Memories of a banshee

It's just a memory.

The dead do not care of such things.

Yet she remembers the colors, and the forms, the deep sunset that engulfes Silvermoon into rich light, as the banquet has just started in the gardens of the Sunfury Spire, not far from the Sunwell.

---

She would go past the groups, smiling and nodding to the left or to the right. The music was nearly overwhelming for the senses, and the opulence of the banquet seemed nearly decadent, as Lady Sylvanas Windrunner, Ranger General of Quel’Thalas slid graciously among the tables, greeting the people.

“ My Lady Sylvanas”...
She had turned abruptly on the spot, almost spilling the contents of the glass of wine she held, on the embroidered silk dress. Damn these people, why didn’t they understand, once and for all that sneaking from behind on a trained Ranger could result in serious damage to their own precious persons?
However, the smile Andarion Sarálondë gave her was so warm that Lady Sylvanas felt her anger melt.
“Lord Andarion”, she replied, slightly bowing in front of the elderly elf.

“I hope you are enjoying the banquet”.

“Of course”, Sylvanas smiled, brushing a strand of blonde hair behind the ear. What she didn’t enjoy was the overly tight dress and the number of persons she had to talk to. However, he was not one of them, she thought, as she smiled again, warmly.

“I hope you do, too”.

“Definitely”. She followed his gaze over to the fountain, to the pair that stood there, almost separated from everyone else, from the rush of the party, quietly talking about their own business. The woman was slim, tall, her red hair cut short, to reveal beautifully shaped features. Niniel Ain’Ethil, Sylvanas thought, Captain of the second Ranger Unit. It took her a minute more to understand why Andarion Sarálondë looked so utterly frustrated.

“Your son”.

He acknowledged with a slight nod and Sylvanas turned again, to observe the pair; they looked so absorbed in each other and oblivious to everything else.

Well, she could easily imagine what the elderly man was thinking. Niniel Ain’Ethil was significantly older than his own son…not to mention her adventurous love life, which was well known by the entire Silvermoon. Luckily for her, her skills in combat were unmatched, or else she would have been thrown out of the Rangers corps years before, for undiscipline.

“First the priesthood”, Andarion Sarálondë muttered to her, as they moved a little to the side, to allow another group to pass by. “Then this…”

Well, Sylvanas said to herself, with a shrug, Niniel Ain’Ethil definitely had good taste in men.

“He’s stubborn and proud and he wouldn’t do anything of what I ever say. If I wanted him to become a priest, I’m sure he would have been more than delighted to join the Rangers.”

Sylvanas patted his arm, confortingly, with another meek smile.

“Luckily Niniel Ain’Ethil is not renowned for her lengthy relationships.”

“It’s been already three months now”, Andarion Sarálondë sighed. “Too much for my taste…”

Almost a record, Sylvanas had to admit.

“It will pass”, she encouraged the man. “I’m sure he’ll realize soon what is best for him.”

“I hope so, my Lady…” Andarion Sarálondë turned a bit to glace at some other woman waving towards them and saying something. The words hardly reached them, with the music and the constant sound of overlapping voices, but he nodded and placed a hand on Sylvanas arm.

“I am afraid I have to go for a minute”, he said. “It appears that I have to meet some diplomats from Lordaeron.”

“You are excused, my Lord”, she chuckled, brushing again the same rebel strand of hair behind the pointy ear. Then, as he left, she started making her way towards the fountain. There was something intriguing here, she thought, as she reached the couple and placed a hand on Niniel Ain’Ethil shoulder. The woman jumped, startled and looked at her, while Sylvanas gave an almost imperceptible nod, the other one understood very well. She rose, a small annoyed expression on her face and left, silently. She did not dare contradict the Ranger General, Sylvanas thought, as she sat down, on the edge of the fountain, arranging the folds of her uncomfortable dress.

“My Lady Sylvanas”. Eireannan Sarálondë had acknowledged her presence with a faint trace of smile on his lips, as his eyes continued to follow Niniel making her way through the guests, towards a table.

“I thought you wouldn’t recognize me anymore”. She gave him a small laugh, without even knowing what made her feel so amused. “You’ve grown up.”

Their kind were usually good looking people, Sylvanas thought, yet this one was well over the average. Certainly the contrast between the dark hair and the green eyes over the sun tanned skin, and the intoxicating air of self-confidence.

“I’ve heard this before. I guess my father sent you to bring some reason back to my clouded mind before it’s too late.”

Daring. Even better.

“Your father is naturally concerned about his only son’s welfare”, she said, her voice calm, almost ironic, as she kept studying him. “He is only worried about your choices.”

“Which are mine to make…True, I’ll be the one to endure the consequences as well. You can save your breath, my Lady, there is no thing in the world you could say and change my mind.”

Deliciously stubborn. Almost unrespectful. It almost made Sylvanas regret her own position and responsibilities, which prevented her from acting as recklessly as Niniel Ain’Ethil did, for example. Those green eyes would have definitely been worth the trouble.

“My father is not happy with any of my decisions. But I’m perfectly comfortable with all of them.”

“What about your studies?” she asked, knowing that trying to persuade him of the contrary was useless. “I hear you will be leaving again…”

“For a few months only”, Eireannan answered, absent minded, still following Niniel through the crowd. Then, suddenly, his attention shifted to her and Sylvanas had to bite her lips to retain a gasp as their eyes met, such was the intensity of his gaze. “Now, my Lady, do you want to talk about the ways of the Light, my father's useless worries or rather grant me a dance and forget them all? ”

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It all happened ages ago, the Dark Lady thinks, wrapping her fingers around the hilt of the dagger she wears.
Only sweet bitter memories of being alive, blood flooding through her veins with every heartbeat.
It doesn’t matter now.
Yet it’s good to know he’s back, because he is a part of her plans and they must not be allowed to fail, she says to herself, as she writes a short note and seals it, before entrusting it to a courrier for imediate delivery in Silvermoon.