Jeremiah woke to a muted near silence, punctuated only by the dim crackling of a nearly dead fire in the hearth and faraway voices in distant hallways. He rested in a strange bed, in a strange room, and then...it all caught up with him. He wasn't at Fordragon Hold anymore. There was a good chance that there wasn't even a Fordragon Hold anymore. He was across the Dragonblight, at a whole new outpost, the 7th Legion's Northrend headquarters of Wintergarde Keep. He'd been rescued, by a supposed paladin that felt more like a death knight. None of this made any sense. He just wanted to go home. He'd had enough and he'd barely gotten here. This wasn't how this was supposed to have gone... War was hell, but that hadn't even been war, at least not how he understood it.

He stayed how he was, closing his eyes and just drifting along. It wasn't as if he had any place he was supposed to be, any job he was supposed to be doing. What was he going to do now? There was nothing left at the Hold, no one needed to tell him that. He knew it, deep in his soul. His unit, his officer,even his post...gone. He'd felt them go. The stones might still stand, but they would be empty, tainted, marked forever by tragedy. He never wanted to see it again. The very thought brought panic after it and he rolled over, burying his face in the blankets. No, no, no. He couldn't do this. He'd been a fool to think he was up to it...

There was the faintest snick of a door latch being pulled, the whisper of wood slid across stone, and every hair on his body stood up on end. What was that?! It was in the same room as he was, and judging by the direction, it was the door between the antechamber he had been put in and the officer's chamber...not the one to the hallway. It was not the paladin death knight whatever it...she...was. No, this was the geist that had clung to her, had kept him in line while she had worked to restore order to a hopeless situation.

He pried one eye open, catching it in the middle of the room. It wavered, like a cat caught readying itself to jump to a forbidden height, then held up a silencing finger. "Shhhhhhhh." It whispered, "Still sssssleeeeping."

Well, it obviously didn't mean him, or it, so it must mean the paladin...the General? The paladin General of the Ebon Blade? That made no sense, either. Nothing made sense...

"Breakfasssst issss coming."

"I'm not hungry." As soon as he said it, he knew it was stupid. Generals warranted breakfast brought to their door, he did not.

"Hehehehe." It moved to the door to the hallway, unlatching it and letting it fall open, hidden in the space behind it, perfectly timed to expose the kitchen staff member standing just beyond it. It was obvious that Jeremiah had not opened it, it would have seemed to have just opened on its own.

"Ahhh..." The staff member stood there, elbow extended to knock. "Um. Commander Wyrmbane sent me with breakfast? For the General?"

"I'll take it from here." This was something he understood and was capable of, at least. And it would give him a reason to get out of this bed. To act alive, to act sane. Something mundane to focus on. Something extremely mundane, such as the fact that the General's table was covered with a haphazard mess of ink pots, pencils, quills, maps, sheets of parchment, sealing wax, and bottles of fine sand. Well, it certainly looked like an officer's table, that seemed to be just how those were. "Leave it in the doorway while I sort a place for the tray." He knew better than to touch any of it, there was probably some arrangement to it that he didn't know and anyway, she was not his officer. She was not responsible for him and he was not responsible for her. He'd be sent...well, somewhere else. Maybe he'd get lucky. Maybe they'd send him home...

And that was a hilarious idea. He'd been so full of himself, so determined to succeed, to excel in his training, to prove himself worthy of a position faraway from home, serving alongside the very best they had on the line. The great irony here was that he had achieved just that, and now he didn't want it anymore. He'd just never thought he'd experience anything like he'd seen the day before, at least not this soon. This wasn't glory, this was a terrible tragedy that had given them nothing and taken so much. How were they going to do this when they'd lost Fordragon before they'd even really gotten started?

He sighed. Questions like that were not his problem. They were the questions that generals rose to answer; people like Wyrmbane, Fordring, even Darion Mograine would be their hope now. And perhaps even the woman resting just behind that door over his shoulder. Questions like what he was supposed to do with that general's breakfast were on his level, and he welcomed it. He looked around the room, judging his options, few that they were. If he did not disturb the table, then he'd just have to make do by pushing two of the chairs seat to seat to create a reasonably flat surface. And he could do that close to the fire, a vain attempt to keep the food warm. Well, she could not accuse him of not trying, at least, although he doubted if she'd want to actually eat it. She'd been there. She'd seen it. Heard it. Smelled it. Understood it. The thought of eating made his stomach clench down, bile rising up the back of his throat. He'd never be hungry again...

"Who was that?" She called through the door and he shrugged, knowing she couldn't see it anyway.

"Your breakfast."

"Ah. Good. I'll be right out."

He moved quickly, placing the tray on the chairs he'd arranged, and then took up a position in the corner, out of her way. She was nothing he really wanted to deal with, either. She was too confusing. Too contradictory. He didn't know how a paladin of the Ebon Blade could even exist, much less where she was supposed to fit into any hierarchy he would answer to. He was never supposed to be in close proximity to anything like this. The Ebon Blade was on the fringes, far away from the units he'd been deployed with. He liked it that way. He didn't like this. He didn't like what was behind that door, whatever she was, and he certainly didn't like the geist which had managed to make its way under his bed.

The door opened and she emerged from the darkened room, clad in unrelieved black from her cowl to her boots. She was unharnessed, just in a tunic, breeches,boots and the hood. She felt more real like this, much of the aura of ominous command she had breathed yesterday seemed to be tied up with the armor she'd been wearing. "Do you need help?" She asked, sitting in the remaining chair at the table and beginning to gather up the writing tools that covered it.

"I..." What an absolutely idiotic question for her to ask. Of course he needed help. But he needed help that she wasn't capable of giving him. She might have lost the ominous edge that the armor had carried, but she still maintained that same ponderous, soothing calm that had torn through his panic yesterday. While she wasn't what he needed, she might be better than nothing. "Don't know." He finished.

"Sit, before you fall over."

If only he had options to do so. The geist was under his bed, and her breakfast was on the other chairs.

"You." She stated firmly and the geist made a muffled noise in response. "Go hide under my bed. Leave him alone."

"Wwwwaaaaiting ffffor messssssagesss."

"And you can do that under something else." She stated firmly. He was amazed by how at ease she seemed to be, with it, with him, with what had just happened. It grumbled audibly, crawling from under his bed and leaping through the doorway to vanish into the shadows of her room. She gave a gusty sigh, leaning back in the chair while Jeremiah sat on the edge of the bed.

"Are you...?" She was definitely not a death knight. At this proximity, focused on her, she was very much alive. There was a hint of exhaustion clinging to her, she was worn down and comfortable enough to let the chinks show.

"Tomorrow is another day." Somehow, she found those words amusing, a joke for only her, judging by the whisper of amusement embroidered into the syllables. "You up to eating?" She waved at the tray questioningly.

"Ah, no, ma'am." But apparently she was, pushing the papers on the table into a semblance of a pile, making room for the tray. She had just picked it up from the chairs, resting it on the table, when the geist reappeared, staring in fixation at the door for a long moment. She paused, her 'face' moving between it and the door.

"Wyrmbane." It identified, spinning to move back into her bedroom. It was barely gone before the heavy knock of a gauntleted fist on the door sounded out.

"In." She called loudly, but chose to sit rather than stay standing, even knowing beforehand who that was. Jeremiah stood immediately, she might be able to get away with that, but he shouldn't. He didn't know the man, he wasn't even certain he could recognize him if he wasn't in full harness, but that didn't matter. This was his command, he deserved respect under his own roof.

He might deserve it, but it was obvious that he wasn't going to demand or even ask it, striding through the door, his gaze locked on her. "Good. Good. You're awake. You're not going to like this..." He was talking before he even made it completely into the room. He was every inch what Jeremiah had been expecting, imagining,

"Addenda to the reports I wrote yesterday."

"You are so very right. Who did you send copies to, because at least one of these requests is from someone I wouldn't think would have it this quickly..." Wyrmbane collected one of the chairs from where Jeremiah had left it, pushing it up to the table and sitting down.

"Your two copies and one to Fordring."

"So you did send it to Fordring."

"Yes. He is working with Mograine. His people are one of the groups I'm here to liaise with. He gets what I have, when I have it, unless Mograine instructs me otherwise." She paused, pouring out two cups of tea and putting one on the table in front of Wyrmbane. "Is there a problem with that?"

He gave her a smile and a shake of his head, pulling the cup towards him. "No." He gave the slightest glance towards Jeremiah, the words unspoken in the air. No more, or no more in front of Jeremiah, at least. It was just a pause, they'd pick it up again later, but he wouldn't be around to hear it. Officer business, none of his. None of this was any of his business.

"And you are? We need to update the roster, mark you as recovered. Don't want to scare your loved ones with one of those letters..."

"Jeremiah Ashlock, sir. Formerly of the Redridge Brigade before I was attached to the Expedition. I was assigned to Captain Carew." Except Jeremiah was very certain that there was no more Captain Carew. But the man was correct, the last thing he wanted was for his family to get 'one of those letters'. The less they knew about this, the better. "Where am I to go now, sir?"

"For now? You stay with us." Wyrmbane glanced around the room, then shrugged. "Things are chaotic. Uncertain, I'd rather you keep you here until we know there's a place for you. What is it you did for your captain?"

"I was supposed to be support. I haven't been here long, sir." No, he'd barely met Carew in person, which was now a blessing. "I was trained at Northshire Abbey, in my calling and some scribe skills."

"Your calling." The man's eyes rested on him for a long moment, the faintest hint of a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. "You're with the priesthood."

"Yes, sir." And he wanted to go back to it, to try to forget that this had even happened. This had been a terrible mistake on his part.

"Ah. Well, Jeremiah... go tell one of the guards in the hall outside that I've told you to go report to a man named Hallard. They'll take it from there. We'll speak again later, after you've had some time."

And Jeremiah knew when he'd been dismissed. "Yes, sir." He waited just a second, uncertain as to who actually gave the orders in this particular room, but Sorrow seemed quite at ease with it and he obeyed.