Ch 21 - Epilogue – Battle Hardened Souls (a month later)
Highlord Tirion Fordring woke suddenly. He had been dreaming. He looked up at the cloth of his tent above him. He took a breath calming his heart. He had dreamed of the murder of his son again. He wiped his brown and looked o his side. Helene sat dozing in a chair near him and Highlord Darion Morgaine sat near a brazier sharpening his weapons and removing the dings from the battle. The Death Knight no longer could hide. He had revealed himself to the Lich King and now was as all beings in Azeroth, something to exterminate like a cockroach.
He sat up and walked to his table where he had wine. He drank down a glass before he turned to Morgaine whom regarded him. Both had recovered well from the gambit that Tirion had tried. They both looked at the sleeping Helene.
She had not been sleeping well. Her mind seemed wrought with nightmares. She called out Matthias on more than one occasion. Morgaine had asked her about whom this was and her only reply was that he was someone from the past.
She woke as if part of her felt eyes on her. She sat up straighter and stifled a yawn. Her godfather brought her wine. He agreed with Morgaine. Someone so pure should not bear witness to the front lines, and yet she had. She was strong for what she had seen and what she had endured and perhaps was stronger than anyone else in the camp.
Tirion knew well what a brutal rape could do to someone and yet his goddaughter seemed to have recovered for the most part. He had been a shoulder for her to cry on, yell at, and speak to as she recovered. He was, however, glad to have her back, whole in mind and body. Though he well knew she saw herself as used goods, very few saw that. Most regarded her as a heroine who survived and ordeal that only made her stronger. Any man who held the attack to be her fault was no man at all.
Jamiy entered and smiled at his twin. Tirion smiled ruefully. So alike and so different they were. One the warrior and one the healer, but two sides of the same energy. One took life as necessary and one gave it. Twins in every respect and this war with the Scourge was only bringing them closer to each other and to the peoples of Azeroth.
Jamiy Ambrose sat on his Argent Charger watching below him. He took a deep breath of the morning air. Icecrown never full lightened. The morning light cast an eerie glow on Scourgeholme below the Crusader's Pinnacle. The carrion lords bellowed and necromancers went about raising the corpses of fallen Crusaders into mindless undead who killed any they once fought beside. He took a breath again silently mourning the fallen who were eternally cursed. He wondered if a part of the person survived. Clearly with the likes of Morgaine, his death knights, and the Banshee Queen their minds could return, but was the mind trapped watching what the body did or was it dominate until woken and could resume control?
He turned to see Helene walking toward a large pyre that the crusaders had built. It was the only effective way that Tirion had found to eliminate the possibility of his people becoming reanimated horrors that would return and try to kill the very people they had served with and cared for once. Fire cleansed the soul and freed it, but sadly there was little left by ashes that could be collected into large urns and buried in a mass grave of sorts. But this was by no means easy. Every man and woman had to be accounted for and a log was kept in order to take the information back to families of the fallen. From the ashes their spirits were clean and whole and could join the Light to wait for the others of their family to join them.
Even the Knights of the Ebon blade requested to be buried so. This prevented them from rising again to serve what they had grown to hate. Highlord Tirion and Morgaine stood nearby as did several Crusaders. Helene held a torch and she softly wept as she placed the fire to the kindling. The fire sprang to life and lit the darkened sky. Helene stepped back handing the torch to a Crusader.
Jamiy dismounted and walked to where she went to stand with the highlords. He draped and arm over her shoulders pulling her against him. She turned her face to him revealing her tears in the firelight. He held her close to comfort her. Every soul that she could not save hurt her in some respect. Burning bodies rather than keeping them whole went against the teachings of the Light, but it also was a safety measure as well as a way to make sure the dead stayed at peace.
His twin took a deep breath and allowed him to hold her to his body. Though he could not warm her with his heavy plate and chainmail on, he could show that he cared. She closed her eyes and bowed her head. She was praying to the Light. She was a priestess and she had been trained by Benedictus, one of the best priests of all time. She would take his place when he passed as Archbishop and leader of the Church of Light. She had been groomed for it and he had already named her as his successor. She had proved herself well.
Jamiy had also proved himself. He was one of the Grand Crusaders, second in command of the Argent Crusade forces in Northrend, a leader of the Stormwind army, and a paladin. He could deliver babes and be a warrior all within moments. It was the dichotomy of being a warrior of the Light. A healer and a fighter in one being.
Tirion looked at the twins standing together. They were very young to see such horrors of the world and yet both their eyes had a wisdom few would know. It was a wisdom born of being in the heart of battle and knowing it was fight or die. Jamiy, the darker, taller, and stronger twin held his smaller, lighter, and beautiful sister. He had his arm about her as if he was keeping her steady. Helene had endured much in her few years. Her godfather had witnessed in her what war would drive someone to do to another being. She had nearly died as a result of being tortured and it only fueled the fires of Stormwind's hatred of Hellscream and his Horde.
He looked back at the flames as he watched them dance along the logs. He looked heavenward where the clouds stirred restlessly above them. The smoke bore the spirits of those who had died higher to join the Light. He would have preferred to bury these people at Light's Hope Chapel where the Scourge could not touch them. As it was their ashes would be buried there. Some had family among the living. Some had family buried there. And still others had family that they could not be reunited with because they were restless scourge bound to the evil of the Lich King. Such a fate was worse than hell. Killing without mercy and knowing you did so put a soul in agony.
Tirion turned to Morgaine. He has spoken often to the onetime Lord of the Lich King's Death Knights. The atrocities that they had inflicted on the living haunted him to this day. It was from Morgaine that it was shown the spirit lay chained within the body helpless as the body murdered and inflicted pain without the will of the spirit being able to stop it.
Morgaine was watching the flames idly. His thoughts, however, were on battles ahead. He knew these men and women would be safe. They would not be risen as he was to kill those they loved as a endless cycle of hell. Watching your corpse body kill anything in its path scarred the soul. It was for this reason Morgaine believed he would never join the Light when he finally was freed of undeath. The blood of thousands was on his hands and well he knew it. He had resigned himself to being damned for all he had done, though he could win back pieces with the good he now aided.
Jamiy then nodded to his sister. He had patrols to go on as the fire continued to burn. She nodded and offered a soft sad smile. He left her with a curt nod to Tirion who dismissed him. She went and joined the highlords. Morgaine turned his head to Helene. To him there was no brighter creature of good. She was the embodiment of the Light and thus was unattainable. She had always treated him with respect and kindness. Far more than he deserved.
Tirion sighed and then returned to his own duties about the pinnacle. That left Helene and Morgaine alone together as the fire began to ebb. She drew her cowl up and wrapped her arms about herself. Morgaine watched her. Was it cold? He wondered. He could never tell. His skin was always cool and the heat and cold never much mattered to him. He could never feel it. Or was it subconscious for her as she prepared for the gruesome task ahead of her. When the fires died she would collect the bones and ashes of the fallen in an urn and return to Stormwind to fly to the Eastern Plaguelands and bury the urn at the Chapel. Holy ground. The bones would be at ease and could never be risen there.
The fire died after several hours and a breeze came up bringing with it a light snow as Helene set about her task. Morgaine watched her for several minutes as she reverently placed the remains of nearly two dozen souls in a large urn next to her.
He squatted beside her. She looked up startled by his presence and he regarded her as he set about helping her. She seemed thankful not to have to do this alone and for the company. As an undead dealing with the dead was no doubt far easier for him. Helene, the embodiment of good and the Light should not see such horrors in the world, but because of the Lich King, she was living them. That made Morgaine hate his former master even more for his corruption of everything good and precious in this world.
It was nearing dark when the pair had completed their task. By this time Helene's hands were blue and her nose was red and runny from the cold. Morgaine had noticed and as she rose wearily to her feet he laid a hand on her elbow to steady her as she staggered. "Perhaps you should wait until morning to go to Stormwind." He suggested.
"They must be buried." She said, her own voice betraying how tired and weary she was both physically and emotionally.
"They are dead, Helene. One night will not do anymore harm to them." He said firmly. "Come. Your clothing is drenched and you need rest." He said. He no longer required such things, but he would not have her die because of a cold. She, if she was to die, would die for an honorable cause.
He followed her to her small tent. She set the urn inside the door and went to the back. She turned up a lamp and then began to pick out clothing. She set about trying to undress, but her icy fingers would not obey.
"Darion?" She asked softly
"My lady?" He asked. He had been in the front area looking at the small comforts she had brought from home. It was a lady's touch for sure, but it also was homey and comfortable here. He drew back the curtain and saw her facing away from him.
"Could you…" She paused and her bare neck colored. "Could you help me with my buttons?" She asked.
He realized the cold had rendered her fingers incapable of performing the task. He gently reached up and began to unbutton the dress. It was completely drenched. When he undid the last button at the small of her back she let her arms fall to her sides and the dress fell to her waist.
Darion knew he should not stare, but he was oddly captivated by the woman whose alabaster skin and hair like corn was so alluring to him. She smelled like cinnamon and jasmine. She turned slightly to pick up the new dry dress of warm wool. In doing so he glimpsed the curve of her bosom under her arm and felt his mouth go dry.
He sighed and turned his head away when he realized he was staring. She turned to him as she stepped from the sodden dress and smiled. "Thank you Darion." She said lifting a hand to his cheek.
That at least was starting to warm and he could feel it against his skin. The warmth of the living. Something he used to hate and now was often jealous of. He kissed the palm and held it to his cheek a moment before he turned from her.
"You are welcome Helene." He said softly at the door.
She watched him go. She knew this battle hardened warrior was not as gruff as he often made himself out to be. He had a soft gentle side. Helene was fairly sure very few of any others knew about it. She then sat down to pen a letter to her mother as she sat close to the brazier to warm herself.
Outside Darion mounted one of the proto drakes to go flying. He sighed as the drake lifted into the air stealing the breath he no longer required. He sighed as the wind hit his face. What was he thinking? She would never love a corpse or more to the point, an undead. He sighed. For now she would remain an angel, unattainable and beautiful to him in every way. For the small hope she offered he could only thank her. He sighed and wondered if she was as many truly believed, one of the hero twins. He turned his mount to go survey the Broken Front.
Time would tell what mettle the two were made of and if they would fulfill that destiny.
From the ashes of a broken land doth rise,
Two children of equal size,
Twins of a royal born,
For many will scorn,
Riding among the dragons they will fly,
Oh so high, the land be broken and sundered,
Though it never thundered,
Peace shall reign,
The Northern King is slain.
New allies will be formed,
Others will be mourned,
As into chaos the land are thrown,
Only the twins can be shown,
How to being what was sundered and undone,
To become whole and one,
So from the shadows come,
For the bards their harps will strum,
The twins will fight an old enemy once dead,
That so man had before dread.
Behold together night and day,
Become the saviors of the old way.
A'dal's ballad of the Hero Twins – 1000 years ago