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| Details |
| Author: | Alli |
| Summary: | Anareline finds Sarandis outside of Lor'danel, and some air is cleared between them. ~1500 words |
| Rating: | T for Teen |
Sarandis sits on a large boulder outside of Lor’danel, by the edge of the sea. The coastline is broken and jagged, but still the waves roll in and fall back with a steady rhythm. The water does not care what it beats against, it will wear these new stones down to sand in time. Sarandis breathes with the water, slow and even. Her body is relaxed, her mind calm, and…
“Sarandis Wildbloom, is that you?”
It’s a woman’s voice, pitched low, intruding on her meditation. There’s a spray of water as an unusually large wave strikes the side of her boulder, and Sarandis reluctantly opens her eyes.
Ah. It’s someone she knows. Anareline Evensong. There she stands, perfectly composed, in her perfect armor, with her perfect unscarred skin, her perfect dark blue hair flowing behind her. Sarandis makes an expression that will hopefully be taken for a smile, and she feels her own scarred flesh pull on the right side of her lips.
“Hello, Evensong,” Sarandis says, and she’s pleased to hear that her voice sounds calm and steady. “It’s been a while. You were not completely forthcoming about the connection between us when we last met.”
“I had only just learned of your association with Cerelar,” Evensong pauses, but if she’s now uncertain of her welcome one would never know it from the cool, collected expression on her face. Then she says, “I had agreed not to meddle in your family.”
“And yet you did,” Sarandis says, looking up at her. She considers standing, to place them both on an even footing. But then, that would also indicate acceptance of this intrusion on her fragile peace. She remains sitting. “I had heard your name before, though I didn’t realize you were… I thought perhaps you’d heard of my injuries and were concerned, as a close associate of the sentinels.”
Evensong sighs. She steps over, sitting stiffly next to Sarandis on her boulder. There is barely enough room for two. Now they are level, close enough together that the splash of the waves is only a background for a quiet conversation. Evensong looks almost like a statue sitting there. Sarandis could reach out and touch her easily. She doesn’t.
“My shalan was right. That was done poorly,” Evensong eventually says, and the words are cool, emotionless, but Sarandis thinks she can hear the apology in them. “It was only that I wanted to meet you.”
“Why?” Sarandis asks, raising an eyebrow. She can’t help the touch of harshness in her voice as she says, “We have nothing in common, except for an unfortunate relationship with a failure of a man.”
“You are not looking closely enough,” Evensong says, frowning. “We have enough in common that you did not think it was unexplainably odd, when I sought you out.” She trails one hand along the surface of the rock, and continues, “Besides, I will not regret the time I spent with him, as I do not regret the existence of my son and daughter. I loved him, and that was not false, with my children as witness. That he was unworthy of such love, from either of us, does not signify.”
“Do you not feel foolish, looking back?” Sarandis asks, and then bites her tongue. That question sounded less harsh in her own head, when it was directed at herself.
Evensong does not seem to take offense. She considers the idea, and then seems to discard it. “No, and nor should you. It is not a flaw to believe in the person you love.” She tilts her head towards Sarandis and adds, “No longer, though. I confess part of me wishes Stormrage had slain Staghelm and all of his followers, rather than seeking rehabilitation. After all that Staghelm had done, the near-destruction of Teldrassil and your daughter - I am fond of her.”
“Revenge is a backwards sword,” Sarandis says automatically, though the words don’t resonate in her heart. Syreithe forgive her, but she is trying. The only thing in her heart at this moment is a twisting sense of pain and guilt, a memory of Florande’s tears, and the mocking sound of the next wave. Florande deserves a mother who can protect her. She forces herself to smile at Evensong. “Florande has told me of how you looked out for her in Northrend. Thank you for being there for my daughter, when I could not.”
“If she has told you of her time in Northrend, then you are already a better mother than I,” Evensong says smoothly, and Sarandis feels a frisson of surprise. “From one mother to another, I would caution you to not let silence linger, if it rises. Do not wait for her to break it, because she may not. The women in my family are stubborn, and from knowing Florande, I expect no less from yours. Stubborn, but also resilient and resourceful.” Evensong nods out at the sea. “You worry for her?”
Sarandis’s jaw tenses, and she nods. “It has been over three weeks since they last made contact with those who were pulled under. Surely, they would have sent word if they were still…”
Evensong shakes her head. “Your daughter is a druid. Of all of them, her life is least at risk. Of course, her mind is at risk if she spends too long in the form of a sea lion, but…”
“Elune preserve her,” Sarandis murmurs in surprise, turning to Evensong. “I hadn’t even thought of that. Is that common?”
There’s a flicker of regret in Evensong’s expression, but she says, “My shalan, Caspis, has struggled with it, so it is at least a concern. I did not mean to make things worse.”
“I worried only about their safety,” Sarandis says, fighting down the panic she feels rising in her chest. “And about what I would tell her about her father, when she returns. They were close, once.”
“Is there anything to tell?” Evensong says, clearly latching onto a change in subject. “He’s imprisoned in Moonglade, and that’s the end of it.”
“Not if they declare him rehabilitated,” Sarandis points out. “I do not want Florande caught unawares. But when I went to Moonglade, I was told I could not see him.”
Now it is Evensong who tenses. “Did they say why? I know the Twilight’s Hammer sought to free Staghelm only a few weeks back. Perhaps the druids have increased security on all of his followers as well.”
Sarandis shakes her head. “It was Alysra, one of the green dragons, that spoke with me. She didn’t say why, only that visitors were not allowed. One would think visitors would help with healing, in most cases, yes?”
“I cannot pretend to understand the minds of dragons,” Evensong says, but she glances in the direction of Moonglade as she does, the tension not easing. “Maybe I will ask Caspis to inquire. I do not like to think what the Twilight’s Hammer would want with Staghelm or his followers, and I think it would do our nerves well to know they remain secure. I expect the guardians at Moonglade would speak more openly with Caspis than with you or I.”
“I would thank you for that,” Sarandis says, breathing out slowly. “It would be one less thing to worry about. Already, my heart is full of worry for Florande and the work here in Darkshore.” She frowns and glances over at Evensong. “Did you know Aya Moonshield? She was a sentinel.”
“I do not,” Evensong says, puzzled. “Why?”
“She was… a friend of mine, lost at the Battle for Mount Hyjal,” Sarandis explains. “I work with her daughter Kaladris, a priestess from Auberdine. She has met with such grief here, and you do know many of the sentinels, so I thought, perhaps, to connect her with others who knew her mother.”
Evensong shakes her head slowly. “There I cannot help you. Perhaps you could ask my daughter, Larawen. She’s a sentinel as well, and no stranger to grief - she lost her wife at the battle. Larawen’s stationed not so far from here, in Ashenvale, though you’d have to catch her in between skirmishes at this point.”
Sarandis feels her shoulders curl in, self-protective, and she forces her posture straight again. “I haven’t been to Ashenvale since the volcano first erupted. Perhaps it is near time for me to return.”
“Perhaps,” Evensong says, and unfolds herself to stand. “In any case, I should be on my way. But… I would like for you and I to…” she pauses, frowning, and for a moment Sarandis thinks the ancient woman might be lost for words. But then she continues, “I would like for our connection to be… not through an intermediary. Not through shared pain.”
“Are you saying you would like for us to be friends?” Sarandis asks evenly, a faint smile twisting her face as she thinks of Hespyth and her openness. “I do not dislike you, so let's start from there and see where the path leads over time.”
Evensong nods, and then steps down lightly from the boulder. She turns to go, and then says, over her shoulder, “I have never disliked you, either. I expect we will meet again.”