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| Details |
| Author: | Aly |
| Summary: | Joelle tries to cope with the absence of Reniya after the latter departed for Dalaran. |
| Rating: | M for Mature 17+ |
Joelle arrived at the barracks early, as usual. But Ren wasn’t there. He moved through his morning patrol route, uneventful for once, watching the grey sky above him and wondering if it might rain later. Ren would know, he could ask him. But Ren wasn’t there.
When lunchtime came, he met Lathrik in the mess hall; their schedules aligned. Lathrik wore a laid-back smile as usual, but he didn’t mean it. Not here, not now. They sat down across from each other with bowls of light, flavorless soup, and Joelle was the one to break the silence.
“He’s gone,” he said.
Lathrik’s spoon paused halfway to his mouth, and his light brown eyes finally met Joelle’s. “It’s temporary,” he said.
They continued in silence.
Three minutes and forty-one seconds passed before anxiety began to overwhelm Joelle, gnawing like a pack of hungry rats at his insides. “You’re having the dreams again?” he asked. “What if something…”
A shadow passed over Lathrik’s face, and Joelle’s gut tightened painfully in response.
Lathrik set down his spoon. “They’re just dreams, Elle,” he said. “Nothin’ happened last time, it’ll be the same with this.” He did not pick the spoon up again.
“Was that a necessary thing to say?” Miralynn Ebek stood over Joelle’s shoulder, her pale blue eyes assessing him. “All you have done is hurt him. There was nothing to gain from that exchange. Did I not tell you to choose your words carefully?”
But nothing hadn’t happened last time. The Heist had happened, and Ren had gotten hurt. And before that, he had been taking a beating from other guards. Joelle stuffed his feelings down. His mother was right. There was nothing to gain from pointing that out. Lathrik already knew.
Two minutes and fourteen seconds passed; Lathrik did not resume eating. Then, he stood up. More than half of his soup remained.
Concern must have shown on Joelle’s face, because Lathrik answered the question left unasked. “I’m not hungry,” he said, and he left.
Ren would have known how to cheer him up. He would have said something clever, or refreshing. Something that hit like an early spring rain shower that melted into sunlight. But Ren wasn’t there, so Lathrik left the mess hall.
It rained in the afternoon. No one was prepared. The mess hall was filled with soggy men during break.
“Oi Elle, where’s yer pocket pal?” one of them called to him from the huddle around the fireplace. He meant Ren. “’E’s s’posed ta tell us when we’re due for a shower.”
“Heh, didn’t you hear?” another said. “He took some time off. Bet he’s out makin’ more babies.”
The group around the fire laughed. They were just joking around, Ren would have said. He would have laughed with them, and said something back. But Ren wasn’t there, and Joelle didn’t know what to say.
Evening came, and Lathrik went home. Joelle remained in Stormwind, wandering the wet and darkening streets until the scent of his favorite flower shop drew him in. The man behind the counter smiled warmly, as he always did, waving him inside.
“Joelle, welcome,” he said, his brown eyes soft and inviting.
His other customer looked up from the displays, and flashed him a mischievous grin. “Elle,” Ilanya said, surprise lifting her tone. “I had no idea you frequented this place. You like flowers?” She wasn’t wearing a dress this time, but a pink long-sleeved floral shirt, a short black skirt, and boots that reached up past her knees.
“The smell is calming,” Joelle answered. He wasn’t supposed to talk to her.
She got closer. “I haven’t seen Ren today,” she said, stopping right beside him. “Do you know where he is?” Her hands folded behind her back, and she leaned forward, gazing into his face for a clue.
“Ren is…” He couldn’t tell her the truth. That Ren was in Dalaran, tracking down a mage to find some connection between Count Amerith and the Scourge. His eyes met the shopkeeper’s.
“Shall I prepare your usual order?” he asked kindly.
“Yes, please,” Joelle said, relieved. Maybe Ilanya would give up.
She didn’t. “Ren is…” she prompted, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“He’s… out making more babies,” Joelle repeated. He didn’t know what else to say.
Ilanya burst into a fit of laughter reminiscent of a thousand tiny crystals reflecting light onto a cave wall. It was a sound he hadn’t heard her make before, and something in it was uplifting.
“My gosh,” Ilanya said, wiping a tear from her eye. “You are a terrible liar. After that last conversation we had about babies, I’m pretty sure the poor guy is traumatized. He certainly wouldn’t set out to make more of them. Besides, I already know he’s not in the city.”
“Oh.” Joelle’s heart sank. Ren could have deflected her, moved the conversation along with ease, kept her on her toes. But Ren wasn’t there.
Ilanya stared at him for six seconds, green eyes searching. “You miss him?” she guessed.
He did. More than he could put into words.
“Hmm… it’s more than that,” Ilanya continued, still reading him. “You’re worried.”
Joelle knew there were people who could see into him if they looked closely enough. Most people didn’t. They looked at Ren, or Lathrik, while he faded into the background. It was better that way. His feelings always got him into trouble.
The shopkeeper returned and handed him a bundle of pink and white roses, which he paid for at the counter. He saw curiosity on Ilanya’s face, but she didn’t ask.
“I have something I have to do,” Joelle told her. “You can come, if you want.”
“Oh? I think I will, then,” she said, smiling.
She followed him out of the shop, and down the cold, dark streets, and while she was silent, her expression was not.
“I can’t tell you where Ren is,” Joelle finally said. “It would put him in danger.”
“Danger?” A frown creased her brow and she pursed her lips. “That explains the worry,” she said. “Okay. I won’t ask.”
“You like Ren?” he asked, looking down at her.
She smiled. “He’s interesting,” she said. “And fun.”
“And… Lathrik?”
“He’s interesting and fun in a different way,” she said. “Let’s put it like this; Lathrik is business, Ren is pleasure. And you are deeper than you seem.”
Joelle blinked. Was he? He was just himself. But the night didn’t seem so dark while Ilanya was with him, so he was glad for her company, even if he wasn’t supposed to have it.
His destination was the Old Barracks, a building between the Magic Quarter and Cathedral District that had crumbled and fallen into the sea, along with the entirety of the Park. Two guards on the night shift stood on the bridge leading to the wreckage to keep any civilians from wandering off the steep drop, but they mumbled greetings as Joelle passed them, one of them patting him on the shoulder. They knew why he was there.
“Ahh,” Ilanya said, taking a seat on a flat column of the bridge. “The flowers are for the soldiers? The ones that died here in the Cataclysm?”
Joelle nodded, and one by one began to pull roses from the bouquet and toss them into the wreckage. Some of them caught a breeze and drifted down to the ocean, while others remained scattered among the stones.
“Did you know many of them?” she asked, watching him. “I knew a few, myself. People Count Amerith helped out.”
He nodded again. “Some. Nobody talks about it. Soldiers die all the time. But they deserve to be remembered, so I do.”
“By yourself?” Ilanya asked.
He didn’t answer. She didn’t expect him to. But suddenly her legs kicked out and she hopped down from the bridge, joining him at the edge of the wreckage and taking a flower from the bouquet. With a light toss it sailed away, spiraling towards the water below.
“Doesn’t it hurt?” she asked. “Keeping all your feelings locked up? I know some people don’t have very many — the Count is like that — but you’re not like him, I can tell.”
“Does it hurt?” Joelle frowned a little. Wasn’t it supposed to? There’d always been a knot in his stomach that worsened when he pushed his feelings away. Being with Ren was the only thing that loosened it, but now… “I say the wrong thing, when I show them. Or I do something wrong.”
Ilanya considered him, a thoughtful expression on her face. “You’re good at following instructions, right?” she asked. “Yeah. I know that much about you. So what if someone told you what to say, and what to do, and allowed you to put your feelings into it? Then you can’t do anything wrong, because you’re doing what someone wants you to do.”
“Oh… I…” Joelle did not understand what she was asking.
“Okay, like right now. Elle, I am instructing you to cry,” Ilanya said.
“Cry?”
“Yeah, cry. You’re sad, and there’s no one here who’s gonna…” She belatedly remembered the two guards, and turned to face them. “Is it cool if he cries? Any objections?”
One of them shook his head, but the other looked uncertain.
“As long as you’re not going to force him —” His objection ended when he looked into Joelle’s face.
Whatever expression the guard made was lost to Joelle; his eyes were wet, and blurry, and leaking.
“Is this… right?” Joelle asked, turning back to Ilanya. Painful feelings started to rise, but he fought them down. She asked for crying. He was crying. What if he went too far?
“No, no, you’re worrying about it,” said Ilanya, shaking her head. “You have to let it out. Your feelings, not just your tears. If you don’t, it won’t be as powerf —”
Joelle covered his mouth as a strangled sob escaped him. “I can’t…” he said. “I can’t, because they’ll hear it.” He crouched down, digging his hands into the cold, wet dirt in front of him, trying to ground himself.
Miralynn Ebek stood over him, watching, her pale blue eyes holding a warning. “You must master yourself. Orcs do not care if you’re crying. If you cry, they will find you.”
“Elle,” Ilanya said, kneeling in front of him. She wore a look of distress. “Elle, I’m sorry. You don’t have to cry loudly. If you’re quiet, they won’t hear you.” She placed her hands over his, getting brown soil all over her small, pretty fingers. “And we don’t have to do anything with crying, not right away. There’s a play — you know, acting — that Papa — Count Amerith, is setting up for the holidays, and I think it could help you.”
“Acting?” Joelle stared down at their hands.
“We can practice,” Ilanya said. “It would give you something to take your mind off of Ren, and maybe help you release some of the feelings you bottle up.”
Joelle was not supposed to talk to her. Ren wouldn’t care; he’d talk to her anyway. But Ren wasn’t there.
“Maybe,” he said, “we could try.”