~ * Author's Notes *~
This is a sort of stand-alone short story edited to fit into the bigger story. I added it here because of many reasons, but mostly the fact that I can use lore characters and not have to fiddle with background information AND I could tie "The Cat in the Bag: TDP" together with "Of Death Knights and Necromancers" in a more substantial way.
This is the longest chapter I have ever posted at 13 pages total. Way up from my norm of 4-6 pages.
"She was picking flowers: roses, crocus, and beautiful violets.
Up and down the soft meadow. Iris blossoms too she picked, and hyacinth.
And the narcissus, which was grown as a lure for the flower-faced girl"
Hymn to Demeter, by Homer
~*~ Chapter 70 ~*~
Kayas ran flat out towards the direction of Brill. She had no intention of following the Dark Lady's orders. She was going home. One way or another, if she had to jump into the ocean and swim all the way there in her seal form, then she was going home!
Even if her people rejected her, even if they drove her from ancestral holdings and the heart of her forests, even if they saw her markings and knew of her affliction and called her Horde, her friends and father needed to know what became of her.
As she traveled through the forests her eyes began to water at the though of the people she left behind. Her friends would be worried, her heart told her. The short leatherworker who was her father would be outside his mind with grief. He had lost a wife and two daughter already; he couldn't lose her. She could see his silver eyes and hear his ragged breathes as he plowed through furbolg holdings and naga encampments searching for her. He would never stop looking.
Her mind alighted to the last time she saw her friends in Auberdine. Mell'marie was halfway through her day and on her way back to the shrine for meditations; Kotinas and his feline companion were going to cuddle by the fire with one of his many Dwarven romance novels; Kissy had been contracted to appear before the Sentinel matron but skipped out because she hated being "tied down"; Sappy, short and very hungry, was stuffing her larder bag with baked goods and twinkling her eyes at the though of returning to Kharanos and her Dark Iron rebel husband.
The would never stop looking for her: none of them would.
Her throat tightened; her heart hurt. They loved her. Would that love be enough to accept her like this? Would their friend bring the Plague upon Kalimdor? Probably? Yes. Certainly? Unsure.
She would have to see. Kayas left a life behind in those forever twilight shores. The though of smelling moonflowers and feeling the familiar padding of river moss under food propelled her forward.
She had left a lot of lives behind; it was time to get back to them..
To her right something bright and shining trapped her attention. A halo of white lit up by daybreak surmounted a base of silver and black bird skulls. Kayas momentum slowed, her mind waging a small battle between the pull of home and the curiosity of her breed.
Curiosity won. It usually did, with her anyway.
Stealthing, she lowered thin limbs to the ground and stalked the quarry. It didn't move, didn't breathe. A statue of an High Elf. It knelt smack in the middle of the clearing, staring intently at a patch of small white flowers.
Peacebloom, Kayas mind supplied. Legend said they grew wherever harmonious reckoning happened in the past. Sometimes it took a century for the magic of the act to take root, but eventually it did and the tiny little flowers were Elune's way of celebrating the balance.
The statue knelt, studying the flowers with unmoving, glowing blue eyes. The statue must be old, Kayas mused. The Kaldorei did not use the magics of the lay lines to make the eyes of their statues glow the way the High Elf and Highbourne had. The skin was pale and smooth, like fine marble from the Human mines, and expertly rendered with the folds of skin where the neck wrinkled just so. She crept closer, mesmerized. He was handsome, this statue. Some High Elf from long ago? She was not familiar with the bird bone themed which she had first mistaken for an altar of bones. The flat black metal made the silver coated skulls stand out. They floated above his body protectively.
Kayas edged closer, halfway into the clearing now. Something about the statue gave her pause. Something about the way it's head was tilted down, fine white hair in a sheet to one side as he studied the plant. The pose was studious, introspective; it made her wary to intrude into the moment.
Had the Dark Lady put the statue here? Was he perhaps to commemorate the link between her undeath and her former race? The bird bones would certainly do that, enveloping him in elegant beauty. Not that he needed bones to be pretty.
What craftsman had stamped their mark on the world with this exquisite work, knowing or perhaps hoping that future generations would remember them always? Or had it been some way, by those glowing blue eyes, for them to see into the future, to catch a glimpse of what life would be like years down the road.
I wonder if they had seen the Plague coming. How awful.
The lose way he wore his hair reminded her of the Priest. A small bomb went off in her stomach, puling her up short. I should leave. High Elves and Kaldorei had never gotten alone so why push it? Even if it was just a -
He moved.
Kayas jumped and backed into the bushes, ears flat to her skull and muscles tense.
That's not statue. By Elune, i'ts real. Oh, my Elune, that – that – that is a person?
He watched her retreat with no more interest than a passing moth. His attention was all for the white speckles at the skull-mounted toe of one boot.
Slowly he reached out, very slowly. The flowers wavered a little. The hand stopped. They were both missing gloves, those hands. The Druid had not noticed before. If she had perhaps she would have noticed the trace of glowing blue rune along his collarbone or the back of his hand.
Inside her mind she spit her tongue out, disgusted by the Highbourne and their involvement with magic.
The flowers stopped moving, relaxed. He reached for it again, but not as slow as before, and the flower bolted, leaning left, then right to get away from the grabbing hand (4).
Frustration made a crease between his eyes before he though to pull his hands back so the flower would stop fighting.
He tried again. For several minutes the Druid lay in the bushes watching the High Elf try to pick the flower. It dodged, bent, leaked petals all over, but would not be had. When he though to go to the root of the plant and pull it from the ground, the stem turned black and it died.
By the time Kayas exited the bushes and pushed the High Elf's hands out of the way there was only two flowers left out of the whole small bush. Dozens lay massacred on the ground leaking life essence back into the earth.
"You'll never get it that way," she said, plopping herself on the other side of the remaining foliage. "Stop trying to tell it what to do."
Stiffly at first but then with some amount of grace he sat back, rested his forearms across one knee and allowed her to continue. A tickling insistence that something was off about this fellow wormed it's way up between her liver and lungs. Her belly twisted when she realized that it wasn't arcane magic that filled him, but frost.
According to the Pries, the mages of Quel'thalas now specialized in fire instead of frost or arcane like in the past. Why? Because, he said, "The Scourge don't drown and they cant be shocked or stunned. They are flammable."
Kayas wondered, as the High Elf watched her play with the flower, coaxing it to touch her forearms, wrists, fingers, palm, if he had been there. Had he seen the Scourge march through Quel'thalas? Had he seen his own people put fire to their beloved forests to unsuccessfully stop the invasion?
He looked too young. Elves aged as humans did till they were in their high thirties and then it slowed down considerably. For some it slowed down sooner, with them looking early or middle twenties for a long time, but this one? He looked timeless, like an age that was hard to pinpoint. Not old enough to have seen it unless he were a child, but not young to have been born after.
He studied her hands and listened to the instructions. His whole world revolved around this moment. There was no yesterday, no tomorrow and no where else to be right now.
"Be gentle," she breathed. "If it thinks you're going to use it then it won't let you have it. It'll die and go back to the earth. If you earn it's trust, tell it what you want, and let it decide you're far more likely to succeed." The plant brushed her palms, drinking in the energy she offered it. Peacebloom was an amazing plant; it grew untainted in almost any soil, no matter what energies lied therein. The leaves bent up to get to her fingers as small green sparkled of natural magic sprinkled down upon the plant.
"Now you try. Remember to be gentle."
The High Elf's face was blanked in concentration, "They don't like me anymore."
His voice sounded off and very hollow. It was as if he hadn't slept in weeks and traveled all the way here after some mystical plant, only to find he could not capture it and must return empty handed.
He sounded defeated.
"You're an elf," the Druid reminded him, "magic incarnate." The Dark Lady had said so much. "You belong to the land as we all do. Even the High Elves have their natural magic: the Rangers tame companions, do they not?" When he didn't argue, she went on. "Try … earning it's trust. Have you seen it done before?"
"Yes." The answer came very quickly. Forgotten scenes stirred in his mind and Kayas wondered again at his age. Ancients moved like he moved, weary and strung out.
He glared at the flower now. A second ago he was downcast but in an instant it sank beneath the surface of the man and the arrogance of his race rose up to replace it. He was a High Elf, Quel'dorei! He would not be defeated by a … a... flower.
"Stop," she said, before he could even put his hand out to try again, "You'll never get it if you think it needs to be conquered. It's not the enemy; it's a life that exists for it's own sake. Peacebloom commemorate something wonderful so acknowledge that. Try again."
He should have snorted and went about his business with the haughty air of superiority his kind were know for. He should have brushed aside the silly Druid who crawled out of the bush and proceeded to tell him how to proceed, unbidden and unwelcome. He should have snapped at her to go away, that he didn't need help and he'd get it this time or find another plant. How long had he been trying now? No.
Instead the blue eyes glanced up, check to make sure she was watching, and bent down again to the plant. Both hands came around from both sides. They stopped suddenly. The perfectly manicured nails glinted in the foggy morning light.
The clearing lit up suddenly as a cloud moved. Streaks of light floating in, hit the armor and he glittered.
He shone.
Shaking out his wrists he put one hand on the ground. Eyes closed his lips began moving. The little Druid new more of the Highbourne language than she cared to admit, but there was more between Thalassian and Darnassian than just cultural differences. Try a ten-thousand year time span and the fact that Thalassian had picked up not only Dwaven words but a good deal of Common slang as well. Mix that in with a healthy dose of corruption as people who refused to give up their native language bastardized the newer ones in order to make it their own (1).
He could be invoking meatballs for dinner for all she knew.
A moment latter he looked up, a tired weariness in his eyes. This would be the last try. If he didn't get it this time then he never would. Something in him tilted on the edge of giving up something very, very important.
Cross legged on the ground his spine went erect but supple. Long white hair was pushed to the side behind one short– at least by Kaldorei standards – ear. He flicked his wrist several more times before it snapped in the joint. Slowly, ever so slowly he reached out to hold the plant.
The Thallasian words came tumbling out of his mouth once more, like the wind over a harp. The hollow ring of his voice gave it the musical tones that were missing in the absence of a real instrument. They fell like a basket of pearls, spilled on the ground. The energy rolled gently.
Some of it touched the Druid's hand and she pulled back, surprised by how cold it was. He was an primal water using mage after all, so that was to be expected?
The flower wavered in the circle of energy. It listened, intent upon the words, the energy. The long fingers came closer and closer, the wind spilling between them like beads through silk. The callouses that showed this man was no library-bound student of magic; his craft was perfect already. He had moved on to skill with sword instead.
A battle mage?
Slowly, gently a forearm was offered. The plant hesitated, tasting the thoughts and intent with one slim green leaf. A wrist next, the paleness enough to show the tendons of the thick wrist clearly. The leaf brushed this as well. The back of the hand exposed itself. The leaf brushed this.
Finally the fingers came to encircle flower, but did not seek to snatch it. The prayer rolled around and around the base of the small bush. Finally the flower made it's decision.
Yes, I will give my life essence to your request.
He picked the flower.
It became like glass in his hands. Not literally, but figuratively. Gently, so gently, he lay it in one open palm and started at it. So white and fragile and willing.
"I am incapable of shedding tears," the figure said. "You may leave."
Kayas blinked. Dismissed? You're dismissing me? Fine! See if I ever help another alzoron(2) elf!
Turning around she walked out of the clearing, head high and shoulders back.
Two seconds latter she walked back in.
"Actually," she said with some authority. "You're going to give me something in exchange. I want news from the home front."
A scowl marred his face, turning him instantly from something peaceful and beautiful to something hideous, "What?"
"Tell me what's going on outside Tirisfal Glades."
"War. You may leave now."
"Besides that."
"Something dark lies under Tirisfal Glades. It messes with elves and their magic. (3) Hurry away."
"Besides that."
"Prince Kael'thas has gone to Outlands with survivors of Quel'thalas in hopes of curing the Hunger. Leave now."
"I... didn't know that." Did the Priest? He had only said they were rebuilding Silvermoon still and that their beloved Prince refused to take the title of Sunking until such day as he found another Source, defeated the Scourge, and returned their lands to their former glorry. Tall order, Kayas had supposed, wondering if he really want to be king with a laundry like like that.
What is with these elves and wanting to fix the world before they allow themselves a moment to feel their own glory? Sylvanas had no problem naming herself a Queen. But knowing her, she probably overcame her own list before doing that. Then promptly developed another.
Sheesh.
"How about some news about my people?"
His yes narrowed dangerously. A chill breeze blew, shifting the curtain of shimmering hair. "There is a … Druid... in Light's Hope Chapel. He was captured by a human priestess. Aldoron if ever I saw one."
This time Kayas was taken aback. That word was only ever used by High Elves to describe either Night Elves or their weakest citizens. Humans were never given that insult. "Captured?"
"He's a Death Knight... Druid... thing." Shaking his head, the shimmer went everywhere, catching on his ears, buckles and epaulets. "Do not inquire. You do not want to know. Even your kind are not strong enough to withstand... her."
Kayas could have sworn he was about to say "him", as in the Lich King. Who was "her"? No one had ever mentioned a her before. And besides, weren't the people at Light's Hope suppose to help other people. The Priest often mentioned it, but wouldn't go anywhere near it. Bad memories, he said. Something about a blaze, but what exactly the "blaze" was never came up in conversation. Corrosa mentioned Strathholm once, but the Priest had barked at her to not bring it up.
The incident started another of their famous fights.
"Does he... need rescuing?"
The man laughed, throaty and hollow, ringing in it's force, "No. Nothing can save him now. The Runebreaker got aholt of him. He's... going to die. She's Kaldorei too, you see. Birds of a feather." He glanced down at his own armor and amended, "Or something like that."
Kayas blinked. "What?"
"It's a long story. A horror story. Not for children. Run along now."
"I'm not a-"
"-grown woman." The bird-armored man stood, "Not in your power yet. Not strong enough to withstand what she'd do to you. Not... not going to be like him."
"I don't understand what you're talking about."
"Run. You need to run. Now. Leave. NOW!"
Kayas ran.
Never had anyone told her to run just for the fun of seeing her flee. Every time it had saved her life. The stranger's words spun through her head, spiraling down her spine and into her ears over and over and over again.
Aldoron. Priestess.
Death knight... druid... thing.
She's Kaldorei too.
What she'd do to you.
Be like him.
Death Knight... druid.. thing.
~ Scene Break ~
The statue was seated again, staring at the flower in his palm when another figure walked up.
"There you are," the human said. His eyes burned almost white with the frost magic of his calling. The druid would have assumed he were a very powerful mage, as sometimes those who were filled with their calling literally had it shining in their eyes.
"The Druid ran away."
The human was annoyed. Very annoyed, "He'll know what you did. He knows everything you know."
"I.. find myself not caring at this moment. Does that make me weak?"
"Yes. You were never good at leading or doing by yourself. Just following orders."
"He'll punish me."
"Perhaps."
"What will you do then?"
The human was still for a long moment, thoughts churning over in his head like waves breaking on rocks. They rose from the depths of his mind, crested into completion, and crashed down, shattering around in his brain.
"I serve Him. What is to be done for that?"
The elf closed his hands around the treasure he held, securing it from public view.
"What have you got, Tir?
"A flower."
"A... flower?"
"Peacebloom."
"Oh my. How dreadful."
"Kill your sarcasm, Thass. I don't need it right now."
"What do you need, brother?"
A pause as the elf studied the flower under his nose, blocking it from the humans' view with the vale of his flowing hair. "I need to … I need … reassurance."
The human scoffed, "You lost the battle. There is nothing to be done for it."
The elf grit his perfect teeth in a guttural motion, "I didn't expect the Commander to just let the Forsaken come in and set up a picnic!"
"Picnic, fel! Sylvanas set up a god damned restaurant!"
"I didn't expect her to be their either! That woman... that woman... shit."
"Light be damned, can you not get over fighting women?"
The elf looked at the ground, hiding brows furrowed in a moment of grief. "Women are the mothers, the daughters-"
"Women are the death of any man who puts them on a pedestal of gender ideals and bitches when they fall from it. Let them be people and you'll find it a lot easier to deal with."
The elf scoffed, "Humans."
"Elves."
A long moment of silence.
"What do you need then," the human asked. He moved around to study the flower in the elves hands. It was very much alive and pretty. White petals almost matched the white hair.
"I suck at commanding. That's why you're always in charge when we get shipped out."
"Why do you think I volunteered to come this time?"
"But we lost."
"Because you took a detour through the Ghostlands to see some stupid trees, not because you couldn't have done it. If you had been here that stupid priest wouldn't have been able to-"
"I'm not that kind of elf anymore," the elf sadly admitted. He didn't want to hear this diatribe. Yes, he could do many things, but he was not a mage. Had not been for a long time. Mind wars with priest were not his specialty. Besides that, the Sun burned him now and he was not sure if he could admit his human friend might be wrong.
"You've gone all soft for Thanis, haven't you?"
The elf didn't answer, just subsided the flower.
"Elves," the human said again, rolling his white-blue eyes.
"She left him there. She broke Widower and … left him there."
"He betrayed us. Forget him."
"She's going to Northrend now."
"If you honestly believe that, you're dumber than your pretty hair wold lead people to think."
"But the Master said-"
"Alonea is still alive, you haffwit. Or have you forgotten. She has complete free will. She isn't bound to Him. You think she's capable of going to Northrend-" The human stopped. He grit his teeth realizing his elfin brother wasn't stupid after all:
"You let the Druid go on purpose, didn't you? So she wouldn't go to Northrned. The Master's deal with her said she had to have a replacement for Thanis before she went."
The elf didn't answer. It was so soft in his hand, the petals. How long had it been since he held a flower? Just held a flower.
The human changed the subject. "I think it's grandly hilarious that you can pick peacebloom. None of the rest can. Wait till He finds out."
The elf said nothing. Had been silent for a while now.
"Tira, talk to me."
Silence still.
"Is it because she let him go?"
"No. I don't believe she let him go because she wants him dead."
"You think she wants him to suffer?"
A quite moment, then, "I don't think he ever meant anything to her. You couldn't tell it from the way they acted together, could you? They were always so... a pair. You'd think they were born and would die that way. But now? Now he's nothing and she doesn't care."
"And that bothers you?"
"Yes."
It must be an elf thing, the human remembered. "Ah, and you need reassurance that you aren't just nothing to the one who chose you. Am I correct?"
"Yes."
After several more silent moments, the wind picked up and blew through the trees The elf looked into the distance, saw the smoke of the compound. In the oppose direction was the smoke from an equally large fire. There wasn't suppose to be another attack from his following today so whatever it was wasn't His doing.
Somehow, he knew, they would blame Him still.
He was OK with that.
Finally he looked up at the human and asked, "I have failed you many, many times, Thassaurian. What is the difference between me and Thanis now?"
The Death Knight looked down at his undead brother, ran his fingers through that soft, shimmering white hair – the very hair that caused him to notice the Quel'dorie in the first place all those years ago during the Invasion of Quel'thalas, and he said softly, under his breath so that almost no soul could hear him,
"Because, Shining Sun, I kept you."
~ End Notes ~
1). In this regard, Thelassian is like American English; a mixture of a LOT of other languages.
2) The Darnassian equivalent of the word aldoron. It means those who are afflicted with magic and have lost the path of nature and balance. These individuals, if not executed for some crime or another, are always banished. Not exceptions.
3) When Kara was released I did a lot of lore research. The end of it is (because I was writing this story at the time) that I decided to put a "strange power" under Tirisfal Glades which would mess with "elves magic" (i.e. Sylvanas). Latter Sylvanas want all OCC in Cata and the biggest theory amongst fans is an "old god" under Tirisfal. My version doesn't turn Sylvanas into a psycho, however.
At this point I should be writing for Blizzard cause we're always coming up with the same ideas anyway. They just publish faster than I do.
4) When I first envisioned this scene, you could still miss on picking flowers at Herbalism Level 1. I wrote this by way of explaining how on earth Peacebloom could possibly not get picked. Nothing is more hilarious to me as when I finally noticed all the Death Knights out there picking flowers. Seriously. Picking flowers.