Allan McGowan

“Damian Benjamin McGowan, you have ten fingers and ten toes, my boy. You also have two lovely hazel eyes, and a perfect little button nose. I believe the Light has certainly blessed you with how handsome you are, my boy,” Allan cooed softly, speaking to the little bundle half asleep in his arms. Never in his lifetime would he have guessed he would have so much love to give such a tiny creature, and even more surprising was that he had been granted this child at all. Berenice was given a proper burial in Stormwind, and Allan tended to her grave as often as he could. He had only known the woman for a few hours, but he would carry her with him as long as he lived, for she had given him the greatest gift in the world: her son.

It was now Allan’s responsibility to show the boy what hope there was for him in this world, and it wasn’t going to be easy. Sleep was no longer his as he awoke at all hours to tend to the child. Swirling mists of Chi soothed the child when he was restless, but Allan had to learn how to change diapers and how to feed the boy. Thankfully, he could turn to his brother in law. Taleyriel taught him how to properly hold the child and what to feed him in these early months, and taught him how to properly change a soiled diaper and swaddle a baby. While Zaderick had disappeared with King Wrynn’s Third Fleet and other adventurers seeking alliances in Kul’Tiras, Allan stayed behind. People still needed to be tended to in Stormwind, especially after the Horde’s attack that set half of the Cathedral district ablaze-- including his brother’s estate. Despite the war that raged between the Eastern Kingdoms and Kalimdor, Allan had found happiness.

His breezy home in Krasarang had become a refuge from the war that threatened to split the world apart once more. With Stormwind being targeted, he couldn’t afford to keep the child in the crosshairs of battle. He’d survived Teldrassil and the attack on Stormwind. Allan didn’t want to risk a third incident. Even Star’s Rest Cove was in dangerous territory, being triangulated by Zandalar, Kul’Tiras, and the Broken Isles. Instead, the monk returned home to tend to the little boy who was now his.

“I keep dreaming a-about it. I re-remembered your beads, and the lotus on your arm,” Berenice said, her voice just barely above a rasp. “You d-didn’t belong there, but--” she coughed and her body shook, each breath labored as she steadied herself. “--you could have.”

Allan’s stormy gray eyes surveyed the woman as he channeled the mists, doing his best to soothe her pain. He knew the injuries were great, and there was not much that could be done at this point, but he had to try. “Shh... try not to speak and get rest.”

Only hours after Zaderick teleported them from Darkshore to Dalaran, Allan was right back to healing. Once Taleyriel was stabilized, he did his best to sleep, but after four hours was right back at it. The doctors at the infirmary worked tirelessly, and once his brother in law was on the painful road to recovery, the monk was sent to Stormwind to help the refugees that had been pulled from the flaming world tree.

Stormwind was in mourning. Almost overnight, Olivia’s pond was full of refugees in tents and makeshift housing. People who once lived among the magical boughs of Teldrassil now lay displaced and scattered throughout the city. The infirmaries were packed, and clusters of clerics and healers were making their rounds.

It wasn’t long before a woman recognized him, and he recognized her after having pulled her from her home to the safety of the temple. What he hadn’t realized at the time was that she was in the final stages of her pregnancy. Berenice began to cry. Her once beautiful, deep auburn hair was in patches, and bandages covered most of her body. “There is no hope for our people. Those things will continue to hunt us wherever we go,” she lamented. “I survived... the fall of Gilneas o-only to be burned alive in Teldrassil.”

Allan took the hand that wasn’t gravely injured. Mint green mist swirled from him toward her. “Hope is the sun behind a stormy sky. Ever in the heart, but veiled to the eye. Someone wise once told me that,” he began. The woman’s blue eyes rose up to meet his. “Did that someone suffer as we have?” He knew there was absolutely nothing he could say to ease the pain in her heart, but he wanted to keep her distracted from the pain that wracked her body. They had to save her and the child. Berenice had begun to go into early labor.

“Yes. Once, he was captured and chained. Paraded in front of his people in an attempt to break their spirits into submission and snuff out hope,” Allan spoke. There was a midwife in the tent with them. The girl couldn’t have been more than eighteen years old and afraid-- it was perhaps the first birth she had assisted. Allan glanced at her and gave a reassuring nod. You are doing well. Unfortunately, not well enough.