Nathanos Marris closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through a nose that had been broken more times than he could count. A hint of autumn hung in the still, humid air, mingling with the aroma of wildflowers sprouting between the flagstones that marked the path. It was a good scent. Familiar, earthy. One he was determined never to relinquish.
The ranger-general's boots made no sound as she approached. As ever, Sylvanas Windrunner smelled of the rose gardens native to her high elven city. Nathanos would know that fragrance anywhere.
For a long while the human stood in silence, relishing her company. The only sounds were the birds celebrating the sinking sun, and the soft bleating of sheep grazing just beyond the short wooden fence he'd helped his father build when he was a boy.
He opened his eyes. From this small rise, the whole of the Marris stead stretched out before him. The house where he'd lived most all his life. The barns that needed shoring up before winter. The wheat soon ready for harvest.
Home.
Nathanos loved this view. Was proud of it. Perhaps that was why he let the moment linger a while before he did his best to ruin it.
"You shouldn't be here," he growled.
"A fine thing to say to your commander," Sylvanas answered, turning toward him. Despite the bemusement that played about her lips, there was a steeliness in her eyes that exuded authority. Dressed in dyed-blue leather and wearing an ornate bow slung across her back, she made him feel a fool in his ragged chore clothes and unkempt beard.
Nathanos shook his head. "You know full well what I mean, Sylvanas. There has been grumbling among the Farstriders ever since you promoted me to ranger lord. Your visits here have drawn notice, and your oh-so-noble rangers gossip like washwomen at a creek."
She pulled back her cerulean cowl to let her long pale-gold hair tumble free. "I never realized you cared what others thought of you." The high elf's words dripped with a sweet syrup of feigned sympathy that tested his resolve.
He clenched his jaw in frustration. It irked him that Sylvanas had grown so accustomed to his gruffness that she could dismiss it as a matter of course. "Let those rumormongers say what they will about me. But you are their leader and can ill afford to lose their respect."
Sylvanas brushed a few stray strands of auburn hair from Nathanos's eyes. "As ranger-general, I have a duty to receive reports from my scouts in the field. And since you sequester yourself here in the wilds of Lordaeron rather than serve in Quel'Thalas, I am obliged to check on you from time to time."
He shrugged. "It's better that I stay away. I've no patience for the intrigue of your city. I can think here... breathe. Simple pleasures I find impossible in the shadow of those ancient spires."
"Lor'themar says you hide yourself away because you are intimidated by elven archers," she said, arching a single eyebrow.
"Lor'themar Theron is a fool! He's better suited to politics than the life of a ranger. I'll match him shot for shot any day." Nathanos stopped his tongue from saying more. His irritation was amusing her, and he refused to give her further satisfaction.
"I am relieved to learn the reason for your isolation. I thought perhaps you had grown tired of my company." The setting sun illuminated the perfect symmetry of her features, her blue-gray eyes sparkling in the golden light. The effect was so well timed that he swore it must be a spell or charm she kept at the ready to steer a conversation or distract a rival.
It worked, of course. He was playing into her vanity before he could stop himself.
"It's not that I don't want you here, Sylvanas. But your people need their ranger-general close by. In these dark times more than ever."
The elf's brow furrowed. "You will get your wish soon enough. I am to meet with my sister Alleria. She believes the orcs have set their eyes upon Quel'Thalas and mean to attack our homeland. If her fears prove true, you may be called back to defend Silvermoon whether you want to be there or not."
He touched her arm, drawing her closer. "Sylvanas, you know I will do my duty and—"
Before he could say more, excited shouts rang out across the field. "Nathanos!" the boy called, startling the sheep as he dashed toward the flock with arms waving. When the child got within a dozen yards of the rangers, his gaze fixed on the high elf, and his mouth fell agape. He almost tumbled from the top of the wooden fence as he climbed over, coming to a stop a pace away from her.
"Ranger-General Sylvanas Windrunner," Nathanos began, "I present my cousin, Stephon Marris. He's only a boy of nine, but as you can plainly see, his lack of manners already rivals mine." Stephon blushed in response. Nathanos glared, lest he reveal a grin. He was fond of the child, with hair and features so like his own. Stephon was a constant reminder of what it was like to live in a world where everything was wondrous and new.
"Nonsense, Nathanos," Sylvanas said, kneeling down to the child's height and flashing a warm smile. "I am sure he will grow up to be quite civilized, despite your influence."
"You... You're a ranger? Like my cousin?" Stephon stammered, his eyes impossibly wide.
"No, lad. Sylvanas is much more than that. She leads all the rangers in these lands," Nathanos said.
Stephon's glance flitted from one to the other, his little mind racing to find something to say.
The high elf leaned in toward the child, whispering as if sharing a secret. "Do you want to be a ranger when you grow up?"
Nathanos's cousin shook his head with the vigor of youth. "I want to be a knight, with shining armor and a huge sword and a castle all my own! I don't want to live in the woods or shoot arrows from trees." A look of panic struck him. "Not that rangers aren't... I mean to say... I'd be proud to work for you, General!"
A chuckle escaped Sylvanas's lips, soft and melodic. Nathanos sighed through gritted teeth. "It's getting late, Stephon. You'd best head on home and stop pestering my commander."
Before the boy could run off, Sylvanas reached out with catlike grace and took hold of his hand. "Keep this," she said, pressing a gold coin into his palm, "until your cousin decides you are old enough to buy your first sword."
Stephon's grin shone bright enough to light the darkening fields. "Thank you! Thank you!" He jumped up, clambered over the fence, and sprinted across the meadow, sending the sheep to bleating as they scurried out of his way. "I'm gonna get my own sword!" he called out to no one in particular.
"Well, now you've done it," Nathanos grumbled, rubbing his beard. "I'll never hear the end of that coin."
She stood and watched Stephon until he disappeared over the hillside. "He just needs someone to believe in him," she said. "As we all do, every now and again." The wistfulness in her voice made him wonder what Sylvanas had been like when she was young.
They were quiet for a while as the last rays of sunlight sank away. The hum of insects took the place of birdsong before another word passed between them.
"When will you leave?" he asked at last.
She granted him the slightest of smiles. "On the morrow, I should think. It is late, and you owe your ranger-general a meal... and your company." She began walking toward the house. As she passed, her fingertips brushed against the back of his hand.
He thought for a moment about the incessant politics of Silvermoon, the disapproving sneer of Lor'themar Theron, and the shadow of the encroaching Horde. Part of him longed for a quieter life, one spent working the land as his father and grandfather had before him. He could resign from the Farstriders and live out his days here at the stead. At home. But that would require sacrificing something far more precious to him than his position as ranger lord.
As his feet began to follow the well-worn path to the house and the warm hearth that awaited him inside, he knew his choice was decided. Damn the politics. Damn the world! He had made a promise to Sylvanas, and nothing would keep him from her side.
* * *
"Why do you hesitate, my champion?"
The grating impatience apparent in Sylvanas's voice tore Nathanos from the gauzy veil of memory. He so rarely thought of the past. That life belonged to another man, one dead these many years. All that had once defined him as human—his home, his family, his obligations—were distant, petty things, without meaning or value to the creature he had become. He was the Blightcaller. He was Forsaken. And he no longer served a high elven ranger-general.
He served the Banshee Queen.
"I fail to understand the purpose of it." For a fleeting instant he was shocked by the gravelly rasp of his own words echoing off the Royal Quarter's dark stone walls. He'd almost expected to hear a human voice emerging from his mouth. What a sentimental fool!
"The ritual will make you stronger," she answered. Her red eyes flared as she paced about the dais at the center of the immense circular chamber. "And with the Legion's incursions into Horde lands, I require my champion to be strong."
Nathanos turned his gaze from Sylvanas to the stoic Val'kyr hovering just behind her. The specter's outstretched wings nearly spanned the twenty paces between two of the massive columns framing the platform. Though the Undercity from which his queen ruled abounded with ghosts and ghoulish fiends, the presence of the Val'kyr, with their countenances ever shielded behind heavy helms, was the one thing that truly unsettled him. He'd heard it said that these imposing vrykul warrior maidens once served as keepers of the dead, charged with conveying worthy souls to honorable rest. But this one, like her sisters, had been subjugated by the Lich King, commanded to forge an army for the very monster who had slain Sylvanas Windrunner and cursed her with undeath.
His wariness gave him pause. Had it been wise of the queen to conscript such creatures into her service after the Lich King's defeat? He quickly chided himself and pushed the doubt from his mind. The Val'kyr had proved their worth by raising new Forsaken to Sylvanas's cause. The Dark Lady knew best. Always.
Still, he could not resist provoking her just a little. "If you feel I'm not strong enough as I am, perhaps you should name another champion."
Sylvanas's eyes ignited into a blaze of crimson. "Why must you be so difficult?" Her voice rang with the barest hint of the force that her banshee wail could muster, and the tapestries on the walls shuddered in response.
He took pleasure in her aggravation, but was careful not to show it.
After a moment of silent seething, the Dark Lady regained her composure. "The power of the Val'kyr will preserve my body for ages to come. Your once-human form, like those of my other Forsaken, will not enjoy such longevity. I would prevent your decay, spare you the pain I experienced when…"
With a quick nod, he acknowledged the words left unsaid. To him alone had she entrusted the tale of the day after the Lich King's fall, when she'd felt her purpose on this world was fulfilled and sought to claim the eternal rest long denied her. But when she dashed her body upon the frozen rocks beneath Icecrown Citadel, only the relentless hunger of the void awaited her. Though she refused to say the words, he knew her well enough to recognize when true fear gripped her heart.
Her pact with the Val'kyr had saved her that day, a fact for which he was selfishly grateful. And yet, if his queen had been lost, there would be no reason for him to continue this mockery of a life. If she were condemned to an eternity of torment in the darkness, at least he could end his own existence and endure damnation at her side.
"Perhaps," he said, "it would be best to let me go."
The fire faded from her eyes. For an instant, he caught a glimmer of the blue-gray light that used to shine within them. But a moment later, they turned cold and demanding again. "Twice now I have summoned you to my service, Nathanos Blightcaller. You will not be released from it until I command it to be so!"
