She sat in silence and watched as the sun came up over the landscape below the Tyrellian estate. Her hosts had been gracious, just like the last time she’d stayed as a guest here, and kind. It was her second stay--Arthamir had said she was welcome that first time she’d stayed, more than a month gone by, and the estate was beautiful. It should have been comforting, even if it wasn’t entirely familiar. Though the room was comfortable enough, she hadn’t slept well.
Worry did that to her--robbed her of sleep, made it difficult to rest. She had tossed and turned into the small hours of the morning, sleeping little, dreaming when she did. At least the dreams hadn’t been unpleasant, even though they’d been merely fantasy, imaginings of a life that would probably never be.
Wyn hugged her knees against her chest, huddled in her silver-lined cloak. How big a fool was she?
Love makes fools of us all.
She’d been so excited to tell Jadoth the news, about going north to help the Argent Crusade monitor the rogue Scourge in Northrend. A few days without seeing him hadn’t been cause for too much alarm--he had his duties, after all, just as she had her own errands and tasks. When Cyna had said he was at the estate, she hadn't made it sound like anything was wrong. Wyn had never thought--
I should have thought. I should have seen.
Wyn bit down hard on her lip and pressed her forehead against her knees, eyes stinging again. Every time something wonderful happened something awful always seemed to crop up. What long-forgotten god had she offended to deserve this?
It’s not about you. You knew what you were getting into.
It was true, but that didn’t make it any easier or make her feel less like she’d somehow failed. At least he was being cared for here. Maybe he’d even listen to that medic--what had his name been?--and Varesh was here, too. Maybe his little half-brother would be able to help along with the rest of the Vanguard.
How can he not see how many people give a damn about what happens to him?
She sighed softly, lifting her eyes to stare at the sky, gold and pink and orange with the sunrise, the clouds still purple against the vivid shades. Sunrises in Northrend were breathtaking, Tyr had told her in his letters home.
Tyr would smile when she told the family about the Crusade and Northrend. Kal and Sol were slightly less predictable, but whatever their reactions were, she knew she’d handle them the way she always did--by doing what she’d set her mind to doing whether they liked it or not. And Juden...
Juden would hug her and want her to be safe and to tell him all about it each and every time she came home.
Her sweet, sweet boy. Maybe once she got the lay of the land in the north, she’d see about bringing him once or twice, just so he could see. Kalsyn wouldn’t like it, but he was her son, not Kal’s. Wyn wanted him to see everything he wanted to see, experience the good in the world before he became jaded and cynical, before life took its toll and all the wonder vanished. She liked to think that Talindar would have wanted that for him, too.
It had taken years to mend her heart after Tali’s death, though she knew that she’d been losing him long before--losing him to his madness, to the stress and pain and nightmares and memories that she’d once been able to ease when he’d let her. And his shame--always his shame. She’d loved him in spite of it all and she knew that she held his heart even as he’d quietly slipped from their bed one night and vanished to war.
His ashes had been scattered over the sea when he’d fallen, throat torn out by an arrow he hadn’t seen coming as he’d skirted too close to vyrkul-held territory in the Storm Peaks. The Crusade had found him, given him proper rites due any fallen solider, and laid him on a pyre. Word had taken months to reach her thanks to Deathwing’s reign of terror. When the letter had finally arrived, tattered, burned on the edges, the ink smudged and barely legible in some spots, she’d felt her world come apart.
Her son would never really know his father. Juden had been so young, only a few years old when he’d last seen Talindar Riverwind. But at least he had known him. At least Talindar had gotten to hold him, to know his son, to know he’d made something good in the world.
What would her own legacy be, she wondered.
Wyn took a deep breath and slowly stood up. The sky had turned red with the dawn. Whatever storm the day would bring, she’d face it head-on, just like anything else.
Mentions: @worst-paladin-ever @housetyrellian @houseildanan (apologies to the folks I didn’t tag)
