#etharion longsight

[etharion]

Ethjournal vol.4, April 4

((There's a significant time gap between entries.  About seven pages are covered with nothing but doodles, faces of Servitors past and present.  There are other images as well, the mind-memories of old friends, annoyances, and brief acquaintances who still managed to make enough of an impact to end up committed to paper.  Then, finally, some text.))

April 4

It's funny--I haven't touched this book in months, but today as I was cleaning out the Commander's office it fell off the shelf and whacked me in the head.  I took that as a sign.  

To be honest, the reason I haven't written anything is because I haven't really wanted to.  At first I was just busy, to the point of being overwhelmed.  But when the moments came when I was able to pause and breathe--the moments when I would normally write or draw or otherwise try to sort out the turmoil on paper--I had no desire.  There was no urge to do it.  

Now, I only feel an urge to end it.

My father lives on as Eledhron Felsight.  He fell at Hyjal, yes, but not to his death.  It's complicated.

In the initial months after this most recent Legion invasion, my thoughts took a dark turn, helped along by my mother's words.  The only way to finally live up to my Father's legacy would be to die fighting the Legion.  The only way to live up to Síla's sacrifice, Meri's sacrifice, and the sacrifices of other Servitors--Masana and Sky for example--would be to die fighting.  The only way to prove my commitment to the Servitors would be to die fighting.  I had no concrete plans to actively seek out my demise, but I was ready to throw myself at it when the opportunity came.  Not because I was tired of life, but because I didn't deserve it.  

Then Eledhron admitted the truth to me, and the whole edifice of what I thought was reality came crashing down.

In the months since, I've been sifting through the rubble, looking for whatever truths I can use to rebuild.  Here are a few--the ones pertaining to the Servitors of Lothar, at any rate:

I came to the Servitors looking for purpose, a young man unmoored.  With the Servitors, I found the purpose of duty, and the fulfillment of serving something greater than one own's pleasures.

I came looking for stability and a place where I could build a life for my child.  Essilte was nine then.  

She's seventeen now.  She is tall and slender as a reed, strong as steel.  She is both smarter and wiser than I will ever be, thank Elune.  She is sometimes stern and serious, sometimes gay and carefree.  She loves to experiment and learn.  She's already a budding businesswoman, with Merric Wines and Spirits, and a keen student of the arcane arts.  She loves to swim, just like her mother...my dear lost Taniwë.  She keeps Meri in her heart and still calls him An'da, yet she's been able to accept another--Thoran, and all his big-hearted loving bluster.  She is a kind and loving big sister to two young children, having accepted them as readily as if they were her own blood.  She's made terrible mistakes and paid a dreadful price for them, but she survives and grows, like the Greentree that Meri named her.

She's wonderful.  She's a miracle.  I love her and had a small hand in shaping her...and I don't think it would have been possible without the Servitors.

I didn't know it at the time, but I came to the Servitors looking for family.  And I found one.  A dysfunctional one, to be sure, but still family.

I never wanted to become Commander.  And in a way, I'm not cut out for it--not the way Mena is.  But I think perhaps I was the Commander the Servitors needed, these past few years.  Looking back I found the entry I made the day I became Commander.  This is what part of it says:

It’s official, but it still feels wrong.  When I joined the Servitors, all I wanted to do was prove myself useful and worthy.  I never wanted to lead.  Now it falls to me to keep our order alive in the lean times coming…or make something of whatever remains.  If I ever need to remember my duty, I just need to recall the look on Davvi’s face–the tears in her eyes–at the meeting today as I explained our financial situation.

The Servitors are her family.   Her home.  As we have always been the home for the lost, the orphaned and dispossessed, the loners and odd ones.  Swordsisters and swordbrothers come and go, but the Servitors will remain.  I do not need to ask myself “What if the center does not hold?” because I am the center now.  I will hold.  I will hold for myself, for Davvi, for Arydd, Nel, Seda, Dani, Lav, Shivs, and anyone else who might seek a home and a purpose with us.

I held.  I held the center, and now we are strong again, even in the face of the Legion.  I leave our legacy to Roiya, M, Bromm, and their chosen Adjutants, confident that they are the right people for the right time.

I leave the Servitors having done what I needed to do, and now it's time to move on.

[graceintheshadows]

Book of Grace - 6 April

I am still trying to sort through what happened last night.  I keep looking at his tabard, at the other trappings of the office.

Of the three of us, he gave them to me.  To me.

Why?

I don’t know that I can wear it—I don’t know that I ever could.  There is a part of me who would feel wrong in doing it.  My heart aches at the thought.

No.  I think the three of us will just update the trim on our tabards and that will be that.  That is his tabard, will always be his tabard.

He is one of us, will be one of us, forever.  He is a part of each of us.

There is so much I wanted to say, but the words would not come.  Words seem poor to express the wellspring of emotions, of memories and feelings and thoughts and actions.  They are not adequate to express the experiences of the past few years.

Has it only been a few years?  A drop in the bucket of a lifetime as long as my own, and yet…

And yet.

I will miss him dearly.

I write as if he’s dead. Intellectually, I know he’s not, but my heart still aches like he was.

Nothing will be the same now that he’s stepped down.

Goddess help us all.

I will leave the tabard here when I go back to the Broken Shore, safely secured, like Fro’s scarf from Masana.

It is a thing I can’t bear to lose.

[graceintheshadows]

An ending

She stared at the paperwork for a last few moments.  The assignment, at this point, had come as no surprise—she had been in Nazjatar more often than hadn’t been of late.  Before the seas had opened up, she had been considering retirement again.  It had seemed time.

Elune—and the Alliance—had other plans, it seemed.

Either way, it was time.

She stacked the paperwork neatly on one corner of the desk.  It seemed so impersonal, now.  Cleaning had not taken all that long, all things considered.  Perhaps before she deployed she would swing out to Etharion and Thoran’s farm, just to see how things were.

To see how things were and tell him personally that she had been called up, that things had changed.

She folded the tabard neatly, smoothed a hand over the lion embroidered in gold.  Roiya smiled faintly, laying next to it her signet and aiglette.

It was time.

She slipped the key from her ring of them and laid it with the rest.  She walked to the door, pausing to whisper a prayer.  The protections on the office that she’d laid so long ago faded slowly, erased without a trace.  It would be up to the next occupant to lay new ones of their own.

Then, she stepped out, murmuring softly to no one and to all of them—though they weren’t there to hear it.

“Good-bye.”

[lordaeronslost]

A slender tome - 18 October

Cere is worried about the Commander, and truth be known, I am, too.  I can see the threads starting to fray at the edges, the glue starting to disintegrate.  It’s like watching Jude all over again at the end, in those last few months before I left with Connar, before Theramore happened, in those last few months when she would talk about how tired she was, how much the Retribution’s command was weighing on her, but only in private and only to her sister and I—to the two of us, because who knew her mind better than the sister who would sometimes wear her face when it grew to be too much and the almost-sister who would have taken her place if things had gone differently.

 I thank Elune and the Light that it didn’t turn out that way, but I wish it hadn’t been the way it was, too.

 I hope that’s not what I’m watching all over again.  I hope it’s not.  I hope whatever Cere tells him when they have tea helps, that it fixes what’s started to break, what’s already broken.

 I just hope it helps. He’s one of the finest men I’ve had the pleasure of knowing, and I’ve known many in my time.  They call him “Unbroken” and I pray he continues to live up to the moniker that I suspect Mena gave him years ago.

 Goddess knows, though, he deserves to be happy after all he’s been through.  I know I’ve only heard a fraction of his story, but I’ve heard enough to know in my heart of hearts that he’s gone through enough and deserves whatever happiness he can scrape together—with his children, with his husband, whatever and whoever he chooses.

[Mentions: @etharion; @silverglaives]

[thoran-barrett]

Modern ThorEth AU

It was a Saturday, and it was early, even for Thoran, but Grizz needed to go out.  So out they went, Grizz prancing anxiously and making toward the elevator as Thoran shrugged on his backpack full of refuse bags, a collapsible water dish, a few bottles of water and treats for both man and beast, along with a brush that could be used for either of them if hair or fur got out of hand.

The weather was starting to cool, and he was grateful like nobody’s business.  He’d slept with his windows wide open again the night before, the gentle September breeze moving his curtains in lazy waves as it carried Etharion’s guitar music with it.

Grizz’s leash wrapped around his wrist, he tucked his hands into his pockets as he began walking toward Bel Isle. 

The young man, the very young man kept Thoran company some nights, when neither of them could sleep.  A text from one to the other could end up with pizza being ordered along with any number of other foods (it was amazing what restaurants were open well past midnight, looking to take advantage of the influx of chefs and cooks to the area).  Flash Delivery could hit up to six restaurants if you ordered the minimum of $15.00 from each, and between both Etharion and Thoran, that was easily done.

While Thoran kept his drinking to a minimum these days due to new medications his doctor had him on, he usually had a six pack of something or other in the fridge to offer Etharion.  Eth usually drank what Thoran did without complaint, and they’d eat and watch movies until they either got tired and said their goodnights or fell asleep on the couch next to each other.

Those nights were Grizz’s favorites because he could usually score a treat of food left on plates, set there when too full bellies made moving a chore.

Just for that reason, most of the things they ordered were boneless, even the chicken wings. 

The wind tugged at Thoran’s hair as he and his dog crossed the bridge to get to the state park, prompting him to lift his head and smile at the cloudy sky.  Summer was nice, but Thoran was an October baby and preferred the cooler temperatures of Autumn.  The scents of fresh earth, leaves and burning wood from fireplaces always put him in a good mood, and it usually lasted right through to the holidays. 

Thoran headed to the dog park, smiling to see a few other patrons from his building there.  He was a polite dog owner and asked if they minded Grizz off his leash and nobody did, so the big dog was soon running around looking like a huge ball of fluff and fuzz. 

Of course like owner like dog, and soon Grizz was being chased by a pack of shih tzus, jack russels and a labradoodle.  By the end, Grizz drank about a gallon of water from the fountain and had to have what seemed to Thoran an entire tree worth of leaves plucked from his coat.

They left the park and spotted a man with long dark hair and Thoran’s heart rabbited against his rib cage.  When the man turned, he could see it wasn’t Etharion and there was a bit of a let down. 

The feeling annoyed him.  He was too old to be crushing on someone less than half his age.  With a grunt to himself, they carried on down further into the park toward one of the areas popular with food trucks.

As he’d hoped, the truck selling crepes was there and he got in line with Grizz by his side.  And of course he ordered two, one for him and one for Grizz (the dog was a sucker for the banana flavored crepes with extra whipped cream), and when he had their order they made their way toward a small picnic table set toward the edge of the lot. 

He watched the dog eat while he enjoyed his own lunch and thought about Etharion.  The young man wanted to become a veterinarian, but his mother (who Thoran thought needed to get the stick out of her ass) had other ideas.  Thoran smirked as he thought of the woman, about his age, who probably thought he was a no good piece of lazy shit.

She’d never know she was wearing one of his pieces that’d sold for over $600.00 around her neck. 

He felt sorry for @etharion in all honesty.  He’d never say it out loud, but Eth’s mom was as affectionate as a dead fish.  Thoran could understand why the younger man had done some of the things he’d done.  He didn’t condone it, but he understood it. 

Thoran must have been sitting too still for Grizz’s liking because the big dog shoved his head under one of Thoran’s arms, grinning up at him with every single tooth visible. 

“A’right ya daft bugger,” Thoran murmured, sinking one hand into Grizz’s ruff for a good scratching.  “Lemme finish m’coffee an’ we’ll ‘ead ‘ome.”

Just then his phone went off, signaling a received text.  He picked it up and arched a brow.

Eth:  Feel like catching one of my shows tonight?  Got free tix.  There’ll be lots of overpriced beer.

Thoran snickered and shook his head.  He really didn’t need to be doing this.  Not at all.  Nope.  And he began typing out a text begging off, planning on using work as an excuse.

Eth:  Please?  You’ve been working all week and we haven’t gotten a chance to hang out.  I’m going through Grizzly withdrawls.

Thoran sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.  He really shouldn’t be doing this....

Thoran:  Sure, but I might not be able to stay the entire time.  And you won’t be getting your Grizzly fix at a club!

Eth:  I already talked with the manager.  He knows Grizzly’s a service dog.  It’s going to be a low key show, mainly acoustic guitar and piano.  You’ll like it!  :)

Thoran sighed and shook his head with a fond smile as he stood, Grizzly automatically coming to his side. 

“I really dun need ta be gettin’ inta t’is shit,” he told the dog as they began walking back the way they’d come...

[lordaeronslost]

A letter to Cmdr. Etharion Longsight, Servitors of Lothar

Commander Longsight -

I will be as concise as possible in my address to you regarding this matter.  I know that I am not wholly unknown to you, as I have been haunting Aerie Peak for some time as of this writing and you were of course present at my wedding.  I am a spy of some experience and it has been expressed to me in recent weeks that perhaps those skills may be of use to the Servitors in some capacity or another.  Please take this letter as a request for consideration for inclusion in the unit at this time.

It occurs to me that you likely suspect the truth behind the mask I wear; understand that the name I live under is not the name I was born with.  Know, however, that the following is true: I was born the daughter of a merchant spy turned ennobled spy in the service of the last king of Lordaeron, Terenas Menethil, (I suspect that my father still serves the crown as he can) and the lady-wife of said spy.  My lineage runs to both to Lordaeron and the environs of the north, those once held by the quel'dorei, now known as the sin'dorei.  I have blood kin among them to this day.  I am the youngest of three children, the second daughter, and one of two surviving scions of my house, one I do not claim at this time.  I have been, since a tender age, trained to follow in the footsteps of my father as my elder sister was trained to follow in my mother's steps.  In short, I am a shadow, a Ghost--but a useful one, I have been told.  My service has been to the Alliance always, though SI:7 believes that I am thoroughly theirs.  A ruse to a greater or lesser extent, though I imagine that Shaw knows well the truth of it.  In times past, I had served under my sister's command in a unit whose name I suspect you know.

I do hope you will pardon my obliqueness.  I am loathe to set some things to paper, considering my current status, which is to say that my true self, with the name I was born to, is officially dead on the Alliance rolls.

I will speak the truth in person, if you have questions.

Thank you for your consideration, Commander.

Lyyn Ilgrey Steelshatter.

(Mention: @etharion; @steelshatter)

[lordaeronslost]

A letter to Etharion Longsight - 22 August, Year 1 of the reign of Anduin Wrynn

The letter is handwritten on good parchment in dark ink and is sealed in dark blue sealing wax with Viscountess Greymantle’s seal.

To Etharion Longsight, Commander, Servitors of Lothar -

By now, I hope you have heard word regarding the current disposition of Dalaran vis a vis the return of the Legion.  The city has been repositioned to the environs surrounding the Broken Isles as of this time and I would extend my hospitality to you and the Servitors as needed in my home within the city.  Proudmoore has abandoned us and, by most accounts, no longer considered a member of the Six.

In addition to lodgings and supplies to be found at my family home in Dalaran, I would also extend the resources of the Greymantle Mercantile Company as necessary to the war effort.  My father once saw to the provisioning of the Retribution when we shipped to Northrend and I would do the same for the Servitors in their efforts against the Legion if you would allow it.  While my own duties prevent me from joining you proper, know that I am certainly with you in spirit in these dark hours.

I was grieved to hear of Shadewhisper’s passing.  Please pass my condolences on as you see fit.  Losing people is never easy, nor should it ever be.  The pain fades to a dull ache after a time, but it’s always there--sometimes stronger than others.  Stay together, support each other, and you’ll make it through somehow--that’s my advice from a former commander of irregulars to a current one.

And one more piece of advice: don’t be afraid to love them.  You might regret not doing it, but in the long run, I have not regretted at least taking the chance.

Elune watch over you and the Light safekeep you.  I hope to see or hear from you soon.

With respect,

Judean Auroran, Viscountess Greymantle Senior Agent, Argent Crusade Senior Magister, Kirin-Tor Chancellor, Retribution of Arathor (ret.)

@etharion

[steelshatter]

Home - Betrayal Pt. 8

Anthus awoke, alone in the barracks for the first time in what felt like ages.  After the whirlwind rescue by Quin and Skybrooke, he’d spent a couple days, tucked away and hidden within the Argent Tournament grounds.  How fitting, he thought, that he’d been broken twice over there.  Once before, mentally, when caught in a lie by M, and now, physically by the bastard who ruined his hand and tattoos.  He couldn’t help but chuckle as he looked down at his stump of a wrist.

Skybrooke amputated the useless lump of flesh and muscle while he was at the tournament, and the healers there were kind enough to heal over the wounds.  It wouldn’t be long before he spoke with M and devised some form of replacement.  As his mind drifted to the thought of the pint-sized woman, a small smile cracked across his face.

When Etharion had come to visit, the Commander had agreed that Anthus should be brought back home, much to the argument of Skybrooke and Quin.  Of course, they were looking out for their swordbrother, wanting to make sure no one would come after him, but his urge to return home was far too strong.  He agreed to go disguised, so M brought his alchemy project from the Keep: a longer lasting version of the Transmorphic Tincture would allow him to go as his alter-ego, Violet.

Once they’d returned to the Keep, Violet immediately went to the bunks, sorting out a bit of gear.  He looked into his armor case, with a hint of disdain at the purple armor and scythe within.  Though he’d never fully admit it, he was a little glad that the Light no longer answered his call.  It would make his upcoming plans far easier.  Digging around within, he pulled out a longsword, gripping it in his remaining hand.  He turned the blade over a few times, a wicked grin passing over his face, and a touch of Shadow licking out from under his feet.  He fully intended on making sure Darice, the source of all his strife, paid dearly for what she did to him.

As the Keep cleared out, and everyone else either retired or left for the evening, Violet and M spent a few moments just talking amongst themselves.  After a while, though, Anthus and M found themselves in a bunk together, curled up with one another.  As Anny drifted off to sleep, he was glad, so glad, to be home...

That was two days ago, though, and Anthus was restless.  As the Keep resumed its normal hustle and bustle, Anthus found himself more and more irritated at his current situation.  He couldn’t return to the field with only one hand, nor could he play his lute.  As such, he turned his attentions to his Alchemy.  After all, with various clamps and stands, he could at least do that in his current state.  He decided to devote his day to working on more transmutation potions, of various types and styles. The Transmorphic Tincture had been a success, after all.

Hours passed, and Anthus poured over his formula notes.  The scratched and scrawled notes were spotty and horribly written, thanks to his left hand being non-dominant, but they would suffice, he supposed.  He dug through his reagents, picking out what he thought he would need.  A touch of obsidian powder, a moonstalker claw, a bit of dreamfoil petals, and his Transmorphic Tincture as a base... but there was something missing.  He laid out his reagents, trying to do some calculations in his head.  As he pondered for a long moment, he finally snapped his fingers.  Digging once more, he extracted one of Aren’s feathers from his pouch, chuckling softly.  With this, surely he could finish his idea...