Aftermath

Eireannan did not sleep.

He lay awake by her side, long after Laandra had drifted away in a quiet and peaceful sleep.

It felt as if being washed on the edge of the world by a storming sea, Erieannan thought.
She had snuggled to him, her breathing calm and steady and he could even feel her heartbeats, as she had laid a hand across his chest.

“You are alone and you will die alone…”

All the things he did not want to remember coming back in his mind with such acute clarity, crushing him like an avalanche.

“Only to lose again…”

He could not stand that.

Raising slowly, so as not to disturb her sleep, and bending over her, Erieannan studied her features, so delicate under the alabaster skin. He wasn't wrong, he thought. She was truly beautiful.

“You corrupt all that you touch. And you cannot stop death from taking what it rightfully belongs to it.”

“Not this time, no.”

He softly placed a hand upon her chest, praying that Laandra would not wake up…What he was about to do came against all holy precepts and she was a follower of the light.
“It’s stupid” Erieannan muttered to himself, as he closed his eyes, letting the stream of her magic invade him once more, this time with a precise purpose, nonetheless. Sinking deep inside Laandra’s sleeping consciousness to extract her very essence.

He focused on the light. Sensed it through all his pores. Better than anything else he had ever tasted. He was falling. Falling endlessly through her. Ecstasy and pain and guilt, all together. Flashbacks of what his life had been, so long ago.

The grasy woodland of Quel’Thalas. Blue sky hanging upon oaks and evergreen trees. The murmur of flowing waters. His face, reflected in the wave less pool, hidden deep in the forest and Niniel next to him, watching him sleepily, after all the passion they had unleashed at each other.

The relentless march of the Scourge, burning everything in their wake, the awful smell of rotten bodies carried by the wind well ahead their arrival under the walls of Silvermoon.

“We swore it will not fall…” he remembered. How the Rangers stood, Niniel amongst them, under the command of Sylvanas Windrunner, prepared to defend their homeland against the terror that crept through the woods.

And yet, Silvermoon fell, to utter ruin and destruction. The Sunwell was gone, and with it, the only source of the magic they so desperately needed. The land was scarred by the passing of the Scourge. Yet, the land would heal. Survivor souls did not.

He had seen both of them die in the last attempt to hold back Arthas’ forces. His beloved Niniel, and then the Ranger General herself. Stabbed by Frostmourne and brought back as a mindless banshee. Made to serve the enemy she’d given her life to stop.

He could feel his heart, beating so strongly now, as it had not for long. And the pain, oh, the pain was there, the same as it had been ten years before, so utter he thought he could not bear it anymore. He wanted to forget. Buried the memories within himself and sealed them so that they will never torment him again…

Suddenly, there were other images as well, that did not belong to him. A broken, shattered land, torn apart by powers beyond thought. Sounds of war and destruction. Caravans scattered across the plains, fear clenching his stomach. A band of orcs wielding blood stained weapons while assaulting a small, peacefully looking village…

Then Erieannan heard Laandra gasp and whimper under his touch. With a desperate effort he closed the stream of memories flooding his mind and regained control.

The words he whispered this time weren’t in demonic, but something else, a promise, a binding and he kept her close, feeling the disparate threads weaving together, in a tissue stronger than nether itself.

When it was done, he nearly collapsed by her side, exhausted.
The effort of performing the ritual on an unwilling, unaware subject left him drained of all power.

Laandra would hate him for this.

Yet, it would keep her safe.

And if something happened, at least he will knew it.

He had developed an awkward taste for suffering, he told himself. Probably the only thing that, from time to time, remembered him he was still alive.