Decisions

((and the twisted continuation to the twisted part :)) )


He looked slightly better than last time. At least the deadly palour was gone and there was some life sparkling in the green eyes. And of course, there was no joy to see her. But then who would long to meet her, the walking corpse that she had become?!

“What a surprise”, she commented, bitterly. “I thought you were lost for good this time.”

“And you would have missed me, my lady?” Eireannan retorted. He was mocking her. Ten years and a death apart and this young-insolent-only-do-it-my-way man was still mocking her, Sylvanas thought, her anger boiling like steam in a covered bowl.

“You still haven’t learned respect, I notice.”

“They didn’t teach it where I went”, Eireannan managed a smile, despite the gloomy surroundings. Sometimes her older self just crept to the surface and she would be, for a few seconds again, the always ironic Sylvanas Windrunner, Ranger General of Silvermoon.

She paced around the room, as she had done during their last meeting…oh, so much time seemed to have passed since then, before he had fallen to the Scarlet Crusade.

“So where did you leave your pets now?” she asked, in such a tone that Eireannan couldn’t repress a shiver. “They’re here, in the Undercity, if I may guess?”

“At the inn”. Eireannan shrugged. If she were intent to harm them, she would have sent her Deathguards after Laandra and Daria by now and there was little he could have done to prevent it. Nothing of what was going on in the gloomy, underground city ever escaped the attention of the Dark Lady. “It was the only safe place I could think of.”

“You’ve burnt half of Hillsbrad, from what I heard.”

“Only a house or two”. Surprisingly enough, he managed to smile again and the Banshee Queen found frustration welling at the core of her tortured being. For a moment, she had nearly forgotten where and what she was. Dead. Rotten.

“I thought you’d never step back in the Undercity after our…last encounter”, the Dark Lady said, quietly. She remembered the utter satisfaction she had felt, forcing his will-less body to turn against Daria. Bathing in the human’s fear and despair. Savouring Eireannan’s helplesness, his shock and his struggle as he tried to push back her overwhelming mind control.
It had been good.
Almost as if she were still alive, forcing kisses on men that did not want her, on dark alleys after midnight.

“You need someone to remind you of the worst things you do, My Lady.” Eireannan sighed. There was no other reason. In this changing world so few were the things which one could still hold on to. Their alliance with the Forsaken was a fragile one. Sacrifices had to be made by either part to maintain equilibrium. And the elves of Ghostlands had embraced the Forsaken aid with both hands, as their research into shadow magics promised a way to stave off their own insatiable addiction.

The dead should have remained that way, Eireannan thought, bitterly. How could those fools act like brain washed towards their “new and welcome allies”, when so many of them had been, were, their own kind?

No allies. Only the half rotten bodies of people you used to know, talk to, even love.

How did one speak to the Banshee Queen when he could still grasp in her features the likelihood of Sylvanas Windrunner, the brave and once so beautiful Ranger General?

You have died for us.

You should have stayed dead. Heroes are better revered that way.

Now you are right, you’re nothing else but a monstruosity. You have no pity for the living, yet I do pity you.

But it’s not your fault. Nor ours. Now we just have to cope with it.

“I feel no longer guilt”, Sylvanas answered quickly, with an evasive move.” Why would it matter for me?”

“It’s a lie”, Eireannan said. “You have not only regained our consciousness and your will, but also the ability to feel. You long for the touch and the compassion of those that are still alive and yet you know they would step back in fear, because of what you have become.”

“Stop it!” she commanded, anger rising as a tidal wave. “Who are you to talk of such things you cannot even understand? The Dark Lady does not need…”

“ Cut the “Dark Lady” part”, Eireannan snapped, his own frustration making him ignore the signs of threat in her attitude. “Would you expect me to bow low in front of you as do all your…subjects…? I am not going to do it, not now, not ever. You may decide to be the queen of all the bloody Scourge for what I am concerned, I will never call you by any other name than that what’s rightfully yours, Sylvanas Windrunner.”

She hit him. She hit him hard, all the madness and the pain she had gathered concentrated into that single move, which made Eireannan let out a choked sound of pain, while he staggered, trying to regain equilibrium.

And she regretted it right away when his eyes met hers and there was no resentment in them, as Eireannan raised his hand to wipe the blood on his lips.

“ I need you to go back to Silvermoon.”

“No.”

For the first time in a lot, the Banshee Queen saw passion in the eyes of Eireannan. He had been more like stone in all these years, irresponsive to her threats, her cruelty, her utter, unveiled desire to hurt him, sometimes.

Simply because he was alive.

Because he could feel the pain and she did no longer.

Only anger.

“No”, he repeated, in the same stubborn tone the Banshee Queen knew so well.

“Silvermoon is but a shadow of its glory. Our people…those that have not become Wretched have been corrupted. There is a meeting place for summoners on the high street, in the middle of the city…! And you can’t make a step without bumping into one sort of demon or the other. Men and women would slaughter you for a couple of mana potions to last them another week. No mercy. No compassion. No feeling. You say you don’t pity the living? Well, the living do not have pity among themselves anymore…”

“How amusing”, the Dark Lady observed, in her high pitched tone. “A warlock with a sense of morality.”

He suddenly looked stricken, as all colour fled from his already pale face.

“You may be right, but I am still not returning to that place. To pretend I am a part of something more remote to me than the moon itself…!”

“It’s about your –our beloved prince Kael’Thas”, the dark Lady said, quietly.

“He has allied himself with the Burning Legion.”

The words fell heavy in the silence of the chamber and Eireannan found himself unable to utter even a single word.

“There is no doubt”, Sylvanas continued, sharply. “All those fools that dream of going into the Outland and drink the magic like water…that is what awaits them there. Allegiance to the Burning Legion itself, the very force that put into motion the Scourge that tore apart our world.”

“Lothemar must assume the leadership of our people and break away from that…that traitor, before he turns them all into demons. Do you think I do not see the peril?”

“But Lothemar needs help and there is only one I’ll have to be his second in command.’ She pointed a finger at him, her eyes now gleaming with an inhuman spark. “You”.

“You – are – going – back – to - Silvermoon.”