Aspens and oaks

[moonshadows]

“Malfurion,” said Cenarius in his deep, creaking voice, “why don’t you go back early today? I wish to speak with your brother.”

Your brother. As if I had no identity beyond my connection to Furion. But then again…I didn’t.

“Of course, Shan’do.”

Furion bowed and walked away without a second glance. I know, because I watched until he passed out of sight and Cenarius had to call my name to get my attention.

“Illidan,” he repeated, more gently, “is this truly what you want?”

No. This was what Furion wanted me to want. But what I said was, “Of course.”

He looked at me, eyes golden just like mine peering down into my heart. “No matter how mighty the aspen, it will never be an oak.”

Again with the cryptic tree metaphors! This time, without Malfurion there nodding wisely, I shook my head. “I don’t understand, Shan’do.”

“Even the strongest falcon will never be an eagle,” he said patiently, “and the swiftest eagle can never be a falcon. You can learn the magic of nature, because you are clever and gifted, but you will never be a druid. This is not your path, young one. You belong to the arcane. You should be learning from the magi in Zin-Azshari, not from me here in the forest.”

My heart leaped into my mouth – and then plummeted back into my stomach where it huddled, shaking. To learn arcane magic was my secret dream, but no matter how obliquely I approached it, Furion always insisted I was ‘better’ than that, that my eyes being gold was a sign that I was meant to walk the day and learn nature magic from the fabled demigod of the forest. With our parents gone, I had no one else to argue my case with. Our friend Tyrande – well, I still thought of her that way because that’s what Furion called her, but ever since leaving childhood she’d had time only for him, and maybe me if he was there, too. Whatever he said, she agreed with. It was as though she were his novice-priestess instead of Elune’s. She dismissed my arguments without even hearing them. Now, to have Cenarius himself tell me that I should follow my dream-!

Surely now, Malfurion would listen to me.

“I can see your joy,” the demigod said, his weathered face crinkling with amusement. “Why did you seek me out if this was not your dream?”

Uncomfortably, I said, “Malfurion…”

“No. This is his dream, not yours. I will continue to teach him, but you…”

“I will never be an oak,” I finished slowly, grasping the tree metaphor for the first time.

“Follow your roots, young Illidan.”

In a daze, I left the clearing and followed the trail back home, my heart alternately flying and shaking me with thick terror. I was going to Zin-Azshari! I’d need to pack clothes, food, water – I’d have to tell my brother. But Cenarius said it was okay, surely…surely…

 

“But Cenarius said it was okay,” I repeated, my chest hollow, my heart too scared to move.

“You’re better than that,” Furion said again, his quiet anger somehow harder to take than if he’d yelled. “If you go to Zin-Azshari…”

I held my breath.

“…don’t come back.”

I wanted to protest. I wanted to beg, to cry, to rage, to do something, but all I did was stand there feeling as if the slightest breeze would shatter me while Malfurion – my twin brother – walked down the hall and the door to his room closed behind him. Like a ghost I let myself out, walking the path numbly, until I reached the blackberry bramble. Then I slithered through our tunnel and into the safe nest in its heart, and there I cried until all that remained of me were ashes and broken shards. I slept fitfully, waking often and thinking longingly of my room, my bed – but Furion was there, I couldn’t face him. Finally, the sun rose and he left for Cenarius’s glade. I ran back to the house and packed as quickly as I could, terrified that he’d return at any moment. All my clothes, all my books, the few mementos I had of our parents all got thrown haphazardly into a bundle made from my sheets and blankets. In the kitchen, I took half the bread, half the apples, half the cheese, and the untouched bottles of wine left from when we had parents to drink them. I took a bowl, a plate, a knife, a spoon, and one of the hams hanging from the ceiling. Then I piled everything in the hand-drawn cart our father used to haul us around in and, barely able to see where I was going, I left and hoped that whatever awaited me in Zin-Azshari was better than what I was leaving behind.

 

I was used to walking, of course. But I was used to walking in the forest, not on a road, and I was used to walking at night. The dry summer day had me sweating and covered in dust before long, and my head pounded from thirst shortly after, but what choice did I have? I kept trundling along with everything I could claim to own in the little cart behind me. I’d passed through Suramar a while back and was now venturing into the unknown, but there was no danger of getting lost; the road only led to the glorious capital. My feet hurt from stepping on pebbles and my shoulders ached from hauling the cart, but I found that if I emptied my mind, it was easier to bear. That’s why the travelers snuck up on me.

Well, to be honest, nightsabers aren’t the noisiest of animals to begin with. They probably would have snuck up on me even if I weren’t desperate for something to drink, followed by someplace cool to sleep. Still, it wasn’t until one of them shouted, “Hey, you, out of the way!” that I even realized I wasn’t alone on the road. Startled, I turned around – and knocked over my cart. Books and apples spilled across the packed dirt, to the glaring annoyance of the armed and armored men on nightsabers. It was too much stress in too little time; I began crying helplessly as I scrabbled in the road, picking up books and apples, expecting to be cuffed or kicked at any moment.

You can imagine that when a richly-dressed man knelt beside me to straighten my cart, it was a surprise.

“You look to have enough worries on your shoulders,” he said gruffly. “I don’t feel right adding to them. Where are you off to, lad, in the middle of the day and by yourself?”

“Zin-Azshari,” I whispered, startled out of my tears. This was Lord Ravencrest! “I…I want to be a mage.”

He looked at me sternly, lips pressed together over his beard. “So much so that you’re running away from home, hmm? What do your parents have to say about this?”

“They’re dead.” The reminder of everything I’d lost trembled behind my eyes. I hadn’t cried about my parents in a year and a half, but on top of everything else…

“Hey now, don’t cry. I didn’t mean to tread on bad memories. What’s your name?”

I sniffled and resisted the urge to wipe my face, sweaty and dusty as it was. “Illidan.”

“Stand up, lad. We’ve still got most of the day to travel – and half the night – before we reach the city, and I’m in no particular hurry. Sit behind me, and we’ll pull your cart for you.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

Meekly, I mounted the sleek nightsaber behind Lord Ravencrest and watched as one of the guards secured my cart to his mount’s saddle. When the company moved out again, it was at a walk.

“So you want to be a mage, eh lad?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Have a master set up already?”

I flushed. “No, my lord. I’ve never been outside Suramar.”

“That would explain why none of them have snatched you up, then.”

“My lord?”

He turned to smile at me over his shoulder, the expression not doing much to soften his face. “Your eyes, young Illidan.”

“But-” I fell silent after that one word. Malfurion had always insisted that my eyes meant I should be a druid, but Cenarius said…

“You’re destined for greatness, lad. If you want to be a mage, I’ve no doubt you’ll be exceptional at it.” He was silent for several breaths. Then, in a too-casual tone, he said, “Would you take a recommendation from me, lad?”

“My lord?”

“I can put in a word with one of the Highborne, Illidan. One of the Elite Circle, none the less. He would be only too glad to take you in and teach you, I’m sure.”

I let that roll around inside my head for a minute. Lord Ravencrest was not only being kind, but offering me a favor? There had to be a catch. But…if I asked about it, what would happen to me? I didn’t have a choice. “Of course, my lord.”

He straightened slightly in front of me. “Excellent! I will drop you off at the gate of the city and let you explore while I send word to Dath’Remar. Enquire at his estate, and I’m certain you will not be disappointed.”

Wary as I was, the idea that someone could be easing my path – even to further his own unknown goals – warmed a tiny corner of my heart. I wasn’t as alone in the world as I thought I’d be without Furion. If my would-be ally had an ulterior motive, well, at least it aligned with my own…and it wasn’t as if Furion hadn’t had his own plan for me, anyway.

For hours the nightsabers walked, Lord Ravencrest speaking quietly about the wonders to be found in Zin-Azshari, and the gentle rocking combined with the emotional exhaustion that descended slowly on me until I found myself slumped against Lord Ravencrest’s back, dozing.

I came awake to find the nightsabers milling and the guards setting up a perimeter.

“You awake, lad?” my sponsor asked gently.

“…yes?” My voice creaked from thirst and disuse.

“We’re stopping for an hour or two so the cats can rest, and so can we. There’s a stream, if you want to wash the road dust away.”

Oh, that sounded blissful. I tried to dismount gracefully, only to have my stiff legs betray me – but the grass I tumbled onto was warm and soft, and it was tempting to sleep right there, except that I could hear the stream and suddenly, my dry throat was an unbearable torment. It took great restraint to wash my hands and face before scooping that cool water up, and then the little palmfuls I managed were more of a tease than a relief. Suddenly, I remembered the cup I’d grabbed and half-dashed, half-stumbled back to my cart to find it. The bottles of wine reminded me that a gift to my sponsor would not be out of place, and awkwardly I offered one to Lord Ravencrest, who was perched comfortably on a large rock that sat at the shady edge of the clearing.

“Where did you get this, lad?” he asked, eyebrows climbing as he examined the label.

“My parents…”

“...had good taste,” he interrupted gently when I trailed off. “It’s a bit fine to be washing road dust away with, but if you’re sure…”

“You’re letting me ride with you,” I protested. “I have – it’s a gift.” My cheeks felt hot at my awkwardness, but Lord Ravencrest smiled.

“Well then, let’s share it.” He broke the wax seal and levered the cork gently out, pausing to sniff it appreciatively before gesturing for my cup. When I held it out, he poured golden wine into it rather than taking it from me. “To your future, young Illidan,” he said, lifting the bottle in a toast.

Flustered, I choked the wine down as he lifted the bottle to his lips and drank deeply. It burned and tasted like over-ripe apples, but he seemed to be enjoying it. I forced a sickly smile and retreated to the stream where I rinsed and spat until the taste was gone, then filled my belly with cool, sweet water. That only reminded me that I hadn’t eaten since we’d left for Cenarius’s grove – how long ago? It was past noon now, so…more than a day. Well, that would explain why my head was still pounding, wouldn’t it? I tucked my cup back into the jumbled contents of my cart and had no sooner picked up a loaf of crusty bread than I was cramming it into my mouth as fast as I could chew and swallow.

Lord Ravencrest sounded amused as he called out, “How long were you on the road for, lad?”

I tried to speak, choked, swallowed, and tried again. “Since dawn, my lord.”

“Well, we’ve got another hour yet before the nightsabers are rested enough to continue. If you want to grab some shut-eye in the shade, I’ll wake you before we’re ready to leave again.”

Just the mention of sleep was enough to make me yawn. “Thank you, my lord.”

Guiltily, I looked at the half-eaten loaf in my hand, but when I glanced at my sponsor he was eating rations of his own offered by one of the guards, alternating bites with sips of wine. Guilt relieved, I tucked the bread back away and found a soft patch of grass in the shade. The next thing I knew, Lord Ravencrest was shaking my shoulder gently and my bladder desperately needed attention. The guards waited patiently while I found a bush and took another drink from the stream, and then I was mounted behind Lord Ravencrest again and we were back on the road to Zin-Azshari.

I wondered briefly if my brother missed me, then shuddered away from that train of thought as it occurred to me that he probably didn’t.

 

We stopped again an hour or two after dusk fell, Lord Ravencrest and the guards blatantly shaking the dust from their clothes and cleaning themselves up. I did what I could, but it was clear that my clothes had been worn for longer than they should have. Still, I ran my fingers through my hair and scrubbed my face and tried not to worry about what I looked like. It was doubtful that anyone would take my word at Lord Ravencrest sponsoring me, but maybe I could find a place in a Highborne’s household as an assistant gardener and make a few coins while looking for someone to take in a dirty, scruffy orphan as an apprentice. It wasn’t much longer before we rode up to the gates of Zin-Azshari, and I felt much dirtier and scruffier as their glory stole my breath away.

“We’re here, lad,” Lord Ravencrest said gently. “This is where we part ways for the time being.”

As I watched the guard untie my little cart, I doubted that my purported sponsor would ever bother with me again.

“…at the palace, so wait until early morning before you – Illidan? Are you listening?”

Guiltily, I turned my attention back to what he was saying. “I-I’m sorry, Lord Ravencrest, I…”

“You got distracted by the city,” he finished kindly, stern face softening a bit. “Don’t worry about it. I was saying, wait until early morning to present yourself at Dath’Remar’s estate. To get there from here, just…”

I listened to the directions and repeated them, but the hope that anything would come of it was already withering.

“And to keep you occupied until then, why don’t you treat yourself to a good meal?” Lord Ravencrest handed me something that glinted. “Until we meet again, young Illidan. May Elune light your path.”

“Th-thank you, my lord. May the stars guide you.”

I watched the group move on without me, vanishing into the early-night traffic of the capital city, feeling very small and grubby beside the splendor that surrounded me. It wasn’t until I sighed and went to tuck the object into my untidy bundle that I realized Lord Ravencrest had casually handed me more money than I’d ever had for my own in my entire short life. This one large coin would buy months of food in Suramar – good food, not just the bread and cheese we got from the Temple once a week. I swallowed a sudden mouthful of saliva, my stomach grumbling. Maybe…just maybe…his word was good and Dath’Remar would take me in after all.

 

The guards at Dath’Remar’s estate stared at me so intently that they looked twice as imposing as Lord Ravencrest’s. I had barely stuttered out my patron’s name before they hustled me and my cart inside with frightening speed. One of them ran to a smaller structure and came back with four of his fellows, two of whom took up the places so briefly abandoned. The other two formed up around me and my little cart while the runner dashed for the breathtaking manse that sat like a glowing jewel at the center of the estate. Not sure if I was being escorted or marched to my doom, I trundled my cart along behind me as the guards led me up the path.

The inside of the manse was even more glorious than the outside, but I couldn’t appreciate it at all as the running guard returned, jerked his head, and led the others in hurrying me down corridors and through doors until they fairly shoved me into a splendid parlor where a man sat, sipping golden liquid from a delicate flute of crystal. He seemed startled by my abrupt entry and stood, exquisite robes rustling softly as he stepped closer to peer at me.

“Are you Illidan, then?” His voice was a rich, smooth baritone. I nodded, mouth too dry for words, and he relaxed slightly. “Good, good…stars, Ravencrest wasn’t lying about your eyes.” Thoughtfully, he sipped from his crystal flute. “You have good bones to your face. Good color to your hair. Your skin’s a bit dark, but exposure to the Well will fix that.” He sipped again, momentarily lost in thought.

For my part, I was stiff with equal parts terror and confusion. I’d always thought the deep blue of my hair was boring. My bones were good? My skin was dark? True, it was duskier than his, but I thought he was unnaturally pale. Was this what it meant to be Highborne? I’d never seen a night elf with hair the color his was – a mild violet so warm it bordered on fuschia – and now that I was looking, the bones of his face were certainly more delicate than most.

“Yes,” Dath’Remar said finally, setting his fluted glass down on a delicate table. “If you’re as skilled in the arcane as I think you’re going to be, this is going to work out very well. Aloris?”

The younger man I hadn’t even noticed arriving stepped further into the room and bowed. “Father.”

“Aloris, meet your sister Sapphire.”

Aloris jerked in surprise. “My-”

“-sister?” My voice wasn’t settled yet, and it had been high to begin with, but really, was there a worse time for it to break and make me sound feminine?

The younger man glanced at me, frowned, and faced Dath’Remar. “Father, Sapphire’s been dead for three years.”

He was unfazed. “And she’d be how old now?”

Aloris looked at me again, thoroughly and thoughtfully. “It could work, but not for long.”

“If he’s as good as I think he’ll be, it won’t have to.”

I wanted to ask what they were talking about, but the words tangled in my mouth.

“Go and tell your mother,” Dath’Remar said, and his son nodded and left. “Illidan,” he continued more gently, “I understand that you’re confused. You want to learn arcane magic, and I’m going to teach you, but first I have to make sure that you’re safe. Do you understand?”

“No,” I whispered miserably.

“Your eyes…” he grimaced. “Queen Azshara is very jealous, and not above ensuring nasty accidents for anyone who might cast the slightest shadow on her glory. You, a handsome young man with the golden eyes of a great destiny, are a threat. But sickly Sapphire, the daughter of Dath’Remar, member of the Elite Circle of the Highborne – she’s not only less of a threat, but too prominent to have a convenient accident.” He picked up his glass and swallowed the rest of the liquid it held in one gulp. “We always wanted a daughter, my wife and I. Finally, after three boys, we had Sapphire. It was a hard birth, and she never…quite…recovered. When she died, she hadn’t been able to leave her rooms in nearly half a decade. My wife was in denial when it happened, and for three years now we’ve maintained the fiction that she’s still alive, still bedridden and…frail. You’re going to take her place. You’ll remain safely sequestered here until you’ve mastered the arcane enough to change your physical form, and then we’ll introduce you slowly to society.”

I should have been confused at the idea that our beloved queen could ever be cruel to even one of her subjects, or possibly outraged. I should have felt violated at the suggestion that I give up my name, my gender, my very identity. But all I heard was ‘you’re going to have a family’ and it was enough that I found myself crying yet again – but this time, the tears felt less like bleeding and more like hope. After a minute, I become aware that Dath’Remar was patting my shoulder, stroking my hair gently, murmuring my name. Tearfully, I looked up at him and forced my trembling lips into a smile. Dath’Remar’s expression shifted to surprise.

“Illidan, I’m sorry. Ravencrest mentioned…your parents…I should have been less…”

“No,” I interrupted, my voice shaking. “It’s not…they’ve been dead for…” I took a deep breath, hoping to calm the emotions that swirled inside me like leaves during a storm. “Will I truly be your daughter?”

“Is that what you want?”

Wordlessly, I nodded.

For a long moment, he looked thoughtfully at me. Then a pair of light, hurried steps approached the room and his gaze went past me.

“Martisia,” he said warmly.

I turned to look. The woman was in a gown as exquisite as Dath’Remar’s robes, her hair just a shade darker than mine. My heart squeezed painfully at the superficial resemblance to my own, long-dead mother as she raked me with a searching look.

“Is this the child?” Her hand grasped my chin firmly, turned my head this way and that. “Skin’s a bit dark, but the cheeks…the hair…”

“This is the child,” he answered quietly.

Suddenly, her closed expression opened into something deeply vulnerable. “Sapphire?”

I blinked back tears and licked my lips, wanting the lie she was offering so badly that I couldn’t breathe for a moment. “…mom?”

“My jewel,” she breathed, and then I was pressed to her chest as she struggled not to weep into my hair. “We’ll get you bathed, dressed, and settled in bed,” she whispered. “A good dinner, a good day’s sleep, and then your father can start your lessons in the evening.”

Lessons. I was going to learn arcane magic. I was going to have a father, and learn arcane magic. I was going to have a family, an older – two, three older brothers. A mother. I was going to be a girl named Sapphire. It wouldn’t matter that Illidan Stormrage had been disowned by his only surviving kin for going to Zin-Azshari instead of being a druid, because Sapphire had three older brothers and parents who desperately wanted a daughter.

I was going to have a family.