arthas backed down…but there was nothing else to do but purge the city, and all of Arthas' troops knew it. The Prince was trapped you see, his mentor, friend, and commander was directly disobeying an order that Arthas had given out of love for his people. There was nothing else he could do but pull rank and relive Uther of his command. But perhaps the single greatest blow was not delivered by the aged Paladin; it was given when you turned your back on him.
With Uther's troops gone Arthas no longer had the force to properly cull Stratholme, and hundreds of innocent and plague-free victims were caught in the cross-fire between Arthas and the Dread Lord Mal'Ganis.
After that Arthas no longer cared about anything but revenge. He stopped talking to me…his only real friend in the world.
We left for Northrend…oh if only Arthas had been able to let go so much sorrow might have been avoided, but it was too late, and the Lich King's trap was already closing.
You see Arthas was changing, we all could see it. He was becoming colder and more self-centered. He tried to hide it from us, but we all knew that he would not think for a second about sacrificing us if it meant he might achieve victory. Only his undying strength and courage kept us together in the cold north.
Although I know we fought many battles, the entire campaign seems little more than a black and death-filled blur.
However, it did not take us long to realize that we were hopelessly outnumbered, and when those brutish marauders burned our ships, all hope was stricken from our souls…including Arthas' I believe. There was only one chance left if Arthas was to take his vengeance, and that was the mighty runeblade Frostmourne. Muradin Bronzebeard, the dwarven commander who we met on the shores of Northrend and whose forces we saved as well, died in the sword's recovery. Afterwards, with Arthas at our head wielding the mighty Frostmourne, we were able to crush Mal'Ganis' forces. Arthas himself struck down the Dread Lord, but it was far too late for any vengeance to sooth Arthas' twisted soul. The sword did something to him I think, made him different…drove him mad.
He disappeared into the wilderness and we were left to fend for ourselves. We built a base and defended it as well as we could, but just as we had destroyed Mal'Ganis and his army, so the enemy replaced itself with new horrors which constantly barraged us with their terrible might.
It was not long before our castle fell. We had no way to get supplies or help, and I think that Lordaeron had all but forgotten us.
When our walls were finally breached we had planned on fighting to the death, but the ground around us erupted in a disgusting green fog. I think it must have knocked us all out because the next thing I knew I was lying in a dungeon. The things that they did to me in that place…they are too terrible to relate in front of a lady, but you can see the results for yourself.
However, perhaps the single most terrible shock came when Arthas himself came to watch one of my comrades being tortured to death. He actually appeared to enjoy it! It was then that true despair for the first time gripped my heart.
One by one my friends died around me, until I was the only one left. I would have surely been next, but something happened then that sent the entire dungeon into an uproar. I never found out what it was, but there appeared to be infighting between the real undead and the demons living in that place. In the chaos I was forgotten and even managed to escape. For months I walked the barren wasteland until I reached the coast. It was then that the gods finally decided to show me mercy, for there I found a small boat which had drifted up onto land. It was actually one of the small life-rafts we had carried with us from Lordaeron. Somehow this single one had survived the burning, and it was with this that I set sail for home. But the god's pleasure soon turned to wrath, and I was caught in the master of all storms. Somehow I survived, but I had no food or water and the keel was broken, so there was nothing left to do but drift and wait for the inevitable.
I lost coherence around three days after the storm, and it was not until I woke up in your house that I even knew I was still alive."
Drainur's voice had risen and fallen with the rhythm of his tale. He had hesitated in spots, at times even stopped, but Jaina had remained motionless the entire time, not asking questions or offering information. Now her eyes were watery as tears began to roll down her cheeks.
"Oh you poor man," she said, it was all too much for her. "I can still hardly believe what Arthas did."
"Did?" asked Drainur.
"After he turned he came back and killed his father and Uther. The Silverhand were hunted down and slaughtered by Arthas' own hand. He led the undead army that destroyed the High Elven land of Quel'Thalas, Lyoss is one of the few survivors. He even crushed the Kiron'Tor and their city of Dalaran. Lordaeron itself was left in ruins, and I was forced to take what survivors I could across the sea to this place, Kalimdor."
Drainur could only shake his head, "it would have been better if we'd all just died on the plains of Northrend, and yet…" he continued, "I cannot find it in me to condemn the man."
"He is no man!" snapped Jaina, "he is no longer anything remotely human. The Lich King took Arthas' soul and turned my love into a monster!"
"But you see?" said Drainur, "he was willing to give anything to defend his people. When his friends turned on him…well it probably felt very similar to the way you felt when you first learned of his betrayal. Then, when the chance came to take revenge, he was still willing to give anything for it, and he did. He had no way of knowing that Frostmourne was forged by Ner'zhul, or that his soul would become forfit to the Lich King after he took up the fell blade. The sword was doom disguised as salvation, and Arthas was only a victim of its evil trap. He has done foul things yes…if what you say is true, and I have no doubt that it is, he will never be able to correct the wrongs he has committed even if he were given an eternity to do so. Yet he was driven into that trap and controlled by another after the steel jaws shut…so how can you blame him for what he did? Look at my body, it was tortured continually for longer than I can even remember, probably at Arthas' own command, but I knew it was only the Lich King speaking through Arthas' body. A day never went by when I did not curse Uther for being the fool that he was, or, and I beg your pardon milady, but you as well for betraying him when he needed you most."
Jaina was still crying, but had managed to get it under control. She nodded, "yes," she said, "I hated myself for leaving him at Stratholme's gates, but I didn't know what else to do." She dried the last of the tears and looked up, "I think I almost hoped that I would die doing battle with the Burning Legion. I almost did, but at the last moment I escaped Archimonde's grasp…I sometimes wonder if I did the right thing. After the battle the few human survivors voted to stay in Kalimdor and build a new city under the protection of the Night Elves…I'm sorry Drainur, you probably have no idea what I'm talking about."
Drainur waved what was left of his left hand in the air, "I care little, please continue."
"Anyway, they tried to elect me as their queen, but I refused. As a way to show their gratitude they built me this house, and Lyoss stayed behind to take care of me. Since then I've been mostly living alone. The leader of the Orcish Horde, Thrall, sometimes comes to visit me. His people have split up, some returning to Lordaeron and some staying behind. The two Night Elf leaders sometimes stop by, but other than that and Lyoss I live alone…and that's the way I like it."
Breakfast had been long, and had not been finished until well past noon since Drainur had woken up late as it was. By now the sun was sinking past the cliffs, setting fire to the jungle above them.
"Milady," a voice called down to the pair from a window above, "dinner is almost ready."
"Suddenly," replied Jaina, "I'm not very hungry."
"I think I'll just go to bed myself," said Drainur.
The two rose and walked from the garden, leaving the soft sound of splashing water behind as night set in on the coast of Kalimdor.
Finally, the woman got up slowly and gracefully, like a cat, and rolled up her beach towel. With the towel roll under one arm, she set off down the beach. Night had almost completely set, and the noises from the jungle above calmed her nerves. Little night insects were out and the seagulls were flying back to their nests, everything was well with the world. By now the stars had twinkled into existence, banishing the soft light of twilight for the subtle glow of starlight. The moon was almost full, but waning from the huge silver globe it had been only several nights before.
Then, above the call off insects and hoot of nocturnal birds, something caught the woman's ear. It was a sound so slight that it practically wasn't even there. In fact, more than a sound, it was a lack of sound; it was the sound of the disruption of waves. The woman stopped and her shadowy frame noticeably bent foreword, throwing all its senses out over the sea. The wait paid off as the slap of water on the side of a boat became more and more audible. Out of the gloom came a small little wooden boat, its sail shredded and from what the woman could see, appeared to contain no pilot. Like a pirate ghost ship the vessel came floating over the waves, its barnacle encrusted sides a testament to how long the tiny craft had been at sea. With a crunch of sand the boat was pushed up onto the beach by a helpful wave, and came to rest with a sigh. The whole situation had caught the woman by surprise, and it was not until she had taken a few deep breaths that she was able to approach the craft to see what it may contain. With the light of the moon to guide her, the woman peeked over the side of the boat and found nothing but a bundle of rags. It actually disappointed her, after all the dramatics she had hoped to find something of interest, but as she turned to leave, the pile of rags coughed.
Her hands moved faster than the eye, and instantly a light flared up over both her and the boat. She was in the boat in a second and tearing away the rags to reveal what might have once been a man lying underneath.
His skin was dry as leather from the long days at sea, his hide tanned from the salt in the air and waves. His hair and beard grew raggedly about the long white scars which crisscrossed his scalp and face. Where his left eye should have been, only a mass of scar tissue remained; the front of his nose had been chopped off, revealing the upside down heart within.
However, the woman could see these were all old wounds which he had recovered from, what worried her most was the thinness of the man. She could not be sure, but the woman estimated that he had not eaten anything for a very long time, water, she was sure, had probably been sparse as well. She thought about going to get help, but she did not want to leave the man alone. So, being as gentle as she could, she picked up his silent form, and began to walk back down the beach in the direction she had been headed.
He was thinner than she had guessed; she could count his ribs beneath her fingers, and he was lighter than any human should be.
Carrying her charge was an almost effortless exercise, and she made good time. Turning on a point of rocks she started down the beach which shot off in a totally new direction. There, carved into the very cliffs themselves sat a house. Lamps had been placed at many of the windows, so that a warm glow filtered down onto the beach below, guiding the woman's path.
She walked up the stone steps carved from the very rock itself, up to a heavy wood and iron clad door. She lifted up the heavy door knocker and let it fall back with a crash that resounded off the stone. Almost instantly there was the sound of bolts being opened from the inside, and then a splinter of light shown out as the door creaked open an inch. A shadow blocked the light for a moment as someone stared out to see who was there, then the gate swung open wide to reveal the thin, pale, but noble face of a High Elf.
"I'm so glad to see you're save milady," he said, "I was getting worried, and was about ready to go out looking for you."
"Well," the woman replied, "I'm here aren't I?"
"Yes…I took the liberty of laying the lady's dinner out, so…" said the elven butler as he noticed the prostrate form lying in front of the woman where she had placed him.
"Oh yes," she said, seeing the butler's unease, "I found him down on the beach, his boat washed up with the tide. He's obviously been tortured and I just couldn't leave him there to die…do you think you could help him Lyoss?"
The butler knelt down and looked over the unconscious man.
"The lady knows I have some skill as a healer," he said, "but this man is very far gone…very close to death. I will do what I can, but I make no promises. Now, if you will allow me to carry him up to the guest room your dinner is waiting for you on the veranda, and not getting any warmer I might imagine."
The woman laughed, it was a very pretty laugh, "I knew I could count on you Lyoss."
"I only try to serve as best I can milady," was the only reply as the elven servant carried the body out of the main hall and up a set of spiral stairs.
****
The sun was just peaking in through the open window, a warm ocean breeze wafted up to the room, rustling the blankets on a large bed. The bed was in a room built by a person who had not only been obviously rich, but had possessed something even rarer, taste. The floor was polished stone, as were the walls. A chair and desk sat off to one side, as did a stone basin that was filled with pure clean water. A beautiful couch sat against another wall, but it was the window that drew the eye. It was quite large and surrounded by intricately carved stone, but the view was the most magnificent part of it. It looked out over the vast beach and wide ocean even as the sun rose above it, setting the water off to sparkle like glass.
Now the silk sheets were moving all on their own, with no help from the breeze at all. A hand reached out and pulled back the sheets, revealing the body of a man. He looked around the room, obviously confused, but he did find a clean tunic lying folded on the couch. This he donned without much thought, and tied it off with a silk sash.
There did not seem to be any doors in this place, only marble-inlaid passages that let the cool breeze blow throughout the house. The man could smell the sea from here at the top of the spiral staircase, but also spices, and flowers he did not know the names of. With a noticeable limp he made his way down the staircase, barely even looking at the exceptional stone work which surrounded him.
Finally, breathing a little heavily, he stepped out from the stairwell into a large, but not oversized hall. Here the stones had been set in the floor to make very specific patterns which could grip the eye and keep a person busy for hours just trying to figure out where one single line ended, or at least where it began. 'Elf handiwork,' the man thought to himself as he moved his head to take in the rest of his surroundings, but was stopped by a sudden movement which he caught out of the corner of his one remaining eye. His warped and twisted body could move surprisingly fast, and he used this speed to turn around so quickly that the elven butler actually looked a little amazed.
"Who are you?" the man growled between scarred and misshapen lips. By now the elf had regained his cool composure, and only cocked an eyebrow at the man's request.
"I am called Lyoss," replied the elf, "but since you are a stranger and I was the one who nursed you back to health, I think I might have your name in return."
The man was breathing heavily now, his back slumped as if from a great weight.
"My name…" he tried, but was caught in a fit of hacking. By the time he wiped the spittle from his chin and raised his head another figure stood before him. It was an incredibly beautiful woman in a light-blue silk dress, tied around the waist with a golden sash. However, it was her electric blue-white eyes that caught one's attention.
Lyoss caught the look of shock on the man's face, but misinterpreted it as awe.
"This," the elf began, "is…" he was interrupted by a wave of the woman's hand.
"There will be time enough for introductions later Lyoss," she said, "but for now I can smell breakfast cooking and I think our guest may be hungry."
****
Ten minutes later the stranger and his hostess were seated on the open stone veranda overlooking the crystal blue sea. A warm breeze was blowing in off the ocean. Around the two, wonderful and exotic flowers grew in carefully tended nooks and crannies carved directly out of the cliff wall, as was the entire house.
Before them was a wooden table laden with fried eggs and freshly baked rolls with butter. Fruit had been carried out in bowls with an entire smoked salmon on a platter with sour cream garnish.
"I'm sorry," the woman said, softly smiling, "but Lyoss doesn't often get a chance to cook for anyone else besides me, and I'm afraid my tastes are a little simpler than this."
"Do not apologize my lady," the man said, some remnant of what he'd once called manners the only thing keeping him from gorging himself on the banquet before him. "It has been a very long time since I last ate anything…and I cannot remember the last time I feasted on such a fine meal. Lyoss, who'd been standing in the shadow of the doorway, partially to wait on his lady, and partially to make sure she wasn't left alone with the stranger, blushed ever so slightly with pride.
"Now," said the woman, "I do hope you'll eat your fill and enjoy."
The man did eat his fill, and only barely avoided using his bare hands to more quickly stuff the food into his mouth. The lady ate very little, but sat serenely and waited until the man leaned back in his chair, wiped off the crumbs, and let out a long sigh of contentment.
Lyoss, taking his silent queue, swooped in and cleared away the dishes only to disappear back into the house.
The woman got up slowly and motioned for the man to follow her. She led him around a corner and down a thin flight of stairs onto another floor of the house, a garden. Colorful flowers, sweet smelling herbs, and a myriad of trees and shrubs seemed to almost instantly surround them and embrace them.
"This is where I like to come and think," said the woman. "Lyoss takes care of most of the house, but this garden is mine…please," she said, "walk with me." It did not take the man long to realize that the garden actually consisted of several stone terraces all interconnected with fern-lined steps. The woman eventually led him up to the very top terrace, where a fountain and pond where the main attractions. The water ran out of the pool as a tiny stream and fell away down into the garden as a series of waterfalls and irrigation trenches. The woman sat down on the stone ledge overlooking the cool pool and let her finger tips trail over its icy surface. The man found a stone bench opposite her and set himself down in it.
The woman looked up and stared straight into the man's eyes. It was a glare to make even the strongest man flinch, but this one took it all in stride, taking her stare and giving out his own one-eyed version. Finally she turned away, disconcerted by the single, white, unblinking orb.
"I brought you here," she began, "because when I found you I somehow felt that I had once known you…from somewhere. I know that it may sound silly, but that is basically why you are here…and because Lyoss, despite his pessimistic surmise of your condition, is really quite an amazing doctor." She smiled to herself, "oh he would be so happy to hear me say that." She looked back at the man, "he pretends to scorn compliments, but I know he secretly enjoys being praised for his skills. Now," she continued, "you're probably wondering who I am…"
"Lady Jaina Proudmoore," replied the man, attempting to smile but only managing to curl half of his mouth.
The woman looked surprised, "Why yes," she said, but…but how did you know. I know I said that I thought I might have once seen you, but truly I do not remember ever meeting you before."
"As you said," the man replied, "you though you had once met me, and you have…but my long years spent in shadow have no doubt changed me even more than I thought. I was once known as Captain Drainur of the Royal Guard. You know me…I was the second in command of your one time love. I was the lieutenant of the traitor Arthas."
Jaina gasped, her hand flying to her mouth to hide her shock. She wanted so very much to run over to this man and demand…something…she could not be sure. For so long she'd thought that she'd left that part of her life far behind, but now she realized that she had only been hiding her true feelings…she wanted to know so very much…so very very much.
However, she held herself back and allowed the man to continue.
"Please," she said, "tell me what happened…tell me everything, I beg you…perhaps you can shed some light on why Arthas did what he did. It has haunted me for so very long." So the man started to talk.
"It all started when the reports of the plague began coming in. Since being named chief of the Royal Guards several years before when I first came out of the military academy Arthas and I were friends, and I could see how troubled he was with the rumors.
He'd always wanted to prove himself, more than anything else in the world he wanted to show his father…and Uther, that he deserved the throne. But the wars were over and the Orcs soundly beaten, there was no one left to fight. So, as you can imagine, the messengers not only brought news of suffering, but that of hope. Arthas though that if he stopped the plague, whatever it was, that he would finally be deemed worthy to someday be king. If he'd only known how highly his father and Uther already thought of him he might have avoided the destiny that awaited him. The first chance he got he asked his father to send him to investigate. His father could not forbid his newly declared Paladin son this thing, but he did send Uther to keep an eye on the boy. Arthas loved Uther like a son loves his father, but he still resented the man's presence, believing that it unnecessary…and that it might lower his own role in the curing of the plague. So, to counter this to some extent he brought me with him. I was only too happy to fight along side these great Heroes and came gladly.
However, things started out badly from the very beginning…as you no doubt know Jaina. The renegade Orcs severely shook Arthas' faith when they sacrificed those prisoners to the demons, and when Uther chided him for his anger, well…let's just say that the seeds of chaos were already sown.
He tracked down the spreader of the plague, a powerful necromancer named Kel'Thuzad, and killed him, but the damage was already done and the evil mage's words had shaken Arthas' resolve even more. You were there Jaina, but after you two broke up I suppose he never felt that he could open up to you…and so I often ended up being his confidant. I did not mind really, Arthas was proud yes…but not a bad man. In fact he was one of the most decent humans I've ever met…before he turned that is.
Then came the battle of Hearthglen. The undead armies crashed against our defenses again and again, but we held them off. Arthas himself would often wade into the sea of sickly green blood and rotting limbs to deal out justice amongst the foul abominations with his war-hammer. He had hoped to win the battle single handedly, but the enemy was too great in number and we looked sure to loose until Uther rode in at the last second with a legion of knights at his back.
Instead of appreciating the victory Arthas only resented Uther all the more…and truth be told I did not blame him. Uther had become old and though he loved Arthas like a son, he truly did not know how to discipline the boy. His words with Arthas after the battle were meant to sooth, but they only succeeded in stirring up anger in Arthas' proud heart. After that Arthas became determined to find the source of the plague and destroy it.
When he found that the plague had reached Stratholme he did not know what to do. The order to purge the city was the most difficult he had ever given…he told me himself afterwards. He had hoped that Uther would understand, but the old Paladin would not listen to reason. If he had fought at Hearthglen he would have realized that what Arthas was proposing was salvation, not damnation for those poor citizens. Instead, he rebelled against Arthas and so the Prince relieved Uther of his command.
I sometimes wonder what Uther might have tried to do had Arthas backed down…but there was nothing else to do but purge the city, and all of Arthas' troops knew it. The Prince was trapped you see, his mentor, friend, and commander was directly disobeying an order that Arthas had given out of love for his people. There was nothing else he could do but pull rank and relive Uther of his command. But perhaps the single greatest blow was not delivered by the aged Paladin; it was given when you turned your back on him.
With Uther's troops gone Arthas no longer had the force to properly cull Stratholme, and hundreds of innocent and plague-free victims were caught in the cross-fire between Arthas and the Dread Lord Mal'Ganis.
After that Arthas no longer cared about anything but revenge. He stopped talking to me…his only real friend in the world.
We left for Northrend…oh if only Arthas had been able to let go so much sorrow might have been avoided, but it was too late, and the Lich King's trap was already closing.
You see Arthas was changing, we all could see it. He was becoming colder and more self-centered. He tried to hide it from us, but we all knew that he would not think for a second about sacrificing us if it meant he might achieve victory. Only his undying strength and courage kept us together in the cold north.
Although I know we fought many battles, the entire campaign seems little more than a black and death-filled blur.
However, it did not take us long to realize that we were hopelessly outnumbered, and when those brutish marauders burned our ships, all hope was stricken from our souls…including Arthas' I believe. There was only one chance left if Arthas was to take his vengeance, and that was the mighty runeblade Frostmourne. Muradin Bronzebeard, the dwarven commander who we met on the shores of Northrend and whose forces we saved as well, died in the sword's recovery. Afterwards, with Arthas at our head wielding the mighty Frostmourne, we were able to crush Mal'Ganis' forces. Arthas himself struck down the Dread Lord, but it was far too late for any vengeance to sooth Arthas' twisted soul. The sword did something to him I think, made him different…drove him mad.
He disappeared into the wilderness and we were left to fend for ourselves. We built a base and defended it as well as we could, but just as we had destroyed Mal'Ganis and his army, so the enemy replaced itself with new horrors which constantly barraged us with their terrible might.
It was not long before our castle fell. We had no way to get supplies or help, and I think that Lordaeron had all but forgotten us.
When our walls were finally breached we had planned on fighting to the death, but the ground around us erupted in a disgusting green fog. I think it must have knocked us all out because the next thing I knew I was lying in a dungeon. The things that they did to me in that place…they are too terrible to relate in front of a lady, but you can see the results for yourself.
However, perhaps the single most terrible shock came when Arthas himself came to watch one of my comrades being tortured to death. He actually appeared to enjoy it! It was then that true despair for the first time gripped my heart.
One by one my friends died around me, until I was the only one left. I would have surely been next, but something happened then that sent the entire dungeon into an uproar. I never found out what it was, but there appeared to be infighting between the real undead and the demons living in that place. In the chaos I was forgotten and even managed to escape. For months I walked the barren wasteland until I reached the coast. It was then that the gods finally decided to show me mercy, for there I found a small boat which had drifted up onto land. It was actually one of the small life-rafts we had carried with us from Lordaeron. Somehow this single one had survived the burning, and it was with this that I set sail for home. But the god's pleasure soon turned to wrath, and I was caught in the master of all storms. Somehow I survived, but I had no food or water and the keel was broken, so there was nothing left to do but drift and wait for the inevitable.
I lost coherence around three days after the storm, and it was not until I woke up in your house that I even knew I was still alive."
Drainur's voice had risen and fallen with the rhythm of his tale. He had hesitated in spots, at times even stopped, but Jaina had remained motionless the entire time, not asking questions or offering information. Now her eyes were watery as tears began to roll down her cheeks.
"Oh you poor man," she said, it was all too much for her. "I can still hardly believe what Arthas did."
"Did?" asked Drainur.
"After he turned he came back and killed his father and Uther. The Silverhand were hunted down and slaughtered by Arthas' own hand. He led the undead army that destroyed the High Elven land of Quel'Thalas, Lyoss is one of the few survivors. He even crushed the Kiron'Tor and their city of Dalaran. Lordaeron itself was left in ruins, and I was forced to take what survivors I could across the sea to this place, Kalimdor."
Drainur could only shake his head, "it would have been better if we'd all just died on the plains of Northrend, and yet…" he continued, "I cannot find it in me to condemn the man."
"He is no man!" snapped Jaina, "he is no longer anything remotely human. The Lich King took Arthas' soul and turned my love into a monster!"
"But you see?" said Drainur, "he was willing to give anything to defend his people. When his friends turned on him…well it probably felt very similar to the way you felt when you first learned of his betrayal. Then, when the chance came to take revenge, he was still willing to give anything for it, and he did. He had no way of knowing that Frostmourne was forged by Ner'zhul, or that his soul would become forfit to the Lich King after he took up the fell blade. The sword was doom disguised as salvation, and Arthas was only a victim of its evil trap. He has done foul things yes…if what you say is true, and I have no doubt that it is, he will never be able to correct the wrongs he has committed even if he were given an eternity to do so. Yet he was driven into that trap and controlled by another after the steel jaws shut…so how can you blame him for what he did? Look at my body, it was tortured continually for longer than I can even remember, probably at Arthas' own command, but I knew it was only the Lich King speaking through Arthas' body. A day never went by when I did not curse Uther for being the fool that he was, or, and I beg your pardon milady, but you as well for betraying him when he needed you most."
Jaina was still crying, but had managed to get it under control. She nodded, "yes," she said, "I hated myself for leaving him at Stratholme's gates, but I didn't know what else to do." She dried the last of the tears and looked up, "I think I almost hoped that I would die doing battle with the Burning Legion. I almost did, but at the last moment I escaped Archimonde's grasp…I sometimes wonder if I did the right thing. After the battle the few human survivors voted to stay in Kalimdor and build a new city under the protection of the Night Elves…I'm sorry Drainur, you probably have no idea what I'm talking about."
Drainur waved what was left of his left hand in the air, "I care little, please continue."
"Anyway, they tried to elect me as their queen, but I refused. As a way to show their gratitude they built me this house, and Lyoss stayed behind to take care of me. Since then I've been mostly living alone. The leader of the Orcish Horde, Thrall, sometimes comes to visit me. His people have split up, some returning to Lordaeron and some staying behind. The two Night Elf leaders sometimes stop by, but other than that and Lyoss I live alone…and that's the way I like it."
Breakfast had been long, and had not been finished until well past noon since Drainur had woken up late as it was. By now the sun was sinking past the cliffs, setting fire to the jungle above them.
"Milady," a voice called down to the pair from a window above, "dinner is almost ready."
"Suddenly," replied Jaina, "I'm not very hungry."
"I think I'll just go to bed myself," said Drainur.
The two rose and walked from the garden, leaving the soft sound of splashing water behind as night set in on the coast of Kalimdor.