#anasella

Dalaran must have been a truly wondrous place, with its violet spires reaching into the clouds, brilliant monuments of marble and gold along cobblestone pathways, and libraries filled with ancient texts and forbidden knowledge. It was where cynical wizards with greying beards and bad backs rubbed shoulders with wide-eyed apprentices and daring spellswords. It was a place where one’s station in life would be determined by their ability, and not their birthright. But to Anne, it remained little more than a dream. A place she would read about while she was meant to be studying. There was opportunity there for her, but it was worlds away. Her family had no use for a mage, after all. They had use for a proper lady, someone who would secure the right alliance to advance their family’s interest. They didn’t need her to conjure portals or weave the very elements between her fingers, they needed her to make sure her long, brown hair was done up nice in the latest styles, so it didn’t look quite so dull. They didn’t want her in fashionable purple and blue robes - they wanted her in tight and uncomfortable dresses, because if there was one truth of being born rich, it was that making sure your hips were prominent was more important than silly things like breathing and moving. She would often picture what it would be like to walk through those gates for the first time, and see firsthand the world she had heard so many stories from. The only thing she would miss about the Amedei estates was the smell of the sea air. There was always something oddly refreshing about it - most people will tell you the it’s the salt, but there was something more to it that she couldn’t put a finger on. Even though the estate was only a short distance from the harbour, the air grew noticeably stronger as she drew nearer. She wasn’t even supposed to leave the estate, but if she snuck out under the northern wall, nobody ever seemed to spot her. Once she reached the cliff overlooking the path towards the harbour, she took a moment to take in the sight. It was small compared to other Tirasian harbours, but to a teenaged girl who spent most of her days in a dull keep with a sewing needle in hand, it was like a forbidden gateway to a whole other world. Sometimes she would watch the ships come in and wonder at the adventures they must have had along their journeys. Most sailed to Stormwind and Elwynn, delivering wine, grapes, and occasionally other cargo that the family’s shipping company was paid to export by lesser houses. There were several ships in today, but one stood out amongst them. The Lady’s Tear was at anchor now. It had milky white planks that seemed to shine in the sunlight, and its sails bore a green rose entwined around an anchor. Some of the sailors mocked it and called it girly, but Anne liked it. Maybe that’s why she liked it. She had made friends with its captain one day when she tried to take a closer look, and now whenever she came to the harbour, it was the first thing she looked for. She scurried down the pathway and onto the docks proper, only to be met with unwelcome, scattered whistles from passing dockworkers. Amidst a sea of gruff sailors and tired dockworkers, a little lady in a silky blue dress stood out something fierce, and for sailors who hadn’t so much as seen a woman in months, she was a sight for sore eyes. She knew to expect it, and did her best to ignore the attention as she skipped down the harbour towards the Lady’s Tear. The Amedei harbour was designed almost single-mindedly for its one trade, and it showed. Rows upon rows of crates were stacked by every ship, some waiting to be taken to sea, and others waiting to be carted away inland. There were no merchant stalls or souvenir booths, and the only place to eat was a makeshift mess that served almost exclusively dry bread and mussels. Sometimes she would stop to eat there, if just because it was the only place she could eat without having to follow proper table-manners. As far as harbours go, it was probably mundane - but it was still exciting to her. “There’s a proper little lady,” came a familiar, hoarse voice from over her shoulder. She spun around to see the Tear’s captain, Jon Fiate, beaming down at her. She immediately brightened, leaning over to give him a hug. He was a short man with a wide frame and a rather large belly. He wasn’t as impressive as some of the younger sailors, to say the least, but he was known to be a fair and honest captain - a rarity amongst merchant vessels. “Mister Fiate!” Anne exclaimed, breaking the hug and leaning back to look up at him properly. “I thought I would find you here. How was your trip? Did you run into any danger? Maybe pirates, or orcs, or maybe--” He raised his finger to pause her, laughing quietly to himself. “Relax, Miss Anne. Didn’t run into anythin’ interestin’ on that last trip, m’afraid. But--” he paused for dramatic effect, leaning in and giving her a toothy grin. “You’re gon’na like what I have to tell you.” Anne just blinked her eyes owlishly. “Wha’?” “Next job’s gon’na be a bit different,” he explained, straightening proudly. “Market’s expandin’, thanks t’growing supply. We’re movin’ on from Elwynn this next trip. Goin’ to a place called Menethil Harbour, nestled away--” “--Just north of Ironforge!” Anne finished for him, practically bouncing in excitement. “That’s -far- more interesting than Elwynn!” The captain chuckled at that, stepping past her towards the mess. He gestured for her to follow with a broad stroke. “That it is. Now -- I haven’t eaten in a day and a half. Do you care to grab a bite to eat before you run off again?” The offer was tempting, but Anne knew her absence would be noted before long. She bit her lip and shook her head regretfully. “No, I really should go home…” she looked over to the ship again. “Maybe I can come back before you all set sail. Is it tomorrow..?” “At the twelfth bell, on the dot,” came his reply. He reached over and gave her a firm grasp on the shoulder, before continuing on. Anne watched him go, biting at her lower lip. It was kind of him, she thought, to take the time to talk to someone like her during his busy days. His life must have been an interesting one. The entire way back home, Anne mulled over what he’d told her. Menethil was right on the road into the Arathi Highlands, where Stromgarde used to be. North of that was Lordaeron, and if one were to cut across the North road towards Alterac… but he would never agree to take her with him, no matter how much she begged. He worked for the Amedei Shipping Company - he worked for her father. He might not tell on her when she ran around the docks and socialized with working men, but he certainly wouldn’t stake his career and possibly his well-being on helping her travel half-way across the world. But at the very least, he could bring back a story or two about his trip. Maybe he would have a funny one to tell about the dwarves in Menethil. Dwarves were practically famous for their bizarre humour. When she made it back to the estate, she snuck in underneath the wall, the same way she snuck out. The estate was as quiet as ever, so she could be assured nobody had noticed she ran off. But she felt trapped even before she made it inside. Even with an open gate and a little gap to sneak under, the stone walls felt like they were closing in around her, like a prison. The world’s most boring prison, she mused. She could still smell the sea air in the compound, however muted it was, but once she pushed open the wide oak doors that led into her family’s wing in the estate, it was overpowered by the musty smell of a manor that she couldn’t help but associate with dull, drudgery and sameness. Maybe that was what was so special about sea air. It was different. It wasn’t here. Once she got back to her room, she settled down into the chair at her desk, before the last book she’d opened. It was leather-bound, its cover stained a rich purple, and the sigil that was emblazoned upon it was more than familiar. It came as a stiff reminder of her far-fetched dream, that was just a little bit closer now, if only she could find a way. But she didn’t. The next morning, she went to meet with Captain Fiate before he left. She wished him well and spent a few minutes making small talk with his crew, before waving them good-bye. He promised to bring her back some souvenir from the dwarves, and she offered to bring him a bottle of brandy from her mother’s kitchen. Later, she returned to the estate and ran through her daily lessons, being scolded for using the wrong knives and for fraying her stitches when she sewed. The next time the ship came in, she would repeat the process all over again, wishing she was brave enough to take a shot at leaving, but never having the stomach to do it. Every time she watched a ship sail away on some new adventure while she remained behind, trapped in the old manor while the world turned without her, it got a little bit harder. Maybe one day it really would be too much, and she really would leave, with or without her parent’s blessing. She just hoped she wouldn’t have outgrown her dreams by the time that happened.