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gwenhylew · 6 years

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The Revenant 5/5

Revenant Fic Tag

Things that never happened, but might had easily happened

There was no reason to dawdle long in Stormwind. The party of three, Thil the Highborne mage in need of assistance in Karazhan, Alorion the Night Elf hunter, and Gwenhylew the Priestess of the Moon, had all the supplies they could need in Thil’s magical conjurations. They proceeded almost directly out of the city.

Stormwind was busier than ever, Gwenhylew observed from the back of Tenderfeather, her borrowed hippogryph, as they rose higher and higher. Gwen asked the hippogryph to pursue Thil and Alorion - respectively flying a magical carpet, and a white-and-chestnut hippogryph - while she took in the view.

Stormwind had changed much more than Darnassus had, not just by the sheer amount of population. A week ago Gwen had stumbled back to civilization in Pandaria, she’d been surprised to hear of all that had transpired in the world during her self-imposed exile. There being a new king in Stormwind had been only one tiny part of it all.

The previous king, Varian, had never given Gwen a favourable impression of himself, but she remembered having seen Anduin as a child, once upon a moon. Having barged into the throne room in a Night Elf entourage complete lost in the castle, looking for someone... or was it something? Gwenhylew was certain there had been at least eight of them, young and bright-eyed Elves, gawking at the strange and delightful human city. But when she started counting the names of her companions, she fell two short. One whose name escaped Gwen, but face did not, a young rogue girl, she had died later on that year, another victim of the war between the Alliance and the Horde. Only one of many, in Gwen’s acquaintance.

The High King of the Alliance now sat there somewhere inside the castle the three night-time fliers passed.

“Not my king,” Gwen said to herself. The hippogryph trilled in agreement.

Karazhan, the tower of the wizard Medivh, had been haunted for years and raided by countless numbers of mercenaries. Gwen had been dubious that the tower would even be standing by the time they arrived, and even if it did, any valuable book in its shelves would be long gone, or long destroyed by stray fireballs. Yet the mage seemed certain that what she was looking for lay somewhere in the ruins.

Entering the library via the little service entrance was child’s play. Fighting the endlessly reappearing old spectres who relentless came back again and again? Not as easy as Gwen recalled. Back in the day, they had ventured inside the tower in much bigger parties than this. Thankfully the sombre hunter had also visited the place, and offered tactical insights to their sneaking in the tower undetected.

Once inside the library, having cleared it of a few mechanical constructs that had been guarding it, Thil began to recite some kind of spell, which in theory would help her find the missing book.

As Alarion and Gwen kept their vigil in case of surprises, it occurred to Gwen that not one of the three of them had discussed anything but strict and curt business in these short few days they had spent together.

“How did you get so good at sneaking in Karazhan?” Gwen asked in lowered tones from the stoic hunter, as not to disturb the young mage trying a second searching spell to try locate her lost tome.

Alorion glanced at Thil sideways, and then at Gwen.

“Mercenary work.”

Gwen cast her eyes thoughtfully away from the hunter. That so many Night Elves had fled Kalimdor and turned mercenary had often hurt her in the past. Then again, she’d met the man at the Temple of the Moon, so he was unlikely to be completely unattached from the Kaldorei society.

Unattached from the Kaldorei society like she’d just been for a good number of years, Gwen thought with irony.

But such as it was, the Sentinel army and the Priesthood were still slow in accepting male members. And unless one pursued the Cenarion Circle, a man had a hard time finding his place in Kalimdor. The seas and forests both were treacherous and full of enemies far worse than krakens and bears. Gwen had long suspected that a lack of a place to fit in had Danilin’s father get up and run. She’d been mad then, at what a selfish coward Zhane had been, that he hadn’t even had the nerve to tell her he was leaving.

Now she thought it was somehow understandable. She herself felt she had no standing at all in the society anymore. She thought wrong, and acted wrong. Her travels had changed her too much, like it had transformed many. It had transformed Zhane only earlier. And it had transformed this Alorion the archer too.

“The Priestess disapproves?”

“Not at all,” Gwen replied. “Was it good?”

“Yes... until we got wrapped up in this world-saving quest,” Alorion said, smiling, completely without mirth.

“Ah. One of those,” Gwenhylew replied, with a similar smile.

Thil coughed, having conjured a dust cloud, but no magical tomes yet. “I haven’t saved the world yet, but I hear they can be awfully dangerous.” The little mage started leafing through her notebook.

A moment passed.

“Well, was it?” Gwen asked Alorion.

“Hmm?” The hunter glanced back at her.

“Was saving the world dangerous?” Gwenhylew elaborated.

Alorion looked aside, and the cool smile vanished.

“You could say that. I was the only one who got away from my party more or less intact.” He took a controlled intake of breath, let it out again before he spoke. “The... the demons were as merciless as when they first attacked.”

Gwen’s heart stung a little. Her childhood sweetheart had died, ground to a bloody puddle by a demon of the Burning Legion when the orcs and humans had first sailed to Kalimdor. One of many victims.

At that moment, Gwen understood why none of the three of them had spoken anything beyond business or shallow courtesies to one another in these days. To form a bond was to form also the severance of that bond. And all three of them had experienced too many severances. Even the little mage. Gwen pondered, she was far too serious and mature for her age and stature, perhaps her family...

“I have something,” Thil announced, pleasure at her achievement coating her voice. “This little ball of light is going to take me to the book.” And indeed, she had conjured a little blue ball of light, which was now hovering in the air just in front of Thil.

The light moved at an agonizingly languid pace. There were noises in the upper levels of the tower, of ghosts wailing and moaning. As the elves moved deeper into the tower, Gwen could hear mana wyrms devouring remnants of the strange arcane energies cloying to Medivh’s tower, although the master was long gone.

They fell back into the businesslike silence. No one needed to be told to hush.

A few stray mana wyrm encounters later, Thil’s light hovered to the top of an impossibly tall book shelf. She unrolled her magic carpet in order to reach the high shelf. Once up there, she smiled as she pulled out the old tome she had been searching for, and waved down at the other elves with a “I told you so” expression on her face.

“Amazing that thing is still intact,” Gwen muttered as she watched the little mage descend.

“She wouldn’t have brought us here if she wasn’t sure it was,” Alorion replied. “Now let’s get out of here,” he hissed up at Thil.

"In a minute”, Thil whispered. She couldn’t wait to examine the book, once she landed back on the tiled floor of the ruinous library.

The book the highborne mage presented them with was, in fact, completely blank.

“It’s completely pristine!” Thil said with excitement, forgetting for a second that their mission was that of stealth.

Gwen shook her head in confusion. “Why are we here for a blank book?” She asked, remembering to keep her voice low.

“This is a book for writing spells on, Medivh had, you see, perfected a technique for pres-”

Alorion laid his hand on Thil’s shoulder. “Fascinating, but I think we should get out first before you let every construct, ghost and mana wyrm still left in Karazhan know that we’re here.”

Thil’s excitement banished, she nodded curtly.

Once they were outside of Karazhan and had summoned their hippogryphs who had hidden so carefully in the Pass, Thil began, without much further ado, cast her spell to open a portal to Darnassus.

And it seemed to take much longer than usual.

Gwen tapped her foot impatiently, while casually grooming the hippogryph by her side.

“Strange, it’s not opening,” Thil said.

“Did something go wrong with your magic inside that tower?” Alorion asked, gesturing at the stone walls of Karazhan.

“Hmm.” Thil conjured water, turned herself invisible, and destroyed a dead tree branch with arcane missiles. “I don’t think so?” She concluded. “I could try create a portal to Stormwind, however. Or would you prefer Dalaran?”

“Stormwind is fine,” Alorion said.

“I’d rather not go to Stormwind, so if you don’t need me anymore, I’ll take my Hearthstone back to Darnassus now,” Gwenhylew said, while she watched Thil create a magical portal to the human city, like she had done just yesterday.

But before Thil and Alorion had the chance to step through, Gwen was calling out in alarm. “Something is wrong. My Hearthstone is dead.”

“So I take it that nothing is wrong with Thil’s magic...” Alorion said.

“... no, something is wrong with Darnassus,” the little mage said, phrasing the thought now most immediately on Gwen’s mind.

Once they arrived in Stormwind, they landed in nothing short of chaos. There were perhaps a thousand Night Elves stranded all around the Mage Quarters of Stormwind City, all unable to portal themselves to the Temple of the Moon. There were so many people in the Mage Tower that Gwen and her companions had to squeeze themselves through the throng, much like everyone else were doing.

Most of the Elves were restlessly populating the grass outside the tower. One of the Priestess of the Moon, backed up by two Sentinels, were moving amongst the crowd, speaking to small groups of Night Elves at a time. A lot of civilians, Gwen noted. That, or everyone was feeling very casual.

Then she noticed there were children amongst them.

Gwen broke away from her companions into a swift stride, and headed for the Priestess she could not recognize. “What is it, what is happening?” Gwen asked, breaking up the soft conversation the other Priestess had been having.

The stern elder Sister made no pleasantries. “Teldrassil is burning,” she said. “Sister Mayapple, your help will be invaluable, once you recuperate from your shock.”

“Teldrassil is burning?” Alorion asked, his voice catching Gwen off-guard just behind her.

“Yes, we are unable to portal assistance there right now. The Horde have set the tree on fire and are attacking Darnassus. Rut’theran is no more,” the Priestess said with such an even-tempered demeanour that Gwen wondered if she had a heart at all.

Danilin! Eledhwe! Auntie! Mother! “And Dolanaar?!” Gwenhylew demanded.

“I’m afraid we have no news of Dolanaar,” the Priestess, a little sorrow now cloaking her marble-like demeanor. “You should prepare yourself for the worst. Perhaps you need to take a moment to yourself to recompose.”

Even as the Priestess was still addressing her, Gwen was already running off to Tenderfeather, who was standing still at the edge of the gathered crowd of stranded Elves. She would, she would... she would catch a ship... no, she would need a portal to Exodar. The journey was not long from there.

Glaring around frantically, Gwenhylew sought to find Thil in the crowd. “Thil. Thil. A portal to Exodar,” Gwen demanded, finding it suddenly hard to breathe. In her mind, she was imagining her son, Danilin, a Night Elf of ten and some, lying in a puddle of blood, his little bones crushed. Thil glanced at Alorion. Gwen found herself hyperventilating.

“Priestess, you’re unwell,” the hunter said.

“You both will be extremely unwell unless you take me to Exodar immediately,” Gwen managed to growl, despite her uneven breathing.

“We should try find out first if they have attacked the Azuremyst Isle as well, if there’s a blockade, you won’t get any closer to Teldrassil from there, and the Draenei city is far less protected than Stormwind,” Thil said analytically.

Gwenhylew wanted to scream. She wanted to kick. She felt a quiet rage surge just under skin. It wasn’t particularly directed at her companions, but rather at herself. I’ll see you for tea when I come back, Gwen thought. I’ll visit Danilin when it’s closer to his birthday, Gwen thought. If she could have dueled herself, she would have thrown the gauntlet right there and then.

Gwenhylew caught the disapproving gaze of the elder Priestess within the crowd. A Priestess of the Moon making such a spectacle of herself in public, Gwen guessed her thoughts. Caring only about herself and her own, when she should be holding herself together, show all these lost Night Elves how strong she could be in the face of such a disaster.

Give them hope. Give them leadership. Give them something to believe in.

It took a few minutes, but Gwen managed to calm herself down.

Then the Priestess found her something useful to do.

Gwenhylew’s task was to make list, names of who was stranded where, and looking for who. Many people had now lost contact with their families and loved ones, with no idea as to what was going on.

She had initially pleaded to go join the ongoing battle at Teldrassil, but the Sentinels had in short terms stated that her gear was not up to date, and her fighting skills were lacking for her absence from war in the past years. She was fit for a clerk, until she trained herself back to shape.

Humiliating, that was what it had been. Gwen would have felt the sting of it much worse, if the face of every person she still loved on this Azeroth weren’t busy occupying her mind.

Gwen had, of course, thought about sneaking off on her own - a little younger version of her might have also done just that, gone recklessly into battle, not caring if she died. But age and experience, not to mention her training as a Priestess, had brought her practical wisdom: she would be of no use in this battle. She would be an obligation and a hindrance, needing Sentinels at her back to protect her, while bringing very little. She might even herself be preventing Sentinels from evacuating Teldrassil.

She’d also enjoyed, even if briefly, the thought of dying alongside the great tree, being burnt alive, in the heat of combat. Gwen had thought for years of it now, and accepted it, that eventually she would die on a battlefield, giving and risking everything for her country.

No, she would not die in a fit of bloodlust and grief induced insanity tonight, even though the thought had a romantic appeal.

What a pale shadow of the fearless fighter of her more glorious days she now was. What a pale shadow of a country the Kaldorei nation now was.

The moon waxed, the moon waned, an inner pragmatic voice reminded her.

She would be of use again, some day. While she remained alive, she would have the time to go out in the world, regain her strengths, and fight again.

But until that day, she had to contend with the present moment. Here in Stormwind, to her surprise, Gwen found help in Alorion and Thil, who trailed after her for some reason. Gwen wondered at that, for their quest was complete, and Thil had her nonsensical, empty book. They were no friends, and there was no reason to stay.

Yet, Thil soon became a secretary to Gwen, who spoke to elves, asking for their names and who they wished to find. While Gwen compiled her list, Thil updated it by arranging the names in tidier order by family names alphabetically.

And so they worked for hours, while more stranded Elves arrived into the Mage Quarters. Some were as confused as Gwen had been when they had arrived to the scene themselves, and Alorion took it upon himself to explain to them what was happening. Gwen saw every possible emotion on the faces of the stoic Night Elf race that night.

When at last there was a quiet moment, at the hour just before dawn, the three of them sat down on the grass, drinking the last of Gwen’s Moonberry Juice, thinned down with plain water to make it last longer.

“I might as well write down who you two are looking for,” Gwen offered. She’d added Danilin Mayapple, Riwanon Mayapple, Nenendris Mayapple, Eledhwe Morningsky, Elejalde of the Talon, Priestess Gwaithyn Mayapple, Priestess Willowsong, Taraniel, Ralavan Talaras, Verdant of the Druids, and Dragomir on her list already earlier.

“I’ve no one to add,” Alorion said simply.

“Me neither,” Thil echoed.

Gwen grew very still suddenly. How... absolutely lonely those two must have been, she thought. And they had seen all the names Gwen had put on her list - how strangely rich she felt for a fleeting second.

Gwen wanted to say something, but everything she considered sounded like an empty platitude. May the Goddess protect us? The Goddess had done absolutely nothing the first time the black sky had rained demons on Mount Hyjal. And now the Goddess did more of the same nothing, while Night Elves were being burned out of their homeland by savage invaders and undead abominations.

But maybe they could have something else, if not the Goddess?

“Please stay with me,” Gwen said in hushed tones to the pair of them. And she could feel it, that terrifying, hurting, heart-breaking thing start again: she was forming another bond.

“Not like we got a lot of places to go, Priestess,” Thil said sardonically, and settled herself more comfortably on the grass. She had worn herself out, and fell asleep, using her rolled-up magic carpet as a pillow.

But the hunter had said nothing, and said nothing for a long time. Gwen could guess what he was thinking, for it was also on her mind. A bond was only baggage and burden, and heart-ache in this constant war.

“I think I’ll accept. For now,” Alorion whispered eventually, as to not disturb the sleeping little mage.

“Thank you,” Gwen replied. She glanced at Thil, wishing she could fall asleep like that. But her heart was beating like a hummingbird. Now, in the quiet lull of the pre-dawn moment, she was beginning to find her panic again, with fear of what was to come of her little son, her defenseless, beautiful little son. Gwen managed to keep herself together, however, apart from the shaking of her hands. She couldn’t make them stop, even when she held them together and pulled them almost painfully against her chest.

Fearing another hyperventilation attack coming on, she pulled her legs closer to her chest and hugged her knees and laid her forehead down on them. She couldn’t cry, she’d run out of tears years ago. But unfortunately her body still found a way to shiver and shake.

A warm cloak suddenly surrounded her, a hunter’s cloak, and an arm tentatively, gingerly, found her shoulders.

“It’ll be alright, Priestess,” Alorion whispered. “You have to believe your son made it out of Dolanaar. You’ll have to run on hope, until you discover the truth. There’s no use of fearing what might be, before then.”

Here spoke a man who’d lost everyone except for chance acquaintance he’d only stumbled upon.

Gwen found herself calming down again. She peered up at Alorion and smiled weakly at him. “What do you believe in, hunter?”

The hunter met her eyes, which was unusual. So far he’d been rather evasive in meeting her gaze straight on.

“I believe in going on,” he said simply.

Gwen thought, she might herself believe in that. Some day. Perhaps soon.

“Do you mind if I sleep under your cloak? With you in it? It’s a bit chilly, and I left my bed in my house in D-Darnassus,” Gwenhylew asked, attempting to crack a joke, but choked a little on the last words.

“I... guess not.” The hunter and Gwen rearranged each other so that Gwen was soon napping with her head resting against his chest.

“I hope I’m not making you uncomfortable,” Gwen mumbled sleepily, as exhaustion was finally finding her.

“No, I’m... good.” He sounded sleepy as well. Gwen felt him pull her little closer to himself as he adjusted his position on the moist grass that had been gathering dew all night.

Somehow, by some magic of his will, Alorion, this complete stranger, had completely banished now the haunting vision of Gwenhylew’s son dying out of her mind. She could imagine him rescued, saved. By Eledhwe, perhaps. Yes, Eledhwe would have gone to Dolanaar immediately. And mother and auntie were there, and father, if he wasn’t at Hyjal. And mother’s one-time lover while Elejalde had been sleeping his long sleep in the Barrow Dens, Dragomir could conjure a portal, easily. And where would he conjure one? To... to Dalaran, of course. Tomorrow, Gwen would request information from another Priestess posted there, if any of her family was there.

Instead of imagining them all dead, butchered by orcs, Gwen imagined them all alive, crowding the small city of the mages. Auntie and Mother disapproving sternly of their chosen location, while Eledwhe would show the amazed Danilin what an amazing place they had come to, floating above the air, just like the treetops of Teldrassil! Full of strange folk... such as the Horde.

“No, no, they wouldn’t have gone to Dalaran,” Gwen muttered, no, Ironforge, it’s safe, under a mountain, even though Auntie and Mother hate it there, she wasn’t sure if she was slurring her thoughts aloud or not. It amused her, the thought of Eledhwe showing Danilin the sights of the city inside the mountain. She could take the Deeprun Train as soon as she woke up, to go look for them.

What would she miss of Teldrassil? Not much. The Temple of the Moon, Gwenhylew surmised. And the dreamcatcher she had fashioned out of Blueberry’s tail feathers, which she’d left hanging in her bedroom back in the Craftsmen’s Terrace.

Gwen didn’t like to imagine her dear friend’s last tail feathers burning along with the great tree, so instead she preferred to think of the beautiful, iridescent colours of Blueberry sinking in the vastness of the sea, along with the great marble columns of the temple. Perhaps it was time to let go of her - she had been gone for years now in any case. Goodbye, my friend.

Before Gwen fell asleep, there was one more thing she imagined sinking into the sea amongst ruin and debris of the charred tree branches and pavement stones of what had once been Darnassus. Sinking into the deepest of depths, quickly vanishing from moonlight, was a metallic cylinder, which, when pressed correctly, opened into a fishing rod. A simple toy, which had brought much joy.

I got this for you.

Thank you.

And now it was gone.

#gwenhylew #gwenhylew mayapple #revenantfic #night elf #fanfic

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gwenhylew · 7 years

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The Revenant (4/?)

Things that might have happened, no one knows for certain

It was time to head out for an adventure. Gwenhylew picked up her temporary hippogryph companion – a sedate and old beast compared to Blueberry – from the Cenarion Enclave, before meeting up at the rendozvous point agreed with Alorion – in the southern Temple gardens. Gwen was to meet the Highborne mage who was to somehow benefit from this quest.

Although she was early, she was not alone. Alorion, along with his own hippogryph, was already there. Gwen took notice of the fierce and formidable looking longbow stowed on the back of the flying beast.

The mage was also there. The Highborne Elves and the Night Elves were so closely related that for everyone else in the world, both people were one and the same race and culture. But where the Highborne had embraced arcane magic, the Night Elves had denounced it, so many millennia ago. The Night Elves had practically persecuted the Highborne, who had hidden and isolated themselves in the verdant forests Feralas in southern Kalimdor.

Gwenhylew had expected to meet a centuries or millennia old Highborne magician, but she could immediately tell the so-called mage presented to her was even younger than Gwen herself.

”This is the Priestess?” the mage asked disdainfully.

She was short, for an elf. Her leaf-green hair was cropped short, and she wore… spectacles. And that was not all. Her clothes… they looked llike something out of the wardrobe of a nobleman from Eastern Kingdoms, than of any Night Elf or Highborne. Dark linen trousers, a white linen blouse, and a tunic in three different colours with ornately slashed sleeves on top. On her arm she carried a piece of heavy, folded cloth. And she carried a single leather backpack, which looked rather small and meager for an adventure.

Gwen offered no comment. She neither frowned or smiled.

”Yes, Thil, this is her. Priestess Mayapple.”

”Mayapples are small and dainty. And completely poisonous. Except the fruit is edible, once you remove the seeds,” the mage responded dispassionately, as if reciting from a book.

”It’s a good thing I am not a plant,” Gwen commented, a wry smile playing at the crook of her lips.

The fact was: The Temple was forced to curry favour with the Highborne mages, who the Night Elves now needed to keep protecting Kalimdor. Once upon a time an arrow or a dagger would have been enough, but times had changed. And the Highborne mages needed the Night Elves, for their secret hideouts in Feralas were not so secret any longer. But both sides had bad memories. Getting everyone to work together nicely was challenging at best. So it was in the Temple’s interest, to keep these allies, and for peace to reign in Darnassus, that Highborne relations be kept amicable.

And here Gwen was, keeping things amicable. A paragon of diplomacy. Sure. That sounded convincing. A memory of herself sarcastically telling an over-reaching druid to shut up during a meeting of the Sisterhood suddenly popped into her mind. (Well, he had been annoying, being so hellbent on derailing the conversation.)

”So, I hear we are to look for a book?” Gwen asked. She wanted to immediately know if the book was about summoning demons, but thought straight up asking a stranger if they had dire and sinister plans might have been perceived as a little hostile. Not to mention presumptious.

”Yes,” the mage replied simply.

”And how do you two know each other?” Gwen asked, glancing at Alorion. He offered no reply.

”We met on the slopes of Mount Hyjal. I saved his life. He was about to get squashed by a big demon,” the small mage said with dispassionate confidence.

Alorion glanced away from them both. ”I was alright,” he said in a low voice, ”if anything, I saved Thil.”

Thil shrugged. ”And now he’s the only person I really know in Darnassus. Most of my... friends have left this place, they’ve gone on to bigger cities. Ones where they welcome mages with open arms. They really don’t like mages in Darnassus, I suppose it’s difficult for the Temple to change their mind about the Arcane like that. But I have been to Stormwind City and Dalaran. Didn’t really care for either.”

Thil thoughtfully stroked her chin with her thumb and index finger. ”Besides, it’s not as if it is difficult to visit people, when you can just...”

The mage grew silent, and her hand began to glow.

Gwen wasn’t worried. She’d seen this happen a thousand times.

The air in front of the Highborne mage began to shake and move. It was like someone had punched a wall into the fabric of reality, and was stretching it larger and larger. Shapes and colours not belonging to the daytime garden in the Temple of the Moon could be seen in the portal soon. Gwen found herself – unsurprisingly – looking right into the great enchanted hall of the Wizard Sanctum, located in Stormwind City – the nearest safe place to arrive by magic, in relation to Karazhan. The hall was adorned with the blue and gold banners of Stormwind. On the other side of the world, it was night, not daytime.

”Time to go.” Alorion strode in first, hippogryph in tow.

Gwen took the reins of her own hippogryph, Tenderfeather, and was about to guide the beast towards the portal, when she heard someone call her name unexpectedly.

”Gwen!” The call came again, and Gwen spun around to see a Night Elf man quickly striding through the gardens at them. Thil looked exasperated.

Despite the all-new clothing (and how odd it was to see this particular elf in such soft and casual wools and silks!) Gwenhylew recognized who was approaching her instantly.

”The portal lasts only a few minutes,” the mage reminded her.

”I know, I know,” Gwen nodded, ”I’ll be ready.”

”I don’t want to spend all my mana conjuring portals,” Thil said, annoyance colouring her voice, which had been distant so far.

”Thil, this is Eledhwe, he’s my old friend and companion, I’ve known him all my life and it would be rude of me to run through a portal. We haven’t met in four years.”

Eledhwe – the newly arrived Night Elf – gave a quick overall glance at the mage, at the portal, and then focused on Gwenhylew alone.

”You know, I live in Rut’Theran now, you could have come seen me,” Eledhwe said, lifting an eyebrow. He was speaking of the nearby fishing village. The walk there from Gwenhylew’s new hideout would have taken all of half an hour on foot.

”What! Rut’Theran Village? Had I known that, I’d have come to see you yesterday. I thought you were living in Winterspring.” Winterspring was an ever-cold region in northern Kalimdor, on the northern slopes of the mountain ranges leading to Mount Hyjal. Relatively close, but, most of the year covered under a thick blanket of snow, also very chilly.

”I thought your mother would have told you -”

”Well I don’t live off my mother’s gossip, I don’t even know where she -”

”Ahem! A minute!” Thil announced impatiently.

”Fine, fine,” Eledhwe said, casting a displeased glare at the countdowning mage, and returning his gaze to Gwen. ”Your aunt left Ashenvale, because, well. Things got too heated there. Orcs and demons both. She lives in Dolanaar now. Danil’s there with her.”

Gwen registered the words and nodded. Dolanaar. A village an hours’ ride from Darnassus. Very small. Very safe. ”Alright. I should really get through this portal. I’ll be back soon. Let’s have tea when I do.”

As soon as Thil saw Gwen start pulling the hippogryph behind her, the impatient mage ran through the portal herself. If Gwen now dawdled, she’d have to take a ship across the sea to get to Stormwind, setting their party back days. Or perhaps they’d just leave her behind, find a replacement in Stormwind City.

”You know, he’s not so little anymore. He told me he wants to see you,” Eledhwe said. Gwen heard no blame in her old friend’s voice, but interpreted some between the lines anyway.

”Yes, I’ll have tea with my Aunt as soon as I come back, you should come too,” Gwen breathed, as she pulled the hippogryph towards the portal.

”Hmm. That’s not Blueberry,” Eledhwe stated, and Gwen wondered if Eledhwe could guess what had happened to her old flying companion.

Gwen stopped dead in her tracks and gave a final smile of farewell to the old and dear friend. ”It was really lovely seeing you. Wish you were coming, but right now I think the mage really wants me to pop over to Stormwind now, and I don’t want to mess up your day or your week for my sake. I’ll be back soon. And… I love your shirt. It is fabulous.”

Eledhwe hmphed in a huff, obviously disliking being shrugged off so quickly. ”Have fun.”

Gwenhylew thought better not to risk it any longer. She pulled the hippogryph and herself through the portal, and just in time too – she felt a hot rush in the air behind herself and the hippogryph, as reality began to repair itself again.

She looked around. Around her were hundreds and hundreds of people, all moving about in a lively fashion, people popping into the great hall through the aether, just as she had. Nearby, her companions were standing, waiting, Thil with more obvious signs of irritation overtaking her expression.

”Well, finally.”

#gwenhylew #gwenhylew mayapple #eledhwe #revenantfic

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gwenhylew · 7 years

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The Revenant (3/?)

Things that never happened, but might had easily happened

She’d hardly had to spend an hour at the Temple of the Moon before she was back in business. It was odd, but Gwenhylew had experienced stranger things.

After agreeing on initial details with the Night Elf man, there was little reason for her to stay at the Temple anymore, and Gwenhylew ambled towards the bank. It was time to take stock of her supplies.

The concept of a bank had been ridiculous twenty-odd years before, but it was one of the changes instigated by the Night Elves joining in an alliance with the humans and the dwarves. What had once been a strange and jarring way to conduct business amongst the previously nomadic elves (who’d traded more in items and less in gold) had now become a normal.

While she was queuing for one of the tellers to take take her to her vault, a sight of blue hair in the corner of her eye caught her attention, just as a familiar voice called her name.

”Gwenhylew!” harked Priestess Willowsong, who wore an identical white Mooncloth Robe to Gwen’s.

Willowsong’s countenance had always been one of extremely strong and confident restrain, which made even her calling out Gwen’s name sound like a polite whisper. When Willowsong gently stepped across the greenery in the bank garden towards Gwenhylew, most might have mistaken it for formal reserve; where Gwenhylew took it for enthusiasm.

”Willowsong,” Gwenhylew said, a genuine smile on her lips. They greeted each other with bows of their heads.

”Good to see you in Darnassus,” Willowsong said. ”We should have tea, but I’m on my way to the Temple for a tribunal council.”

”Oh?”

”A complicated matter, and I fear it might take all night. But, I could tell you everything over tea, tomorrow?”

Gwenhylew shook her head slowly. ”I was off a ship last night… and I’m leaving by another tomorrow, bound for the Eastern Kingdoms.”

Willowsong smiled, a mysterious and sedate thing that barely curled her lips. ”As usual, you are hard to pin down.”

”I’ll ask around for you, when I return. I’ll supply the tea. Need anything from Stormwind?”

Willowsong mock-shuddered at the mention of the human city. ”Anything that comes from the Eastern Kingdom better stay in the Eastern Kingdoms.”

A teller interrupted them to take Gwenhylew to her vault just then. ”Sister Mayapple,” he said.

”We should both go,” Willowsong stated, speaking her words with slight urgency, making Gwenhylew realize she must have already been late for her appointment. ”Good luck with your adventures.”

”Good luck with the tribunal.”

”Oh, I don’t need the luck, the idiot who broke into the Barrows is the one who needs all the luck,” Willowsong replied, and left.

Before following the teller, Gwenhylew watched the other Priestess glide away, thankful for the chance meeting. ”Oh, yes. Let us go.”

The vault door hadn’t been opened in years. For some reason Gwenhylew expected dust, but there was none. Inside the tiny room, all her extravagant and priceless robes were organized neatly. A gold-and-chrysoberyl tiara - crafted by a master enchanter-jeweler out of the spoils of the dread dragon Onyxia’s Lair - lay on a silk pillow, illuminating the room; and it was not the only item to throw its light across the walls.

”Do you require more light?” The teller asked her politely, from the corridor. They were not allowed inside the actual vault.

”No, thank you, this is fine,” Gwenhylew said, and took an enchanted dagger from the weapon rack, and used the blue flame licking the blade as an impromptu torch. Out of all the items in the vault, she went for the shelves covering the wall. In the centre of it all lay an ornate wooden box, and opened it. Inside were four rows of potions, five vials in each row.

”I wonder if these have expiration dates,” Gwen said outloud, to herself, and grimaced as she found herself speaking her thoughts to herself yet again.

The teller replied, assuming the question was actually directed at them. ”I’m not sure, Sister. Perhaps someone in Crafter’s Terrace would know?”

Gwenhylew nodded. ”Yes, I could ask around there of course.” She twirled one of the vials containing blue liquid, and watched the magic inside it reflect the light of ethereal flame of her dagger, faintly glittering.

She took a supply bag from the lowest shelf – one she thought she must have sewn herself years ago in a pinch – and selected three of the precious vials to place inside it. She was no longer a big shot, she reminded herself. She was in fact, pretty broke, and couldn’t afford to shop for potions or armour as if gold grew in trees. She’d had money, of course, but it had had an odd way of diminishing day by day, bottle after bottle.

Another item on the shelves gleamed in response to the flickering dagger – a copper flute, half hidden in a picnic basket along with a dozen other items. For a fraction of a second, it brought a smile to her lips.

”That’s probably too dangerous to bring for this trip,” she said, as if it were a particularly witty comment, but then she found herself speaking out loud again, and almost bit her tongue in an effort to silence herself.

”Oh… if you say so,” the teller replied.

”Yes, thank you, we are done here.” Gwenhylew’s voice lost the humorous charm that had crept in for a moment. Everything was cool and business-like once again. She returned the glowing dagger to the weapon rack, and the teller locked her vault soon after.

The night was still young. After her visit to the bank, she headed for the local druid conclave of the Cenarion Circle. She hoped the politics of the Circle hadn’t changed too much in her absence.

The Circle had been in a in difficult position when Gwen had left, working together with druids of all races, much to the dismay of the Sentinels of the Night Elf army, and the Priestesses of the Moon; Gwen imagined the Wardens who kept the prison barrows and likewise made sure the Temple remained free of corruption also had their strong opinions on how the druids ought to ally themselves.

But Gwenhylew had rarely had any problems with the druids herself. Her father was one of them, after all.

Gwen suspected some of the Wardens were suspicious of Gwenhylew’s real allegiances – she had rarely been a model Priestess in many regards – but she also had wreaked enough carnage on battlefields that anyone would be hard-pressed to prove Gwenhylew was not loyal to the Sentinels.

Nevertheless, she felt like she was being watched as she climbed the steps up to the druid enclave.

Darnassus may have looked like a haven of serenity to the naked eye, but underneath the surface... odd tensions remained.

–

Late into the night, having visited not only the Cenarion enclave, but also the Crafters Tavern, and a few of the local herbalists and alchemists, and the tailorers, Gwenhylew had returned to her solitary room at the edge of Darnassus.

She’d dressed down to an exotic midnight blue dressing gown, embroidered with silver herons. She’d bought it on a whim back in the south, because it was comfortable to wear on hot summer days by the shimmering turquoise sea. It would remain behind in her rented room.

The traveling clothes had been cleaned and mended by the tailorers. Sensible boots, warm gloves, water-resistant travel cloak. An blue, enchanted hood to hide Gwen’s hair. It looked plain, but the runes and the threads inside the lining could have taken the first heat of a young dragon’s breath and left her hair and head perfectly intact.

The Cenarion Circle’s green and turquoise travel robes, freshly brushed and reinforced, hung over the back of a chair, waiting for the next day.

Even though she’d soon been awake all around the clock, Gwen remained awake, packing her saddle bags for this next adventure she was about to partake on. Come noon tomorrow, a hippogryph borrowed from the Circle would carry it on its back.

On the bottom of the back she folded the Mooncloth Robe. Its fine but sturdy material took very little space amongst her things, and one could never know when an opportunity might rise which needed her to throw her political weight around.

The potions she’d acquire were transferred inside the saddle bags. A small knife which folded in upon itself. Dry travel food followed, and a full waterskin (that water from Stormwind just couldn’t be trusted…)

A worn canvas map. A leather-bound journal with notes written in meticulous detail. A prayer candle. A sleeping roll.

There was one more item laying on the purple quilt on top of the bed. Gwen sat there, staring at it, transfixed.

It was an iron cylinder that fit in the hand nicely. A small round wheel mechanism on one side. Gwen picked it up, her forehead wrinkling in deep thought. A memory came back to her.

Auberdine, a lifetime ago. The village is beautiful and intact. Moon rising over the sea. Her sitting on the pier, cool sea-breeze in her hair. She laughs. She feels young, she feels happy, she feels the strength of the Goddess protect her against anything, and the war with the Orcs will soon be won, and Ashenvale will be safe. Elves are good, Orcs are bad, and the Goddess is great.

”I got you this,” a voice giddy with anticipation tells her, and presents her with a box wrapped with white paper and blue ribbon. It doesn’t take her long to pull the paper aside and open the box, a strange iron cylinder inside it. She takes it in her hand, and he wraps his hand around hers, as he shows her the mechanism how to unwind the fishing pole. Later, their hands remain together, his wrapped around hers.

Even later, his sister wryly tells how he spent hours looking for that gift.

With a twist and a flick, it opened, pulling out of itself, until it became a fishing pole.

”It’s not going to be a fishing trip, is it,” Gwenhylew said, and sighed. Speaking aloud to herself. Again.

She pushed the rod of the Iron Fishing Pole back inside its handle and for the first time ever since receiving it, set it aside.

#gwenhylew #gwenhylew mayapple #revenantfic

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gwenhylew · 7 years

Text

The Revenant (2/?)

Things that may have happened but didn’t (or did they?)

Gwenhylew stayed in bed until the day was over. As night fell and the moon rose to rule skies of Azeroth, Gwen rose in turn. She discarded her traveling robe – a beautiful, practical piece of exquisite craftsmanship given to her by the druids of the Cenarion Circle – in favour of her true uniform, which she’d carried along at the bottom of her saddle bag all throughout the years.

The iridescent white Mooncloth Robes never wrinkled, and they barely had any wear on them. Wearing the robes in moonlight would make the wearer look like they were themselves glowing with the light of the Moon – of Elune, the great Goddess of the Night Elf people. The cold and distant Goddess Gwenhylew had sworn to serve.

Gwenhylew’s hair was almost as pale as the robes themselves. For a moment, she considered braiding her hair, to coil it up above the crown of her head, but quickly discarded the notion. She ran a wooden comb through her tresses a few times instead.

There were a few glorious items at the Bank of Darnassus she thought of retrieving – old memorabilia from her adventures, enchanted cloaks and rings, beautiful gowns, daggers, staves. But they all came with memories attached, and Gwen wasn’t ready to have a complete breakdown in her bank vault just yet.

In conclusion, there was to be no accessorizing. She would wear her hair open, just as the High Priestess had in Gwen’s time as a novice, and there would be just her Mooncloth Robe and a pair of sandals. No extravagances to draw eyes towards her.

She descended from her tower-like chamber down to the streets of the Craftsmen’s Terrace, which had become marginally livelier as night had fallen. More Night Elves busied the streets, visiting crafters, or headed towards the Crafter’s Tavern. Elves recognized her robe and didn’t bother her, and passing Sentinel guardians of the city nodded ever so slightly to her in respect, but there were no familiar pairs of eyes to meet hers.

Passing a Tailorer’s shop, Gwenhylew saw a glimpse of one of the weavers working at the loom. She’d forgotten her name, despite having visited the shop dozens of times in a life long past. They’d never spoken of anything personal, only about the handling of rare and enchanted fabrics and embroideries.

Without missing a beat, Gwen walked on.

She made her way through the central gardens of Darnassus, which were dominated by shallow lakes, purple trees and marble pavilions. There were fewer Sentinels patrolling in the gardens, and more citizens. Gwen spied more Worgen, and even some Draenei people, spending time under the pavilions, speaking in their foreign languages, saying words which meant nothing to her. She ignored them all, and made her way to the great wide bridge which lead to the entrance of the Temple of the Moon.

Priestesses and novices alike were all making their way to the Temple, which was not at all unusual at nightfall on a clear night, with the moon out. Most priestesses wore all-white, at least half of them in Mooncloth Robes similar to Gwen’s. She became a part of a serenely moving procession, which while lacking in order, made up in a strange and soothing calm, the very heart of which seemed to be the white marble temple itself.

It struck her as odd, how could she have forgotten this feeling?

Her worries lifted as she entered the hallowed marble halls. She searched for a private space in the great hall near the sacred Moonwell, where she offered a private prayer of thanks to Elune, before joining a procession of Priestesses, Novices and Acolytes to give her courtesies to the High Priestess, who barely acknowledged visitors as she was engaged in discussion with a Draenei envoy.

Gwenhylew returned to the Moonwell and sat there, staring at the statue of the first High Priestess. Across the years, she’d spent so many hours there, she could remember every detail of the marble carving. There was a comfort to the motions she had gone through, entering the Temple.

Had it been three or four years before, she would have meditated upon her prayers, and then left for any mission deemed important to the Night Elf nation. Had things been as they were four or five years ago, she would have stepped at the front of the Moonwell into the light of the moon, to be visible to the people entering the great hall, to offer them aid or counsel.

Neither idea seemed appealing to her now.

Then she had an idea. Gwen left the Temple, to seek the nearby pavilions for Alaindia (that was her name, right?), the elf who sold herbs and candles. As Gwen recalled, Alaindia had always kept to one of the green pavilions just outside the Temple. She was always a bit of a gossip, having so many customers, perhaps she would know if there was any news of Priestess Silvershine - a renegade Priestess who had been imprisoned for treason, and had subsequently fled.

Where Gwen was in the position of wanting to kill fewer people than what their establishment preferred, Laoise had been taken in for wanting to kill much more. Yet, still, Gwen counted her a friend. They had always shared something. An understanding. An alliance.

Gwen hurried her steps, eager to find the herbalist quickly, even though such urgent strides were not really in accordance with the stupid unwritten protocols of conduct. Gwen had always disliked that, she preferred to practically run from room to room, and the only reason why she tolerated these rules was because as a Priestess, the Night Elves expected a lot of things out of her, and acting like an unruly 50-year-old chit was definitely out of the question most of the time.

She made it to the green pavilion. But there was no one there.

Gwen sighed. The next best thing would be to go to the Wardens of the Barrow, who kept watch over the prisoners. Last Gwen had heard was that Silvershine had been jailed. But Gwen didn’t want to throw herself into trouble by going directly to the Wardens. There would be questions, and they already knew she had been friends with Priestess Silvershine. They must have seen her letters and postcards to Laoise.

Too bad she knew no one in Darnassus anymore, she could have sent someone to enquire in her stead.

Musing about these things as she was leaving the pavilion, Gwen almost walked into a stranger at the doorway.

“Hm!” Was her first reaction, not an apology. In fact, Gwen’s gut reaction told her, this stranger had followed her into the pavilion.

“I’m sorry, Priestess,” he apologized, despite the fact that it had been Gwenhylew walking into him. She took stock of the Night Elf man in front of her – tall, well-built, as most of them were. White hair in a ponytail, angular features, brown leather armour, and a cold hardness in his eyes. “Priestess… Mayapple, isn’t it?” He asked.

She knocked her head back, staring at him in the eye in a way that she hoped would make him step back. She wouldn’t. And soon it became apparent that neither would he.

“Have we met?” She asked, coolly, obligated to help any Night Elf seeking a Priestess, but she didn’t have to be customer service minded about it.

“No.”

“And how do you know my name?” Gwen asked, suspicious of what had made this stranger come to him.

“I was directed to you by one of the Sisters,” he responded, “I require aid, in a mission which would take me out of the Night Elf lands.”

“Is it a pilgrimage?” Gwenhylew asked.

“No, I need to… a Highborne Elf Mage, here in Darnassus, has asked me to enter the haunted ruins of Karazhan and acquire a book from there.” The man stated the facts plainly.

Devout, religious, magic-hating Night Elves, consorting now with magicians and their arcane artifacts. How times had changed! A handful of years before, this would have been a matter to discuss with the Wardens. But now someone in the Sisterhood of Elune was sponsoring such an outing, and knowing Gwenhylew’s reputation well enough to know she wouldn’t necessarily say no to a request such as this, even if the more conservative Priestesses would turn their backs on such a request.

Gwenhylew cast her eyes away from the stranger and considered the proposal. She didn’t mind fighting ghosts in haunted ruins. It would give her something to do. And she could ask him to help her with finding Laoise Silvershine in return…

“What is your name?” Gwen asked, staring at him in a challenge again.

“It’s… Alorion, Priestess.”

Gwenhylew nodded. The name didn’t strike as familiar.

#gwenhylew #gwenhylew mayapple #revenantfic

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gwenhylew · 6 years

Text

Fic: The Fantastic Future

What might happen, or might not; twenty years later.

“You could have spared the trouble of coming here Priestess, I would have been perfectly safe going alone,” Gwenhylew’s son, now thirty and some, was telling his mother, “I know how distasteful you must find this place.”

“Not distasteful,” Gwenhylew glanced about the mage-town surrounding them, “merely dangerous.”

And magic was dangerous. In contrast, Gwen wondered how dull she’d always found the people weaving it. Almost every single mage she’d come across in her life had very little spark of life in them. What sad, drab people they were. Gwen had a theory that continuous practice of magic, all the concentration and studies they had to do, sapped the users of their enjoyment of life.

“What do you think this master is going to think when I show up at his door with my mother of all people,” Danil asked pointedly.

“That your mother loves you very much, of course,” Gwenhylew replied dryly.

They walked rather slowly, as if each one of them was dragging their feet. They rarely spent time together alone. And in any case, they were hours too early in town. It was perhaps five in the morning, the sun was nowhere near its rise, and the streets were quiet empty except for construct guardians patrolling them, making sure the streets remained quiet. They ignored the pair of Night Elves ambling about.

It had been Gwen’s own fault that Danil was now interested in magic. After all, she’d brought the instigator into their lives, when she’d invited Thil to join her circle of friends and family.

“I somehow always thought that you’d end up more like Eledhwe,” Gwen said thoughtfully. And your father, was another thought, followed by but I’m glad you’re not.

“Well I might have, if someone hadn’t lost me in Felwood for a week when I was an infant,” Danil replied. Gwen supposed she had to be glad for the lack of venom in the statement. It was now just what it was. Danil had never been a very healthy child, and he’d never have the hale physique of a hunter or a rogue, and to be a warrior? Unthinkable. He was slight and thin like a willow, tired out faster than other young elves of his age. Even Gwenhylew was a better melee fighter than her son was.

“I didn’t misplace you, you were taken from me,” Gwen said, but that was a story they’d gone over many times already. When the incident had happened, Gwen had been in the presence of an old mage of the Kirin Tor, and when Danil had declared his intent on studying magic, Gwen had first hoped that Serenity would take him under her wing. It had been somewhat puzzling to discover that Serenity had died a few years previously, of old age. To die in the middle of a war of old age - that kind of gumption Gwen had wished she’d have passed on to Danil.

But no such luck.

“You must disapprove, Priestess,” Danil said, an undefined emotion to his words in Gwenhylew’s ears.

“I’ve traveled with many mages, and have even dared to call some of them friends. I don’t think you learning the arcane will bring the world to an end.”

“But why are you so reluctant then?”

“If I were reluctant, I’d have put my foot down and called this whole thing off,” Gwen replied, raising a single eyebrow in a way that tried to assure him that had she decided so, it would have most definitely have happened.

(And then the boy would have run off like his father and that would have been a swell disaster.)

Gwen sighed and looked up at the magical lanterns illuminating the streets. “You’re just so young. I was over a hundred years older when I took my novice robes. And before that, I’d already seen dozens of Night Elves die in the hands of the Burning Legion. And still I felt unprepared and too young for everything that followed. If that was me at almost two hundred, what will it be like for you, not yet forty?”

Danil was quiet for a while, thoughtful.

“I’m not you, Priestess,” he said, eventually.

Praise Elune, Gwenhylew thought.

“That’s alright, I wish most fervently that you be you. A very long time. A thousand years at least,” Gwenhylew said, smiling up at him. He was so tall. When had he become so tall?

“I suppose it’s too late to try and turn you to the Priesthood?” Gwenhylew asked, in her joke-cracking voice.

“Brrh, didn’t you just say you wished I were myself?”

“Yes, but I’d get to see more of you, if you joined the order.”

“The Sisterhood.”

“Old names die hard.”

“No, I’d rather...” Danil struggled for words a moment. “I have ambition. I hope you understand that.”

Gwenhylew’s face broke into a grin. “Only too well.” She wanted to pull him into a hug spontaneously, but spared the urge for until later.

“Oh, I thought you’d be... insulted,” he replied sheepishly.

“No, you’re right. Men don’t have many opportunities in the Priesthood. And Mooncloth Robes wouldn’t really suit you at all, to be honest. You would look terrible, your skin tone is all wrong, you’d have the appearance of a wraith. And I happen to know that mages have excellent understanding of textiles, even though they are a very dull lot.”

“Conjuring fireballs and arcane missiles is not dull!”

“You’ll be a dry, joyless book nerd within months, I swear. And pompous too, I will be in utter despair when next we meet, you’ll spout dusty rhetorics completely removed from actual life.”

“He hasn’t taken me up as an apprentice yet,” Danil said dubiously.

“He will, if he understands anything at all. And if he doesn’t, it’s his loss, not yours.” On instinct, Gwen ruffled her son’s hair, rewarded with a disgusted what the hell mom glare. Gwen wondered briefly if she’d overstepped some border of intimacy Danil wasn’t prepared to give up yet, but then his grimace turned into a tentative smile, even if briefly.

“Priestess. I think we’re here.” Danil pointed at the garden gate, and the house beyond the little path. As they approached, Gwenhylew stopped for a moment to regard the herbs in the garden for a moment, recognizing some of them. There was nothing alarming there.

“I think he’s awake, there are lights on. Shall I knock?”

Gwen turned her attention back to the house. “Of course, it’s you he’ll want to see, not me.”

They waited a moment. Gwen expected this Highborne they were to meet would be some ancient, weird, bathrobe-wearing absent-minded dullard. They were all a little lost inside their heads, weren’t they, these mages? Isolated in their towers?

Then the door opened, and a much younger than ancient elf stood there, his hair and neatly trimmed beard indigo blue. He wore no bathrobe, but black silk and practical wool, with every cuff and detail beautifully embroidered and flawless. In fact, he looked rather handsome, and Gwen forgot for a moment that she had a tongue.

“Good morning, Mayapples. A pleasure to meet you both,” he said, with a deep baritone voice that made Gwen’s pointy elven eartips shiver. He looked from Mayapple to Mayapple expectantly, and Gwen remembered herself, and put her hand on Danil’s arm to suggest he spoke.

“Good morning, Master, I hope we’re not too early.”

“Not at all, do come in,” he replied, and beckoned them to enter.

“Thank you, what a lovely herbal garden you have!” Gwenhylew piped, and flashed a smile at the mage as they entered.

By mid-morning, Danilin and Gwenhylew were taking tea at the local inn in town. They had a private space to themselves, separated by a thin bamboo screen partition, but they could hear the busy morning as it transpired all around them. Danilin was cradling his face with both his palms, slowly rocking himself.

“I can’t believe you.”

Gwenhylew was smiling, rather pleased with herself, as she used a spoon to coax honey to melt into her hot black tea.

“If it’s any consolation, I can’t believe myself either,” she said, and laughed.

“I just had to spend an entire morning listening to my mother flirt with my new teacher,” he said with a pained groan and looked up at her with a scathing glare.

“Well, you also had to spend the entire morning listening to your teacher flirt with your mother, I’m sure I wasn’t doing all the work. Besides, it was he who asked me out, not the other way around.”

“Maybe it’s not too late to back out. I will ask around for other recommendations.”

“What, you were so looking forward to meeting him! Don’t be silly.”

“And you’ll get into trouble, consorting with mages,” he said, and Gwen knew that he knew what a weak plead that was.

“Oh, me being an unruly Priestess of the Sisterhood? Whatever will my seniors think,” Gwen retorted, baring her teeth as she smiled at that one.

“You have a ridiculous grin on your face, like a moonsabre who just caught their prey,” Danil observed, still rather out of humour.

“And why should I not. If all goes well here,” Gwenhylew sipped her tea and smiled, “then I’ll be visiting here often, and will be seeing you a lot.”

“Ha! So you have an ulterior motive, I doubt he’d be happy to hear that.”

“I’m pretty sure he has some ulterior motives of his own. Can’t wait to find them out, to be honest! It’ll be a lot of fun.”

Danil rolled his eye and looked out the window by their table, at his new home town. Gwen drank her tea silently, watching him. In the quiet moment between them, Gwen now deeply felt how, despite their awkward relationship, this day marked a certain departure between their lives. He would go on his own, to find his own star, and she would remain somewhere as background noise, a distant mother.

“I had something made for you,” Gwen spoke suddenly. She took out a tiny piece of cloth from her satchel and handed it over to Danil. Wrapped inside, was a simple gold ring, with a chrysobel gemstone set on one side. While Danil held it up to the light, Gwen spoke “I’m not sure if I ever told you, but back in the day when I was young and insane and very pregnant, I took you down to the Molten Core to defeat Ragnaros. Even though we both might have died.”

Danilin said nothing, but lifted an eyebrow in the same way Gwen was herself prone of doing when she was judging someone.

“You’ve always had my safety and health first then,” he said.

Gwen shrugged. “Well, I couldn’t really put myself in bedrest for a year in the middle of the war. I was needed.”

“Hubris.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Gwen said, quieter.

“So what’s this ring got to do with Ragnaros?”

“One of my spoils of war. Actually, it was a part of a bigger item, a very lavish robe, but I had a jeweler remove one of the chrysobels and set it on this gold band.”

“Why don’t I get the robe?” Danil asked, now his interest piqued.

“You go raid your own epics, son,” Gwen replied, deadpanning.

“Eventually,” he replied, thoughtfully, and slipped the ring on a finger in his right hand. “Oh, it’s enchanted.”

“Should be handy for your new line of work.”

After that, Danilin’s mood improved somewhat, and he was less prickly over the rest of the tea outing. Then they headed over to shops, to buy everything he needed for his apprenticeship. Books, quills, inks, vials, and the like. By afternoon, they’d returned to the Master’s house and set up everything in Danil’s broom closet sized room and with Danil thoroughly hugged.

Then after another five minutes of flirtation in the herbal garden as the Master walked Gwenhylew out, it was time to go. As she made way for the portals, Gwen felt light-headed, even almost happy. For the first time since she could hardly remember, it seemed that Things Were Looking Up.

#gwenhylew #gwenhylew mayapple #night elf #fanfic

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