#meliraea

“But Grandmother, the blossoms don’t last!” Meliraea just barely stopped herself from stomping in frustration. She was too old now for such displays, even if the fading flowers fell like failure from the window box.

The old sentinel sighed. “Mel, anything quick to grow is quick to wither. Surely your teachers have taught you as much.”

The girl frowned, twining a strand of hair around her fingers in thought. “Your flowers last,” she finally mumbled petulantly.

The sentinel drew in a breath, then eased her expression into a smile. “Well, I am no druid initiate. I must grow my garden the old fashioned way—nothing but wind and water, soil and root.” She hesitated. “I taught your mother her skill with herbs, you know.” Mel blinked, tears forming at the corners of her eyes at the mention of her mother. Kindness blossomed on the old sentinel’s face, remembering another little girl who had once charmed a frosty, childless widow into taking her under her wing.

“Come, child. Druid or no, you might as well learn something to keep you busy. Magic cannot address all ills, after all, and gardening is more soothing than anything else you’ll learn here.”

The elemental flamed wildly in Kirielle’s face. She ducked behind her shield, feeling the metal begin to heat. As soon as the jet died down she lunged, swung, and buried her sword, well, somewhere in the mass of the elemental. It flared out.

She looked around for Meliraea. The druid was halfway up a smoldering log, cooing at a squirrel. The squirrel, for its part, was clearly terrified--reasonable, given the forest was on fire--and completely uninterested in Mel’s attempts to catch it.

Kirielle blinked. “Seriously?”

Mel glanced down. “But the nice dryad asked!” The squirrel took the opportunity to scratch Mel’s still outstretched hand. Kirielle stared at the druid flatly. “And look at them! We can’t just leave them to burn.” Wide, innocent eyes flinched as the squirrel took another swipe before retreating further up the log.

A spark burst not far from Mel. With a sigh, Kirielle charged forward. Deliberately, she clipped the log, knocking the squirrel loose. Mel caught it with an indignant squeak as Kiri thumped forward, shield slamming down over the growing elemental. Oxygen-starved, the spark burned out. Bending over to lift the shield, Kiri sighed. Then she leaned further over and scooped up a fawn from the little hollow it had curled up in.

“Aw, you do care.” Mel grinned, brightly, tucking the squirrel in her bag where it joined two traumatized bunnies and another slightly singed squirrel. She was careful to leave the bag open enough that her rescues could breathe.

Blue lights flickered between the trees below. Meliraea turned to the great wicker bear in the cave once more. “Has it...always been like this?” Her voice was soft in the relatively healthy glow.

Ulfar grunted. “Not for many years. There were good things in these woods once.” He did not seem inclined to say more.

Carefully, Meliraea picked her way outside. There was snow on the mountain, but Kirielle had seen colder, and Mel never minded a little chill. Kirielle had set up a modest camp while Meliraea was questioning the druids, a little ways down the road. Kiri looked up at Mel’s approach, sighed when Mel shook her head. For a time, the two were quiet, the pop of the small, sheltered fire the only sound in the cool air.

Meliraea looked out over the forest falling away from the rim of the mountain road. There was something almost hypnotic in the winking of those blue lights. She might have been tempted to walk down among them, but for the rot she could sense oozing from every once-green thing in the woods.

“When was your mother supposed to meet us?”

Kirielle looked up from her cloudy rumination. “Yesterday.” Their eyes met briefly, bleakly.

“One more day, then?” Mel asked, returning her gaze to the Drust wilds. She pressed her sense out, seeking a touch of a different kind of corruption. It was no use, of course. Even the last trace of lingering fel couldn’t compete with this much decay.

I am sorry to inform you that Commander Kirielle has gone missing while scouting the Broken Shore, and, with the information available to us, I can only presume that she is dead. I happened to remember that the two of you were close, and thought you ought to know…

The worn letter fell as the Emerald Dream blossomed around the druids and their allies, Xavius’ bloated form dissolving into nothing more than a fading nightmare. Meliraea pushed through the slowly dispersing crowd, all staring in wonder at the pure life that had somehow survived. At the edge of the crowd, moving slowly, wide-eyed, stood Mel’s target. There had been no time, in the lead-up to this dangerous delve into corruption, to do more than scream internally with joy when she realized that Kirielle—not dead, somehow—had arrived in response to the druids’ call for aid. If that joy had fueled a strength of healing unexpected in the heart of the Nightmare, well, so much the better. But this—this was what she had been waiting for, hoping for.

Mel crashed into Kiri with the force of a charging bear, knocking them both to the ground with a resounding clank as Kiri’s shield and armor collided.

“Archdruid?” a voice called, lightly concerned.

A soft, pre-dawn glow suffused the grass outside the tent. The campfire had long since been snuffed, and the light of the last few stars burned far overhead. Kirielle woke, rolling over to massage a twinge out of her bad leg. Peering out the open tent flap, she saw Meliraea silhouetted against the dawn, head tipped back, watching the sunglow swallow the stars.

She couldn’t smother a smile at the sight, though she tried. Whatever this was, it was as new and fresh as the verdure around them. And to think, just last year, she had thought playing bodyguard with a bad leg for a healer who had never seen combat would be a bad idea. But here they were, alive and well, responsible for the restoration of Hyjal and the fall of the Firelands. Or, here she was, watching Mel, when she could be holding her instead.

Moonlight glimmers on white sand. Uncorrupted. Pristine. The sigh of wind in the trees somewhere back beyond the shoreline. A voice calls from the surf, battle-worn, rising above the swirling tide. Kirielle loves the water, after all. No need to stand, floating easy. Pain-free. It’s only a breath to join her, to catch her around the waist, and playfully try to pull her under…even here, Kiri is impossible to knock over, solid, comforting, and then a wave washes towards them and Kiri bends, giving Mel the moment. They chase each other for a time, salt-spray, cool water, warm breeze…

Why would it last? A ray of sunlight, bright only in its rarity, pierces the sky above Dalaran and spears into the small room. Meliraea sits up, rubbing her head, surprised to find herself free of nightmares, free of the pain they bring. She glances to her right, reaches out a careful, relieved hand and places it in the hollow between Kiri’s shoulderblades, reveling in the simple rise and fall. The smog of the Broken Shore below billows across the sky, cutting off the moment’s light. Kiri shifts, waking in the unnatural dimness.

“I was sleeping so well,” she mumbled, scrubbing at her face. “It’s been better, since Xavius fell.”

Mel got up, went to the window. It was true; she was grateful, that the druid’s call for aid in the Nightmare had brought her missing love back. The dreams were just a bonus. Still, the nagging darkness persisted. She glanced back at Kiri. “We’re not done yet.”

Got bit real hard by the painting bug, so I decided to get as much done as I could while I had time and inclination. The top two were from the second batch of figures I ever did, but I didn’t have the colors I wanted back then, so I touched them up. The other two are new.

Meliraea didn’t bother portaling to the top of the spire. There were enough healers, and Elisande’s time spell had played hell with Kiri’s balance. The overeager demon hunters had already run ahead; Khadgar barely paused to ask if the two wanted a piece of the action. He was gone before the reply, but others making their way up to the final confrontation understood.

Once Kirielle had been settled with some of the other wounded, Meliraea made her way back out into the city. The power loosed with Elisande’s death had reverberated, sending most of the demons running for the spire. Those that were left had been mopped up by the Duskwatch. Mel wasn’t stupid. The city wasn’t safe yet, not by a long shot. But there were injured civilians, and she wasn’t out of mana yet.

She lost herself for a short time, moving among the Duskwatch and healing minor injuries when movement to the side caught her eye. Pushing her hair back, she stood, passed her roll of bandages to the nearest guard, and slipped after the movement. The barest shadow of her rarely-used cat form slipped after the retreating figure. Not a demon, no, though the smell...

Mel softly dashed to get ahead of the figure. When Aranola turned the corner, Mel was sitting on a bench in the ornamental garden, gently cleansing some of the fel gunk from the water with a curving vine of life energy. Aranola gasped and stumbled back. There was no longer any way to hide the fact that she had sold herself to darker powers.

Mel smiled, small and friendly. “I wouldn’t go back, if I were you.”

Aranola snarled. “What would you know of it?”

“There are some people I know who are much angrier than I will ever be. And they have long memories.” Mel shrugged, looking out over the tainted city. “Perhaps they will only imprison the people here who caved to the Legion out of fear, at least until they find a way to cleanse unwanted taint. Perhaps the other warlocks, those who stand against the Legion, would be willing to offer you a place that’s a little more--” Mel paused, tapping her chin in thought--“palatable, to one of your tastes.”

“You dare,” Aranola hissed. “Foolish girl, you honestly think you can win this war?”

“There are some people I know who are much more determined than any demon,” Mel said quietly. “When all is said and done, they’ll probably come for you, too. They forgive as easily as they forget.”

“You would lecture me, about my friends? You cannot claim to know them any better than I do.”

“No,” Meliraea said. “But you did try to kill them.” She paused. “Kirielle doesn’t know yet. You might save yourself, or at least some sliver of your memory, if you try. Consider this a...friendly warning.”

Light flared overhead, but no all-consuming fire rained from the spire. “Would you look at that?” Mel mused conversationally. “It looks like they’ve succeeded after all.”