--- --- ---
One week ago…
They’d tried to make her a throne, in the beginning. They hadn’t called it a throne, of course. They’d all been so leery of regal things since they’d been freed of Arthas – they wouldn’t even call her a queen, at first. And yet they automatically assumed that a leader must have a giant chair – preferably made of stone – to sit in and ponder their responsibilities. But she refused. She told them to quit being ridiculous and spend their time on more important things, like repairing the elevators. On days ending in Y some idiot orc would fall in and gum up the works with his shredded corpse. As annoying as that could be, it was nice to have proof that Allies making a frontal assault on the city would be completely screwed. Any Allies honestly planning on walking in the front door couldn’t be smarter than an orc anyway. But who needed chairs when there were still Alliance and Scarlets smart enough to use the sewers?
Sylvanas hated chairs. They got in the way of pacing. How did that saying go… “No rest for the angry dead?”
The phrase brought a rare smirk to her face.
It was having a body that filled her with this…restlessness. She hadn’t felt the need for motion as a banshee. She had been still as the grave. A stationary mist. And it had been unbearable. The turmoil in her mind had been no less, and no outlets to vent it. She had felt everything and nothing. Now, with her body back, she could affect the world around her once again, make it bend to her will as a strung bow, used to exact vengeance for all the Forsaken. Eternity was not enough to make Arthas suffer. But it would have to do.
“My Lady, the merchant you requested,” a guard announced.
A stooped, leather-clad woman approached the dais. Her shuffling walk was very convincing, but Sylvanas could see the purposefully curtailed grace underneath the act. Not many knew that Anne Haversham was not just a well-connected merchant, but also an unparalleled rogue.
Haversham bowed low, her sweeping hand nearly grazing the stone floor. “I am honored, my Queen. How may I serve you?” Her voice was cracked and froggy.
“I wish to make use of your extensive network,” Sylvanas said, resuming her pacing. “I have recently been approached by an unfamiliar entity claiming to be a servant of divine purpose.” The sarcasm in her voice was thick.
“We all know how well that usually ends up,” Varimathras commented from the other end of the dais, where he was comparing maps of Azeroth with Sharlindra the banshee.
Haversham smirked. “What would you like to know?”
“She says her name is Meredyth Morgan, previously of Duskwood. But I have no access to any pre-Scourge census south of Tarren Mill. Tell me you can assist me in this matter.”
“I’m sure I can scare something up. Though I must admit, Morgan is something of a common name in the south. Is there anything else my queen can tell me about this stranger that might help me narrow my search?”
“She is an undead priest of the shadowy order and she claims to serve Alexstrasza,” Sylvanas said dryly.
“Very odd. I thought the dragonflights had no interest in current events,” Haversham mused. “And why would the Red Aspect ever employ an undead?”
“I don’t claim to know the minds of dragons,” Sylvanas countered, with a disapproving look. “I only mention it because it may make her conspicuous in any stories that have reached your rotting ears.”
“Apologies, my Lady, it is not my place to speculate.” Haversham bowed low again.
“Report to me as soon as you have sufficient data. You may go.”
--- --- ---
It wasn’t until the rogue had left the Royal Quarter that Sylvanas spoke again. “Will that suffice?”
The shadow priest in question emerged from behind a pillar. “Yes, we greatly appreciate your assistance. The Dragonqueen is in your debt, Lady.”
“That suits me,” said Sylvanas.
“Word of my reappearance should reach the appropriate ears in the Outlands soon enough. Though I am curious – why did you choose that rogue?”
Sylvanas glanced at her with bored eyes. “Because she is a profiteer, pure and simple. And profiteers are very, very predictable.”
--- --- ---
Back to the present...
The steady murmur of a metropolis greeted them upon stepping through the portal to Shattrath. Some described it as the most crowded and confusing city in the known universe, but it had one great charm, in Ren’s mind. No one ever looked at you. They had ogres selling fruit, see-thru dragons, and Dran…Draen…whatevers parading around on some sort of bald mammoth. There were giant birdmen and guys made out of pure energy wrapped in tissue paper and the best part: running the whole show was some enormous swirly crystal that talked to the inside of your head. No one ever looked at a blood elf with a gorilla and said, “Hey, that’s weird.”
Shattrath was awesome.
She’d been to Shattrath before, of course, but the company then had been a great deal more stressful.
“You’ll stay with me,” Holian said. “It won’t do to write father telling him I lost you before we even left the city.”
“I’m not five,” Ren complained, sticking close to her sister nonetheless. “I’m not even thirty. Give me some credit here.”
“I brought you along, didn’t I?” Holian returned, quirking an eyebrow at Ren over her shoulder. “Just…don’t embarrass me in front of the Grand Anchorite alright? I have the nastiest feeling this is going to be the Magister’s exam all over again.”
“You’re never going to let that go, are you…” Ren grumbled.
Cloe clutched Ren’s arm for balance and pressed a hand to one side of her head. “Portals make my head swirly,” she complained.
“You could always walk to Shattrath,” Doogie said dryly.
Cloe giggled. “That could be fun…who’s got a spell for walking through the sky?”
“It’s called the Sulfuron Slammer,” Ren replied.
Cloe stuck out her tongue. “I don’t know how you can drink that stuff!”
Ren shrugged. “It tastes like…walking through the sky,” she said, and grinned.
“And liquid Incendosaur,” Sei made a face.
“It tastes like awesome!” Ren said, but behind her Brock did a perfect imitation of Sei’s face. Ren assumed Cloe was laughing at her, and folded her arms. “Are you going to share your evil plan for making the Scryers not hate me?”
“Right!” Cloe piped up, then hesitated, turning to Doogie. “What was it we needed?”
Doogie said in monotone, “One thousand three hundred and forty-four Dampscale Basilisk eyes.”
“Yes!” Cloe piped back up. “I hope you don’t like basilisks because we’ll be killing a lot of them!”
“Six hundred and seventy-two of them,” Doogie amended. “Unless some are missing eyes already.”
Ren felt like her jaw hit the floor.
Then Cloe burst out laughing, holding her sides. Even Doogie’s stitched-together jaw quirked up in a grin.
“Oh thank the Sunwell,” Sei sighed, “They’re not serious.”
“Sort of,” Doogie said, and Cloe kept laughing. “I knew a guy that…well…he had no life. We’re blocking the portals,” she shook her head, hiked her shield a little higher on one shoulder and started walking towards the Scryer elevator.
“Eyeballs?” Ren asked, still boggling as Cloe pulled her forward by her sleeve. “Really?”
Cloe put a finger to one side of her mouth, thinking. “They’re good for…um…vision…dusting?”
If Doogie had proper eyes, they would have rolled. “Sharpens clairvoyance.”
“Clear voyage!” Cloe grinned.
The group climbed aboard the elevator. As Sei tried to explain to Cloe the definition of clairvoyance, Ren took the opportunity to view the wide workings of the city from above while the platform raced upwards.
Ren and Holian stepped off the platform at the top of the Aldor tier, Ren clutching her stomach. The rush had been amazing. “That was better than riding a dragonhawk!” Ren exclaimed, and though Holian shushed her, she led her to the edge, the ghost of a smile peeking from under her decorum. “Tell me that isn’t an amazing view,” Holian said.
It really is, Ren thought. She watched the city reduce in size as the Scryer elevator rose. A pair of merchants were starting an argument over cart locations. Children of many races chased each other through the streets, laughing. A woman in an emerald cloak was mailing letters. And underneath – or maybe inside – the noise of the crowd, was a faint, bright tone, like a bell or a vibrating crystal. It was almost warm – and more of a feeling than anything else. It held this conviction that everything was going to turn out alright, no matter how difficult, or –
Ren stepped off the platform and almost broke her nose running into an Arcane Guardian. Sei and Doogie each caught one of her arms before she could fall backwards off the tier. The sentry tilted its head, calculating. “Maintain order!” it barked, in a prerecorded voice, before turning to continue patrols.
“You maintain order,” Ren grumbled, rubbing her nose, “…the fuck you were doing…top of the elevator…”
Doogie let out a rattling sigh. “Back in Silvermoon. I love elves.”
“No wonder you spend all your time with us,” Sei said cheerfully. He turned a nearby squirrel into a very tiny, very confused sheep and presented it to the warrior. She quirked a withered eyebrow, tossed the traumatized animal aside and kept walking. Cloe rescued it from a shrub and cooed over it as they went down the main promenade.
Regardless of her lack of tact, Ren was inclined to agree with Doogie. The intense saturation of red and gold and manicured greenery proclaimed oppressive elven ego better than anything she knew. But there was something different about these elves from the ones back home. The arcane sentries and tapestries and cleverly disguised magic sources were all in order – no, the difference was in their eyebrows and shoulders. The way they held themselves. The Scryers were all very, very angry. It almost drowned out the bright chime of the naaru. Where below, no one bothered to glance at you, here, their group was scrutinized by green glares as they came down the magically swept promenade. Ren got the impression that it wasn’t her they were mad at – at least not yet. But wait till they found out…
“I’m getting a bad feeling about this,” Ren said as they approached the main building, low enough that only the others could hear.
Doogie coughed a short laugh. “Now she says.”
“You want us to turn around and walk away?” Sei said. “That’ll look really suave.”
“Like we’ve ever been suave,” Ren snapped nervously.
“Maybe you haven’t,” he returned.
“I’m always suave,” Cloe said, theatrically plumping her hair.
“Would you quit saying suave?” Doogie demanded. “Elves…”
“Would you quit grumbling about elves?” Ren returned, breaking into a sweat as they came into the main building.
Oh for the love of mana, Ren panicked, Voren’thal is right there. Holy shit.
And he was currently letting someone have it. He roared at an enchanter’s assistant who was quaking as he swept up broken glass and effulgent powder. The assistant barely looked old enough to get into an Academy, much less be out and fighting demons in the Outlands. The assistant was in the middle of apologizing profusely when Voren’thal looked over and spotted them. For a brief second Ren felt panic contort her face, but then Voren’thal broke out into a wide grin.
“Clothilde! Little Clothilde Fairgrove!”
And Cloe ran up and gave Voren’thal the Seer a big hug, right there.
Ren and Sei’s jaws dropped.
Doogie looked at them both and shook her head. “How did you not see that coming?”
--- --- ---
“I used to cat-sit for Uncle Voren. I mean, he’s not really my uncle, but you get it,” Cloe said brightly. “Muffin never did like anyone else.”
The Scryers had put them up in a small but comfortable room in their tier’s inn. Voren’thal had agreed to formally interview Ren the next day.
“But…but…” Seishougen sputtered. “Voren’thal the Seer!”
“The dude is like, Mr. Outlands!” exclaimed Ren. "Also, Muffin?"
Cloe shrugged.
“How come you didn’t ever say anything?” Sei asked.
Cloe frowned, thinking.
“Dramatic effect,” Doogie suggested, from across the room where she was setting up a chess board.
“Dramatic effect!” Cloe grinned.
Sei ran a hand down his face in exhasperation, and stood. “I can’t take this any more. Doogie do you need an opponent?”
“No, I was planning on just staring at the board,” she said dryly. “All night. Straight on till dawn.”
“Oh good. I’ll take a walk then,” he said cheerfully.
“Don’t you dare,” Doogie frowned, tossing him a king piece. “You’re white.”
Ren cast them a furtive glance as they got set up and said in a hushed voice to Clothilde, “You really think Voren’thal is going to let me in?”
“Oh sure,” Cloe nodded sagely. “Definitely. Maybe. …Probably.” Her mouth twisted. “There’s a chance. An outside one. I mean, it’s not impossible. …I hope so,” she finished lamely.
Ren’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t know what I’m going to do if this doesn’t pan out.”
“Hey, no worries. I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”
“Maybe you can,” Ren said. “The rest of you guys are…” she frowned, looking for the right words, “a hellova lot more clever than I am. Stuff goes wrong, you fix it, not me. This sucks. The one time I’ve got a problem, I can’t even handle it on my own.” She folded her arms sullenly.
“That’s not true!” Cloe objected. “Remember that time you saved me from getting sacrificed in Zul’Aman?”
“That was Leda,” Ren said dully.
“Uh…oh yeah…um…What about the time Iyo was hexed into a frog?”
“That was Sei that got hexed, and Emilei cured him. It’s not even possible to turn Iyo into a frog. Druid, remember?”
“Oh…I’m really not helping am I…”
“Not exactly,” Ren smiled slightly. “Though now I’m picturing Iyo the Frog, and I can’t seem to stop…”
“Would he have tiny little Tauren horns?” Cloe giggled.
Ren laughed. “Horned toad!”
The girls laughed in unison.
“Hey!” Doogie snapped. “I’m trying to think over here!”
“Sorry!” Cloe giggled, wiping tears from her eyes.
Ren covered her mouth and laughed silently.
“Oh! I remember!” Cloe perked up. “What about that time you saved me from drowning?”
Ren blinked. “What?”
“Remember, all the village kids were playing on the island off the coast, and I fell into the water, and you saved me.”
Ren’s mood immediately sobered. “You didn’t fall in,” she said, brows scrunching.
--- --- ---
That was a long time ago.
It had been a cold and windy morning, with the waves lapping the sides of their large rowboat as several children from Windrunner Village made their way to nearby Shalandis Isle. They ate their self-packed lunch of biscuits and mana berries. Ren had caught some fish while at the island, but Cloe was the only other one who would eat them. The other children held their noses and told the girls that they smelled. Sei had been at home, sick.
The wind had picked up as the afternoon came on, and the sky towards the sea took on tinges of grey, but the oldest of them, Malcheron Sunspring, insisted they didn’t have to leave yet. He was a bully, but Ren knew he was just afraid to get home to his mother. The overprotective woman was going to tan his hide, and everone knew it. None of them were supposed to come out here on their own. At this point, most of the village’s parents would be getting frantic, with all their children missing at once.
At last they all stood arguing on the pier about what they should do. The waves had become somewhat frightening, the light was quickly disappearing, and there was a movement to just stay on the island through the night. A couple of the youngest were crying. Ren just hugged herself and looked from one faction to the other. Why couldn’t they just pick something and do it? Standing out on the dock was getting more dangerous every minute.
She remembered Cloe’s little fists balling up, and the blonde girl stomped over and grabbed the rope for the boat, curls whipping around in the wind. Cloe hadn’t said a word up to this point, but now she piped up in her clear little voice, “Get in the boat! We’re all going home now.”
“You don’t get a vote, human!” Malcheron spat at her. “Give me the rope!”
“We need to leave before it gets worse,” Cloe insisted, undaunted.
“Oh yeah, Clothilde? The human thinks she’s so smart!”
“Human! Huuuuuman!” his cronies taunted.
That’s when it started raining. Lightning cracked overhead, and the smaller children jumped.
“See?” Cloe shouted, as the waves jostled the boat against the pier, “Now let’s go!”
“You can go home by yourself!” Malcheron returned, shoving her off the pier.
“Cloe!” Ren shrieked.
Cloe sputtered and gasped, struggling to stay afloat in the rough water. “Help!” she coughed.
“You idiot!” Ren roared at the suddenly terrified boy. “She can’t swim!”
“I – I didn’t know,” he stammered.
“Cloe!” Ren shouted, pulling on her hair. What could she do? What could she do? The current was pulling her friend further away. What if she jumped? What if she got caught too? Was it stupid to jump in? Was it too late now?
The other children nervously pulled away as Ren panicked on the edge of the dock. “Cloeeeeee!” she shrieked. “Someone help!”
“Ren!” she heard a new voice call, “Ren are you out there?”
“Varedis!” she screamed as her brother’s boat came into view. “Cloe’s in the water!”
He caught sight of her sputtering and bobbing further away, cursed and dove after the little girl, straight out of the boat. Holian was driving it and she deftly pulled it alongside the dock, stepping out to lash it quickly.
“I’m going to kill you!” she shouted at Ren over the storm, and yanked her into a very brief hug. “Get on the boat!” she commanded, turning to the other children, “all of you, right this instant! If I don’t kill you your parents will!”
The other children clambered aboard the small sailboat. But Ren ignored her, still calling for Cloe. Just as Cloe’s strength gave out and she was about to sink, Varedis caught up to her and kept her above the surface. He dragged her to the shore and Ren ran down the dock to meet them.
“Ren!” Holian shouted, “Get back here!”
But Ren was wringing her hands next to her friend’s stiff form as her brother tried to breathe life into her.
Cloe coughed up seawater, clutching Varedis’s arm as she sat up. “You almost bought it, Peacebloom,” he said, ruffling Cloe’s sopping hair.
Ren tackled her with a hug as she gasped for air.
Varedis gave a shaky laugh. “Hold up, Render, give her a little space,” he said, pulling Ren to her feet and scooping up Cloe.
Ren took his free hand and they walked back to the boat where Holian waited in the rain, foot tapping with impatience. Or was that just worry? Ren could never tell.
--- --- ---
“You didn’t fall in,” Ren said, monotone. “I didn’t save you either.”
“Oh,” Cloe said, looking away. “My mistake.”
