MY RUINS
By J Cae
-
Go back...
Back to the time before we meant anything to each other. Back to the time when we were strangers on this fleeting highway called life. Back...before we knew this meeting of ours would take a dive for ill fortune.
Drink.
Drink to the innocence that poisoned my heart and clouded my mind. Drink, while you still have it to keep you from falling hopeless, to that history when my heart was whole and not two broken halves.
I gave you my life, but you spurned it. I died for you, but you hid your eyes from my suffering--from the truth.
Now, let me come back to your side. Just for one day. I'd lounge in your beauty, rest in your peace, bask in your glory. That would content me. The evanescence of time has already lost all meaning. The frittering years could be but a day, and a night might as well last a million decades.
Grant me that one moment to look upon you in all your self-righteous splendour. Oh, make me believe you'd still love me, and that I have never left you. Be my shelter and my home again--welcome me, as you once promised. Do your words still hold true now that we are both dead and cold?
For I am forever gone, forever lost to those who were family and friends. My father is grief-stricken. My brother has gone mad. Grandfather knew, but he did not share this truth. My younger sister would weep for me, but she is still in the dark, as is my poor mother. Their love for me was real, but also easy to lose. To them, I'd be no more than a ghost of the past.
Your love, too, is volatile and painful. I'd rather you never love at all.
But for now, open your doors and lead me back to the home I once knew and cherished.
Goodnight, Silvermoon.
When morning breaks, we shall part no more.
En'shu-falah-nah.
-
The crescent moon concealed itself behind clouds when I stepped through Quel'thalas's torn gates again. It was almost absurd how this blighted realm could have once been my home. My sanctuary. There was hardly any life left in those ruins, a ghost town, emanating with foul demon energies. I looked to the high platform where the Sunwell once stood. Its holy powers had been corrupted and sucked dry, leaving only a black hole of infinite darkness. Remains of undead structures still plagued the broken city. Arthas Menethil pulled out of Silvermoon swiftly. He never planned to stay, although the damage and chaos he had done remained.
Just as there was hardly any life left in my twisted body.
I did not wish to linger in the elven city. No. It was painful to even look at a place I thought I once knew--a place where nothing remained now but ashes. I merely wished to pay tribute to a departed one, whose grave laid here, but body, elsewhere.
Grandfather lied when he knew perfectly what had become of me. For that I am both grateful and resentful.
No one should have to feel the pain of my undeath. No one should have to know how I suffer and hurt every waking moment--and undead never sleep.
But why had he not told the truth? Was he ashamed of me, of what had befallen me?
When I fought Arthas--the Scourge's leader, he outran me and cornered me in a forest glade. I cried out to everyone I knew, hoping for assistance of some sort--I thought it would be the end of me. Grandfather felt me with his vast powers. He knew I was scared and in pain. He promised to come to my aid. I felt braver and I fought giving everything I had. But he did not make it in time.
Imagine the guilt he must have felt then.
He told Mother I was killed in the same fire that swept over the city. It broke her heart to hear that I should suffer such a cruel and grotesque death. For three days and nights, she searched for my ruins in the scourged lands, threaded through fighting warriors and darted into burning structures. She did not find me. She would never find me. And I would hide from her for as long as I could--until the day she should forget me. She should never have to know, that my death was not painful--it was after, when I roused to undeath when dark, eternal, endless anguish took hold.
Yet how could I ever ask her to forget me? Her memories would be all she had left of me.
A mother will never forget a child she carried under her heart. She never will, until death claims her.
She lost her firstborn daughter twenty years, seven months and three days ago. Every morning when she woke, she would turn her face to the sun and pray for my sister's delivery. We had all given up hope, but Mother was the only one who still believed Alleria would someday return from the Twisting Nethers. To discourage Mother would have been too cruel, even though hope grew slender with each passing hour.
Alleria was a heroine who sacrificed for the good of Quel'thalassians--even though Mother would have preferred that she did not try to be a heroine at all.
But what am I? What was the sense in my 'death'? What did it meant to my family? Did it seem to them like savage pain? Was I a disgrace? Would they see me as the reason of Silvermoon's fall?
To the Fortress of the Windrunner I returned this night to find it a deserted and vacant place. No guard stood in front of the gates that had been torn down. No servant was there to welcome me into the cozy halls. No music graced the dining room and no one was in view anymore. My family was gone. My childhood, my life...all vanished.
The house was dark and strangely silent. The walls had been singed and a large part of the roof crumbled. Dust carpeted the floor and furniture. I headed through the empty hallways where burnt portraits hung along the walls. There was no light in the interior, as though the whole place was enamelled with darkness. Even the moon retracted from such desolate and sorrowful chambers. Though my eyes were able to see even in poorly-lit conditions, it was the darkness in my mind that stole my sight.
I found my exit to the night's chill--to the graveyard behind the fortress where my ancestors rested. Death was only available to elves by blade, magic, or disease. When I was a child, I used to wonder why the Three Moon Guardians allowed elves to die. I saw things differently now. Death was a strange kind of blessing when compared to perpetuity in undeath.
Many of the graves had been vandalized, enchanted monuments desecrated. Perhaps my ancestors would be made to suffer as I have. Perhaps I might soon see them among the ranks of the loathed lich king.
Alleria's grave was untouched. Arthas must have learned the histories well enough to know that her body was not there.
I knelt before my sister's grave and whispered a prayer--I wished her well and safe from this war, wherever she might be. I felt I needed to give her something, but I had nothing. I looked around. There were no blossoms of any sort in Silvermoon anymore. Only a few blades of grass miraculously sprung their way through the cracks of blighted soil. No words could describe the sort of joy and relief in my heart--perhaps there could still be some hope for Quel'thalas? I reached out a deadened, bluish hand to touch it, wanting to feel its life between my fingers--but I withdrew immediately as I saw the grass wilt before my eyes.
Forgive me, Alleria. I have nothing to give you.
A shuffle behind me!
I spun around to my feet and notched a black arrow to my golden bow. I was surprised to find an identical Windrunner's weapon aimed at me. But bow and arrows did not threaten me anymore. My would-be assassin could try to pierce me with a thousand arrows, and I would still be undead.
But he seemed to recognize me even in the dim light--and shuddered.
His face was still as handsome and flawless as I remembered, and his long blond hair cascaded down to his waist in that same familiar fashion. But the light in his jade eyes dimmed immediately as they met the crimson aura of my own. My name died upon his quivering lips.
He lowered his weapon. I kept mine aimed.
"I know what you wish to say," I hissed, loathing the sound of my own resonant voice, "that I am a shame to the family. It was because of my death did the city fall. Say it. I am unfit to set foot into the House of Windrunner again."
"No. You fought valiantly," his expression was pained.
"I fell," I reminded him. "Cast me away."
"You are not a shame." He took me by the arm gently, "Welcome home, Granddaughter."
-
"What have you been doing? Where have you been? Are you well?"
These questions, I did not know how to answer. How was I to tell him of the torment I was put through? I doubt I would ever be well again until the day when death should come to claim me. But it never would. I would always be undead. Nonetheless, I gave him answers that would satisfy him.
"You must be famished. You are but bones now."
Darkness inside the ballroom had obviously obscured my true face. He did not see my blotched and corrupted undead skin, and my frayed, silvery hair. Let him believe I was still alive and well. Let him believe that for a little longer.
"I am not hungry," I whispered.
There were questions I wanted to ask him. What was he doing here? How did he survive? Were my family still alive? Did he know where they were now?
But what if I knew the answers? I could not say what I would do. Should I reveal my inscrutable self to the rest of my family? Or should I do nothing?
"This isn't much," Grandfather handed me a bundle of fruits. "But accept it, for my sake."
"Grandfather..." I could not tell him that I needed no food. I had no way of explaining. "Keep it for yourself. I have a cache of meat hidden outside the city." I almost laughed at the absurdity of my own lie. A cache of what? Why, yes. That was my choice of words.
It did not seem to make him change his mind, "Don't worry about me, child. I'll find ways to survive."
That tone worried me. He himself must be starved, and that must have been that last bit of food he had left. I could not take it from him, especially when he needed it, and I did not.
"Wait for me here," I said, pressing the bundle back into his hands--his hands were cold. There was no wood left for a fire. "I will go and get you some food. You will need it."
I did not wait for his reply and strode swiftly down the hallway. I walked quickly--until I was out of his sight when I paused. I took out my small ranger's knife, and without even putting any thought to it, I bared an arm and began to shred my own flesh...
It was nothing to me. I have withstood greater agony.
I did not need flesh. But Grandfather needed something to eat.
I tore a piece of fabric at the hem of my cape and wrapped the flesh in it--something that was no longer a part of me. Something that I knew I would not miss. Night should hide the blood gushing from my wound, but I carefully concealed it beneath my clothes anyhow.
I returned to Grandfather who was waiting anxiously, pacing the ballroom from one end to the other. I could tell from his taunt features he was doubtful I would come back. But I did, and I gave him the packet. I told him that I had provisions and would not starve to death. He believed me finally and did not ask me to take his food again.
Sitting myself in the darkest corner of the room, I traced the cool dusty marble floor beneath me. It begged for cleaning, but I would have to leave it alone. I knew I would miss its touch when I was on my way again--it would be the closest thing to home I would taste this night.
I eventually asked Grandfather about my family.
"Your mother did not make it," he said in a voice full of pain. "She died of grief."
Guilt entered my mind. Mother died of grief, and it would be none other but my fault. If only I had been a little stronger, if only I had survived, then none of that would have happened. I fell under Frostmourne's power. I was weak. I was worthless.
Grandfather continued, "Only a while ago, your father and brother departed. They sailed to Northrend, to Prince Kael'thas's rescue. Illidan, whom he served, was slain by Arthas Menethil and our prince is trapped on the arctic island. Your father and brother decided to join the rescue force."
"Kael'thas?" as soon as the name sounded from my lips, a plan was forged. Kael'thas was still alive, and if he could last long enough on his own until I arrive, I could see no reason I could not get him off the island--and perhaps I could find what remained of my family as well. I have known Kael since childhood, and he was no less than a younger brother to me. If I could rescue him and get him on my side, I could...
What could I do with him? I had been a minion of Arthas, and I was sure he would never give me his trust or want me anywhere near him.
I hugged my knees to my chin, "Tell me about Vereesa. Has the war affected her?"
"Your younger sister was upset to hear about you, my child," said Grandfather. "But she is still happy with her mage husband. She is pregnant with twins. Rhonin is worried, you see..."
"Twins," I muttered, "Humph."
Illidan and Malfurion Stormrage. The pair of unfortunate brothers who somehow turned the notion of having twins into a curse.
But haven't I also shamed the Windrunner enough already?
"You should go see Vereesa and bring her some comfort," Grandfather gave me the address which I did not intend to remember. Why tempt myself? What comfort could I possibly bring if I showed my gruesome self? Why should I not just let my sister believe that I died, valiantly but grotesquely, in the fire?
In another hour's time, I saw, day would break. Sunlight would reveal the horrors of my condition--I had to leave. I bid Grandfather goodbye and assured him that I was more than excited to meet Vereesa again. He offered to go with me, but I told him there were some tasks I needed to take care of beforehand. He seemed to sense my reluctance, and did not press the matter.
"Just take care of yourself," he dropped a gentle kiss on my forehead.
As I headed down the abandoned streets of Silvermoon, I had to hide a smile.
His last words resounded in my mind, and I thought I detected a faint, ghostlike echo to it.
"If ever you feel like coming home, Sylvanas, I will always be here for you."
-
A/N: Avid Syl fan doing her job. This is my actually first one-shot and one of my very rare stories written from a first-person perspective. I wrote this up in the evening when I was in a strange mood--you can call it a prologue or companion to Ranger General.