#anthadin

Stormwind's Chapel Of Light was usually so quiet. Not eerily quiet, but the kind of gentle hush that wraps you in its arms and says "you are safe here." Lauren Kensington hadn't spent much time here - Light's Hope was her cathedral for the majority of her life - but in the weeks since she'd volunteered to minister to Stormwind's citizens, she'd grown accustomed to the feel of the place.

Tonight was different. The citizenry was clearly on edge, more so than usual. The pews were packed, the faithful hanging on the High Priestess' every syllable. Lauren hung back near the entryway, out of her usual battle armor. She wore a simple white woolen gown and soft leather shoes, her hair caught back in a loose ponytail. She sat quietly on the bench, listening to the High Priestess' tone more than her words, a background litany of soothing vocalizations.

Lauren hadn't been sleeping well lately. She'd tried so hard to be the protector she'd wanted to be back on the Broken Isles. Tried to be determined, strong, protect her brother and sister Templars. It hadn't gone well. The demons had gotten even to the strongest of them - the Justicar had lost her husband, Caelryn had chosen death before the Legion would control her (the young Worgen had actually lived through the attempt, but her courage and strength amazed Lauren), and Acele was lost. Idella had been imprisoned and hadn't been quite right ever since her rescue.

So much evil. So much endless, endless evil.

"You're missing the sermon."

Lauren looked up. The paladin Katherine was there, her auburn tresses glowing in the candlelight. She smiled politely. "I can hear it fine from here, Katherine, but thank you for checking on me."

Katherine sat beside her on the bench and laid a comforting hand on Lauren's shoulder. "You know you can ask us for anything, Lauren. Your order sent you here because they care for you, not because--"

"Because I'm useless?" Lauren finished for her. She looked down at her hands with a blank expression. "Because I set out to fight and I found for the first time that I couldn't? Because I'm a coward?"

"Lauren Kensington, you listen to me," Katherine said sternly. Lauren looked up. "You are not a coward. Everyone is scared of the Legion. Everybody."

"Not you."

"Even me. You're braver than you think; you were there at the Broken Shore."

"And a lot of good that did," Lauren laughed bitterly. "He died right in front of me, Katherine. The Highlord died and I can't stop seeing it, the way the Light just broke, Gul'dan's laugh, and I just..." Her throat tightened. Don't cry. You will not cry. If you start you will never stop. She swallowed. "What's left to us when even the Light fails us? What then?"

Katherine paused. "I was training a young paladin once, years ago. He was going through the same things you are, I imagine. Asked the same questions. He was about to go off to war in Northrend with several of his friends." Her eyes went distant, remembering. "They were all so young. Barely men yet. He asked me how the Light could prevail when the Lich King could just rip the dead from its embrace."

"What did you tell him?"

"That no matter how much it seemed otherwise, the Light never abandoned its champions. That the darker things got, the brighter it would shine. And it did. And it will again. There is still hope, Lauren, even in the face of all this loss. It's all right to be scared. Scared is normal and real and human, and you're not a coward for taking the time away to tend to your own wounds, especially the invisible ones."

She couldn't stop it. A tear fell down her cheek, and another, and the next thing she knew Lauren was sobbing in Katherine's arms like a child clinging desperately to its mother.

Katherine stroked her hair, a steady, comforting motion. "You must protect yourself as well, Lauren. None of us is invincible. You will find your way back to the Light in your own time. And there is so much more you can do than swing a hammer or rush into battle with your shield."

Lauren sniffled and dabbed her eyes with the hem of her sleeve. "What should I do?"

"Well, you could attend Mass properly, for one," Katherine chided her gently. Lauren chuckled - the first time she'd laughed in weeks. "Besides that? Just be there for others. It's when things seem hopeless that hope matters more than ever. There are so many who are as frightened and lost as you are right now. I think you'll be surprised by how much it will help you both to know that you are not alone in this."

"You sure about that?" Lauren asked.

Katherine stood up and offered her hand to help Lauren to her feet. "Why do you think I went looking for you in the first place?" she asked.

Lauren stared at Katherine the Pure for a long moment before nodding. The two paladins took each other's hand and sat down in a pew at the back of the chapel near an elderly couple. The old man smiled at Lauren and took her other hand in solidarity.

If only she could get a moment to breathe.

Lauren had been on the move ever since the Broken Shore. At the moment, she was at the Stormwind Cathedral, theoretically resting in between battles, but the familiar trappings of prayers and holy symbols weren't providing the comfort they had in the past.

It was that scream. Highlord Fordring, suspended in the air by Gul'dan's fel magic, begging the Alliance and Horde forces to stay away, it was a trap, and then came that scream as the life was ripped from him.

Tirion's last words, over and over in her head - "the Light will protect me," but it hadn't, and something broke inside her as the Highlord's body fell unceremoniously into that pit.

Lauren tossed and turned fitfully on her cot, trying not to scratch at her scabbed-over cuts. Outside, she could hear the weeping and wailing of new widows and orphans. How was she supposed to sleep, knowing that the demons would come again, would kill again, and they'd never stop?

She took a breath, wincing a bit at the slight pain it caused her bruised ribs. Again, the scream, "the Light will protect me," and everywhere around her soldiers were dying, and she was screaming herself, Lightborn wings of vengeance flaring out from her back, her blessed hammer pounding again and again into the enormous demon's chest, and then everything was a blur of fel fire and rage and terror. She barely remembered King Varian sounding the retreat, or how she'd managed to hold on as the Fel Reaver yanked at the gunship, or the boat to Westguard Keep to report back to the other Templars.

All she could focus on was the terror in Tirion's scream when she watched the Light fail for the first time in her entire life.

Lauren got up and paced around the tiny recovery room. There was a pattern to how often the Legion attacked. Likely it took them a short while in the Twisting Nether to regenerate. It wouldn't be much longer before she was sent back to Westfall to beat back another wave of demons.

She picked up her hammer, the very one her father'd given her all those years ago before she'd gone off to train with the Silver Hand. She thought of everything she'd fought against with that hammer in her hands, and all of a sudden Lauren fell to her knees and cried, an angry, broken kind of crying that was weeks of fear and doubt and constant fighting finally catching up with her. It hit her, then, that she was alone, no father to comfort her, no lover to kiss away the pain, no one to just...be there for her.

She thought of Anthai, all fire and rage and probably the one she was closest to out of all of them, but Anthai couldn't know what it meant to be a paladin, to believe in the Light, to feel its warmth and blessing. The other paladins might understand, but even though she'd fought alongside them since Draenor, she still felt like a bit of an outsider, conscripted out of necessity to replace Anthai on the Black Watch. She admired them, trusted them, would fight and die for any of them, but...she didn't feel like they were her friends. Whom could she talk to about this despair inside her, who would understand what it meant to see the Light shatter like that? The Justicar? No, she was near to bursting with child. Jen'nerik, who'd taught her Draenei techniques to strengthen her battle prowess? But she wasn't a part of the Silver Hand, and for that matter, could the Draenei even relate to the fragile mortality of humans?

"Father, I am so lost," Lauren whispered to her hammer, tears streaming down her face. "I don't know what to do. I don't know how to fight this."

She sat there, the tears subsiding after a while as a kind of bleak, numb exhaustion set in.

Then the alarm bells began to ring. "The Legion strikes at Sentinel Hill!" a guard bellowed. "Champions of the Alliance, make your way to Westfall!"

Lauren stood up, steadied herself and donned her armor. She leaned over to pick up her hammer and stopped.

"The Light will protect me!"

Would it?

She didn't know anymore. She thought of all the men and women who'd died at the Broken Shore, who'd died to these incessant demon invasions. Of the look on King Anduin's face as he stared at the effigy of his father in front of his throne, knowing Varian's body wasn't there because there had been nothing left of the body to entomb.

Lauren straightened herself. She had to do this. Even if it meant she would never stop. Even if it meant they would be worn down eventually. Even if it meant they would lose. Because she couldn't not even try, no matter what doubts and fears plagued her.

Because she was a paladin. And that still meant something.

Maybe the Light couldn't protect everyone. But she would. She would try.

The flames limning Anthai's skin vanished as her eyes flashed red once and faded back to green. "We need to get out of here. We need to get back to the Templars."

Lauren blinked. "Wait, but how did you--"

"Now," the mage insisted. With a wave of one hand and a brief incantation, she opened a portal. An image of Dalaran's domes and spires flickered in its depths. Before either paladin could object, Anthai shoved them both through and followed immediately after. The portal winked out of existence, and Icecrown Citadel fell silent once more.

For now.

*  *  *  

A day later, Lauren, Kem and Anthai gathered in a room at the Hero's Welcome inn. Lauren and Kem had gotten some sorely-needed healing, a bath, and several hours' sleep. The three women sat at a table out on the balcony, a spectacular view of the Violet Citadel soaring high above them.

"So..." Lauren began.

"So." Anthai repeated, that familiar teasing smirk on her lips.

Lauren shook her head. "I don't even know where to begin."

"You could properly introduce me to your friend, for starters," Anthai pointed out.

Kem gave a polite nod. "Kem Redbraid, miss. I owe ye my life. Thank ye."

Anthai waved it off. "Just makes me even with Lauren, is all."

"Anthai, Light above, I thought you were still on Draenor," Lauren said. "What happened to you?"

The mage was silent for a brief moment, her eyes distant. "I stayed behind to help with the cleanup."

"I remember that."

"Yeah, well, turns out Exarch Yrel and that bastard Hellscream are all buddy-buddy now." Her eyes narrowed. "Grommash gets bitch-slapped around a bit by that fucker Gul'dan and goes crying to the people he tried to conquer in the first damn place, and she helps him. Unbelievable. The Orcs and Draenei called a truce, if you can believe that nonsense."

"Anthai--" Lauren began.

"Forgiveness in the Light, blah blah, I heard it endlessly from the Exarch's speeches, I don't need to hear it from you, all right?"

"And that's why you left? Just out of bitterness?"

"No. A little, maybe, but no. I wasn't going to come crawling back to Azeroth while my powers were still out of whack. I took some time to study with the Draenei mages, mostly researching some texts Mar'gok kept at Highmaul." Anthai shivered and drew her cloak tighter around her. "Life-Binder's tits, I hate Northrend. Never get the chill out of the air."

Kem raised an eyebrow. "Did ye really just swear on the Dragon Queen's chest?"

"What? She's got a great rack."

The Dwarf chuckled. "I like her," she told Lauren.

"You and I'll talk later, cutie." Anthai got back to business as Lauren rolled her eyes. "In any case, a lot of it had to do with the timeline, how Kairoz and Garrosh disrupted it, lots of math involved, boring mage stuff, you wouldn't get it.

"And then Yrel had a vision."

Lauren leaned in attentively. Draenor's Velen had passed something on to Yrel before he'd sacrificed himself. Apparently he'd passed on his ability to see the future as well. "What did she see?"

"A sword. A quest. A way for me to be more powerful than ever, but that isn't important. She saw the Legion, Lauren."

"But Archimonde is dead, he died in the Nether, Gul'dan even--"

"No, Lauren, the Legion is coming here. To our Azeroth. This is the big one. They're pissed."

Lauren's blood froze as it all clicked. Highlord Fordring's absence, the weird signs from the Void, the Twisting Nether, the Emerald Dream. Khazarath's vision. The hundreds of new Scourge in Icecrown. "We...we have to tell the Justicar, the Templars are at Westguard..."

Kem's voice was panicked. "I need t'find me brother, he'll need me--"

Suddenly, before any of them could finish speaking, something huge and burning shot out of the sky and crashed into the street below. Someone screamed, and as Lauren jumped out of her seat to see what had happened, the skies above Dalaran darkened from pale violet to a sickly green. In the distance, they could make out fel meteors beginning to rain from the skies.

"Blessed Light preserve us," Kem breathed.

Lauren gripped Anthai's arm. "Portal us to Westguard. Now." The mage nodded, her face white, but they already knew they were too late to give the Templars time to prepare.

The wind howled around her as Lauren clung tightly to the gryphon flying her to Icecrown Citadel. She didn't care much for flying in any case and even less for her destination. It had been so long since she and Kem and Khazarath had been a part of the assault on the Citadel, but the memories of fallen comrades - those who had been under her protection - clawed at her like the chill of Northrend's heart.

The Citadel itself came into view as they began the descent from Dalaran. Its saronite spires pierced the sky, promising pain and death to any mortal foolish enough to dare its heights. Lauren glanced at Kem to avoid looking down, seeing the dwarf riding straight in her saddle with a giant grin on her face. Must be that hint of Wildhammer blood, Lauren thought wryly.

The gryphons landed a short ways out from the base of the Citadel, understandably not wanting to get too close. The paladins dismounted, Kem petting her gryphon reassuringly. "Ready?" she asked Lauren.

"Not even in the slightest," Lauren said. She strapped on her shield and drew her sword. Normally, she'd have her father's hammer with her, but it was too heavy to be wielded in one hand. Light, but she wished her father was with her - alive, not just in spirit. She forced down the memories and focused on the mission.

The pair approached carefully. The front gate was open, broken since the assault all those years ago, and they stepped inside. Within, the Citadel was tomb-silent and in disrepair. It was apparent no one had returned to this place since the fall of the Lich King. No one would want to. Any treasures within would have been acquired by the heroes who'd slain Arthas, and the possibility of stray Scourge or just simply the feel of cold death permeating the stronghold was enough to keep even the hardiest adventures away.

"Falstad's beard, can ye feel that, Lauren?" Kem said in a voice as hushed as if she'd been in a church. "The...wrongness of this place. 'Tis as if nothing alive has ever been allowed here."

"I don't think you're wrong," Lauren said, equally as quiet. "But Khazarath said there was...something. I wonder if--"

Lauren didn't have the chance to finish her sentence. The fortress rumbled, and great jets of ice erupted from the walls, barring the way forward. Lauren jumped back, calling on the Light to raise a sacred shield of light around her, protecting her from the deadly blast.

A shape formed within the wall of screaming ice, becoming a bluish-white figure of an armored man. Lauren recognized him.

"...Magroth?" Lauren said, incredulous. The spirit of Magroth, defender of Lordaeron, who'd died at Arthas' hands in the Third War, nodded once.

"I am Magroth who was," the spirit said. "You cannot be here, Lauren Kensington, nor you, Kem Redbraid. This prison of ice is no place for the living. It is his will. It cannot be denied."

"His..." Kem said, eyes widening in horror. "The Lich King? Light have mercy, is that bastard Menethil still alive?"

"Arthas Menethil is dead, and more than dead," the spirit replied. "Frostmourne consumed his soul, as it consumed mine. Mine and so many others." The spirit seemed to struggle for a moment, as if he was holding something back. The Citadel rumbled again. "I beg you both, flee. What lies within Icecrown is not meant for you. He does not want you here. Flee, lest he imprison your souls in death as well."

"Magroth, please, what is happening? Why are you here? Who is 'he'?" Lauren begged. None of this made any sense. The Lich King was dead, she knew he was dead, she hadn't seen it happen but Tirion had assured them all...

...Tirion...

...Tirion wasn't around these days, was he?

The spirit grew desperate. "Lauren, please! Leave now, I can't--" The ice flashed white and screamed, enveloping the spirit as if it had been angered. Beneath them, the ground began to break apart as dozens upon dozens of Scourge broke free and hurled themselves mindlessly at the paladins.

Lauren and Kem reacted instinctively, the former shouting a battle cry as fingers of holy light lashed out from her body and destroyed the closest few undead, the latter swinging her huge two-handed blade in a divine storm of destruction.

"I thought the Scourge were gone!" Kem shouted as she decapitated a slavering ghoul.

Lauren prayed quickly to consecrate the ground beneath her, the light pulsing out in waves to send the Scourge to true death. "I don't know what's happening!" she shouted back. Righteous fury filled her veins as she taunted an abomination away from her fellow paladin. "Something's wrong, there shouldn't be this many..."

But there were. Wave after wave of undead attacked the pair, unceasing, the stench of death making Kem gag. They started a slow retreat back out the gate, but the Scourge were everywhere, surrounding them, blocking the exit. Whoever "he" was who Magroth had spoken of, he wasn't going to allow them to live. Lauren was strong and could hold out for a very long time, but she wasn't invulnerable.

She and Kem were going to die here.

Not here, not like this, Light please don't let me become a Scourge, please give me peace when it happens, don't let me please oh please oh Light oh Father...

Lauren braced herself, determined to go out fighting, afraid for Kem, preparing one final burst of holy wrath.

Before she could unleash it, the ground erupted in flames, incinerating the undead and obliterating them completely. Lauren raised her shield, both she and Kem raising divine barriers around them against the overwhelmingly destructive fires that burned the Scourge to ash all around them.

"Hey, girlfriend. Bad time?"

The smoke cleared slightly, the ground still glowing red-hot as a familiar woman stood in front of them, rimmed in flame and wielding a magnificent Sin'dorei blade.

[From the travel journals of Lauren Kensington, to be delivered to the Templars Of the Rose in the event of her death.]

I met with the Redbraids in Hearthglen for probably the first time since the Cataclysm. Kem and Khazarath fought alongside me during the assault on Icecrown Citadel; a paladin and death knight, respectively. Twins not even death could separate for long. I envy their bond. I've never known what it's like to have a sibling. Kem all but considers me family; Khazarath...he's a good man, but it's hard for me to look at him and not see the Scourge in his dead white eyes. But he has never been anything less than loyal to me, and so I continue to pray to the Light to grant me greater acceptance.

I had, with the Justicar's permission, taken a leave of absence from the Rose after I'd received Kem's second letter. Khazarath, trying to give meaning to his life-after-death, had ingratiated himself to several factions after Icecrown, and maintained contacts all over Azeroth. He was an ambassador of the Ebon Blade and regarded as a neutral party, and therefore received news from both Alliance and certain members of the Horde. Whatever he had to say, it was urgent enough to say in person, and that didn't bode well.

Our reunion was short and bittersweet when I arrived at Hearthglen. All of us were glad to see one another, but we got down to business in short order.

Khazarath informed me that several nights ago, he'd had a dream. Concerning in and of itself, since the undead don't dream, as far as I know. He told us of a presence within Icecrown, a burned figure encased in ice and sitting on the Frozen Throne. Its eyes burned as it pointed at Khazarath and rumbled the single word "...shards..." before the death knight awoke with a start.

He wouldn't have shrugged something like that off in the first place, but it was doubly ominous because, he explained, he'd been in touch with several of his allies lately who had also reported strange goings-on. A shadow priest he'd known for years had suddenly begun speaking in the language of the Old Gods, and her shadowform had grown twisted. She'd had to be confined for her own safety.

Kem spoke then, revealing what she'd learned from Eyanna and Thayin Leafblade - old friends of ours, sisters, a druid and a warrior. They never went anywhere without the other, Thayin guarding her dreamy, half-there younger sibling as they lent their talents where they were needed. Eyanna had gone deep into the Emerald Dream and hadn't yet awakened; Thayin watching helplessly as her sister grew pale and drawn. This hadn't happened for years, not since just before the Cataclysm. Thayin was all sword and shield, no connection to the various magics of Azeroth, and was not used to feeling so helpless.

Most disturbing of all, however, was when Khazarath told us of a gnome warlock we knew...a warlock who suddenly found herself unable to summon her demons.

I sat back, taking in what I'd learned. I was reeling from these revelations. One odd vision was one thing, but to hear so many distressing trends from the Void, the Emerald Dream and the Twisting Nether...

The three of us looked at one another gravely. Something was happening. Something dire. But what could we do? The Highlord was off on a mission somewhere, so Kem and I couldn't consult with him.

That left us with Khazarath's vision. Kem and I had him leave to go find other champions, consult with the shamans, the mages, whoever else he could find. We needed to see exactly how widespread this was.

Kem and I would be returning to Icecrown.

[This letter was received shortly before Pilgrim's Bounty by Lauren Kensington at Westguard Keep after her return from Draenor. It was sealed with the mark of the Wildhammer Clan.]

Dearest Lauren,

Imagine my relief when I got your package with your "Draenor Journals" inside! Praise the Light you came back from the expedition with just a few broken bones. There wasn't a doubt in my mind no Iron Horde would be a match for your hammer and shield!

Your new allies, the Templars, sound interesting. I hope I meet them someday - we can sit by the fire and tell stories and raunchy jokes over a barrel or two of ale. Just like the old days, eh?

Speaking of the old days, my brother will be visiting me soon. I'll be back at Hearthglen, though - normally I'd be at the chapel, but, well...you know how Khazarath feels about Light's Hope. To be fair, some of the Order aren't too fond of him either. You remember what happened last time. But you know what I always say, us Redbraids stick together. You'd think after a few years past Icecrown, people'd remember the Ebon Blade are on our side.

Ah, but look at me ramblin'. I'm glad you're back home, Lauren. Light knows I missed you. Come back up here sometime once you get yourself sorted. Highlord Fordring comes by every few weeks or so pacing around and looking all grim and serious, and I think it's catching. I could stand to see a sunnier face.

Light bless and keep you, and may the ancestors watch over you, Kem Redbraid

*  *  *  *  *

[The next letter was received by Lauren two days after the first, urgently delivered to her by a Wildhammer gryphon rider.]

Lauren-

You need to come back to Hearthglen as soon as you can. Khazarath's got important news and it doesn't bode well. We need you.

To Justicar Dawnfield-

I've received a letter from Ambassador Redbraid detailing the events of Marksman Wildsabre's tribunal. Thank you for welcoming him under the dire circumstances, and I hope he contributed with his line of questioning. I hope he wasn't too long-winded.

On the matter of my absence, I've been in touch with several old friends and colleagues in Hearthglen and elsewhere. A gnome warlock of my acquaintance has recently felt reticence from her summoned demons to serve her. My friend Eyanna, a druid of the Cenarion Circle, has felt a kind of unease within the Emerald Dream. I've heard rumblings from our fellow paladins that even Highlord Fordring seems on edge lately.

I don't know just yet what all of this means, but I fear something terrible may be on the horizon. I'll be keeping a journal of what I find and will share it with you and our fellow Templars when we meet again. Light willing, that day will come soon.

Warmest regards in the Light,

Lauren Kensington of the Argent Crusade

To Justicar Dawnfield-

As you know, I have been unable to participate in official Templars business for some time due to unexpected obligations in Hearthglen, which I intend to tell you about when my duties are complete.

However, word has reached me that our friend and colleague Kanta Wildsabre has been accused of murder. While I cannot be there to defend Marksman Wildsabre, I am sending my colleague Khazarath Redbraid, a Knight of the Ebon Blade, in my stead to observe the proceedings. He is unaffiliated with the Rose and is a true neutral party, and I would like to nominate him as a juror if the jury has not yet been selected. I can speak for his character as a noble Dwarf who fought alongside me during the War in Northrend years ago, and continues to fight his own darker impulses as a Death Knight. I believe that as someone without ties to either the Templars or the Blood (his sole allegiance is to the Ebon Blade), he would serve as a more impartial party than I would.

Regardless, I hope you will welcome Ambassador Redbraid as my friend and ally, and recognize that he is there to assist you as my representative during the trial. He will be at Amberpine Lodge in Grizzly Hills if you wish to meet.

Warmest regards in the Light, Lauren Kensington of the Argent Crusade