As the wind rider took off from Ratchet, Melchisedech grimaced and clutched harder at the beast's harness. The creature bucked as it wheeled and climbed higher in the sky, and, as always, the priest felt he was about to fall off to his demise. He huddled low on the animal's back, closing his eyes against the wind.
A muffled noise from his hearthstone made him curse and scramble for his bag, trying to hold solidly to the flying beast as well as recover his stone. A few vials of healing liquor fell from his pouch as he dug, and he cursed their loss, but momentarily he came up with the stone.
"Yes, my dear?"
Acherontia's voice came from the hearthstone. "I simply wanted to say again that you do not have to come with me. I am simply going to be wandering near Orgrimmar seeking animals for their hides. I will not be in any danger, and I will not need your assistance."
Melchisedech sighed. Acherontia had been prickly ever since the incident with the dream. As he reflected, he realized he had strongly overreacted. His fear of losing Acherontia to some Scourge magic had inflamed his fear until he had acted entirely out of proportion to the danger. It had only been a dream, after all. For that, he had invaded her mind, possibly damaged it, and created some new distance between themselves.
"I know, Acherontia. I am simply coming along to investigate the possibility of finding some copper. I have demands for some copper rings from some troll, and I would like to be able to provide for my customers." That was only partially true. He DID have rings to make for a troll and a pair of orcs who wanted matching rings, but he had sufficient copper for that venture. Still, it made a convenient excuse.
"I just would not mind some time to myself." Her voice was stiff, offended. It was almost as though she could not bear to be so close to him, just like it had been near the beginning of their rocky friendship. He remembered the screaming fights they had once had and was determined not to return to that.
"My dear, once again, I am sorry I entered your mind without permission. I did not see very much... whatever secrets you so closely guard are safe."
There was a pause. "What DID you see?"
"The nightmare, of course. For a moment I WAS the nightmare... that was frightening. I glimpsed a few memories." Melchisedech was reluctant to describe the nature of the memories, but Acherontia would not be deterred.
"What memories?" She sounded vaguely panicked. "Kel'Thuzad? My letter to the Grim? What?"
The priest shook his head, as if she could see him. In the distance he could spot Orgrimmar's distinct outline, with a few zeppelins tethered to the tops of the buildings. "Nothing so dramatic, my dear. Just you standing in a field."
"Just that?" She sounded skeptical.
"Mostly. It was from Simon's point of view, or rather, your view of Simon's point of view. I was able to see you as you saw that he saw you, if that makes any sense."
"...who?"
Melchisedech frowned. "Simon."
"I don't know anyone named Simon."
The priest felt what was left of his blood run cold. "Simon... your husband?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Dear Sylvanus... Melchisedech clutched tightly at the wyvern as the creature landed in Orgrimmar. ...what have I done?
Fixing What He Broke by Melchisedech
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Keeper Of Lore
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Re: Fixing What He Broke by Melchisedech
Melchisedech caught up to Acherontia just outside the gates of Orgrimmar, the sunset all violets and crimsons across the barren Durotar landscape. A few Forsaken and orcs dueled near the gates, explosions and arrows and bolts of arcane energy making the area somewhat dangerous. Silently, both Forsaken moved away from the ruckus.
Melchisedech did not know where to begin. Clearly, her mind was damaged, and yet, he had to tread carefully to see how damaged, what he had done to her. He had to test to see how profound the damage was. Fortunately for him, she began the conversation.
“How long have we known each other?”
He considered. “Three months, at least. More, I believe. Do you not recall?”
She shrugged. “It all bleeds together.”
It should not. She had always been possessed of, if not a perfect memory, then at least a keen and clear mind. “Hm. Acherontia, I fear I may have done some damage when I was in your mind.”
She looked to him impassively. “You brought me back.”
“I did, but you do not remember things.”
“I did not see you there.” She shook her head. “I mean, you were there, but you were not YOU.”
“I was ME for a brief moment, but the role was powerful. I had to leave it. I had to wake you.”
She turned away, looking off at the sunset. Not for the first time, Melchisedech wondered what she saw with her fel vision. “I do not remember that, no.”
“Nor do you remember other things, like how long we have been together. Or Simon.”
“I don’t…!” Acherontia clenched her fists, visibly trying to maintain her patience. Slowly, carefully, she spoke. “You are right. I do not remember any Simon. Did we meet him somewhere?”
Melchisedech shook his head. Her mind was fighting not to remember him. For a moment, the priest wavered, wondering if he should even continue, if he might not benefit from letting her forget. Undecided, he tried a different tack. “Tell me what you remember about your life.”
Acherontia’s brow furrowed as she tried to remember. “Ah… my father was a tailor.”
Melchisedech scowled. “That is all?” He began pacing back and forth in front of her, his feet kicking up small clouds of dusty Durotar earth.
“No, no…” Acherontia sighed, clearly unwilling to be open with the things she holds dear. “He taught me to sew. My name was Jana. My mother was Caroline. I had… a son.” She frowned. “He was dead when I bore him. I lived in Andorhal.” She threw up her hands, shaking her head. “I don’t know what you want to know. You have never asked before.”
“Tell me about your child.” The priest’s eyes glowed with new intensity.
Acherontia sat down, tucking her robes around her legs. “I did not carry him well.” She gave an exasperated sigh. “Will you sit? Your pacing is driving me crazy. You look troubled.”
Melchisedech stopped pacing, but he did not sit. He was silent for several moments before he made his decision. “Acherontia, will you let me enter your mind again?”
She stared at him in disbelief, shaking her head. When she spoke, it was almost to herself. “Now you ask me to trust you further. And yet…” She looked to him, her features suddenly grave. “What is it that you are seeking?”
Melchisedech’s face was unreadable. “I wish to repair the damage I have done.”
“I do not feel damaged.”
“Nor would you. Tell me, Acherontia… who was the father?”
The warlock’s brow furrowed. “He was a tailor. I told you that.”
Melchisedech shook his head. “No, no… not YOUR father. The child’s father.”
A shadow crossed her face. “I…” Long moments passed as she struggled within her mind. When she finally spoke, her voice was puzzled. “I do not remember him.”
“His name was Simon. He was a farmer.”
Her voice was very soft as she looked up at the priest. “How…?”
“You told me. Before.” He shook his head. “Before I caused the damage in your mind. Before you forgot. Now… I want to fix it.”
Acherontia swallowed. “What did I tell you?” Her voice sounded on the edge of panic.
Melchisedech was calm, solid, unflappable. “You told me how you loved him. You told me that, if you found him, you did not know if you would leave to be with him.” He watched the pain and confusion cross her features, and he was suddenly furious. “It does not matter! I will fix the damage and you will know.”
Acherontia began shaking her head slowly, realization dawning on her but still refusing to accept it. “I can’t…”
Melchisedech felt a stab of pain. “I never wanted to hurt you.” His voice was soft, almost silent. “I only wanted to help you.”
The warlock’s head snapped up, and her voice was accusing. “Why did you? What did you do?”
“I saved you!” The conviction in his voice was strong at first, but it began to waver as he continued, as he began to doubt. “I woke you from a dream that could have drained you… there wasn’t time to be subtle…”
“Dreams cannot kill you. You could have just left me…”
“No, I couldn’t! I could not have left you. I… I couldn’t.”
“Now…” Acherontia’s voice turned cold and smooth, emotionless. “Now, if I want him back, I have to let you in. Again.” She shook her head. “For all I know, this could be…”
“Acherontia, you cannot imagine how little I want to do this. To re-enter your mind, to see myself again as the corrupter that you see when you look at me, to give you back the man that…”
“That you destroyed.”
“I did not mean to.” Even to himself, Melchisedech’s voice sounded more pleading than he would have liked. “That was never my intention!”
“So you claim.”
“If it were not, I would never have been so foolish as to remind you.”
Acherontia stood. “How did you do it? What else did you destroy?”
“There were barriers. They kept me from reaching you.” He almost took a step back, but he firmed his resolve, standing his ground. “I had to reach you!”
“You had me in your arms!”
“Your mind, damn you!” Melchisedech was yelling, now.
“So, in order to reach my mind, you had to destroy things… in my mind.”
“In order to reach the core of your being, I had to destroy certain barriers in your mind, yes.”
“And you would rather have destroyed them and kept me there with you than let me go, whole as I was?”
“Do you get exercise in any form except leaping to conclusions?!”
“Am I wrong?” They were both shouting at each other now, standing close enough to be threatening.
“I did not wish to destroy anything! The creature that held you in your dream was! Not! Me! It was your view of me, your nightmare of me!”
“So you told me… but perhaps it was an accurate one.”
“Is that how you see me, then? Selfishly clinging to you, willing to destroy anything to make you what I desire?”
“I do not know you. Sometimes all I can remember about you is how you were when you were so fanatically devoted to Sylvanus.”
“No, you do not know me.” Melchisedech masked his hurt behind a façade of cold anger. “You know nothing about me. All you know is what you see on the surface.”
“That is right! Because you keep your motives a secret. Your motives, and who knows what else…”
Melchisedech shook his head. She was right, but he wanted to deny it, deny her. “There is nothing I would not give for you, Acherontia. There is no sacrifice I would not make. I have devoted my existence to your safety, your protection… your happiness.” She started to speak, but he cut her off. “When you were dedicated to finding Simon, corpse or Forsaken or Scourge or human, I hated you. In that instant, I hated you. I could not fathom how you could do such a thing. But I swore to aid you! I have spent sleepless nights searching for a way to restore your sight, solely because you want to see! If I am not your devoted servant, then devotion and service do not exist in Azeroth.”
Acherontia was not swayed. “And now I find myself missing a man I never knew.”
Melchisedech’s lips curled wryly. “Apparently, I make up in fervor what I lack in competence.”
Acherontia crossed her arms stonily and turned away from the priest.
Melchisedech felt everything he had worked for, everything he cared for unraveling. And yet, all he could express was bitterness. “If you wish me to leave, my lady, all you have to do is tell me as much. You have already more than implied that my devotion is unwanted and certainly unreturned.”
“No… I will not ask you to leave.” Her voice was frigid as she turned back, her features a mask of disgust and hatred. “Not until you fix it. Then, you may leave… and never let me see you again.”
Melchisedech did not know where to begin. Clearly, her mind was damaged, and yet, he had to tread carefully to see how damaged, what he had done to her. He had to test to see how profound the damage was. Fortunately for him, she began the conversation.
“How long have we known each other?”
He considered. “Three months, at least. More, I believe. Do you not recall?”
She shrugged. “It all bleeds together.”
It should not. She had always been possessed of, if not a perfect memory, then at least a keen and clear mind. “Hm. Acherontia, I fear I may have done some damage when I was in your mind.”
She looked to him impassively. “You brought me back.”
“I did, but you do not remember things.”
“I did not see you there.” She shook her head. “I mean, you were there, but you were not YOU.”
“I was ME for a brief moment, but the role was powerful. I had to leave it. I had to wake you.”
She turned away, looking off at the sunset. Not for the first time, Melchisedech wondered what she saw with her fel vision. “I do not remember that, no.”
“Nor do you remember other things, like how long we have been together. Or Simon.”
“I don’t…!” Acherontia clenched her fists, visibly trying to maintain her patience. Slowly, carefully, she spoke. “You are right. I do not remember any Simon. Did we meet him somewhere?”
Melchisedech shook his head. Her mind was fighting not to remember him. For a moment, the priest wavered, wondering if he should even continue, if he might not benefit from letting her forget. Undecided, he tried a different tack. “Tell me what you remember about your life.”
Acherontia’s brow furrowed as she tried to remember. “Ah… my father was a tailor.”
Melchisedech scowled. “That is all?” He began pacing back and forth in front of her, his feet kicking up small clouds of dusty Durotar earth.
“No, no…” Acherontia sighed, clearly unwilling to be open with the things she holds dear. “He taught me to sew. My name was Jana. My mother was Caroline. I had… a son.” She frowned. “He was dead when I bore him. I lived in Andorhal.” She threw up her hands, shaking her head. “I don’t know what you want to know. You have never asked before.”
“Tell me about your child.” The priest’s eyes glowed with new intensity.
Acherontia sat down, tucking her robes around her legs. “I did not carry him well.” She gave an exasperated sigh. “Will you sit? Your pacing is driving me crazy. You look troubled.”
Melchisedech stopped pacing, but he did not sit. He was silent for several moments before he made his decision. “Acherontia, will you let me enter your mind again?”
She stared at him in disbelief, shaking her head. When she spoke, it was almost to herself. “Now you ask me to trust you further. And yet…” She looked to him, her features suddenly grave. “What is it that you are seeking?”
Melchisedech’s face was unreadable. “I wish to repair the damage I have done.”
“I do not feel damaged.”
“Nor would you. Tell me, Acherontia… who was the father?”
The warlock’s brow furrowed. “He was a tailor. I told you that.”
Melchisedech shook his head. “No, no… not YOUR father. The child’s father.”
A shadow crossed her face. “I…” Long moments passed as she struggled within her mind. When she finally spoke, her voice was puzzled. “I do not remember him.”
“His name was Simon. He was a farmer.”
Her voice was very soft as she looked up at the priest. “How…?”
“You told me. Before.” He shook his head. “Before I caused the damage in your mind. Before you forgot. Now… I want to fix it.”
Acherontia swallowed. “What did I tell you?” Her voice sounded on the edge of panic.
Melchisedech was calm, solid, unflappable. “You told me how you loved him. You told me that, if you found him, you did not know if you would leave to be with him.” He watched the pain and confusion cross her features, and he was suddenly furious. “It does not matter! I will fix the damage and you will know.”
Acherontia began shaking her head slowly, realization dawning on her but still refusing to accept it. “I can’t…”
Melchisedech felt a stab of pain. “I never wanted to hurt you.” His voice was soft, almost silent. “I only wanted to help you.”
The warlock’s head snapped up, and her voice was accusing. “Why did you? What did you do?”
“I saved you!” The conviction in his voice was strong at first, but it began to waver as he continued, as he began to doubt. “I woke you from a dream that could have drained you… there wasn’t time to be subtle…”
“Dreams cannot kill you. You could have just left me…”
“No, I couldn’t! I could not have left you. I… I couldn’t.”
“Now…” Acherontia’s voice turned cold and smooth, emotionless. “Now, if I want him back, I have to let you in. Again.” She shook her head. “For all I know, this could be…”
“Acherontia, you cannot imagine how little I want to do this. To re-enter your mind, to see myself again as the corrupter that you see when you look at me, to give you back the man that…”
“That you destroyed.”
“I did not mean to.” Even to himself, Melchisedech’s voice sounded more pleading than he would have liked. “That was never my intention!”
“So you claim.”
“If it were not, I would never have been so foolish as to remind you.”
Acherontia stood. “How did you do it? What else did you destroy?”
“There were barriers. They kept me from reaching you.” He almost took a step back, but he firmed his resolve, standing his ground. “I had to reach you!”
“You had me in your arms!”
“Your mind, damn you!” Melchisedech was yelling, now.
“So, in order to reach my mind, you had to destroy things… in my mind.”
“In order to reach the core of your being, I had to destroy certain barriers in your mind, yes.”
“And you would rather have destroyed them and kept me there with you than let me go, whole as I was?”
“Do you get exercise in any form except leaping to conclusions?!”
“Am I wrong?” They were both shouting at each other now, standing close enough to be threatening.
“I did not wish to destroy anything! The creature that held you in your dream was! Not! Me! It was your view of me, your nightmare of me!”
“So you told me… but perhaps it was an accurate one.”
“Is that how you see me, then? Selfishly clinging to you, willing to destroy anything to make you what I desire?”
“I do not know you. Sometimes all I can remember about you is how you were when you were so fanatically devoted to Sylvanus.”
“No, you do not know me.” Melchisedech masked his hurt behind a façade of cold anger. “You know nothing about me. All you know is what you see on the surface.”
“That is right! Because you keep your motives a secret. Your motives, and who knows what else…”
Melchisedech shook his head. She was right, but he wanted to deny it, deny her. “There is nothing I would not give for you, Acherontia. There is no sacrifice I would not make. I have devoted my existence to your safety, your protection… your happiness.” She started to speak, but he cut her off. “When you were dedicated to finding Simon, corpse or Forsaken or Scourge or human, I hated you. In that instant, I hated you. I could not fathom how you could do such a thing. But I swore to aid you! I have spent sleepless nights searching for a way to restore your sight, solely because you want to see! If I am not your devoted servant, then devotion and service do not exist in Azeroth.”
Acherontia was not swayed. “And now I find myself missing a man I never knew.”
Melchisedech’s lips curled wryly. “Apparently, I make up in fervor what I lack in competence.”
Acherontia crossed her arms stonily and turned away from the priest.
Melchisedech felt everything he had worked for, everything he cared for unraveling. And yet, all he could express was bitterness. “If you wish me to leave, my lady, all you have to do is tell me as much. You have already more than implied that my devotion is unwanted and certainly unreturned.”
“No… I will not ask you to leave.” Her voice was frigid as she turned back, her features a mask of disgust and hatred. “Not until you fix it. Then, you may leave… and never let me see you again.”
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Keeper Of Lore
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Re: Fixing What He Broke by Melchisedech
Acherontia
Acherontia was visibly trembling, quaking with her anger, chin lifted, gaping eyes ablaze with a fiery nothingness. She was clenching her fists so tightly that she was vaguely aware of her clawed nails having punctured through the fingertips of her gloves, through the leathery palms, and digging into the rotten flesh of her own hands. She wanted him to leave - the warlock did not know from where she was drawing the will not to flay his flesh from his very bones. He had destroyed her, however unwillingly. She wondered what else from her mind she was missing - how much of her identity was now hidden from her? How much of her life, how much of her very self? Acherontia glared at the priest, waiting. She could see the hurt in his aura, saw the pain she was causing him - more than that, though, she saw truth...she felt truth. No matter. None of it mattered now. She neither knew nor cared how he came to care so deeply for her. Their days had been filled with blood and fire, as far back as she could remember him. There was nothing soft or kind or endearing for him to cling to - nor would there ever be, now. She felt a pang, but did not know from where it came. He would go back to his precious Grim and she - where would she go? Acherontia felt a sinking in the pit of her stomach. Melchisedech was the only one she had. She could not stay with the guild. She would go, then, and become one of the wandering many he loathed for their apathy. No matter. Nothing mattered now except regaining what she had lost.
The priest had coaxed things from her, things she held dearer than life. Memories of her family...her name...her first child. And the father? Acherontia felt clumsily heavy as she tried to sort out the whirling in her mind. Married...wed...there must have been a church...the church in Andorhal, THINK. Find it. Stand inside it, picture...who? Dark hair? Light hair?...Melchisedech said he was a farmer... She drew images in her mind, pictures of a farmhouse, a field...she placed herself in the field, walking...who was watching her? Simon. Simon. Who was he? She remembered the pains of birthing her dead child, the pains of carrying her second one...what had happened to her? It was in the forest...why was she there? What had happened to her child? She could not remember what it was like to make love, could not remember a man's touch. Acherontia clenched her jaw tighter. I cannot even remember how I died. What did that damned priest do to me?
..."If I am not your devoted servant, then devotion and servitude do not exist in Azeroth."
I never asked for you. Never. If I could have it to do over, I would have left you in Lordaeron. I would have let the infernal take you in Arathi. I would have walked away from you a dozen times over.
Acherontia could think of nothing the priest could offer her that was worth keeping. No longer would he lead her into danger, this fanatic, this slave of Sylvanus. She would kill him with her own two hands for her life back, for even one memory that was no longer her own. This husband of hers...she had loved him. Melchisedech said she had told him - she loved Simon. What was that like? She turned away from the priest. "And now I find myself missing a man I never knew." Simon...who were you?
Melchisedech's voice was bitter. "If you wish me to leave, my lady, all you have to do is tell me as much. You have already more than implied that my devotion is unwanted and certainly unreturned."
Acherontia groped within her mind once again, desperate to unearth some hidden clue, a secret key that would be the answer to all she had lost. Long moments passed as she tried to concentrate, seeing her future laid out before her clear as a pane of glass - she would toil within herself day after day, until she found what she was searching for or until she resigned her husband and the Light only knew what else to a shadowy graveyard of lost memories.
She could not do it alone. Her guts churned as she realized that she must let him in once more.
"No. I will not ask you to leave." Turning toward him, she saw a brief flare of relief within him that was extinguished as fast as it had come at her next words. "Not until you fix it. Then, you may leave...and never let me see you again." Acherontia saw a gaping hole open within the priest's aura, saw him falling into it...she felt that same pang again, but ignored it. No matter.
Nothing mattered now except having him fix what he had broken.
Acherontia was visibly trembling, quaking with her anger, chin lifted, gaping eyes ablaze with a fiery nothingness. She was clenching her fists so tightly that she was vaguely aware of her clawed nails having punctured through the fingertips of her gloves, through the leathery palms, and digging into the rotten flesh of her own hands. She wanted him to leave - the warlock did not know from where she was drawing the will not to flay his flesh from his very bones. He had destroyed her, however unwillingly. She wondered what else from her mind she was missing - how much of her identity was now hidden from her? How much of her life, how much of her very self? Acherontia glared at the priest, waiting. She could see the hurt in his aura, saw the pain she was causing him - more than that, though, she saw truth...she felt truth. No matter. None of it mattered now. She neither knew nor cared how he came to care so deeply for her. Their days had been filled with blood and fire, as far back as she could remember him. There was nothing soft or kind or endearing for him to cling to - nor would there ever be, now. She felt a pang, but did not know from where it came. He would go back to his precious Grim and she - where would she go? Acherontia felt a sinking in the pit of her stomach. Melchisedech was the only one she had. She could not stay with the guild. She would go, then, and become one of the wandering many he loathed for their apathy. No matter. Nothing mattered now except regaining what she had lost.
The priest had coaxed things from her, things she held dearer than life. Memories of her family...her name...her first child. And the father? Acherontia felt clumsily heavy as she tried to sort out the whirling in her mind. Married...wed...there must have been a church...the church in Andorhal, THINK. Find it. Stand inside it, picture...who? Dark hair? Light hair?...Melchisedech said he was a farmer... She drew images in her mind, pictures of a farmhouse, a field...she placed herself in the field, walking...who was watching her? Simon. Simon. Who was he? She remembered the pains of birthing her dead child, the pains of carrying her second one...what had happened to her? It was in the forest...why was she there? What had happened to her child? She could not remember what it was like to make love, could not remember a man's touch. Acherontia clenched her jaw tighter. I cannot even remember how I died. What did that damned priest do to me?
..."If I am not your devoted servant, then devotion and servitude do not exist in Azeroth."
I never asked for you. Never. If I could have it to do over, I would have left you in Lordaeron. I would have let the infernal take you in Arathi. I would have walked away from you a dozen times over.
Acherontia could think of nothing the priest could offer her that was worth keeping. No longer would he lead her into danger, this fanatic, this slave of Sylvanus. She would kill him with her own two hands for her life back, for even one memory that was no longer her own. This husband of hers...she had loved him. Melchisedech said she had told him - she loved Simon. What was that like? She turned away from the priest. "And now I find myself missing a man I never knew." Simon...who were you?
Melchisedech's voice was bitter. "If you wish me to leave, my lady, all you have to do is tell me as much. You have already more than implied that my devotion is unwanted and certainly unreturned."
Acherontia groped within her mind once again, desperate to unearth some hidden clue, a secret key that would be the answer to all she had lost. Long moments passed as she tried to concentrate, seeing her future laid out before her clear as a pane of glass - she would toil within herself day after day, until she found what she was searching for or until she resigned her husband and the Light only knew what else to a shadowy graveyard of lost memories.
She could not do it alone. Her guts churned as she realized that she must let him in once more.
"No. I will not ask you to leave." Turning toward him, she saw a brief flare of relief within him that was extinguished as fast as it had come at her next words. "Not until you fix it. Then, you may leave...and never let me see you again." Acherontia saw a gaping hole open within the priest's aura, saw him falling into it...she felt that same pang again, but ignored it. No matter.
Nothing mattered now except having him fix what he had broken.
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Keeper Of Lore
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Re: Fixing What He Broke by Melchisedech
Melchisedech touched his fingers to Acherontia’s temples and let his mind slide free of his body, his astral form entering her mind once more. As before, there was a strong sense of disorientation, vertigo, before his thoughts found her paradigm, aligning themselves with hers. He was kneeling on a black stone floor, cracked and liberally scattered with shards of broken glass. As he pushed himself to his feet, he noticed thick, black blood oozing from cuts on his hands, knees, and feet.
This is her, cutting me. Unlike last time, this time she knew he was in her mind. Consciously, she had accepted him, let him in, but subconsciously she did not want him here. Her mind was defending itself against a perceived invader. Worse, he did not want to be here either, so his mind was accepting the defenses, trying to evict himself. He grimaced. This would not be easy.
He let his “body” levitate from the ground, avoiding the shards of glass. The room seemed to stretch in all directions, but distance was nothing here. As he floated toward where he felt the core of her being was kept, he tried not to think about what would happen afterward. He tried not to think about where he would go, what he would do without her. Unfortunately, the nature of the mind made that impossible, and flashes and visions and memories assailed him as he moved.
He hadn’t realized exactly how much he’d come to need her. Maybe he simply hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it, and now, as it was being taken from him, he was forced to see. Without her, he had no purpose. In his unlife, Melchisedech had become a servant, needing someone or something to serve to atone for his wasted life. At first, it had been Sylvanus, but the Banshee Queen had shown the priest a hint of hypocrisy, something he desperately hated about himself, and the devotion was shattered. He still held to her ideals and beliefs, and he still served her cause, but he no longer served the woman herself.
Naturally, his focus had shifted to Acherontia. Despite all his abuse, despite weeks of manipulation and coercion, despite how poorly he had treated her, she stayed by his side. Initially, he was sure, it had been a sense of desperation, a need to not be alone that had held her. He liked to think it had become more than that in the intervening period.
And perhaps it had. He had to remind himself how grievous, how terrible his transgression against her had been. He had raped her mind, which was so much worse than raping her body. With the body, there is still a sense of privacy, of safety within one’s own thoughts. When those thoughts are violated, there is no sanctuary, no refuge. Everything safe has been taken. Perhaps that sin had been sufficient to drive away whatever kindness or affection she had begun to feel.
He came upon a corridor, and all thoughts of the world outside fled. She stood in the archway leading away from the room of broken glass, clad in the Robes of the Lich, her not-eyes focused on him. He was wary. She stood with confidence and anger, defiance and power. He had only seen her like this once, and then only when there had been no other choice. Atropos, or something similar. This was Acherontia as she had been when she served the Lich King.
“Turn around, priest. What is behind me is not for you.”
Melchisedech bowed deeply. “Forgive my trespass… I am not here to pry.”
“You have been here before. You damaged much.”
“That is why I have returned. I am here to repair the damage.”
Atropos laughed. “Tread softly, priest. You tread above the broken dreams of the woman you have come to save.”
Melchisedech looked down at the shards of glass well beneath his feet. He dripped ichor onto a field of shattered pictures, memories, and dreams. Of course. He felt foolish. Her weapon against me would be bitter and ironic… she cuts me with my own folly.
He looked back to the corridor, but it and its guardian were gone, leaving only a smooth wall. Everything was surreal in the mind, flexible as the thoughts of those involved. So be it. She had answered his question. With a sigh, the priest began to work.
Time passed differently in the mind. What seemed days of work to Melchisedech as he painstakingly sorted broken memories were mere instants in Acherontia’s perception. That was to the good. It gave him the time he needed. Eventually, he had sorted all the glass into two large piles and dozens of smaller collections.
The damage he had done was extensive, and he had been surprised at the nature. The small collections were brief things that she treasured: certain smells, colors, tastes… simple enough to repair, and as he did so, he pondered the larger piles.
One of them, naturally, was Simon, and that was problematic for Melchisedech. In truth, he did not know how much he had come to repair. He could leave the memories of Simon broken and discarded, until they became grimy and dim from disuse. He could forever wipe the man from her mind, removing any trace that he had ever existed. Surely, then, she would cease her crusade to find him, would become Forsaken, and stay with him.
Then again, there was the other pile, nearly as large and twice as baffling. Each pile had many fragments, some so cloudy he could barely make out their contents, like a mirror steamed over. He had been most surprised when he began to make out elements of himself in the fragments. He had not dared to hope that she kept memories of himself so close to herself, that she would hold her thoughts of him so dear.
As he lifted a piece of a secondary memory, he stopped, almost dropping the shard in surprise. Could that be why she was acting so hostile? Again, he had to remind himself how terrible his crime had been, and yet… that would explain the distance, the feeling that she was somehow suddenly a stranger to him, and him to her. That meant he had a chance.
He would not further damn himself in her eyes. He had committed a crime and injured her mind. He would face the consequences of that act. After all, it was running from his just desserts that had ended with him dying in Lordaeron. This was a new life, a new chance to make right the mistakes of the past. No, he would not lie or cheat his way out of this.
Carefully, painstakingly, Melchisedech patched together her fragmented mind, sealing the shards of memories together with sheer will, forcing them to take the shape they inherently wanted to take. He watched as her memories began to take shape, was suddenly privy to so much information. He tried to look away, to see only what he was doing and not what he was fixing, but it was impossible. He saw memories of Simon as he repaired them, memories of the two of them entwined in their marriage bed, of sharing the joy of a child, of her initial scorn and hatred for him, and eventually even of the very end, the worst of all her memories. He felt like a voyeur.
When all the work was done, when her memories were as intact as he could possibly make them, he let himself lower to the ground. The glass was all gone, and his feet did not bleed. He had made amends, and that was the first part of his atonement. He had fixed what he had broken. Now, it was time to pay the price for the breaking.
He stepped out of her mind, back into his body, and the world quaked. His eyes closed as he fought to keep his balance. When he opened them, he saw her, mouth hanging open, occasionally whimpering as if in pain. He knelt before her like a vassal before his lord, and his voice was soft.
“I fixed what I could. I am only sorry I could not do more.” His voice held more bitterness than he would have liked. Memories of her fingernails in Simon’s back were vivid in his mind, no matter how he tried to push them away, no matter how ridiculous his feelings. “And now, my lady, I leave you.”
He stood, turned to leave. Her voice was soft, almost a whisper. “So much…” Her hand reached out toward him, grabbed his sleeve. He turned back, startled. He could see in her face all smoothness was gone, and her voice held none of the cold anger she had felt before. She released his sleeve and held her hand out to him. “You had destroyed so much. I did not remember…”
“I did not mean to.” His hand reached for hers, hesitated, pulled back. “I hate that I gave him back to you. I hate that I helped you remember him.”
“Him…?” Acherontia’s brow furrowed as she looked at Melchisedech. When she spoke again, it was almost a question. “Simon.”
“Yes. Without that memory, I could have helped you forget your mortal life.”
She beckoned again, and this time the priest slid his hand into hers. Wearily, she sat, pulling him down gently beside her. They sat, knees curled up, silent for some time.
“You destroyed so much.”
“I did not mean to.”
“You fixed it.” She looked to him. “Were you able to see it all?”
Melchisedech hesitated. “I… did not. I did not try to. I did not want to. I invaded you enough. I did not wish to violate you further.”
“Tell me what you did see. Please.”
“Glimpses. Visions.” He was evasive, but he did not wish to lie. “You in a field. Simon… as a monster. Us, laughing together in Booty Bay and in the Grim hall.” Fortunately, she cut him off before he could continue.
“Tell me about the Grim hall.”
“I… do you not remember? It was the night when we spoke of Simon.”
She nodded. “I remember. Just, tell me about it.”
Melchisedech looked to her evenly. “As you wish. It was pleasant. I did not drink heavily. I sampled the pinot noir, but I ensured that you could have your share.” Melchisedech closed his eyes, matching his memories with his memories of her memories, almost reliving the night entirely. “You enjoyed it, and the more you drank, the more you laughed.
“The evening began with toasts to Gundnir, and the Imperial Legion song. Eventually I was telling you humorous tales of my past and reveling in your laughter.” Melchisedech smiled, a melancholy expression, remembering the night with desperate longing. “You were so happy.”
“Were you?”
“Happier than I can remember being.” He closed his eyes. “It is hard to find happiness as we are.”
Acherontia was silent for a few moments, and then: “Tell me about the field.”
“That I saw only a glimpse, and I do not remember from personal experience, but… I was in the place of Simon. I saw you as you felt he saw you. You were so beautiful, but you looked so sad. You were a pale beauty, distant, and there was a sense of impossibility. And yet, desperate hope persevered, infused the entire scene with a sorrowful quality.” Melchisedech shook his head. “I did not linger long. I was rebuilding other things.”
“I am glad to have those back. I held it all… I kept it all very close to me.” When the priest continued looking away, she spoke his name. “All of it, Melchisedech.” She lowered her eyeless gaze. “I… I apologize for my harsh words earlier.”
“No apologies are necessary. I did wrong.”
“It was all an accident. You did what you had to do.”
“As always.”
“I am glad I did not have to choose what to have back and what to leave. I am glad I did not have to choose between the Grim hall and the field.” Melchisedech looked at her, puzzled. “If I did… I do not think I would have been able to look him in the eye if ever I saw him again.”
The priest was stunned into silence for long moments. Eventually, his only response was a small smile, relieved and understanding. They sat together, looking up at the emerging stars.
She did not release his hand for a very long time.
This is her, cutting me. Unlike last time, this time she knew he was in her mind. Consciously, she had accepted him, let him in, but subconsciously she did not want him here. Her mind was defending itself against a perceived invader. Worse, he did not want to be here either, so his mind was accepting the defenses, trying to evict himself. He grimaced. This would not be easy.
He let his “body” levitate from the ground, avoiding the shards of glass. The room seemed to stretch in all directions, but distance was nothing here. As he floated toward where he felt the core of her being was kept, he tried not to think about what would happen afterward. He tried not to think about where he would go, what he would do without her. Unfortunately, the nature of the mind made that impossible, and flashes and visions and memories assailed him as he moved.
He hadn’t realized exactly how much he’d come to need her. Maybe he simply hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it, and now, as it was being taken from him, he was forced to see. Without her, he had no purpose. In his unlife, Melchisedech had become a servant, needing someone or something to serve to atone for his wasted life. At first, it had been Sylvanus, but the Banshee Queen had shown the priest a hint of hypocrisy, something he desperately hated about himself, and the devotion was shattered. He still held to her ideals and beliefs, and he still served her cause, but he no longer served the woman herself.
Naturally, his focus had shifted to Acherontia. Despite all his abuse, despite weeks of manipulation and coercion, despite how poorly he had treated her, she stayed by his side. Initially, he was sure, it had been a sense of desperation, a need to not be alone that had held her. He liked to think it had become more than that in the intervening period.
And perhaps it had. He had to remind himself how grievous, how terrible his transgression against her had been. He had raped her mind, which was so much worse than raping her body. With the body, there is still a sense of privacy, of safety within one’s own thoughts. When those thoughts are violated, there is no sanctuary, no refuge. Everything safe has been taken. Perhaps that sin had been sufficient to drive away whatever kindness or affection she had begun to feel.
He came upon a corridor, and all thoughts of the world outside fled. She stood in the archway leading away from the room of broken glass, clad in the Robes of the Lich, her not-eyes focused on him. He was wary. She stood with confidence and anger, defiance and power. He had only seen her like this once, and then only when there had been no other choice. Atropos, or something similar. This was Acherontia as she had been when she served the Lich King.
“Turn around, priest. What is behind me is not for you.”
Melchisedech bowed deeply. “Forgive my trespass… I am not here to pry.”
“You have been here before. You damaged much.”
“That is why I have returned. I am here to repair the damage.”
Atropos laughed. “Tread softly, priest. You tread above the broken dreams of the woman you have come to save.”
Melchisedech looked down at the shards of glass well beneath his feet. He dripped ichor onto a field of shattered pictures, memories, and dreams. Of course. He felt foolish. Her weapon against me would be bitter and ironic… she cuts me with my own folly.
He looked back to the corridor, but it and its guardian were gone, leaving only a smooth wall. Everything was surreal in the mind, flexible as the thoughts of those involved. So be it. She had answered his question. With a sigh, the priest began to work.
Time passed differently in the mind. What seemed days of work to Melchisedech as he painstakingly sorted broken memories were mere instants in Acherontia’s perception. That was to the good. It gave him the time he needed. Eventually, he had sorted all the glass into two large piles and dozens of smaller collections.
The damage he had done was extensive, and he had been surprised at the nature. The small collections were brief things that she treasured: certain smells, colors, tastes… simple enough to repair, and as he did so, he pondered the larger piles.
One of them, naturally, was Simon, and that was problematic for Melchisedech. In truth, he did not know how much he had come to repair. He could leave the memories of Simon broken and discarded, until they became grimy and dim from disuse. He could forever wipe the man from her mind, removing any trace that he had ever existed. Surely, then, she would cease her crusade to find him, would become Forsaken, and stay with him.
Then again, there was the other pile, nearly as large and twice as baffling. Each pile had many fragments, some so cloudy he could barely make out their contents, like a mirror steamed over. He had been most surprised when he began to make out elements of himself in the fragments. He had not dared to hope that she kept memories of himself so close to herself, that she would hold her thoughts of him so dear.
As he lifted a piece of a secondary memory, he stopped, almost dropping the shard in surprise. Could that be why she was acting so hostile? Again, he had to remind himself how terrible his crime had been, and yet… that would explain the distance, the feeling that she was somehow suddenly a stranger to him, and him to her. That meant he had a chance.
He would not further damn himself in her eyes. He had committed a crime and injured her mind. He would face the consequences of that act. After all, it was running from his just desserts that had ended with him dying in Lordaeron. This was a new life, a new chance to make right the mistakes of the past. No, he would not lie or cheat his way out of this.
Carefully, painstakingly, Melchisedech patched together her fragmented mind, sealing the shards of memories together with sheer will, forcing them to take the shape they inherently wanted to take. He watched as her memories began to take shape, was suddenly privy to so much information. He tried to look away, to see only what he was doing and not what he was fixing, but it was impossible. He saw memories of Simon as he repaired them, memories of the two of them entwined in their marriage bed, of sharing the joy of a child, of her initial scorn and hatred for him, and eventually even of the very end, the worst of all her memories. He felt like a voyeur.
When all the work was done, when her memories were as intact as he could possibly make them, he let himself lower to the ground. The glass was all gone, and his feet did not bleed. He had made amends, and that was the first part of his atonement. He had fixed what he had broken. Now, it was time to pay the price for the breaking.
He stepped out of her mind, back into his body, and the world quaked. His eyes closed as he fought to keep his balance. When he opened them, he saw her, mouth hanging open, occasionally whimpering as if in pain. He knelt before her like a vassal before his lord, and his voice was soft.
“I fixed what I could. I am only sorry I could not do more.” His voice held more bitterness than he would have liked. Memories of her fingernails in Simon’s back were vivid in his mind, no matter how he tried to push them away, no matter how ridiculous his feelings. “And now, my lady, I leave you.”
He stood, turned to leave. Her voice was soft, almost a whisper. “So much…” Her hand reached out toward him, grabbed his sleeve. He turned back, startled. He could see in her face all smoothness was gone, and her voice held none of the cold anger she had felt before. She released his sleeve and held her hand out to him. “You had destroyed so much. I did not remember…”
“I did not mean to.” His hand reached for hers, hesitated, pulled back. “I hate that I gave him back to you. I hate that I helped you remember him.”
“Him…?” Acherontia’s brow furrowed as she looked at Melchisedech. When she spoke again, it was almost a question. “Simon.”
“Yes. Without that memory, I could have helped you forget your mortal life.”
She beckoned again, and this time the priest slid his hand into hers. Wearily, she sat, pulling him down gently beside her. They sat, knees curled up, silent for some time.
“You destroyed so much.”
“I did not mean to.”
“You fixed it.” She looked to him. “Were you able to see it all?”
Melchisedech hesitated. “I… did not. I did not try to. I did not want to. I invaded you enough. I did not wish to violate you further.”
“Tell me what you did see. Please.”
“Glimpses. Visions.” He was evasive, but he did not wish to lie. “You in a field. Simon… as a monster. Us, laughing together in Booty Bay and in the Grim hall.” Fortunately, she cut him off before he could continue.
“Tell me about the Grim hall.”
“I… do you not remember? It was the night when we spoke of Simon.”
She nodded. “I remember. Just, tell me about it.”
Melchisedech looked to her evenly. “As you wish. It was pleasant. I did not drink heavily. I sampled the pinot noir, but I ensured that you could have your share.” Melchisedech closed his eyes, matching his memories with his memories of her memories, almost reliving the night entirely. “You enjoyed it, and the more you drank, the more you laughed.
“The evening began with toasts to Gundnir, and the Imperial Legion song. Eventually I was telling you humorous tales of my past and reveling in your laughter.” Melchisedech smiled, a melancholy expression, remembering the night with desperate longing. “You were so happy.”
“Were you?”
“Happier than I can remember being.” He closed his eyes. “It is hard to find happiness as we are.”
Acherontia was silent for a few moments, and then: “Tell me about the field.”
“That I saw only a glimpse, and I do not remember from personal experience, but… I was in the place of Simon. I saw you as you felt he saw you. You were so beautiful, but you looked so sad. You were a pale beauty, distant, and there was a sense of impossibility. And yet, desperate hope persevered, infused the entire scene with a sorrowful quality.” Melchisedech shook his head. “I did not linger long. I was rebuilding other things.”
“I am glad to have those back. I held it all… I kept it all very close to me.” When the priest continued looking away, she spoke his name. “All of it, Melchisedech.” She lowered her eyeless gaze. “I… I apologize for my harsh words earlier.”
“No apologies are necessary. I did wrong.”
“It was all an accident. You did what you had to do.”
“As always.”
“I am glad I did not have to choose what to have back and what to leave. I am glad I did not have to choose between the Grim hall and the field.” Melchisedech looked at her, puzzled. “If I did… I do not think I would have been able to look him in the eye if ever I saw him again.”
The priest was stunned into silence for long moments. Eventually, his only response was a small smile, relieved and understanding. They sat together, looking up at the emerging stars.
She did not release his hand for a very long time.