Lor’themar Theron, regent of the Sin’Dorei, sat behind his wide desk looking with open curiosity at the tiny figure sitting uncomfortably in front of him. It seemed to be a discomfort born of someone not used to fine trappings and plush cushions rather than of one who was intimidated. In fact, he wondered, how do you intimidate someone who was already dead?
“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Lord Theron. The Grim appreciate the courtesy and I know you have much to do.”
“I do not make it a habit to meet with every so-called leader of militant organizations, but we have heard of the Grim… Lascivious.” He said the name hesitatingly, finding it uncomfortable to say and he wondered at the scar around her neck. It looked as if someone had tried to strangle her. “Your reputation is unsavory to say the least and I expected the Grim leader to be… well, forgive me, but more substantial. You must be quite the motivator to have gathered so many servants.”
“The Grim do not serve me, lord. I serve them,” Lascivious responded either unaware or uncaring of the minor insult.
“Well, said. Now what is it you seek from me?”
“I seek nothing. I only wish to inform you the Grim are gathering nearby tomorrow to meet and see your city. As you said, there are some who do not like our ways and I wished to warn you so you were not alarmed.”
Theron blinked. “Thank you for the courtesy, but it was hardly necessary. All our allies are welcome in Silvermoon and we are hardly concerned with a small gathering outside our walls.”
“You have not seen a Grim gathering, lord.” Although the little warrior’s face was expressionless, he thought he could hear a slight smirk when she used the word ‘lord.’ “But do not worry, we are loyal to the Horde – Thrall himself has praised us for our support. I will be honest, there was much distrust among us for elves – we have spent so much time killing them. But it pleases me to see your people and mine working so closely together on my ride here.”
“Both Sin’Dorei and Forsaken have suffered much at the hands of the Scourge as you know.”
“No, I do not,” she stood causing a minor tensing in the guards at the door. “I was never Scourge, but yes, I have seen the grief they have caused.” She shrugged and tucked her helm under her arm offering a brief and ungraceful bow to the Blood Elf regent. “Thank you again, lord.”
The elf stood and nodded, trying to hide his amusement at the warrior’s ungainly attempts at diplomacy. At the door the warrior stopped and turned. She started to speak but hesitated.
“Something else?”
Lascivious ran a dry tongue over her lips before answering. “The Dark Lady… I understand you knew her when she was living. Is this true?”
The regent could not stop a pained look from crossing his face at the unexpected question. “Yes. I was her second.”
“What was she like?”
“She was a great and honorable warrior,” he answered. “A true friend.”
He could have sworn he saw the girl – dressed in armor heavy enough to crush most men – stand a little taller, growing before his eyes. She seemed lost in thought for a moment before offering a curt nod.
“She still is.”
Theron smiled sadly. "Forgive me. I am sure she is."
The Grim warrior nodded again. "Your people - should they choose to - will be welcome among the Grim. Call upon us if you find the need." Lascivious turned sharply on her heal and left the room.
Lor’themar Theron clasped his hands behind his back and looked out the window. He could see the scar stretching out over the horizon and his mind went back to that day when Sylvanas was taken and he first saw her undead form leading the Scourge against her former people. He wanted to weep for the state she found herself in, but part of him was glad she had found the will to throw off her shackles. She could not defeat Arthas in life, but in death she had found victory.
What was she like?
The Regent's instincts told him this question and it alone was the reason for the Forsaken's 'urgent' business. Perhaps she was not quite the diplomatic rube he had taken her for.
What was she like?
Yes. He had no doubt this Lascivious didn't give two coppers about his feelings about her and her band of ruffians gathering outside his walls or defiling his streets.
“The Blade of Sylvanas,” he whispered, repeating the grandiose title spoken by the herald who had introduced the warrior. A title she had probably given herself. “Ah my old friend, even in death you still inspire loyalty. Perhaps there is hope for us yet.”