Of course she would. What a silly question that would be.
Weleria wanted to come back to life. What a reasonable thing to want.
The interplay of draenic soul magic and death magic could do that. Would she be breaking any laws? No. Moral laws perhaps. But when had Eleeria Silverwing ever cared about morality?
As her joint magics worked together, carefully healing her wife’s soul and ever so gently transferring it from her old and broken body into a beautiful, new one, Eleeria couldn’t help but marvel at the power of it all.
Lyctora had told her that the First was generally a master of resurrection. Others may have more spiritual skills; the First was typically a necromancer in all traditional definitions of the word. The raiser of the dead. Perhaps she hadn’t meant like this, though. This was a marvel -- a breakthrough, Norassel had called it, after the first two trial runs were remarkably successful. She could use this power for so many things. But Eleeria would ever be her own person, first and foremost; she owed her skills to no one but herself. And as she delicately released the body’s previous occupant from her mortal coil, allowing her wife to steal the body in turn, she felt...
A little bit like a god.
(Perhaps she could get used to being the one in charge of life and death again.)
-
Warmaster,
I am pleased to report that Weleria's leave of absence for scientific research was successful. She should be back to work in a month or two, though anticipate some...differences.
Openly, it’s definitely Weleria. She’s always been the person who’s more romantic of the pair in public -- when they started seeing one another, it actually hurt her feelings that Eleeria is not huge on open cuddling, kissing, stuff like that! Eleeria over time has compromised to accept hand holding and some light kisses (like a kiss goodbye or hello), but she’s definitely keen on coming off professional and reserved in public.
Secretly, though Eleeria really could take or leave romance -- I would personally go so far as to say she’s on the aromantic scale -- she recognizes Weleria’s need to feel special and cared about in a romantic way. So she spends a lot of time doing things just because Weleria would like it, or because Weleria would be surprised by it. Which hilariously makes her the more romantic person, but she genuinely loves her wife and wants her to feel satisfied and happy.
The dress sat on a rack in her dressing room, and Eleeria sat in a chair before it, gazing at the expanse of fabric with something like disbelief written in her features. The wedding gown was traditionally Sin’dorei — golden gems accented the white, red, and russet colors reminiscent of fall. She hadn’t worn a wedding dress the last time — just her ceremonial Blood Knight armor. But Weleria had insisted on dresses this time, and so here hers sat: lovingly tailored by her sister, designed by her mothers, the dress was perfect.
And Eleeria could not help but feel a rush of happiness at the sight.
Finally. Finally, finally, they were getting married in front of their friends and family. Eleeria had never had a planned, proper wedding. Weleria had had two now; perhaps it was not so exciting as the novelty had worn, but to Eleeria there was nothing more wonderful. She would walk down the aisle with her bride and finally curl her hands around that commitment which she had so dreaded in years past. To think she now embraced it with open arms was almost amusing to her. Perhaps it simply had to be the right person — but no.
Eleeria leaned back in her chair, the rollers in her hair heavy as she leaned them back against the cushion.
No, though Weleria was most certainly the best match Eleeria could have made for herself, it wasn’t her that inspired such a change. Eleeria knew that it came from within — a slow-evolving life change that had finally blossomed into complete results. How long had it been, since she had told her therapist how unhappy she was as an assassin? How long since he had suggested she find something else — since Ethalarian had gifted her the light that had become most precious to her? Years, now. And here she was: Knight-Lord of Quel’thalas, General of the Horde. An accomplished Blood Knight and soldier, a medic of particular devotion to her patients. So much had changed that Eleeria scarce recognized herself, most days.
And yet, it was a welcome change. As Eleeria heard the telltale sound of toddler feet hitting the stone floor, accompanied by a war cry of sea monster!, she opened her eyes and arms to welcome her daughter into her lap. Dressed in azure and silver as a proper little lady of House Silverwing, Lairen’s dress was fluffy and roomy for the four year old to scurry about in. And currently, she seemed most insistent that she show off all of her best sea monster growls and roses to her minn’da before the wedding.
“Who’s this sea monster in my lap!”
“Roaaaaaar! Hisssss!” Lairen bared her teeth at Eleeria, who did so in turn, flashing sin’dorei fangs at one another before it turned into a giggle. “Mum says I look like a demon!”
“You’re not a demon, you’re my beautiful baby sea monster.” Eleeria stood, her toddler in her arms and perched on her hip, as she moved over to her dress. “What do you think, Lairen?”
“Yours is prettier than mine...” the four year old frowned, and Eleeria couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Tell you what: when it’s your wedding, you can wear the prettiest dress. Okay?”
“Mhm.”
“You want to run and tell your Mum something?” Lairen’s eyes lit with excitement, and she nodded. She loved being the bearer of grim tidings. “Alright: run off and tell her that I’m excited to see her.”
Eleeria sat her daughter back down on her feet, and the four year old took off running down the hall again, leaving Eleeria alone with her dress and her thoughts.
“Well...” she put her hands on her hips with a delicate sigh and smile. “Let’s do this, then.”
(CW: Mentions of self-harm and suicide.) @autumnspyre
--
She locked the bathroom door behind her, sinking slowly to the floor with her back against that solid wood. Eleeria buried her head in her hands, shoulders shaking slightly. It was suddenly, and inexplicably, too much to bear -- the guilt, the grief of losing so many people in two months; Eleeria sobbed into her hands, grateful for the momentary privacy afforded her by her bathroom’s meager lock.
She couldn’t feel the Light any more. It was that sensation of absolute wrongness that had woken her from her thistle-laced sleep -- the sensation of being cold and empty so unusual for her now. She carried the Light as an avatar of the Sunwell wherever she went; now, with so much trauma bearing down on her, so many people expecting her to pick up quickly and move on -- it was dull, a hollow warmth compared to her normal sunshine. The guilt will kill her. They’d said the same about Atila, and Eleeria knew that the words rang true for herself as well. The guilt about Karis Sunseer would kill her, eating away at her confidence and faith in herself until she could only grasp for embers and ash rather than the force of the Sun.
Eleeria didn’t even bother to try and reach for that beautiful, healing magic she’d called on so thoroughly not hours before to resurrect her Initiate. On some small, damning level, she knew that it was beyond her for now as she wallowed in grief and self-pity. It should have hurt, knowing she’d not only broken Karis’ optimism but her own strength. But instead it was merely a dull ache, one of many inflicted by herself or others over the past long years.It should bother her. But at the moment, Eleeria couldn’t see anything but her own failures.
She had failed, hadn’t she?
Do you see it now, Little Sun? How great the cost is of your kind and gentle Light? A whisper, a breath in her ear. “Go away,” she mumbled. Her mind still felt dull with the remnants of bloodthistle, even as she stood up, hands gripping the sink with force as she stared into the mirror. Dulled golden eyes stared back at her; where normally they shone with the blessing of the Sunwell, tonight they seemed merely tired. Eleeria swore she could see the Thing from her knighthood trial hovering behind her, her tired gaze hovering somewhere in the middle distance as she focused on its shadowy twists and turns. “Stop haunting me. Stop following me. I want to be alone.”
It was silent for a long moment as it contemplated her words.
She could hear Weleria knocking on the door.
Do you understand now, the difficult task you’ve created for yourself? When the Thing spoke, it was gentle; it reminded Eleeria so much of her father, in those days after she’d lost her hand. Her father, carefully picking her up when she’d tried to take her own life, calling for a mender. She yearned to be held like that again -- to have someone care for her when she could not for herself. Eleeria pulled the mirror open, revealing the drawers within. Fingers trailed the items inside, grasping the hilt of a knife that she slowly pulled from its hiding place.
“Yes.” Her answer was soft. Weleria’s increasingly anxious tone could be heard from outside the door -- (”who are you talking to, Ellie?”) -- but she couldn’t answer at the moment. Tired eyes shone back at her through polished metal as she examined the weapon she kept hidden in case of emergency.
Do you want to be done with this? To lay down this heavy burden?
“Yes.” She could feel the Thing’s cold fingers on her neck. It felt the same as it had all those days ago in the Ghostlands. Eleeria couldn’t breathe; her fingers slipped, the knife slicing her real palm deeply as it clattered into the sink. She gasped, in shock and sadness both, eyes locked on the Thing of the Void that seemed to dog her every step these days, waiting for the smallest doubt to make its entrance. “I want to be done. I’m so sad...”
Let me take it away from you. It was a lover’s embrace, the touch of shadow on her collarbone. Eleeria leaned back into the Creature’s hold, the sting of her palm a mute pain now. I could make it easier for you. We could do this together. Unlike that fickle magic, I’d never expect so much of you.
(”Eleeria, I’m giving you until the count of three to open the door!”)
“I...” She hesitated.
(”One!”)
Come to me, Eleeria. Its voice was so tempting. And yet-- there was something still inside of her that recoiled at the thought. Promises, promises -- but nothing solid. There was nothing tangible in those words. She could not see the benefit to herself through all the soft promises. There would be only damning, terrible darkness. And Eleeria would not be alone in the darkness any longer.
(”Two!”)
“Get fucked.”
She broke that connection -- for a brief moment finding strength in her own surety. Her healing aura flared, filling the holes that had been so empty long minutes ago in the pit of her stomach, driving out the void. The Thing recoiled, hissing curses in tongues she had no understanding of aside from the malice contained in the tone.
She could not lose the Light. It hadn’t left her. Eleeria knew it had only waved because her own faith in herself had; she could not risk to lose either of them. She had to be strong. As the Thing in the Dark recoiled and seemed to disappear, its icy fingers leaving her neck, Eleeria turned, fumbling with bloody fingers to open the lock.
“Three--” Weleria’s soon to be kick at the door was ended as Eleeria stood there, feeling the monumental crush of her own sadness -- but the gentle touch of her own magic once more, easing the burden so she didn’t have to carry it alone.
“I’m fine,” Eleeria whispered. Even as her lover wrapped her arms around Eleeria’s tiny frame and she relaxed into someone who genuinely cared for her, her magic flared around the injury she’d given herself, sealing it closed. “I thought about it, but I couldn’t do it. I’m okay. I promise.”
She let Weleria hold her, the forsaken woman’s fingers trailing her hair, until she fell back to sleep.
She returned to the woods in the mountains overlooking Arathi alone, with only her own tumultuous thoughts for company. Loam and underbrush crunched underfoot, but Eleeria did not bother to try to remain silent today. A year, and yet -- she was still so angry. The names had changed, the people different, and yet everyone really remained the same. More lost to the brutality of others; more lovers dead for reasons beyond their hands. Erinius has been killed for money, Weleria to SI:7 looking to capitalize on Ysrathil’s weakness. Neither had been the direct cause of their own reckoning, and yet, it hadn’t mattered to any of those who had killed them. Eleeria’s anger had not diminished in a year. It had only grown stronger.
A year ago she had walked this path through the forests in the middle of nowhere; a year ago, she had come upon the same broken bridge, the faint game path she’d been following trailing off into the ravine below.There stood the table -- the bottle exactly as she had left it, faded note still upon it, where she had sat it down last year. Only one sip. Last year, she had hesitated to touch it. Today, Eleeria swept the bottle up into her hand without a second thought, putting it to her lips. The liquid inside chilled her to the bone, her fingers growing numb almost immediately as tiredness swept down on her small frame. Eleeria moved to the edge of the ravine, sitting down a foot away from it; by the time her body fell backwards against the earth, her spirit had lunged forward, across what was now a whole bridge, as she passed into the Shadowlands.
Eleeria Silverwing was walking among the dead.
Stay on the path. She did not need to remind herself. To lose her way in the Shadowlands was to watch her soul drift off into death along with Weleria’s; today her will had to be iron, hand gripped tightly around the magic of the Sunwell that coursed through her even in this ethereal state. When she had walked this path before, she had been nothing but a shade. But today, she was a flame: flames were wrought in her footsteps, light magic weaving behind behind her as wings flaring from her shoulder blades. In her hand, Eleeria carried the blade of light she had seen only in her dreams: forged from holy fire, it surged with every footstep, reverberating with anger. She knew there were monsters here in the Shadowlands -- things drawn to doubting souls -- but no longer would she run from them. Eleeria was ready to fight if they approached, but the light seemed to ward everything off, those shadowed creatures staying at the edges of her holy aura.
The walk seemed shorter this time. With no companions to follow her steps, the shades of the dead seemed to gather in swarms. They were not sentimental remnants of loved ones past any longer. Instead, the shades were malevolent -- people Eleeria had killed and sent to the Shadowlands by her own hands in centuries of work as an assassin. We remember you, foul bitch-- you shot me! Ten times! -- I never got to live to my wedding you monster of a woman! She ignored the screeches and cries, marching ever onward down that winding path without daring to step foot outside of it, until the shaded necropolis came into view.
She remembered that the time before, it had struck her as impressive. Now, it only stank of death and wrongness to her senses. How could people live here, somewhere between the land of the living and the dead? It always baffled Eleeria that such a thing was possible -- and yet, here she stood, soul pulled away as her mortal form slowly fell into death itself. The longer she wasted on staring, the more danger her proper body was in; she tore her gaze from the scenery and continued inside with a deep breath.
“We did not expect to see you again.” There they stood: a semicircle of necromantic power. All of them frail, all of them human -- somewhere between life and death on their own terms. But even in their home of power, Eleeria felt confidence in the pit of her stomach: should it come to it, she could burn them alive. “We had thought you gone to where those who follow the light go, their afterlife of ease and comfort.”
“I am not here to die.” Her voice was sharp, and she brought her weapon forward, pointing it at the centermost necromancer. “I am owed a life debt, necromancer. I’ve come to call it in.”
The old man laughed, his voice paper-thin and reedy. “My dear, we owe you nothing. Put that sword down before you put out an eye.” He still thought of her as that uncertain child, then -- that woman seeking purpose and meaning in the hands of death. But Eleeria was no longer so wanting; she had found her purpose, had found love and cherished it. She was not about to lose it again. A flick of her wrist and light magic surged for his form; the man leapt back, his robes catching fire. He rushed to put it out with a shriek of pain, as if she had struck at his very soul.
“I gave you Tellarian.” She took a step forward, and then another; the semicircle of the half-dead hovered, uncertain if their attacks would even reach her as sheathed in magic as she was. “I gave you thousands of souls. And you never brought to bear your own part of the bargain!” Eleeria lunged into melee, dodging a necromantic spell cast for her midsection -- the light shield around her cracked and splintered, and the men dove to dodge its pieces. She grabbed the head necromancer by the neck, lifting him to the air. His fingers found hers, her hand going numb; still she held on, refusing to let go, even as death crept into her being ever so slowly, halted by the magic in her own veins.
“What--what do you want, then, child…?” He struggled for air, and Eleeria knew if she wanted to, she could end him where he stood. Instead, she continued to hold onto him, staring him in the eye for a long moment.
“I never want to come back. Promise me, Eleeria-- promise me you won’t let them bring me back--”
She couldn’t keep that promise, after all. It was selfish; she was drowning in her own grief again like a bad recording of time and space, but unlike Erinius, this time, she could fix it. She could make everything right.
“Bring back Weleria Dawnsteel.” It was a dark pronouncement. “Bring her back to me. Tell no one who sent you to resurrect her.”
“You know that she will not be as she was...surely…?” Despite his imminent peril, the man smiled, cruel and unforgiving. “You are damning her to eternal unlife…can you live with yourself, paladin…?”
“I’m not a paladin.” Her hand clenched tighter, and he struggled, gasping. “I’m a fucking Blood Knight. The Light doesn’t own me; the Light doesn’t tell me what to do. So don’t sit here and try to moralize at me, because it doesn’t mean shit. Now…” Eleeria threw the man backwards, letting him slide across the ground. “Are you going to resurrect her? Or do I have to kill you off, one by one, until you comply? Bring her back and I’ll leave you in peace; deny me and I’ll make your half-lives a miserable hell.”
The men looked between one another in silence. To a man, they nodded. “It will be done. Leave us. You came to us with barely any time, and we must go to work.”
With a breath, Eleeria woke in her own body, staring across the broken bridge and the ravine below.
