Madrieda's Lament, part 1 of 4

It was a relatively quiet night at Raynewood Retreat. Unlike many other Kaldorei settlements, it had remained relatively unchanged and traditional during the few decades back when the night elves had been members of the Alliance. Other locations had been changed drastically, some of them even destroyed culturally and environmentally as the supposed comrades from the Eastern Kingdoms became colonizers. In smaller villages, night elves became outnumbered in their own homes, and habits, mores and ways of doing things were lost to locals. The entire arrangement had merely been one of convenience on the part of the government in Darnassus, and a rather controversial one at that. Once the factional wars died down, the Kaldorei dropped out of the Alliance just as quickly as the Forsaken dropped out of the Horde. There were four main factions again, just as there had been when the world opened up at the height of the Third War, with the Sindorei remaining on the outside as affiliates of the Horde but holding an unclear status.

But none of that mattered. Raynewood Retreat had weathered it all, retaining its status as a bastion of night elf traditions and conservatism. There were no humans, worgen or draenei running around, but rather, dryads, cleansed furbolg, sprite darters and friendly mountain giants. On some days, even the rare non hostile chimaera or reclusive remnants of the dark trolls passed through, renewing ancient ties with the children of the stars who led the varied peoples of northern Kalimdor. All in all, the military camp and provincial headquarters had faired rather well.

Sentinel Melyria Frostshadow, the area commander, strode through the expanded base, watching as her subordinates coordinated drills for all the youngbloods - night elf women only a few decades old looking to join the Sentinel Corps and, due to the vast changes in their society, even a handful of men. Off duty recruits spent much of their time worshipping or teaching spiritual matters near the moonwell, or lingering around the mess hall, where fights broke out between the more ornery ladies only rarely. The entire place was a pinnacle of law and order, and Melyria's chest swelled with pride as she observed the machine running almost without direction. Perhaps she would be able to apply for a vacation soon...

"Melyyyyyyriaaaaa!" chirped the familiar voice of Shael'dryn, the leader of the Laughing Sisters and a woman who was disgustingly cheery even by the standards of dryads.

Steeling her nerve, Melyria prepared to stay relaxed on a quiet evening of observations and be polite to the well meaning, if annoying, dryad leader. She turned, only to see the four legged woman even more excited than usual.

"There's someone here to see you. And it's a man!" Shael'dryn beamed as though Melyria were actually interested in the person's gender. Having been born during immortality, Melyria would still have a few centuries of life left now that it had ended and she had told Shael'dryn before to stop trying to find her a husband every other week.

"Official business, I take it?" Melyria sighed, her serene early night broken.

The dryad only shook her head, growing giddier by the second. "Personal, personal, personal! He says his family knows you, but he won't tell me who his family is. He's tall, dark and handsome, too. It's like a mystery!"

Her interest piqued by the claim of a stranger who might know her, Melyria followed the prancing dryad as she veered off the main road. "Where is this person, and what else did he say?"

"He's at the cemetery. He says he knew someone who passed away recently, and he wants to hear officially how she spent her last days." Stopping smack dab in the middle of the side road leading away from the main settlement among the smaller trees used to border naturally grown moonstone roads, Shael'dryn didn't even flinch as the two women bumped into each other. "Maybe he has a broken heart from an unrequited love and needs a strong sentinel woman to support him!"

"I highly doubt that, Shael'dryn," Melyria chortled, finally finding the humor in the dryad's demeanor. "It's obviously someone here about Madrieda, Goddess light her path. The funeral was only three weeks ago, and we hadn't received any well wishers yet, unfortunately. It will be nice to see someone paying their proper respects."

As the Laughing Sister laughed along with her sister, Melyria relaxed once more. So many of the pre-Sundering generation of night elves were dying, she thought to herself. They had already been old before immortality even began, and now the younger ones such as herself had to sit by and watch their leaders wither away like the younger lived races. For beings who previously had lived thousands of years, the prospects of living only a few more decades beyond the Third War barely gave enough time to cope with the news. Even Melyria, knowing she'd live s few more centuries, had difficulty accepting mortality.

Once the cemetery came into view, Melyria was surprised by the guest in question. From the first few seconds, she could gauge a number of details about him. He was tall, far taller than a night elf man, taller than the tallest of bear form Druids, yet his glowing silver eyes and long ears poking out through the ear holes of the hood of his jacket insinuated that he was simply a giant Kaldorei. His movements were swift; he was obviously a youngblood, born after the Third War; all Kaldorei over a thousand year old could gauge the generation of others by their movements. His ears, hands and forearms were of a rather handsome violet-blue color ("gosh, why am I thinking like that?") and the forearms and hands were also covered in strange tattoos that glowed with enchantment. Not arcane, thank the Goddess, but something else Melyria couldn't recognize.

The man noticed her and stood up respectfully, but kept his head down such that his face remained concealed. Normally, she wouldn't stand for such seclusion at a military camp, but given the somber nature of the cemetery, she let it slide.

"Ishnu alah, little brother," Melyria said with a polite nod. "What brings you here?"

The man bowed as she nodded, displaying proper respect to an older person in their culture. His behavior made his sadness apparent, and he faced the glowing tombstone halfway as he spoke. "I hope I have come at an opportune time," he said in Darnassian. His speech bore a melancholy tone and a strange accent Melyria couldn't quite put her finger on. As he spoke, a long, braided goatee of a deep indigo color bobbed up and down as he spoke. His facial hair and tattoos insinuated that he was some sort of a liberal, yet his manners showed that he was familiar with the traditions of their people.

"You have not. I am Sentinel Frostshadow, the army branch commander for this outpost, and I happen to be free currently." Noticing that it was indeed Madrieda's grave the man was gazing at sadly, she stepped forward to face it with him, doing her best to inspire him with her commanding aura. "Madrieda was an incredible warrior, and a fine night elf woman. Unfortunately, like many of her generation, all of her kind died during the Sundering."

Rather than reveal his connection to her, the man paused and breathed heavily. Sensing his discomfort, Shael'dryn thankfully backed off and frolicked out of sight and out of the cemetery entirely, granting them the privacy the young man likely needed. When he spoke, his voice cracked despite its pleasingly deep tone ("oh my Goddess, stop thinking like that about someone in mourning") and he fought to contain himself.

"What happened?" was all he asked.

Sighing wistfully, Melyria still relished in the opportunity to discuss her fallen big sister with someone else. The funeral had only been attended by her comrades and other local officials who didn't know her personally. Perhaps this would serve as the closure both Melyria and the stranger needed.

"Madrieda was born some three thousand and five hundred years before immortality even began," Melyria started to explain.

"She was born in the year -13,658," the man stated, sounding lost in memory.

"Exactly, right. She was already beyond middle age when the Long Vigil began. She served in a local grove, one of many smaller communities assigned by our new government at the time. She was brave, beautiful, and serene, just as her grove came to be named."

"Yes...indeed, she was all of those things." As the two of them spoke, the man seemed to relax a little, perhaps soothed by the conversation. "But Serenity Grove was spoiled by the Kaldorei's temporary membership in the Alliance."

"One of many reasons why we're all glad here that we finally left that faction and retook our independence. Even Keeper Ordanus never wholly accepted our membership, Goddess light his path."

"Was it age, then?" the man asked.

"Indirectly. Madrieda began experiencing breathing problems a few years back, and we switched her from infantry to artillery at first, managing three glaive throwers. She accepted her assignment like the patriotic night elf she was, but I knew her pride was wounded. The world has been at peace for so long that there has been little need for heavy weaponry. She knew it was an assignment just to keep her out of direct confrontations with criminals or bandits, and she slowed down."

"Active duty kept her sharp, and she lost it when she lost her position...was that it?"

Melyria felt a pang of guilt stab her in the heart, and she worked to control her own emotions. "We made the decision for her own benefit. Her breathing problems were from her age, as were the constant sinus infections and bouts with bronchitis our best priestesses couldn't deal with. It's always best to heal such ailments naturally, but her body began losing its ability to fight. The healing became less effective as well, but we always kept her around. She couldn't go back..."

"How did she die?" the man whispered weakly, and Melyria felt the depression the two of them now shared as it hit her hard.

Waiting to slow her pulse before speaking, Melyria recounted Madrieda's last days. "She didn't suffer. But she did feel weak, and had a lot of dizzy spells. They started a few weeks apart and then became more frequent. When we assigned a trainee priestess to her twenty four hours a night, we knew it was only a matter of time. The more she was healed, the less effective it became, and the more often she needed it. We took her off even her observation duties. We had to...we had to. She took it in a stride, but for the first time, she ended up pulling me aside one night. She hugged me so tightly, and spoke about how long she'd pushed people away, knowing that after immortality she wouldn't have much time left...I held her and listened because it was all I could do. Madrieda had no surviving family members, and the end of Serenity hurt her so much that she never stayed in touch with the other twenty four originals. It was too painful for her. She...oh...Madrieda, she passed away in her sleep. Peacefully. Even the days before, they were normal aside from her exhaustion and nasal congestion. And when we found her, she looked so serene. So at peace. Like she had finally accepted it. She died at peace. She did."

Feeling she had rambled for too long, Melyria stopped herself just as she felt the thick lump in her throat. Night elf women weren't supposed to cry, especially not leaders such as herself. But the young man actually did cry. She couldn't see his face, but she heard his muffled sniffing, and the two of them stood together in silence, sharing the suppressed pain of loss with each other.

After regaining his composure, it was the young man who reignited the conversation.

"I have heard that Serenity was abandoned three years ago, for good. Is that true?"

"Yes...oh, by the Goddess, it's all true," Melyria sighed again, finding her own solace in the talk with a complete stranger. "They never could replace their original priestess, and when the last village commander left, our people were still part of the Alliance, so a draenei was appointed. None of the outlanders had any loyalty to the grove, and the Kaldorei felt alienated at the place. By the time we became independent again, the place had become so impoverished that patrols couldn't even enter to do their jobs without being mobbed by inhabitants begging for a ride to the nearest place with a flight point."

"Has anyone been back there in the past three years?"

"Yes...a year and a half ago, we sent a patrol just to check on it. It was still abandoned; not even treasure hunters or scavengers had visited the place. I didn't have the heart to send another one after that. Nature charged those women with its own defense for ten thousand years, and when it was finished with them, it returned the grove to the way it once was. The originals have moved on, and I stay in contact with them to the best of my ability. I never lived there, but they are part of my jurisdiction." She turned and tried to look at the man, but he shyly kept his face hidden. She turned to face him, feeling the time was right. "Please, tell me why you came. Tell me what your connection is. Nobody came to visit Madrieda at all, and it is so unfair. At least let me know who you are."

The young man nodded, but waited before obliging her request. Melyria didn't rush him, knowing from his mannerisms that as liberal as he might be, he would still respect the culture of his people. When he removed the hood, she gasped, and suddenly his excessive height made sense.

"Cecilia..." Melyria whispered while almost reaching out to touch one of the man's tusks. They weren't as long as those of a full blooded troll, but they definitely stood out. A matted down indigo mane - not hair, but a proper mane that ran all the way down the back of his neck - spilled over his shoulders. His nose was long and angular, and his jaw jutted out more than that of a full blooded elf. It had been so long since she'd seen him.

"Navarion Hearthglen?" Melyria asked incredulously. "Oh...I haven't seen you since you were this big!" She held her hand out at the same height as her hips as memories of Cecilia's visit returned to her. "Your siblings...they still come by sometimes. I even received a letter from your mother a few months back. What...how did you know Madrieda? She never kept in touch with Cecilia." Though Melyria couldn't feel happiness at such a solemn moment, she felt a little less sad.

Wiping the last tear from his eyes, the half elf, half troll let out a shuddering breath before regaining normal control of himself. His tattoos glistened as the last wave of emotion triggered their voodoo enchantments, and his eyes glowed a little more brightly for only a few seconds before settling down. It had to be one of the weirder coincidences Melyria had seen, for a relative recluse - by her own choosing - like Madrieda to be mourned so by the rebellious son of an already iconoclastic, outgoing night elf woman that had become a fixture of sorts for any Kaldorei stationed in or visitng the port city of Ratchet.

"I knew Madrieda...even better than my mother did, in some ways," Navarion said softly looking to the late sentinel's tombstone again. "I even knew this day would be coming...I just didn't know my goodbye would be so late."