#annekka

I can't remember much after whatever I had drunk from Vaelrin's cabinet, plus whatever the lowlife had offered me more of. They were both rather large bottles, opaque glass with no identifiers on them. Could've been anything. Difficult to say why I had decided to end up at the pirate's quarters other than likely being the last place Annekka would come looking for me. Some respite from the harpy. But also entertained the thought of that satisfying that selfish compulsion to sit in the scoundrel's chair and drink the scoundrel's drink, and watch the scoundrel of the seas himself walk in and see me in his chair with his bottles and be witness, maybe, finally, to the man snapping and reacting and do something, anything, terrible enough to prove to the others, to the Sunguard, the menace he really was. The moral plague I know Vaelrin is. Light, yes. To see his eyes on fire and watch him wrestle with his weak conscience tenacity knowing he had vowed to not kill me. Hurt me, yes. Oh, he had done that plenty. But, come on, take that one step I know you can't take. Put that gun to my head again, you bastard. Prove it. PROVE IT. I'm not afraid of pain anymore. So often had I been at the end of the lash, the fist, and the blade that the threat of punishment felt to me as hollow as the first bottle I had set aside. Pain subsided, bruises faded, and flesh and bone could mend. Aside, what was another scar in the terrible tapestry of my already broken skin? There was newfound beauty in the colors of blemishes and other contusions, an artist's palette. My crooked nose doesn't even hurt anymore - don't feel a damn thing. Blood was a minor toll to pay for whatever brief satisfaction I could wring out of anything now. Instead I was met with a tired man that scarcely acknowledged, and less of all cared, of my being there. The apathy was disgustingly overwhelming. And it infuriated me. Do something, you bastard! Not even the bottle I shattered against his desk spurred him much, but it roused my frustration more. I knew it was in him. Something terrible was in that man and I want it see it manifest into the monster he could be. Prove it. Show it. To be witness, oh! To be right, even at whatever could happen to myself. But Vaelrin did little, spoke less, and appeared distant from the conversation despite his intuitions. It wasn't anything he said that really got to me until he mentioned his knowing of Annekka and mine's marital being. I couldn't believe it. AGAIN. She told. Even when I said not-- SHE TOLD. I was livid. A little bit drunk, but very mad. Sight was a hazy blur and thoughts even more so. I could feel the tug of Cere'thien's work try to steer my mind in a more calming direction, to divert it away, but just as a maddened runaway horse I bit down on those reins and pressed on to meet up with that harpy of a woman I called wife in her tent. There was a lot of yelling. Loud voices, mostly mine. Annekka in her nightgown trying to keep peace from a man that didn't want any. Pointing. Accusing. I had told her to be quiet about us having relations in the beginning. She didn't. I told her to be quiet about the parentage of Tristian, fearing the Sunguard's spite towards me would bleed towards the poor boy as well. She didn't. I told her to be quiet about our shallow of a union called marriage. She DIDN'T. I couldn't trust her anymore. Fool I to think I ever could! Always running her mouth, that harpy. Bellowing my frustrations, my disappointment, my ire ("I'll give you something to be quiet about!") at a woman that had once taken my heart and was now on the floor after taking the backside of my hand. A pang of pain had burst at the side of my lip as well at the same time. I... must've hit myself somehow. I don't know if she had cried or not, I was gone before I could be looked up at anymore by those green eyes wide in shock and for a moment, a snap of thought, they were the same as my witch mother's after my father stepped out of their room. I was a boy, I walked out too, I didn't like the angry sounds she made after. Crying but not really. As if since I heard her then she was somehow my responsibility. To do what! To comfort her? To stand up to her? I couldn't. Loud voices. I didn't want to hear that again, not from Annekka. The cold air burnt my lungs but it was a strangely good feeling. I could see my panting breaths. My hand hurt, my face hurt. Something inside me, mind and heart, hurt too and it was too uncomfortably familiar. I wasn't this. This wasn't me. I wasn't him. I saw the large black silhouette of that man I called father suddenly looming out of the corner of my eyes as I rushed my steps into the supply den with only a single cruddy chandelier as the source of light. You! I nearly tripped flinching back. No! Oh. It was just my shadow. The thought didn't comfort me any more. 

The Warden-General turned a corner onto a busy street, a large building at the end catching her gaze. The architecture was familiar, though the building itself was far smaller than the cathedral she remembered from her childhood. Still, it was beautiful in its own way, its decoration and architecture so painfully human.  She found her feet walking her towards it, the loaf of bread being handed off to a group of children that greedily tore into it. As long as they had been in Light’s Glory, she had been too preoccupied with the war to explore the city. She knew a cathedral existed, but had never given it any thought. The Light was her tool, not her religion.

Her plated boots clanked against the stone steps as she entered the building. Inside, it was as familiar as every church she had been in. Ambient music rang out, a priest on the organ across the aisle. It reminded her of the cathedral in Stormwind, where she remembered hiding behind pillars with the altar boys and playing hide-and-go-seek. Her father had been such a strict man, so when he had business with the Church he began to force her to sit through the meetings. Eventually he could tell how distracted she so easily became and let her play with the other children.

“There you are,” came a soft voice from behind her. Anne spun around to greet the woman. Ah, yes, there she was in all her beautiful glory, the darling priestess Abigail Reddings. Her thighs were on display as always, a sight Anne was always welcome to see. “I almost wondered if you would come at all.”

“I cold not turn down such a creature as lovely as you,” Anne replied, taking the priestess’s hand and lifting it to her lips. A kiss was pressed to Abigail’s knuckle, leaving behind a stain of rouge on her bare skin. “It is like being back in Stormwind here. I have not been in a place such as this for quite some time. Churches in Quel’thalas look quite a bit different.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” the priestess responded with a smile. She watched Anne bend to kiss her hand. “You are a paladin of the Light, are you not?”

Anne nodded, taking the woman by the arm as they strode through the cathedral. “I am, yes, though I admit my faith has wavered much over the years. After I loss the ability to use it, I felt abandoned. When the Sunwell was restored and I regained my abilities I…” She fell quiet, brows furrowing. This is not how she had expected their “date” to go.

Abigail glanced sidelong at the crimson-haired paladin. “I can understand. To lose the Light after such faith… it is enough to make any believer question it.”

Anne frowned. This was not the flirting she had hoped for. Why were her hands not yet caressing those beautiful caramel thighs? “Yes, I suppose it is,” she replied flatly. “I suppose things have gotten better. My father was a priest, you know. Ru’nis Lightweaver of the Lighthaven. He facilitated many discussions between Quel’thalas and the Church. His father before him was the first in or family to accept the Light, and abandoned his career as a Magister to become a priest. He was already old and wealthy by then, and was able to carve out a space for himself. He was invaluable at the time, they both were.”

“I have heard his name,” Abigail replied, guiding her down a hallway into another part of the cathedral. “Though I admit I know little about him, I am sure he was good at his duty. I take it he raised you within the church?”

“Yes. My mother was a Knight of the Silver Hand and came from a long line of Rangers. She only became a paladin after marrying my father. They were married some time before they produced me, though that is normal amongst my people. I spent much time in the Cathedral of Light as a child. I’d say my childhood was spent as much in Stormwind as it was in Silvermoon.”

“That must have been invaluable education, shifting between worlds like that.”

Anne shrugged as she was taken down another hall, then another, and finally into what appeared to be a small library. Abigail released her companion’s arm and paced towards a shelf, fingers dancing along the spines of each book. “I guess,” Anne finally replied. “I learned quite a bit but I was not meant for the life of a priestess. I grew bored. When… when I followed our Prince into Outland, they rejected me. My parents did. It was not for many years after that did we speak, as they were forced to give up their land and titles to me since they could no longer visit Quel’thalas. They have since passed on.”

Abigail looked over her shoulder with a soft gaze on her lovely face. “I am sorry to hear that. But surely you must still value the Light?”

That was a difficult answer for the paladin to answer. She took a seat in one of the ancient looking couches at the center of the room. “I don’t know. There is… there is someone in my life who values it very much. I have it taught to my children so that they may be faithful. I guess… I feel it is my duty to teach them what I was taught, and let them decide for themselves later if they choose to follow the Light.”

“I am no mother,” said the priestess, taking a book from the shelf and seating herself next to Anne. “That seems a reasonable request, though perhaps you have them taught for another reason.  Your heart still belongs to the Light.” She reached a hand out and placed it above Annekka’s heart, plate separating flesh from flesh. Anne looked down at the hand, then back to the priestess and scooted a bit closer. Drat, why did she wear plate again?

“Maybe. I want to believe in it… the way you do.” She brushed a strand of hair from Abigail’s face, but did not let her touch linger. This was a priestess she was near, after all. “The way I used to. I had such faith, and such clarity in that faith. It did not falter. And now… there is a void in my heart. My life has been plagued with heartache and disappointment since I lost my faith. That is not to say my life before then was full of happiness and sunshine, but it was… easier. Less complicated.”

“But look at you now,” Abigail assured her. “A general. Things are more complicated because you have grown older, not because you have lost your faith. This is when you need it the most, not when things are simple. Why don’t you pray with me, Warden-General?”

Anne was taken aback by the sudden question. Looking down to the book in Abigail’s hand, she saw it was a book of psalms. “I…” She blinked. “I haven’t prayed in a long time.”

“Do you not use prayer in your mending?”

“Well… I use what I was taught, but there is no faith behind it. It is just…”

Abigail cut in. “A tool.”

Anne nodded, glancing off in shame. “Yes. A tool.”

Abigail placed her hand on Anne’s cheek, turning her so that their gazes would meet again. “Pray with me, Warden,” she said in a voice just above a whisper. “The Light within you wishes to be felt again, you must only let it.”

These were words she had heard before, or much kinder variants. Unlike with the Preacher’s constant ranting, her loving tone made her feel assured and safe. She was able to let her guard down in that small library and take the priestess’s hands. “I will pray with you.”

Abigail smiled brightly, bringing Anne’s hands to her lips to press a kiss to them. “Bless you,” she breathed, eyes closing for a long moment before she opened them to read from the book. When she spoke, her words were like honey. Sweet and warm, but slow moving. They sucked the young Warden-General into them in a way she had not felt in decades. Her body felt perfectly still and weightless despite the plate she wore. There were no sounds in that room other than Abigail’s prayer. A warmness in her chest began to bubble, slowly spreading from center through each of her limbs and into her fingers and toes. It was… comfortable. Her eyes began to flutter shut as if to better allow her to feel the Light’s grace fill her being. Though she knew logically none of her was moving, it felt suddenly as if there was a great wind. It was powerful, but it did not harm her. It was simply there, lifting her hair with tenderness and care. It caressed her flesh beneath the armour to bring goose bumps to her flesh and caused the hair on her arms to stand up.

Abigail’s words seemed to grow louder, but she did not increase her volume. Anne tightened her grip on the woman’s hands, her breathing steady and deep. It was as if she had fallen into the most comfortable slumber she had ever encountered, and the sun itself warmed her bed. Yet she was not asleep. She was perfectly conscious to her surroundings, however. She existed in two realms at once, one of Light and one of earthly misfortune.

When Abigail was done it felt as if only moments had passed, but Anne knew instinctively hours had gone. When she released the priestess’s hand, she found her body stiff and sore. She had been sitting so still for so long that her muscles had grown sore from lack of movement. “Light,” she breathed, rubbing her eyes despite the makeup she wore.

Abigail laughed, stopping the woman from her assault on the normally so perfect makeup. Taking a cloth from her bag, Abigail began to clean up the dark smudges from around Anne’s eyes. “Did you feel the Light’s grace on you?”

Anne would have nodded if she could, but instead she allowed Abigail to correct her face. “I felt… something,” she responded slowly. “It felt warm and… safe.”

“That is the Light’s love for you,” Abigail laughed.

Anne opened her eyes and leaned forward, a hand on Abigail’s cheek as her lips hovered just an inch above the priestess’s. “What have you done to me? Brought me back to a past I thought I’d left behind?”

Abigail smiled, tilting her head as if to kiss her. Instead, she simply spoke. “I have done nothing. The Light only comes to those who believe.” She pulled from Anne’s embrace and planted a simple kiss on Anne’s soft cheek. Before Anne had a moment to think or respond she stood from the couch and placed her book back on the wall. “It has grown late, my dear Warden-General. I am sure there are those who would miss you out so late?”

Unsure what had just happened, Anne blinked. “Uh. I… yes, I suppose so.” Red tipping her ears, she offered an awkward nod. “Thank you for the prayer.”

Abigail winked in return. “I’m sure there will be time for further prayer later.”

“You are scaring the servants,” the maid reached out to her mistress in an attempt to quell the rage that had already sent the nanny running with the children to another side of the estate before they witnessed their mother’s rage. “Master Dewmorning is not worth your vases! Your cousin went through a lot of trouble to get those for you.”

“Fuck Alorinis,” she frowned, suddenly feeling guilty she had destroyed the trio of vases he’d brought for her from his adventures. Fortunately Alorinis was no stranger to small gifts and tokens of his affection, so chances were that he wouldn’t even notice they were missing. The Warden lifted her skirts to stride across the room and inspect the piles of broken pottery she’d left there. “…I’ll clean this up. Tell the servants they can go home early today. I am feeling… the need to be alone.”

The maid remained for a moment longer to see if her mistress needed aid, but seeing Annekka begin to sweep up the pieces she decided it best to leave.

Anne collapsed onto her rear when the maid left, abandoning her broom to fall onto her back with a groan. Why did he act that way? Wasn’t Cere’s magic supposed to help him, to calm him down and make him a better person? The Greenseer had convinced Annekka to remain in this union for her son’s sake, and because at her core Annekka loved Deyaenus.

Even when disturbing the peace and angering the entire Sunguard, his simple presence caused her heart to jump and begin to race. Her palms would grow clammy, and there were butterflies in her stomach. He made her want to grab him and shut up his ranting with her lips even when she knew such a gesture would just enrage him further.

It pained her that he wasn’t like normal men. He wasn’t entranced by her appearance. He didn’t lust after her. He didn’t grab her in private; he didn’t hold her close when they finished. When they found moments for intimacy he left when it was over or slept as far from her as he could. He shamed her for the things she wanted to try and the desires she felt. If she changed nothing about him but one thing, she would simply want him to desire her as she desired him.

Anne lay there on the ancient carpet, eyes cast upwards at the high, elegant ceiling of her estate. “Minn’da?” came a small voice from the other side of the room.

Anne rolled over to look at her son, the small blond toddler holding his stuffed Thalassian Charger. His hair had grown long by now since she refused to cut it, too in love with his mass of curls. It was hard to deny whose child he was, because the only features he shared with his mother were the ringlets in his hair and wide eyes. She was sure once he grew he would become the spitting image of Deyaenus, though she hoped his personality would be far more pleasant.

“Come here, baby,” she cooed, holding out her arms to him. “Where’s your sister?”

He waddled his way over to his mother and curled up in her arms as they lie on the floor together, ignoring the large pile of broken pottery. “Chasing the nanny,” he replied, pretending to gallop his horse over his mother’s stomach.

Anne sighed. Tyria was always such an active child, and was likely getting old enough that just one nanny for both children would result in incidents like this, where Tristian’s quite demeanor allowed him to slip away unnoticed. She wasn’t upset, however. Their nanny had been quite good to them over the years. “Did you just want to spend time with your Minn’da?” she purred, cuddling the little boy close. His hair smelled of lavender and sage, and his skin was impossibly soft. His simple presence filled her with a joy she felt only with her children.

“Yes,” he giggled, kissing her cheek. “You’re not busy!”

Those simple words were almost enough to bring her to tears, but she restrained for his sake. “Oh, I am only busy to keep you safe.”

“I know,” he replied, dropping his horse to grasp her hand and hold it up above them. His little, delicate fingers twisted the copper ring she wore. It was so out of place on a woman who wore such finery. Even a two-year-old could see it wasn’t expensive. “What’s this?” he asked curiously, slipping it off her finger. His were tiny enough to fit two into the ring.

“A gift,” she answered sadly.

“From who?”

“A… a man.” She sat up then, taking him into her arms to transport the two of them to the couch. Sinking into the soft pillows, she cradled him to her body. “His name is Deyaenus.”

“D-Dej…” He struggled to repeat the name back to her, his little toddler speech not yet developed enough to pronounce it correctly.

“You can call him Dey, if you ever meet him.” It was strange, talking to her son about his father when he had no idea. He was young enough that not having a father wasn’t strange, but she knew within a year or so he would begin to ask questions. She didn’t have the answers yet.

“Dey. Is Dey nice?” He put the ring back on her finger and cuddled up against her body, his head resting on her breast.

“He can be, sometimes. Don’t worry about him, though, my dear. Are you hungry? Should we fetch your sister for lunch?”

He gasped and bounced up then, eager as any child for the promise of food. “Yes, yes, yes!”

Annekka giggled, tickling her son as she scooped him up as she stood. Removing the ring from her hand, she stared at it for a good long while before Tristian began to whine for lunch. Shaking herself out of her stupor, she replaced the ring back on her finger and carried the child off to find his sister.