(2023-01-17) The Human Doctor

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Author:	Luridel
Summary:	Back in September, Pericleia ends up in Shattrath's infirmary and speaks to one of the doctors there.
Rating:	T for Teen

(Several months ago…)

The human doctor looking down at her is familiar.

Green eyes - natural green, not Fel green - set in a soft human face, with none of the lines and creases that mark advanced age. Long lashes. Rounded little human ears in a nest of curly hair.

“Pericleia?” the human asks. Their voice might be masculine, but it’s difficult for Pericleia to tell with how softly they’re speaking. The difference is less pronounced, with humans. And they know her.

“Who…?” Pericleia asks. Her voice scrapes raw in her tired throat.

“I’m Doctor Mordecai,” the human says, reaching for a pitcher of water.

Doctor Mordecai Harbrooke Aspenwood. She knows this one. Pericleia went to his wedding, to see what a human ceremony would be like. A rare moment of curiosity. It had seemed to her an oddity, that she was invited without ever having met the man. The first invitation she had received in her time on Azeroth, and it was from a pair of strangers. This one is a ‘priest’ - a human Anchorite - and a healer. A member of Cobalt Company.

The doctor pours her a cup of water, and when Pericleia finds it difficult to move her fingers, he helps her drink.

“Thank you,” she says.

“Do you remember what happened…?” the doctor asks.

Pericleia remembers what happened.

(Cold. Sudden, biting cold. Anchorite Tanet, calling out to her: “Don’t come near me. I’m a monster. Leave me alone.” The sense of the Light about her, which used to be so strong, dimmed to almost nothing.)

Why couldn’t Pericleia have left her alone?

It used to be the bright spot in her day at the orphanage, when Tanet or Paluuva would come tell them stories, and Pericleia would sit with the other children and ask questions sometimes. She has more carefully-preserved memories of those days than she does of her Vindicator training.

Something must show on Pericleia’s face, because the doctor smiles gently at her and says, “You don’t have to tell me, if you’d prefer not to talk about it. You can just rest.”

It’s kind of him. She’s grateful. When he heals her throat, she can feel that kindness in his Light, and it brings to mind a long-forgotten feeling, like the impression of a memory of someone whose Light felt similar. She doesn’t recall who healed her, or when, or where, or how old she was, or what the injury was. Just that at some point, someone healed her, and they were so very kind that the pain just… stopped.

Her throat doesn’t hurt. She can move her fingers.

The doctor doesn’t pry. He just sits with her, quiet, until the next patient comes in. And even then: “I’ll come check on you later. Rest well, Pericleia.”

“Good health, long life,” Pericleia replies, and at his puzzled head-tilt she realizes that she’s spoken in Draenic without thinking. “Be healthy,” she tells him. But he won’t live long.

None of the humans will. It’s dangerous to get attached - like having a childhood pet with a lifespan a fraction of your own.

The doctor moves away, and Pericleia closes her eyes. She tries to remember some of the people she’s forgotten, but they stay buried. It’s likely for the best.