“I keep dreaming a-about it. I re-remembered your beads, and the lotus on your arm,” Berenice said, her voice just barely above a rasp. “You d-didn’t belong there, but–” she coughed and her body shook, each breath labored as she steadied herself. “–you could have.”
Allan’s stormy gray eyes surveyed the woman as he channeled the mists, doing his best to soothe her pain. He knew the injuries were great, and there was not much that could be done at this point, but he had to try. “Shh… try not to speak and get rest.”
Only hours after Zaderick teleported them from Darkshore to Dalaran, Allan was right back to healing. Once Taleyriel was stabilized, he did his best to sleep, but after four hours was right back at it. The doctors at the infirmary worked tirelessly, and once his brother in law was on the painful road to recovery, the monk was sent to Stormwind to help the refugees that had been pulled from the flaming world tree.
Stormwind was in mourning. Almost overnight, Olivia’s pond was full of refugees in tents and makeshift housing. People who once lived among the magical boughs of Teldrassil now lay displaced and scattered throughout the city. The infirmaries were packed, and clusters of clerics and healers were making their rounds.
It wasn’t long before a woman recognized him, and he recognized her after having pulled her from her home to the safety of the temple. What he hadn’t realized at the time was that she was in the final stages of her pregnancy. Berenice began to cry. Her once beautiful, deep auburn hair was in patches, and bandages covered most of her body. “There is no hope for our people. Those things will continue to hunt us wherever we go,” she lamented. “I survived… the fall of Gilneas o-only to be burned alive in Teldrassil.”
Allan took the hand that wasn’t gravely injured. Mint green mist swirled from him toward her. “Hope is the sun behind a stormy sky. Ever in the heart, but veiled to the eye. Someone wise once told me that,” he began. The woman’s blue eyes rose up to meet his. “Did that someone suffer as we have?” He knew there was absolutely nothing he could say to ease the pain in her heart, but he wanted to keep her distracted from the pain that wracked her body. They had to save her and the child. Berenice had begun to go into early labor.
“Yes. Once, he was captured and chained. Paraded in front of his people in an attempt to break their spirits into submission and snuff out hope,” Allan spoke. There was a midwife in the tent with them. The girl couldn’t have been more than eighteen years old and afraid– it was perhaps the first birth she had assisted. Allan glanced at her and gave a reassuring nod. You are doing well.
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