Bedtime Story

Some things, you never forget. One of the most memorable for me was the first time I held my son in my arms. Aedan was smaller than his twin sister, and far more fragile. For a brief period after his birth, we thought we were going to lose him.

In the end, we did. But that was much later.

The evening of the Dedication was absolutely magical. The stars overhead had never seemed to shine so brightly to me. Calethar looked radiant in the lamplight of Silvermoon as we walked to his family's old estate, transformed now into something far more useful. For once, I did not feel awkward in the formal dress I was wearing. It had been given to me by Calethar, and I felt oddly beautiful in it. But that was probably more because of the way he was looking at me in it, than the dress itself.

We could hear the children before we arrived at the gates. They were out playing on the lawn of the manor, having discovered the puppies and kittens I had sent to the stables. Calethar had provided everything else the new orphanage could ever need. But animals had provided me limitless solace when I was that age, and I wanted these children to have that same gift.

I was overwhelmed when I saw the estate. It had been restored with no expense spared, and it looked it. Every window was lit, and the landscaping around the main house and the outbuildings was fragrant with blooming flowers. I knew Calethar's family had been wealthy, but it was easy to forget. He lived so simply. In our small rooms in the Barracks, he had fewer possessions than I even did. He hesitated as we entered the gates. I could tell he was still apprehensive being there, the old memories threatening the current peace the grounds held. But with his hand held tightly in mine, he was able to continue, and greet all the people who were waiting.

We were shown the main house and the buildings with great pride by those who had done the work to restore them. I was impressed by just how much grandeur and beauty the estate still held, while still feeling like a home for the needy children and their caregivers who would be living there. It was a place that they could grow up, every need provided for. But I knew all too well that no matter how comfortable a building was, it was not quite a home without a family of one's own. I was anxious to hear how suitable families would be found for the children in their care.

Calethar had requested a chapel be built over the site of his father's old workshop. I was concerned that being near the spot that was the source of so many nightmares for him would be difficult. He seemed to be more relieved than anything, though, the sacred building of the Light erasing any lingering demons of this place he had suffered so many years at the hand of his father. We spent a few precious moments alone together before we entered the chapel, and he seemed at peace with the past, at long last.

The ceremony was brief, and moving. There were many mentions of the sacrifices of those who had left their children behind, those who had gone to fight and die in the snows of Icecrown, or against the brutality of the Alliance. Or more recently, in the dark fires of the Molten Front. I was taken aback when my own name was mentioned. Apparently Calethar had told people that the idea to use the place in such a matter had been mine. I felt awkward to have such attention placed on me, but his calming presence and gentle smile helped me be able to maintain my composure during the speech praising our generosity.

But then, they brought the children in. They sang a simple song, an old Thalassian lullaby that I had sung myself, so many times.

"Sing it again, Mother."

Aedan never did want to sleep. His sister Anna was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow every night, but her brother had a far harder time.

"How about a story, instead?"

He looked so angelic at that age, no longer a baby, but far from grown. His large blue eyes were rimmed with dark lashes, in a face as pale as mine, but infinitely more beautiful. His auburn hair cascaded over the pillow, a match for his twin sister's…and mine. He tugged at one long ear, frowning.

"No more Farstrider stories, Mother. They are so boring! You hunt, and hide, and shoot. I like the stories about the wars, the fighting, and glory."

I had to laugh. He had been out several times with his father now on patrols, and it must have seemed boring indeed to a small boy like him. "So you think the way of the bow is not for you? What would you carry, if you went out to fight?"

He sat up in bed, eyes gleaming. "I would have a sword. Not a little sword, or a shield to hide behind. I would have a huge sword, and people would run, just to look at it!"

"When you are older, you might very well have such a thing. But until then, you will have to get big enough to hold such a weapon. And learn to use it wisely."

Aedan scowled, flopping back dramatically on his pillow. "I wish I could be big, now. Someday, I will be so big, that everyone will be afraid of me. Afraid of me, and my giant sword!"

I kissed him on his forehead, tucked the covers around him. "Alright then, forget the story. I will sing it again."

Content, he put his small hand in mine, and smiled up at me.

My reminiscing was halted when the thin wail of one of the infants rose up over the sound of the children singing. The priestess holding him was young and inexperienced, and looked a bit frantic as she tried to soothe him. They were just across the aisle from us, and I offered to take him without thinking.

The baby was only a two weeks old, if even that. He had the beautiful features of the children of the Sin'dorei, a sweet face framed by thick, golden hair. His eyes were the same fel-tainted green as any of us, but so full of innocence, confusion, and bewilderment.

It had been so cold. The air itself felt like it was made of blades, as it struck any exposed skin, or even as it entered and left your lungs. The sky was ever dark, not a single star able to pierce the dense clouds that hovered over the Citadel. The building itself loomed over us all, like an impossibly tall and spiked mountain, malevolent and aware of the life drawing to a close in its shadow.

Aedan had grown into such a strong man. Every bit as intimidating as any small boy could have imagined. And in those last years, he had gotten the sword he had dreamed of. Given to him by the hand of Arthas, his rune blade lay discarded in the blood streaked snow beside him.

His blue eyes now glowed silver, but I felt I could see the little boy who had once been mine, still within them. I saw his sorrow, his confusion, his bewilderment. I thought, as he lay dying in my arms, that he would say something. Question me, or tell me what I had been longing to hear. But he had been silent as his body trembled, as his blood ran and froze to the ice I knelt upon. His armor felt like cold fire against my bruised and exposed skin, but I held him all the more tightly. His eyes never left mine, until what was left of his life left them.

The tiny infant in my arms closed his eyes, turned his face into my shoulder, and quieted. I sang softly along with the children, caressing his silken hair. After so many years empty, my arms were full again. I felt the tears fill my eyes.

Some things, you never forget. Like the feeling of holding your son in your arms, for the first time…or the last.

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