Brigitte stepped out of the portal back in Wintergarde. It was a hubbub of focused activity, it held a grave sense of purpose. It reminded her all too much of things she'd rather leave in the past, but she tried that and it never worked. She had too much experience with disaster, with tragedy. It never truly got easier, but she'd learned how to keep going through it while it was happening. That was necessary, she was...as Amal'thazad claimed...necessary. She had to stay on her feet to lead those new to this to a safer place. She had to keep the course for Darion and the Ebon Blade, for herself, for Tirion, Brennan, everyone. Being needed could be a blessing or a curse, and right then, Bridge was going to lean on it as a blessing, a reason to be alive and free.

She waited for a moment until the youngster...Jeremiah...cleared the portal behind her. "Come on." She sighed, falling into a slow stride, headed towards her quarters. The sooner she could get him inside, get some food and maybe something stronger into him, and get him to sit down or even better, lie down, the better. He was in shock still, but that wouldn't last forever. It never did. Either he was one of those who could handle it, or he wasn't. But she'd be here for him tonight, at least.

"Where are we?" He asked warily and she paused, considering the question. He probably hadn't been close enough to overhear most of Wyrmbane's words to her, over the din of shouting, and the roar of the fires.

"Wintergarde Keep." At least it was a place he'd probably heard of. She hadn't dragged him to somewhere crawling with the Ebon Blade, she wasn't expecting him to swallow too much more insanity. He'd had enough for one day already. "The 7th Legion headquarters on Northrend." All she had to do was to keep speaking normally, to act like everything was fine. It wasn't. She knew it wasn't. She knew he knew it wasn't. But she was going to hold him up until he was at a point where he could fall.

"You're with the 7th?" He didn't bother to bleed any of the doubt from his voice and she chuckled, leading the way into the main building, heading firmly towards her quarters. The wonderful thing about her current appearance and the vaguely off-putting aura that her armor gave her was that most people moved out of her way without even seeming like they gave it any real consideration.

"I am, for now." She stated firmly, reaching the door to her rooms and pushing it open. "Liaison from the Ebon Blade to Vanguard forces. I am currently here at Commander Wyrmbane's request."

Someone, or more likely, something had been in her room very recently. There was a good fire going in the grate, the curtains were tightly pulled, extra blankets sat on the small bed in the first room, food and drink on the table, lamps lit. "That will be your bed until we get things sorted out." She waved him in and towards it. He probably wouldn't rest, at least not until she made certain that he did, but it was someplace for him to go. Someplace that was his, to keep him from awkwardly lurking around. Wyrmbane had been very clear with what he wanted...needed...from her now. And he'd get it.

"Thank you." He sat down on the bed, his head bowed and his hands clasped in his lap. She left him like that for a moment, going into her room, firmly closing the door between them and taking off her armor, stowing it in the corner. For a moment, she felt...almost alone, almost adrift again. Had she been pulled back from the darkness to volunteer to walk right back into it? More tragedy, more disaster, more panic...

"You are not alone."

She sighed, changing into a tunic and breeches. No, not alone. There were still people out there she'd fight for. People out there that she'd walk back into this for. Even if she didn't feel the calling stirring in her soul, sense the Light's touch slowly growing on her, she'd still go back into this. She'd survived the purges, losing Lordaeron, losing her father, losing Taelan, losing Lynnia, losing herself and her sanity. But she still had Darion, Tirion, Brennan. It had to be enough.

She settled the cowl back into place and opened the door, stepping back into the main room of her quarters. The young man...Jeremiah...had not moved from where she'd left him at. She stared at him for a long moment, torn. She didn't know him. She had reports to write. She'd already brought him to safety. He wasn't hers...

But he was hers, right then. Even if it was only for the night. He was still an ally, someone's son. He was about the same age as Brennan was. If he was hers, if he was Brennan, she'd want someone to take care of him.

There was a battered kettle resting on the mantle, she took it and filled it from the ewer on the table, hanging it to boil. She had tea. She had a flask filled with...something. It wouldn't be fancy, but it would have to do. Then she pulled out the writing set, rolling out parchment, trimming her quills, selecting ink while she turned the words over in her head. How was she supposed to describe what had just happened? Even with all of her experience of writing reports that detailed disasters, it never came easily. But putting it off never helped, either. It was best to just do it and get it over with...now, while it was still fresh.

She started with a quick sketch of the gate and its surroundings from what she knew of them, only what she'd seen from her overlook. It would be her focus, the foundation that she would build these reports from. It was always how she had done it, first to set the surroundings in her mind, then to lay the events on it.

She was almost done with the sketch when the kettle began to steam and she got up, mixing water, a twist of tea and a good dash of anise scented alcohol from her flask before offering it to the young man. He'd shifted at some point, lying down, his forearm covering his eyes. "You'll want this." She told him, knowing that the way she put it was not exactly a request. And it wasn't.

"Yes, ma'am." He took it from her, gave it one dubious look, then took a cautious sip. He sputtered, grimaced, but got the rest of it down. "That's awful."

It probably was, but she wasn't going to try it herself. "It should help." While she had never been the strongest healer around, she had more than her fair share of field experience. Warm booze was a given. And he didn't need healing, there was the hint of more around him that made it entirely possible he might be a much better healer than she was. She hit things with sharp, pointy, blunt, or all of the above, implements of injury.

"Thank you." His voice cracked on the 'you' and she sighed, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder.

"No thanks needed." No, this was part of what she had been missing, hidden away from her. She was supposed to be present, there, a source of support and care for those around her. How long had it been since she'd been free to be that? "Relax. I have reports to write. We can figure things out in the morning."

He nodded, stretching back out on the bed and hiding his eyes under his forearm again. She sat back at the table, took a deep breath, and started the reports.

It took her hours, writing the original she would give to Wyrmbane when he returned, and a copy for Tirion, but the work was welcome, oddly calming and it helped to take the edge off of her nerves. She signed the copy meant for Wyrmbane with little thought, he knew her as Sorrow, and that's how she signed it. The other one held deeper issues. Tirion was on the ground and commanding forces. Even if she had not made him his own copy, he'd see one sooner rather than later. She had not bothered to try to obfuscate her writing, her style, everything from someone who knew her as well as he did. He knew she was alive and free. And when he saw this, he'd know she was Sorrow.

But how long could she hide that from him, even if she wanted to? There were just so many things that she could not hide while still serving in the field to the best of her ability. To anyone who knew her, it would be obvious. Well, she would just have to trust him because she had no other choice. He'd get this, he'd read it, and he'd know exactly who wrote it and sent it. Mind made up, she penned the same line at the bottom as she had on Wyrmbane's. Sorrow, General at large, representing the Ebon Blade. It was not something that Tirion would ignore, or avoid, but that was just how it was. She sealed it, resting it on the edge of the table. It was almost amusing when two long, dark, bony fingers arched from under the table, nails resting on the report. It waited for a long moment before she shook her head and chuckled. "It goes to Fordring..."

And it was gone. She stood, popping her knuckles, putting away her writing set and stepping out into the hallway. It was empty, in fact, everything was quiet...the troops had not returned yet and only the defenders held in reserve and support staff remained. She slid the report under his door and returned to her rooms, her gaze falling on the young man. Miraculously, he slept in a huddle, half turned towards the wall. "Poor sod." She whispered, gathering up the pile of extra blankets he'd pushed onto the floor and unfolding them to cover him with. Morning would come all too soon, he should get as much sleep as possible. And that went for her, as well. Morning would come all too soon, those reports would find their way to their recipients, and beyond. All the panic, adrenaline and then focus was wearing off and she was exhausted and empty. It was time for her to also try to get some sleep.