[One year before the events of Clothilde and the Fel Song]
“You are cute,” Ren mumbled. She even sounded drunk to herself – not the best sign. “You should take a break and come have a drink with me.” Her head was propped up on one elbow and she grinned at the overly-attractive bartender in the Legerdemain Lounge.
His smile was the perfect blend of falseness and authenticity – that was what Ren liked about him. The delicacy involved in being two things at once – without sacrificing either – was lost on many people. But right now he just looked confused. Ren had a uniform history of rejecting flirtation at the Lounge, whether from Arille or anyone else. Something about personal boundaries, or safety, or something. She couldn’t remember her reasoning at the moment. She’d never been quite this drunk.
“You know I’m on duty for another four hours.”
“I can wait. I like it here…no dancing trolls,” Ren said. She smiled brightly, doing her best Cloe impression.
“Where are your friends?” Arille asked, looking amused but still slightly confused.
“Right over there,” Ren pointed behind him at the bar’s stock. “Their names are Dalaran Red and Sulfuron Slammer. But they don’t get along very well. Wait, do you even carry the Slammer?” She pouted, and pushed her empty glass towards him with both hands. “I’m out.”
“I think you’ve had enough, Rene. Is there someone in town that can come get you?”
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
“No, not necessarily.” He did that half-and-half smile.
Ren could practically feel her sister’s presence in the air when Holian walked through the door. She’d missed her true calling as a frost mage.
Of course, Holian would find her. Ren knew that it was only a matter of time. Maybe she’d planned this without planning. She had planted herself in the very heart of Dalaran. It wasn’t exactly hiding.
“You’re a sight,” Holian said coldly, staring down her nose at her younger sister sprawled across the bar. She looked like she wanted to forcibly straighten Ren up, but couldn’t bring herself to touch her. A self-aware kind of stiffness. A plucked string. The note was sour.
“Mmm,” Ren smiled at her, in blatant disregard of her tone. “I was just having a conversation with the…” she paused, and slowed down to make sure she pronounced the words correctly, “deliciously decorous Mr. Arille Azuregaze, and it was just getting interesting, so if you don’t mind…”
The tips of Holian’s ears were pink. “Come upstairs with me. We have to talk.”
Ren blinked at her, then turned back to Arille and slurred, “She’s so angry all the time! I’d rather talk to you.” In the back of her mind, she was aware of what she was doing. In the front, she was pleasantly numb.
Arille glanced between Holian and Ren, and almost managed to not look curious.
Ren grinned at him and loud-whispered to Holian, “He’s worried, it’s so cute.”
Holian yanked Ren out of her seat by her elbow, declaring, “That is enough!” She dragged her up a flight of stairs, past a shocked woman carrying sheets, and shoved her into the first empty room she found. Holian slammed the door behind her as Ren slumped onto a chest.
“You’re lucky I don’t bruise easily,” Ren said thickly.
Holian stood still in front of the door, breathing evenly, eyes closed. At last she opened her eyes and looked at her intoxicated sister.
“I can’t believe you,” Holian said.
Ren just blinked at her.
“After everything that’s happened,” Holian said, in a slow, calculated tone, “you think the solution is – is what? The hardest drink you can buy?”
“And a pretty bartender,” Ren agreed.
“Varedis is Illidari,” Holian seethed. “Stop making jokes!”
Ren’s head swirled. Her gaze fixed on the intricate rug pattern but her mind was everywhere. “Something’s wrong.”
Something unusual crept behind Holian’s eyes, that Ren hadn’t seen in years. Was it compassion? No. It couldn’t be.
“We’ll get you help,” Holian said, in an uncharacteristically soft voice. “This won’t be easy.”
“I’m not the one who needs help!” Ren shouted. “Varedis is out there somewhere, he needs us!” She didn’t like the look Holian was suddenly giving her – the one that was all pity and possibly selfless. She wanted Holian to make her angry.
“He made his choice,” Holian said, suspiciously monotone.
“No, no, he was lied to,” Ren said. “The Prince – ”
“You don’t know that!” Holian snapped.
“Neither do you!” Ren roared. “Varedis would never – never – goddammit would you get some faith? You’re a freaking paladin! Where’s the light? Where’s the…” She broke off, shocked by the sudden appearance of her own tears. She touched her fingers to her cheek and stared at the liquid like it was a foreign thing.
Holian wasn’t looking at her. Her eyes were glued to the lamp and her face was contorted.
But Ren couldn’t seem to stop herself. “You paladins, Aldor, you’re always talking about light and goodness, but in the end you do nothing. You. Do. Nothing. You parade around Shattrath on pretty horses and point out everyone’s problems – but in the end? It’s the rest of us who go out and solve them. No one actually needs you. I don’t need you. Leave me the hell alone.” Her tears were gone by the time Holian finally looked at her, and it felt much better to be angry. Especially now that Holian was angry too.
Holian’s gaze was chilling. Her delicate chin lifted, but there was a noticeable quiver. “You are beyond my help, Renegdhén.” She turned to leave.
Ren laughed hollowly. “That’s right, about face! Retreat with dignity!” she called to her back, and Holian slammed the door on her. “She’s such an ass,” Ren said, slipping off the trunk onto the floor and holding her head in her hands. “Gods, V, she’s such an ass.”
She fell asleep with a wet face.
--- --- ---
She could practically taste the acid in the air. Brimstone and ashes. The sky cast a sickly citron sheen over everything – the color of her eyes. Kael’s legacy. Oh, what Kael had given them. Oh, the cancer they’d been gifted. The children of the sun, the kingdom of the fel.
Oh, the things Illidan had stolen.
It had been a windrider before, but this time she was gliding through the air on the back of a bronze drake. She yelled at it to turn around and fly away. Fly to the marsh. Fly across the Nether. She didn’t care. She just didn’t want to see this again. Please, please, don’t send me back there. But the drake pressed on, ever closer to the tiered fortress that had once been called Karabor. The stars were burning and falling from the sky, lighting up the platforms by the temple gates. This time, there was no one else there. No one but him. She caught sight of him and yelled at the drake to stop. She yanked on its scales to make it turn around, but its scales were black now, and it laughed at her, a surprisingly high cackle. It flew to his tier and bucked her from its back – she landed in a heap in front of Varedis, and it alighted on a nearby spire and watched intently.
Ren pushed herself up off the ground and looked up at her brother. He was so tall now – when did he get so tall? His upper body was spattered with swirling runes, and the strip of fabric across his eyes was unsettling. “Varedis,” she said, voice shaky. There was a hint of a question in it.
He smiled, and something glowed violet underneath the bandage. “Hey there, Render.” And the twin blades in his hands swung towards her neck.
The dragon laughed.
--- --- ---
She awoke with a gasp to see two startled faces – one gorilla, and another framed in pale blonde curls. Brock put a hand on top of her head, imitating checking for a fever.
“He got really antsy when you weren’t back this morning,” Cloe said.
“My bad, Brock-o,” Ren said hoarsely, patting his shoulder. She swallowed uncomfortably and asked Cloe, “Any chance of some water?”
“You got it,” Cloe said brightly, tripping out of the room.
Ren took the chance to take stock of her surroundings. She was tucked into the bed, fully clothed with the exception of her boots. She was fairly certain of several things – she hadn’t put herself there, she should never drink that much ever again, and there was no chance of Holian ever forgiving her.
She had just enough time to let that realization sink in before Cloe returned with the water. “Good morning sunshine!” she trilled, moving to the window, and pulled back the curtain.
“GAH!” Ren shouted, as the sunlight hit her brain like a laser.
“Oh! Sorry,” said Cloe, and pulled the curtains shut hastily. She looked at Ren downing the water and appeared strangely disappointed.
“What?” Ren raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, nothing.” After a moment’s pause, she rejoined, “Well it’s just, I had thought maybe you had stayed out to get some actual…you know…grown up fun, and come to find out you just got really really drunk and fell asleep. All by yourself. That’s not a good story.”
Ren smirked and then winced at the headache it inspired. “No, no it’s not.”
Clothilde’s brow furrowed briefly, then she asked, “Are you okay?”
“Nothing a little hydration won’t fix.”
“No, I mean – well – you look kind of…”
Ren sighed. “Nothing a little hydration won’t fix,” she said, softer but more emphatically. Cloe looked concerned, but said nothing more. Ren shoved back the covers and swung her feet to the floor. They had such nice soft rugs at the Legerdemain. “Have you seen my boots?”
Both elves scanned the room, looking under the bed and inside the chest – even behind the bookshelf. But the lavish room held no hints to the location of the missing footwear.
“Where did you leave them?” Cloe asked, then laughed. “Or do you even remember? How much did you have to drink anyway?”
Realization dawned, and a frown settled on Ren’s face. “I know where they are. Take Brock back with you. I’ll be along shortly.”
Again, Clothilde gave her a look of curiosity, but did not question further. She left with the gorilla in tow, and Ren steeled herself for confrontation before heading down the stairs herself.
--- --- ---
He was sitting on the couch at the back of the lounge downstairs, sipping on goldthorn tea and looking very comfortable. He wasn’t even vaguely disturbed by the patented Redglaive frost-glare on Ren’s face when she stalked over.
“Where are my boots?”
Arille set down his tea and glanced at her socked feet. They had little fishes embroidered on them. “You’re assuming I know their whereabouts?”
“One: thank you for getting me up off the floor. Two: Let’s assume you copped a nice feel in the process and call it even. Give me my boots.”
“Where are you off to in such a rush? It’s far too early for that. Have some tea.”
“Do not hold my boots ransom to get a sober conversation out of me.”
“So we are having a sober conversation then.”
Ren threw up her hands in frustration. “Yes?”
“That’s progress. How’s Awilo?”
“Good. Thinking of ways to sneak some gnome into your next catering event. I think I’ll assist him in that endeavor. Boots, Azuregaze.”
“Will you be yelling at that woman in my inn again?”
Ren inhaled harshly. She had been the one yelling. Once again Holian was going to come out of this looking the best. “I’m sorry about that,” she said, somewhat subdued.
“Have you resolved your dispute?”
“It’s unresolvable. And if you’re waiting for me to spill my guts, Icecrown will melt first.”
“No. I know you don’t want to talk to me. I just want to prevent another such unpleasant incident. But you should consider confiding in the priest. She seems very concerned for you – and priests tend to have the best discretion in delicate matters.”
“It’s not a delicate matter. My sister’s an ass. The end.”
His mouth twisted into a frown as he observed her. “You’re sure you don’t want tea?” he asked, but Ren was certain that wasn’t the question he was really asking.
“Tea is for high elves,” Ren said. There was a faint odd tone in the half-hearted taunt, and she hoped he didn’t recognize it as mourning.
Arille raised an eyebrow. Then he shrugged, and with a sigh he reached behind the couch and produced Ren’s boots.
“Talk to the priest,” he said seriously, his blue eyes staring into her citron-green ones.
Ren snatched the boots out of his hands and walked out of the lounge carrying them, without another word.
--- --- ---
Priests. Just another sort of light-and-goodness crowd. She knew somewhere deep down that Cloe was not faking anything, but fury was holding the reins today, and fury didn’t want holy light. Fury wanted a faster solution. Ren pulled her boots on awkwardly while hobbling into The Filthy Animal. She waved a greeting at the troll “chef” through the kitchen door before running upstairs to find the rest of her division – well, one in particular. The unmistakable snoring filtering through one of the doors led her straight to him. Ren pounded on the door harshly, and heard a crash followed by a light curse, before the door opened. Seishougen blinked at her blearily. Straw was sticking out of his dark hair.
“You made me fall out of my hammock,” he said sourly.
Ren shrugged. “Put your breakfast on my tab. Awilo makes some mean waffles. He knows I’m good for it – but I’m not coming back for awhile. Tell everyone bye for me.”
Sei boggled at her. “You’re leaving? Right now? Where?”
“Make me a portal to Shattrath.”
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