Liam Greymane

[moonshadows]

“Liam Greymane, king of Gilneas.” He bows with a flourish and mock-kisses my hand.

“Ellekayne. I speak for my mother, Tyrande Whisperwind, High Priestess of Elune.”

“I’ve heard of her immortal beauty,” he says, clearly trying to flatter her to me. “It’s an honor to meet you, Miss Whisperwind.”

“Ellekayne,” I correct gently, reclaiming my hand. “I don’t use my mother’s surname.”

This is outside his range of experience, and he frowns slightly. “Why not?”

“Because I also speak for my father, Archdruid Malfurion Stormrage, head of the Cenarion Circle.”

His expression clears. “Ah, of course. I understand, Miss Stormrage.”

This isn’t going well. I drain my glass, hoping the pleasant haze of good kaldorei wine will make him easier to deal with, and a servant unobtrusively refills it.

“No,” I say patiently. “I do not use my father’s surname, either.”

Now he looks concerned and a little disdainful. “You were born outside of polite society, then?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Whoops. I meant to only think that. The wine must have already gone to my head.

Liam looks discomfited. “Your parents are not married, then?”

“Don’t be silly, of course they are.”

“But…their surnames…”

Oh, right. Human culture. Gilneas is that backwoods shut-away kingdom. “Night elves that marry don’t take the surname of their spouse,” I recite, the explanation coming easily from how many times I’ve said it. “Surnames are passed on from parent to child, or earned through deed and demeanor.”

“Please, my lady,” he says, still confused. “Explain to me why it is that such an accomplished woman, with such a distinguished bloodline, should be without a surname.”

I take a long drink. “To use the surname of either parent would indicate that I favor one over the other.”

“Ah, preserving the balance of a political marriage.”

“No.” The word comes out more forcefully than I’d intended. “My parents love each other deeply. To go by one surname would imply that I do not take after the other. I use neither to honor them both.”

He looks around at the assembled nobles and dignitaries, clearly seeking a change of subject. “Who is your companion, just over there?”

“Illidan,” I say shortly. “He is my counterpart, my other half, my equal in all things.” Curse this clumsy human language for not having a good way to explain two-who-share-a-destiny.

“Your husband, then.”

Don’t kill him, sister-doe, Illidan says with obvious amusement as I drain my glass to forestall the violence I so dearly want to engage in.

“He is not. Your language does not have a word for it, so just think of him as my brother.”

“Ah…I understand that your people do not have a queen, but that the High Priestess holds all the powers and responsibilities as a king or queen would, is that correct?”

I calm down slightly. “That is correct.”

“And you, then, are her heir?”

“I am not. My daughter, Tiane Whisperwind, holds that position.”

“My apologies, dear lady.” He bows again. “I was unaware that you were already wed.”

Already…? Whatever. “I’m afraid you are still mistaken. The father of my children has sworn his eternal love to another woman.”

He frowns again, deeper. “What has that to do with marriage?”

I stare at him for a long time, feeling the world go slightly fuzzy around the edges. “He married another,” I say slowly. “My mother adopted his wife so that there would be less confusion regarding my daughter.”

“I understand that not being a monarchy means that succession is slightly different,” he says with visible concern, “but would your people accept a child born out of wedlock?”

“I only gave birth to Tiane; her father’s wife is legally her mother.”

Liam stares at nothing, thinking very hard, and then his face clears. “I see. Forgive me for not understanding.”

I calm down a bit more, letting the wine mellow me. “Think nothing of it.”

“Tell me about your daughter?” he invites.

The servant refills my glass and I take an appreciative sip. “She’s nearing the second half of her second decade,” I say fondly. “She got her father’s purple hair, and she’s growing it out. It’s too wild to keep short,” I clarify. “She cleared her novicehood last year, and has just started the more intensive training leading up to her confirmation as a formal priestess of Elune. It keeps her too busy to notice boys, something that relieves her father greatly.”

“If I may be so bold as to suggest it,” he says, giving me a smile he thinks is charming, “I am unwed and in need of an heir. An alliance between our two peoples…”

“I’m sorry,” I laugh, “but I’m not interested. “I’ve given my parents a son and a daughter, one child for Cenarius and one for Elune. I’m done.”

“No, no, no, my lady. You misunderstand me.”

Wait…he’s not suggesting…

“You speak for your mother, you said. I am merely presenting the idea of an alliance-marriage with your daughter.”

“But you don’t know her. She doesn’t know you.”

“That shouldn’t matter, should it?”

The glass drops from my hand, but does not hit the ground. Illidan catches it in his magic and I dismiss it from my mind, reaching for the branch of the Timeless Tree and fitting it with a spearhead of Elune’s light.

Sister-doe, you’re drunk.

I’m not nearly drunk enough for this! “You don’t understand. I love my daughter,” I growl at the suddenly-terrified human, the point of that silver-white spearhead at his throat, my eyes blazing. “I will not suggest to my mother that she shackle Tiane to some puffed-up, self-absorbed-”

“Greetings,” Illidan says smoothly, one arm sliding around my waist while he nudges me to the side, my abandoned glass of wine in his other hand. “I am Illidan.”

I want to rage, to snarl, to do something, but Illidan’s flooding my mind and keeping me silent and still.

“Liam Greymane,” he says shakily, “King of Gilneas.”

“So I hear. You’re also the one who apparently disregarded his briefing regarding Queen Calia’s allies after having your marriage proposal to her turned down.” Illidan tsks at him. “Not very wise, your Majesty.”

He flushes. “You dare to insult me? Here, surrounded by-”

“-our allies?” Illidan interrupts. “Calia is very close with Tyrande after our people helped her reclaim her kingdom from demons and undead, and Lady Jaina is a respected part of our…” he waved the glass while searching for an appropriate word. “…empire, I suppose. A brilliant mind, that one. I had the pleasure of teaching her some advanced aspects of the arcane arts.”

“I suppose you’re going to claim some close tie with Wrynn, too?” Liam half-sneers. “You’re the fool if you think he’ll side with you. I knew him as a child.”

Illidan smirks. “Well,” he drawls, “I wouldn’t say close, but Varian was rather grateful for our aid in a sensitive matter several years back, and actually bothered to learn the culture of his allies – mostly after he signed a treaty with Tyrande, but still, he was willing to learn and he accepted that not every race held the same standards towards women and marriage. That’s more than I can say for some.”

“Stop dancing around,” Greymane growls. “Just come out and say it.”

“You’re a pompous, arrogant, nearsighted, self-centered fool,” Illidan says coolly. “You are a small dog, a puppy yapping at a wolf. You have gravely insulted a woman whose power and influence you cannot comprehend the extent of, and done so repeatedly, with no indication that you regret any of it. In short, you have hung yourself and the future of your kingdom with your wagging tongue. Your people will continue to suffer and starve, to sicken and wither along with the land, until you have learned humility.”

“You don’t speak for the human kingdoms, elf.” He looks ready to fight, his weight forward on the balls of his feet and his hands fisted at his sides.

“You are correct, I do not. But I know something you don’t know.”

“And what’s that?”

Illidan leans over to whisper, “That lovely crystal headpiece Ellekayne is wearing was a gift from Varian Wrynn commemorating Tiane’s birth.”

His eyes travel to the crescent moon hanging from its elegant silver chain, cool against my forehead, and he pales.

“You are a very small fish surrounded by sharks, a frog in a room full of storks,” Illidan continues smugly. “Your people are shackled by backwards traditions and sexist culture, and I will take pleasure in watching as the centuries strip from Gilneas everything that you have contributed to it. Your people will forsake the traditions you hold dear and embrace the greater culture we offer, and within a handful of generations we will have conquered them with kindness, freedom, and prosperity. You will be remembered with shame, Liam Greymane, for being the hidebound old fool clinging to the past and slowly smothering them with your male-centric values and ideals.”

“Brave words,” he says, shaking with rage, “but that’s all they are.”

Illidan smiles sweetly as he prepares to lead me away, his mind still overwhelming my own. “Ah, but the wounds they cause are harder to heal. Farewell, Liam Greymane. If you are fortunate, I will never see you again.”