And starting things always went best on a full stomach. She stepped into the hallway, ignoring the voice in her head. It was just her own doubts, her own misgivings, not the whispers of a demon using her. She could beat herself, rise beyond it. She had to remember what she had been, grab it back...and to do that meant she had to deal with people. People who weren't controlled by that same demon, people living under their own volition, many of them directed by the Light.
I am...
It had been so long, was it truly something she could grab back? At least in her own heart? She wasn't going to go running straight back to Tirion...
Why not?
Well, that one was easy. She had to earn back the right to consider herself Brigitte Fordring before she could ever ask Tirion to consider her that. She'd lost so much of what he had prized, been part of what had driven him to the brink.
But he stepped back.
Yes, but all he'd done was leave, which to him would undoubtedly be a terrible atrocity that he needed to atone for until the day he died. If only she had done the same, followed his lead instead of labeling him a coward and turning away from him. She could have turned Taelan, they could have all gone off and hidden together.
It was a fine and bright idea, gilded with a perfect coat of hindsight and clarity. Taelan was dead and gone, beyond her reach. This opportunity was all she had left.
Unsurprisingly, the common room was packed with people and while Brigitte was not a large person, the very design of her armor created a large presence, both physically and spiritually. It was meant to make her impressive, imposing, easy to find on the battlefield, with an ominous edge as a nod to her allegiance to the Ebon Blade. He had not crafted a paladin set, but an Ebon Blade set for a paladin. People edged away from her and all she could remember was how she edged away from Darion in the same way. This was how Darion wanted her to be perceived as, both good and bad. She'd always stand out, be held slightly away...but wasn't that what she needed? She wasn't ready or willing to be one of the brotherhood right now. That meant that they had grounds to ask, to pry, to even expect her to open up, to truly be one of them. And that was something she couldn't do or be, yet. Maybe later. Maybe if she earned it.
She took a seat at the farthest end of a table, measuring the mood of the room. Nothing seemed awry except for her appearance, and even that didn't seem to affect most of those surrounding her. They had plenty of experience with death knights now, the new and unusual was wearing off of it.
"Can I help you?" There was the edge of doubt in the voice, and Bridge completely understood it. She'd spent enough time on Acherus to grasp that feeding death knights was a questionable and puzzling endeavor. She'd seen them eat, she'd seen them not eat. Some drank, some didn't. And she'd been wise enough not to ask what those who did eat...would eat.
"I'll have a meal. And coffee, if you have it. Tea if you don't."
The innkeep paused as if he was waiting for something, then moved off, muttering to himself when she remained stubbornly silent. It was bad enough to be mistaken for a death knight, but it would be intolerable if it meant going hungry for Darion's sense of pageantry and mystery. Eventually people were going to realize that she was most certainly not a death knight, most certainly not undead. There was no reason to start a charade that she'd just have to overcome later.
It wasn't much of a wait, the innkeep was back with a plate and mug, warily placing them down in front of her. Coffee, bread, sausage, eggs, cheese...it all looked wonderful.
"Thank you." It would be good to eat normal food in normal surroundings. She didn't want to become inured to Acherus, to Darion's death knights. She needed to respect them, work with them, but she needed to keep some sort of separation. She wasn't a death knight. She was a paladin, still. Darion was correct, she needed to be here. As this.
She placed a coin on the table and it vanished into the innkeep's apron pocket before she could finish a blink. Most of these people belonged to a unit and their quartermasters had probably opened up a line of credit to pay for them, but Darion had made it clear that she did not have the same when he'd handed her a bag of coins to pay for her keep along the way.
She ate, savoring the flavors. It was like food had taste again, everything felt more solid, more real. The smells, the warmth, the voices, even the stares. Interactions with people who weren't Crusaders, who didn't have the exact same hooks in their soul that she had once had. It was all so new and yet so familiar.
"Are you certain that you want to risk going where you are going?"
At least the new hook in her soul was forthright enough to openly speak to her. It was not common, but it was hardly the first time that Amal'thazad had deigned to communicate with her directly.
"I am not a hook. I am an anchor."
Probably true. It had been a long time since she'd been free of claws, of taint.
"Longer than you even suspect."
Well, that was comforting. She emptied her mug and set it on her plate, leaving the last ominous phrase to consider later and focusing on the actual warning couched as a question. Wyrmbane commanded the 7th Legion, elite troops, the best that Stormwind had to field. That should be warning enough...
"You are aware of your death warrant."
Yes, yes she was.
"You'll find the man who signed it there. He knows you well enough. Do you have that much faith in my ability to keep you obscured?"
She had to. If she avoided every single paladin who 'knew her well enough', she might as well just bow out and go live in Westfall. She was here to fight, she was here to lead.
"Good, good. Go."
She had every intention to do just that.
