A Long-Desired Guest

Flanked by her majordomo, a line of serious-looking guards down the flanks of the stairs leading into the Flameborn mansion, Silendiel stood. And waited. She almost never waited for anyone in this way, but it seemed prudent to receive the priestess in person, and, more so, it was her chance to find her favorite face in the crowd of escorting sentinels, so as to put it to the indistinct simulacrum of a night elf that kept intruding on her mind. No matter what she did, it kept coming back.

The gate opened by its attendant, what appeared to be half of the night elves welcomed into Silvermoon marched through it. At their head was the priestess, and at her right, just behind, a kaldorei, obviously a sentinel, with vibrant purple hair, blood red facial markings, and piercing white eyes. Towering over the priestess, and yet, though she radiated strength, though her barely-hidden fangs and corded muscle suggested **** simmering just below the surface, the way she carried herself made it clear that, when it came to the priestess, she was subservient. She made space. She moved aside. If looks had accompanying sound, the ones that particular kaldorei sent around sounded like a protective growl.

Behind the two leading figures, two rows of five sentinels, each close enough the match of the one at the head of the column, lined up. Came to a halt and, when the purple-haired one at the head of the column spoke a rapid word of Darnassian, spread their stance, standing at ease. Moved near as one. They clearly had had the time to drill to near perfection, though Silendiel found it difficult to believe that they would do such a thing just to visit her. A requirement for those coming along to Silvermoon, perhaps, that they be able to conduct themselves to perfection if ever called upon to show off the coordination of the sentinel army.

Silendiel stepped forward, then, extending her hands, palms upward. Not quite closing in to hug the priestess, perhaps, but making the physical suggestion that she might have, that she could have, as if they were great friends and merely chose not to express it for the sake of propriety. Iralis offered a kindly, understanding smile, the kind that made Silendiel ever so slightly angry. It indicated that she was being looked down upon, somehow, she always felt. But the priestess turned away to speak to the sentinel to her right.

“You will come in with me, Neryniael,” Iralis said.

“Just me, priestess?”

“Just you, Lieutenant.”

“As you wish it.”

The purple-haired sentinel, the Lieutenant, apparently, turned around and barked another few words of clipped Darnassian. Much too fast and distorted for Silendiel to understand them, though their intent was clear enough. The ordered column dissolved into a few small groups of kaldorei, each finding their own place to stand, or sit, most taking advantage of the shade provided by the four trees in the small but well-manicured front garden of the Flameborn mansion.

“Priestess Iralis,” Silendiel said. Plastering an impenetrable, good-natured smile onto her face. “Lieutenant, yes? Neryniael? Please, come in. I’ve made ready for your arrival.”

Silendiel had, of course, done nothing of the sort, personally. Her servants had prepared what they could, knowing little about the night elves that was not in danger of having been distorted by stereotyping. Even so, it seemed a safe bet that they would enjoy either wine, or tea, or berry juice. The Nightborne, as distant as the night elves, more distant, perhaps, had yet not changed so much that they had abandoned those commonplace luxuries.

Realizing that she had been still for too long, several seconds passing without much motion or speech, Silendiel indicated the open double doors behind her. Repeated herself. “Please, come in.”

Without meaning to, her eyes had studied the contours of the Lieutenant’s body. The hard face, one eyebrow interrupted by a scar, perhaps not as serenely attractive as the most base romance books would have painted her, but nevertheless an impressive warrior. Meticulously carved from rock, hard and tall and ideal in multiple ways. Somewhat broad-shouldered, slimming towards the waist. Thick, powerful arms, and legs. Obscured by clothing and armor, of course, but suitable enough. The indistinct presence in Silendiel’s mind seemed to reveal its face a little more. Hints of red facial markings, and bright, purple hair. Almost like a toxic flower or lizard warning off predators, so penetrating was it. And, most importantly, stern eyes. Not that she wanted someone with a block of ice for a heart, but it seemed most appropriate that the statuesque, impressive warriors were demanding of the world around them. Kept themselves under perfect control.

It was in that moment that Neryniael ran her tongue over her front teeth, her lips bulging as she did so. Silendiel tore her eyes away, letting out a breath that shivered only just. Undetectable, surely. And yet, when she set her eyes on the priestess, having reestablished that practiced and, hopefully, convincing smile, she saw just a hint of understanding. Of satisfaction. Something conveyed by the pull of a single muscle, moved almost not at all, yet conveying much.

Silendiel waved her own guards off, preferring them to stay outside to keep an eye on the sentinels, leading Iralis and Neryniael into the mansion herself. Outside her sanctum, she leaned over to instruct her majordomo not to disturb her, that no one at all was to disturb for the next several hours, if need be, and then guided the priestess and the Lieutenant in. To a circular table, around which three chaise longues had been pushed into position. Silendiel stood before one without issue, and Iralis, likewise, stood before one. The Lieutenant did not move to the third.

“Lieutenant,” Iralis said. It was not a question, its tone not suggesting anything of the sort, at least, nor was it a command. A hint of disappointment in it, if anything.

“I prefer to stand,” the Lieutenant said.

“As you wish, Neryn.”

The Lieutenant found a spot behind Iralis, then, stood so that she could loom over and stare down Silendiel, perhaps imagining that the threat of physical **** would get proceedings to move along without issue. Precisely the opposite was the case, of course, but at least the priestess seemed to understand that.

“Stop looming,” Iralis said. She did not even look behind herself.

A moment passed, after which Neryn took a breath, and then sighed it out. Some of her air of invincibility, of danger, had been punctured by Iralis’ parental tone. She replied, at last. “Yes, priestess. As you wish it.”

So the Lieutenant took a step back, occupying herself more with slowly looking around, examining the gold and red and white of the room, the many expertly crafted pieces of furniture, the grand flags. Anything, it seemed, but the priestess. Neryn did, once or twice, settle her eyes on Silendiel, and the looks exchanged were not entirely chaste – at least, Silendiel felt that perhaps the kaldorei’s stern gaze prepared to devour her. Whether in a literal, aggressive sense, or if what she saw was a more sordid kind of hunger, she was unsure. The kaldorei were too often inscrutable. In an obvious fashion, strangely, not at all like a sin’dorei noble with centuries of experience in wrapping everything they said or did in three layers of indirection and false sentiment. No, the kaldorei were obvious about how difficult they were to truly read, as strange as that seemed.

To tear her thoughts away from the Lieutenant, Silendiel took a light breath, placing her hands in her lap. Straightening. Focusing her attention on Iralis, settling a calm, understanding, pleasant smile on her lips, though she felt little of any of those things.

“So,” Silendiel said. “We ought to speak. Clear the air. Is that an expression you use?”

“Naturally,” Iralis said.

The priestess’ voice fleeting, as if she were still distracted by Neryn’s presence. She turned her full attention towards Silendiel soon enough, however, a soothing, almost sedative feeling, comfort, needs satiated, all settling in the noblewoman. All radiating from Iralis without a word spoken, without any magical incantation spoken, nothing. Silendiel took a steadying breath, steeling herself. While not an arcanist herself, not much of one, at any rate, she had significant training in both trying to detect when her emotions were being manipulated, and trying to correct herself once she realized it was happening. The problem, in this case, was that it was not magic she was used to, she was uncertain if the priestess even understood what was happening, what she did. Did Silendiel even understand it? She smoothed her hands down her dress, towards her knees, a moment’s distraction while she tried to center herself again. Shed the unwitting attempt at manipulation.

“Of course,” Silendiel said. “We should come to terms. I certainly have no wish to be seen to cause hostility between our peoples. I only wish to have my servant returned.”

“She makes her own choices. We do not **** anything upon anyone, neither when they wish to join our cause, nor when they want to leave it,” Iralis said. “Understand, please, that I do not say this to spite you. It is our way. No more, no less.”

“You are in Quel’thalas, not Ashenvale forest,” Silendiel said. In her mind, she had concocted a more diplomatic sentence, but struggling against the priestess’ presence occupied more of her mental faculties than she had imagined possible. Whatever it was, magic, a blessing from their goddess, it was settling. As if it followed the priestess’ attention, and since it had not moved for a while, the blessing’s activity died down. While it did so, falling to a manageable, buzzing level at the back of Silendiel’s mind, she snapped back to the situation at hand. Realized that there had been a few seconds of silence.

“We prefer not to waste time, my lady,” Iralis said, at length. “I understand that local politics here function mainly based on spite and underhanded smiles, but I should like to move through and beyond that rather quickly.”

“An interesting, idealistic approach,” Silendiel said. She sighed, shoulders lowering, relaxing. “I have thought the same, myself, in the past. But the city is a terribly good, but uncaring, teacher. It does not last long – either one adapts, or dies.”

“On the larger stage, of course,” Iralis said.

For a moment, the priestess seemed as if she were about to say more, but she stopped herself. Looked over her shoulder, casually, at Neryn. Drawing Silendiel’s attention that way, too. To the piercing, white, luminous eyes. The sharp features. Slight bumps in the lips where they sat over fangs. Soft lips. She tore her eyes away, then, rapidly exhaling. Gaze settling upon the Lieutenant’s lower body, where a play of the endless sunlight made it seem, for a moment, as if some absurdly thick bulge ran down one thigh, to the knee. Another effort, willpower flaring, and Silendiel **** a breath out through her nose and her eyes to settle on something, anything, that was not the sentinel officer.

“Second, though I understand that you will not be particularly fond of the idea, I thought it the respectful thing to do to come to you and tell you directly,” Iralis said, offering an understanding, kindly smile before continuing. “That we wish to extend invitations to work with us, for us, to several of your former agents.”

“Your boldness is inspiring, if nothing else, priestess,” Silendiel said. Annoyance and jealousy both flared again, and she was uncertain which one had control of her temper. She brushed hands down over her thighs again, though the dress needed no more smoothing.

“Next,” Iralis said. “Your efforts to besmirch our kind, our presence in Silvermoon City, are quite damaging. More than you know, most likely, and I should like you to commit yourself to undoing what you have wrought. What you have had your people wreak. Given time.”

Silendiel straightened. Breathed in, feeling something like tension gathering in her mind, in her thoughts, usually a signal that she was annoyed. Except she did not feel annoyance, not until the snap of words poured out of her. Warmth rushed to her skin – forearms, cheeks. She narrowed her eyes just so. An almost invisibly small movement of muscle, but one significant to anyone paying the slightest bit of attention.

“Boldness doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Silendiel said. She swallowed, looking with intensity at the priestess. Smaller than her sentinel kin, perhaps, but still much larger than a blood elf. Certainly taller and more toned than Silendiel. Even the willowy kaldorei were creatures wrought by the land, and millennia of hardship, to be predators. It seemed preposterous to try to intimidate someone like that, but she nevertheless felt righteous fire behind her words.

“What possesses you to think that these proclamations would be acceptable as a deal? My request is very simple. Your proposed agreement is absurd.”

“You already know why I ask what I ask of you, lady Flameborn,” Iralis said. She offered another placating, calm smile. “It was spurned, unspoken desire, not hate, that led your down this path.”

“Excuse me?”

Again, Iralis smiled. Something almost motherly in the way she seemed understanding, leaning her head to the side just so. “Lady Flameborn, it is not difficult to read the signs. Certainly not if one speaks with some of your former employees. I had Neryniael accompany me here, inside, as a personal guard only briefly. She is here, rather, as a personal favor to you. To be posted here, for as long as you both agree. As long as the Captain can spare her from the embassy.”

“Posted,” Silendiel said, her voice fading, failing her. Preposterous. Much too forward. The priestess seemed merely to go with what her intuition told her, and then tried to **** the issue. “Posted,” she said again. Perhaps so brash a strategy worked back home, where society shaped itself around her. But not in Silvermoon.

“For as long as needed,” Iralis said. She breathed in, and let the breath go in a way that suggested a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. As if the deed was done, the deal struck. The negotiation over.

“I have my own guards, I do not need yours,” Silendiel said, at last. “And your insinuations are most unwelcome.”

“Naturally,” Iralis said. She stood, looking to Neryn. “Stay here for three hours. If she still wishes for you to leave, return to the embassy.”

“Yes, priestess,” Neryn said.

Iralis turned back to Silendiel, and spoke. “You need only wait her out, then, lady Flameborn. She will obey my command to the letter. Tell her to leave when the allotted time has passed, and she will. You will hear no more from her. Though I suspect our communication has only just begun.”

“You have concluded it yourself, priestess. With your proclamations, and this most unseemly behavior.”

Again, Iralis smiled, almost sadly, looking to the floor for a long moment. Then back up to Silendiel’s eyes, the two fencing silently. That is, Silendiel felt herself to try to stare **** back at the priestess, but Iralis did not even acknowledge that there was a fight. Infuriating to the last, she seemed convinced, still, of her assessment of the situation. Her correct assessment of the situation, but now that it had been spoken aloud, the very last thing Silendiel wanted was to prove the kaldorei hag right.

“You need time to process, lady Flameborn. That much is clear,” Iralis said. She turned away, seeming to give Neryn a long, significant look, speaking over her shoulder again. “I look forward to our future, much more amicable exchanges.”

“Take your dog with you when you go,” Silendiel said, allowing her temper to overcome control. The kaldorei, quite clearly, did not deserve the refined and peaceable ways of the blood elves.

“She will leave when she has been told to. No sooner,” Iralis said.

As the priestess moved past her sentinel, she patted the woman on the forearm. Where faded, mauve cloth met and gave way to filigree silver decorating more functional plate and chain and padding. A kind of joke between the two kaldorei, perhaps, Silendiel thought, treating the sentinel like the dog she apparently was. The scene lasted only a moment, and then Iralis was gone. Not waiting for a servant to lead her anywhere, not waiting to be granted leave by Silendiel, nothing. She just left, and had the Lieutenant stand, immovable, in place.

Feeling emboldened by the display of obedience by Neryn, Silendiel remained still, fuming, before turned towards the towering night elf. Staring, perfectly plucked and maintained brows lowered just a touch, nose scrunched a little, the picture of self-righteous and self-assured indignation. A moment passed, and then she huffed, marching the ten steps over to the sentinel, to stand in front of her. Silendiel had to tilt her head back much father than what was proper to even look up at the tall, feral creature. Seeing more chest and chin and nose and strong suggestion of fangs than a full face.

Another moment passing, she had gathered enough courage to press a fingertip, her right index finger, against the plate and chain and cloth covering the sentinel. Seeking skin to jab into, but finding no openings. And feeling, anyway, no flab to settle into, rather the indication of smooth, powerful muscle beneath all that covered the woman. She tried another jab, in a different location. To no effect. No immediate effect, as Neryn eventually let out a slow sigh, looking down at the finger. Then at Silendiel.

“If you have no interest in me, you may simply ignore me for the three given hours, and I shall follow the priestess’ word to the letter. Leaving you in peace,” Neryn said.

It was a pleasant voice, melodious, with a slow cadence, Darnassian accented, reminding Silendiel of someone from an outlying farm or village in Quel’thalas, far from Silvermoon. Unhurried, but not necessarily dull. Nevertheless, her lips thinned. Tightened. The prospect of having the massive elf stood like a statue, or perhaps some artful display in flesh, in her sanctum for several hours was not welcome.

“Since you will be leaving anyway, why not make both our lives easier and do it now, Lieutenant?”

“The priestess commanded otherwise.”

“Will she ever know that you left early? How could she?”

“I will know,” Neryn said.

“Of course,” Silendiel replied, quickly, almost cutting off the kaldorei. “And what has she done to inspire such blind, stupid dedication? Such loyalty? What does she do that you could not do?”

“She is of the Sisterhood, those closest to Elune. She is trained to lead, to negotiate, to care for those under her, and around her.”

“You speak of what she supposedly is, but not what she has done for you,” Silendiel said. She maintained one fingertip against the body-temperature plate of the Lieutenant. “Has she ever done anything for you?”

“Much,” Neryn said. “But you might contemplate what she’s trying to do for you, despite all you have done against us.”

“What is she doing for me, exactly?”

“She is helping you live a better life,” Neryn said. “Helping you be honest with yourself. As she does, and has done, for many others.”

“Ah,” Silendiel said. She tapped a nail against the sentinel’s plate. Tap, tap. Tap. “My supposed desire. Is that why you are here? Is that what she promises you? Come with her to someone’s mansion, and enjoy yourself?”

“No,” Neryn said. A hint of annoyance appeared, breaking through the otherwise stern expression. “Far from it.”

“You do not like the insinuation that she, that you, might not be so pure of heart as you want to believe, do you, Lieutenant?”

“It is improper. And untrue.”

“Naturally,” Silendiel said. “Improper. Untrue. Impossible to believe? You are here, in my home, refusing to leave when asked to.”

“You haven’t asked me to leave,” Neryn said.

“No? Did I not just do that?”

“You asked whether I couldn’t just leave now, if I was going to regardless.”

“Is that not asking you to leave?”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“I do,” Silendiel said. “I want you to go. Leave my sanctum, leave my home. Don’t come back.”

“The priestess would not want me to remain, hearing you say that,” Neryn said. “So, I’ll go. At your request. Provided you insist.”

Silendiel sent a hard look up at the Lieutenant, though she also breathed in, and then let the breath go as a sigh. It moved her chest. It was a physical thing, that breath, a sinking feeling in her body. Why did she sigh? Why did she feel unfair, why did she feel regret, at asking a stranger, someone she had never invited, to leave her house? For a moment, she tightened her lips. Swallowed. Watched Neryn turn, unceremoniously, striding towards the door without dramatic pause, without any sort of lingering flexibility, no parlay, nothing. A soldier, and a stubborn idiot, no doubt. Once things were a certain way, no matter how dumb, she would act on them. Silendiel had known people like that before.

“Wait,” she said. With some volume.

The word did not exactly bounce around her sanctum, too much furniture, too much cushioning, too many broken-up surfaces and angles absorbing sound for it to echo. Nevertheless, she felt the word weave through the air, not a command, not even a suggestion. It was pleading. Something she never intended for it to be. She never intended for the word to escape her at all, but the churning anxiety risen in her had taken over, seeing the Lieutenant turn and leave. Had, in what felt like a flash of recklessness, control slipping, taken over. She breathed in again, deeply, standing still. Where Neryn had stood. Hands gathered before herself, fingers entangled, fidgeting, as if she were an insecure youngster again, not a noblewoman of some experience.

Without turning, Neryn spoke towards the door. “Do you want me to stay?”

“I want you to wait,” Silendiel said. “Please.”

In her chest, there was an ugly presence. A sharp thing, a kind of clump of wool with needles stuck into it, the tips of which still burst forth and scraped her insides. A rebellion, an uproar of something which she could not control. Anxiety at what was going on – what she was making happen. The lump of nonexistent material rose, and she blinked, feeling the first indications of tears. Again, Silendiel blinked, irritated, surprised at herself.

Neryn turned, face stern. Hard as stone, save for a little fragment, a chip fallen away, the smallest indication that beneath her immediate assumption of being turned away forevermore, there was perhaps room for a version of the world in which someone, Silendiel, did not say what she meant. Had been pushed into a moment of vulnerability at the stark reaction offered her, the consequences of her words played out immediately without quarter.

“Do you want me to stay?”

“The priestess told you to, did she not?”

“She did. Do you want me to?”

Relentless. Stupidly relentless, blundering into and through conversations like a brute. Stupid soldiers. Silendiel seemed to breathe an endless cavalcade of sighs, agitated, chest rising and falling, though she could scarcely point to why. Why had the Lieutenant turning to leave so provoked her that some uncontrolled presence had risen to instantly, easily conquer and control her? She blinked again, eyes flickering to the floor, then back up. She refused to be some wilting, fading, subservient presence. Not here, in her own home. In her sanctum.

“Do you want me to stay?”

“Fine! Yes,” Silendiel said. Again, it burst out of her before reason had its say. The lump in her throat sent a blossom of tingling spots up her throat and into her cheeks. Were they so cold as to be impossible to sense, or white-hot? She did not know, but the way her skin felt as if it warmed around them made her believe the latter. “Fine,” she said again, much more quietly. “Stay.”

And, magically, the stubborn, flawlessly practical kaldorei did. She walked back to where the priestess had told her to stay, right before Silendiel, as if the presence of a noblewoman was an irrelevancy. Silendiel might have moved away, had she not been rooted to the floor at her precise place. The tension in her mind told her that she was, that she should be, annoyed. But the war between the strange, low heat spreading in her face and the raucous objections of her logical, reasonable mind was gradually, inexorably won by the former, not the latter. So she stood, unwilling to face whatever it was that bubbled within her, unwilling to try to put words to it, finding it far easier to stare up at the light of Neryn’s nearly white, glowing eyes.

Dangerous game, for Silendiel’s internal battle collapsed ever more for each passing second. The tension in her thoughts dissipated as she looked up, and she became increasingly focused on the few persistent spots where those white-hot dots seemed to have taken up residence below her skin. In her cheeks. Collarbone. Spreading like a slow fire down her arms, from the shoulders on down, until the backs of her hands tingled. Kept tingling even when she moved one hand to cover the other. It was not an itch. It persisted.

A long silence followed. One in which Silendiel gradually lost the ability to face the sentinel, though she remained in place. For lack of anywhere else to settle, she instead stared at Neryn’s midsection, still covered in the purple and silver and blue and black of armor and cloth. Looked ahead, but saw less and less. Whatever had happened, she could not reason about its nature, and so she shut down. In a situation of her own making, which she did not want to break. But did not know how to proceed from, either. She merely stood, holding one hand in the other, staring into the distance, only blocked by the sentinel’s firm presence, her threatening, but somehow also comforting physique. It would be frightfully easy for the night elf to tear apart the sin’dorei within whose mansion she stood, unshackled, unbound, and it was that thought, at last, that made Silendiel think that perhaps the priestess earned her keep merely by keeping creatures such as the Lieutenant under control.

“Do you still want me to stay?”

“Yes,” Silendiel said. The reply was instant, she did not have to think, only to let her emotions control her lips. Without understanding why, even when her faculties eventually produced an answer, it was the same. She wanted the sentinel to stay. Why? It made no sense.

“Do you want me to do more than stay?”

She took a breath, and then nodded. Spoke at near a whisper. “Yes.” Uncertain about what was meant, even if the implications were clear enough. For a moment, then, she cast off the strange weight of inaction settled upon her to look up again. Blinked, until her eyes felt less like she stared into the middle distance, out of her mind on something quite powerful, and fastened Neryn with a look. Repeating, then, with more strength.

“Yes. For a while. I will have quarters set aside for you.”

“I prefer the outside. A tent will have been left for me in your front garden,” Neryn said.

“If that is your preference,” Silendiel said. Lowering her brow just slightly at the odd desire before continuing. “I shall have my staff clear an area for you. Lieutenant.”

“Neryniael. Or just Neryn.”

“In private, perhaps, Just Neryn,” Silendiel said. “You may address me as Lady Flameborn, or just my lady.”

Neryn did not reply, not with words, offering only a nod and a slight raising of the shoulders, a gesture Silendiel could not quite determine the nature of. Dismissive? Merely an acknowledging movement? What were kaldorei customs, as far as body language, really? She realized, then, that she had not the faintest clue. Had the Lieutenant been signaling something to her this entire time? Had she been signaling something? She blinked, breathed out audibly, and then looked towards the door.

“You may fetch your things and set them in the garden. It may be a few days before I have time for us to speak properly. Clarify what your position here will be.”

“Of course,” Neryn said.

The kaldorei raised her head, removed her attention from Silendiel, and looked out one of the grand windows at the disciplined, straight rows of bushes, the cut grass, the golden sculptures, in the garden. A strange place, no doubt, for someone used to enchanted forests. Nevertheless, she acknowledged Silendiel with a nod, turned, and walked out of the sanctuary with purpose. To the door, to her things, and then to the garden.