There was a chill in the room that Bridge had been shown to, half of it was from the fact that it faced northeast, toward the worst of Northrend's weather and half was from the cold weight that surrounded Darion. He stood in the farthest, most shadowed corner, and she doubted if it was a coincidence that he was as distant from the living here that he could get and still be in the main building.
"So I get the cold room. I am not surprised." She sighed, to begin the conversation. Darion had never been a voluble sort, even when he'd been alive. Neither was she, but if they each clung to their natures, they could wait here in silence for hours. And, in spite of the temperature and rustle of a draft, it was a good room. It was spacious and clean, a curtained four poster bed dominated the space, a pile of blankets folded on the chest at its foot. A table rested next to the empty fireplace, a wash stand with pewter bowl and ewer stood in the warmest corner. If the curtains were drawn against the draft, if there was a fire coaling in the hearth, it would be more than pleasant enough for her tastes.
"They haven't quite grasped two things about you yet. I presume that you will be moved the moment that they do." There was an edge to Darion's words that promised she would be moved at that point...or else. But he'd always been protective, even when he'd been a child. She was willing to bet that had been honed in ugly ways, but he'd never lost it.
"Oh?" She asked, unbuckling her gauntlets and dropping them onto the nearest table before she knelt to get a fire started. If she was to get any decent sleep at all, she'd prefer a little more warmth, and she needed that sleep. It had been a long journey to get back to Northrend's shores.
"They assume you are dead. They do not realize that you live, yet. And when they realize that, it may take them some time to understand that you are not..." He paused, obviously working through his available phrases and weighing them against her mood... "As young as you once were."
"I am not lingering on death's door, Darion." Well, not in the way that usually meant. She'd been regaining health and more importantly, clarity, since she'd turned the corner after her liberation. Physically, she was better than she'd been in years. Mentally, she was better than she'd been in years. Spiritually, well that was proving to be more of a struggle.
"Of course you are not." He pulled away from his shadow, striding toward her. "You have recovered well. Better than I dared to hope, better than we dared to hope." He turned, moving to the window and staring out. "But you have questions. I can feel them."
"General?"
His hood tilted and she heard the faintest whisper of a chuckle. "Are you not a general?"
"Yes." The fire had caught and she stood, resting her fingertips on the edge of the scarred table. It was like everything else in this room, heavy and functional. Not the most aesthetically pleasing, but it would do the job. "I am a general. I have been a general for years. I don't...know how to be anything but a general, now." Which was part of it, she knew that. But it wasn't all of it. Just because she didn't know how to be anything else anymore didn't mean that the Ebon Blade should just hand it over to her. "But that doesn't explain why you have named me that for the Ebon Blade. They barely know me."
"Most of them barely know anyone, Sorrow. That is our problem."
"I don't follow." She was unsurprised that he chose to use the name which was not hers, but needed to become hers as quickly and smoothly as possible. That would only happen if it was embraced, used.
"Most of those under our banner were raised immediately proceeding the assault on New Avalon. They are children. I cannot spare Thalanor or Thassarian because they are part of a handful of death knights that we have who have had the time to grasp and learn their gifts. Not only are you living, a paladin who can be seamlessly integrated into the Vanguard, you are our most experienced general. You would chafe under the lead of a younger, less experienced commander, especially one of the undead. This is where I need you. I need you to help me with this."
This is what I am meant to do.
"Of course." It was odd, but Bridge wished she understood more of what went into his death knights now. They had to have come from somewhere, once they'd been living. Darion remembered her, he remembered their past, surely the others did as well? "Darion, where did they come from? The new ones?" She was certain of two things, one...that she didn't really want to know, and two, that she really needed to know.
"Many are from Light's Hope. The youngest of them are from your ranks, from Tyr's Hand and New Avalon. They were created in haste and were meant to be expendable, just good enough for what they were raised for. They were once yours, now they are ours."
Ours. If he wasn't lying, and she had no reason to believe that he was, then yes, they were as much hers as they were his. And she'd never been able to deny him anything that she truly felt he needed from her. If he truly lacked experienced command staff, if he truly needed a living liaison to...well, bridge... the gap between his people and the members of the Vanguard, especially those who plied the Light, then she would not deny him that. She'd asked for him to take a risk with her and he'd taken her up on that in spades. And really, what else was there to do? Lurk in the back of the Ebon Blade? Always be biting her tongue because she knew she was a better commander than most of those around her, unable to move on that? No, never. Darion knew her better than she seemed to know herself nowadays.
"I promise you, Darion. I will be the general you need."
