[Story] A brief repose... for love

Pierre stared Irys. She was still fast asleep. Her long, golden hair laid about her pillow, almost careless. Pierre watched silently from his side of the bed, captured by the sight and the moment of peace, rid of the world's troubles... almost. The mildest of frowns on her brow betrayed her sleep may not have been as untroubled as Pierre hoped. Pierre sighed softly. The long during warfare had weighed on her.

With a soft moan she stirred and opened her eyes. Her smile shone like the break of dawn, vapourizing all worries like dew in the first rays of sun. Pierre smiled and stared silently at this breathtaking view in which he found an inner peace. His mind whispered the hope he'd wake before her, every day, to witness this unveiling of her eyes. Even in less troubling times, he would treasure the rebirth of these wells of hope and love being brought into the world.

"Good morning, my love."
She simply stared back with a broad smile, still tucked deeply under the sheets. She burried her head deeper in the pillow to mark her reluctance to abandon the wamrth of their bed just yet.
Pierre waited while his heart and mind battled over choices that could prolong the magic of the moment.

"I.. shall bring you some tea."
Her eyes, already wide open, followed him with interest. He slid into his robes and left the room after throwing her another glance and smile. When he had finally left the room she adjusted the position of her hips to reclaim the warmth of the sheets more effectively and lowered her head under the welcoming cover till her cheeks and nose were hidden.

In the common room of the inn, with its heater and breakfast table, Pierre fumbled his robe. Should he wait for the tea to be ready or run back to the room to catch another glimpse of her while the water was heating? With an exasperated sigh, he peered at the water. He never realized before that water took so much time to heat.

- "Some bathrobe.."
The innkeeper barged in the common room and stuffed some fresh roses in a vase. Pierre simply nodded silently in greeting, his dreamy mind still with Irys in thought. The innkeeper prepared him some toast, after throwing him an amused glance.
"Ohh.. ehm.. these are.. my robes."
- "Can see tha'."
She finished the plate with toast and added some butter and strawberry jam. When the water's rumbling announced its boiling temperature, she made the tea in his stead and placed everything on a service tray with a wink.
- "The misses still asleep?"
"Ohh.. ehm.. no. But still in bed."
- "Here.." She added a rose from the vase. "Can't go wrong now."

Pierre thanked her and balanced the tray while he slumped back to their room. Carefully he sneaked inside and placed the tray down on a small table by the bed as silently as he could. She still followed his every move with wide open eyes. He sat down by his side of the bed and ran a hand through her hair.

"I brought... some breakfast."
Though her mouth was concealed by the sheets, her eyes betrayed she smiled ever more brightly. Pierre then presented her the rose with a hesitant smile. She was up so fast it nearly seemed like a jump, hugging Pierre into her arms and whispering a confession of love in his ear. The endearing moment nearly pained Pierre's heart: he'd have to find more of these flowers.
Finding no other words to describe the sentiment of the moment, they settled for eating their breakfast silently.
The magic of the morning slowly faded but Pierre smiled. Tomorrow, there would be another morning.

Jeanpierre wrote:

- "Some bathrobe.."
The innkeeper barged in the common room and stuffed some fresh roses in a vase. Pierre simply nodded silently in greeting, his dreamy mind still with Irys in thought. The innkeeper prepared him some toast, after throwing him an amused glance.
"Ohh.. ehm.. these are.. my robes."
- "Can see tha'."

is this implying what my dirty mind thinks it is?

lovely tale

lol. I had to read it twice again to see what you were implying
No... that wasn't meant to imply what you're hinting at.

The walls merrily resonated along with Pierre's rythmic hum as he walsed into the Keep's Library. With an overly grand gesture he bowed to another librarian in greeting and moved up to his scription table. It held a paper with his writings, his ideas on how to manage the Canals library. He leaned closer, almost pressing his nose in the paper to inspect the quality of his writing and gave it a brief, approving nod.
Adequate, he judged it.

He folded the paper neatly and placed it in a well prepared envelope. Envelope in hand he continued his hum and walked out... almost bumping into somone. Pierre stopped in his tracks, his body almost wavering from what little momentum his frail weight could muster.
"Oh dear! I.. I'm sorry madame.. I had har.. oh dear.."
With wide eyes he stared at the woman in front of him. She returned a curious look, startled from his stare rather than his reckless walk. Her tattered clothes and unkempt hair gave a mildly bewildered and rather poor look. She bore no shoes. Pierre stared silently, mesmerized by the sight. She fled from the awkward silence into the Library. Pierre turned around and followed.
"Ahh..ehm... Annie?"
She froze and turned around..
- "Yeth?"
She lisped as heavily as ever. The glow in her eyes sent a shiver down Pierre's spine. Despite the time and clothing, little seemed to have changed.
"Oh my.. Annie. It is you? It's.. been a very long time. Ehm. How.. are you?"
She measured Pierre up with a curious look, mingled with the hesitation taught by caution before she forced a smile and trained politeness.
- "I'm good.. How are you? Ith been a while."
Her hesitation couldn't be mistaken.
Of all things... that too hasn't changed. Pierre nodded and smiled through a brief sigh.
"I'm.. quite well.. It.. indeed it has been a while. How.. have you been? Have you returned recently"
She moved closer with a more confident smile, with a casual flair as if she approached a well known friend.
- "Oh yeth. I returned from Nagrand. It wath nithe". She continued with a brief accountance of her time in Nagrand. Pierre followed intently. With every nod of his, she behaved more at ease and took a step closer. She let her story trail back into Stormwind and changed the subject.
- "It.. hath been a while then, yeth?"
Pierre scrutinized the questioning stare in her eyes, suppressing another shudder from the magical cold glow in her eyes.
"You... don't remember?"
She tilted her head and smiled kindly, telling him no. Indeed.. without memory.. Yet again. He sighed and nodded.
"It must have been little less than a year now."
- "You knew me?"
"Oh yes.. we.. eh.. ehm.. well.. we could.. say.. we were friends. So.. you.. eh.. just arrived in the city?"
She nodded with a warm smile, countering the cold from the ice radiating in her eyes. Pierre eyed her tattered clothing again. That much, at least, seemed unlike her.
"Hm. Do.. you have a place to stay here?"
She blinked briefly and shook her head.
- "I don't have the gold. I cannot afford to thleep in an inn."
"You.. have not.. slept in a bed since your arrival?"
She nodded hesitantly and explained how she rested outside, living of food she conjured.
"I see.. Ehm. Well I.. eh.. Well we must see to that. You should have a good rest and.. some proper food. Perhaps.. ehm.. a chance to refresh. I.. eh.. know an inn where you can stay. Please, come."
She followed happily, but the awkwardness of the situation hadn't entirely lost its effect on Pierre as he fiddled his robe.

Annie kept closely by Pierre's side as they entered unknown terrain for her: the Gilded Rose. Allison greeted her in a thick dressing gown and gave Pierre a reproachful stare.
- "Pierre... truly..."
"Ehm.. Allison.. please. eh. She.. is a good friend and.. well.. She needs a proper bed. And a good breakfast.."
Allison crossed her arms and frowned deeply.
- "I hope you know what you're doing".
Pierre raised his eyebrows.
"But.. of course.. Ehm. Why not?"
Allison ignored his reply and directed him upstairs. Pierre guided Annie to a room.
- "Tith plathe ith for me?"
"Well.. yes.. ehm. For now."
- "How can I repay you?"
"Ohh.. ehm.. Well. that's what.. eh.. friends.. do.. Ehm."
She ran up to Pierre and gave him a firm hug before he could respond. She released him with a giggle and turned to a dressing table by her bed, taking off her robes without a moment of hesitation. It revealed equally raggy clothing underneath, but it was more than Pierre felt comfortable witnessing. Pierre quickly turned his back to her, turning scarlet red in his face. "Oh dear..."

----

Down in the hall, hidden in the shadow of the stairs, the observant innkeeper turned around and grumbled as Pierre had entered the room with Annie.
- "What has gotten into that boy... And the poor girl he's been courting for a while now. Ohhh.. I better help that girl."

----


Pierre was waken by the sun seeking its way through the window shutters. He redressed and looked about his room. It had a different air to it than usual.. an odd silence. He looked to his dressing table and found a bowl with water to refresh him and a note. It read:

Thank you Jean,
For last night and everything you did.

-- Annie

Pierre looked around in confusion.

Pierre let himself drop in his bed, on his back. The skin around his eyes felt strained from the dried up tears that covered the skin only a moment before. Dark doubt crawled from his heart to his neck. It seemed to take love with it, leaving a void in Pierre's chest that made him desperate for air but it gripped his neck like a firm hand, blocking his ability to breathe. Tears welled up and ran to the side of his face, only to plunge and disappear into his bed. The hand on his neck allowed him to breathe only in brief gasps in between his wimpering. He longed simply to be with her. But Irys' reproachful stare and distant tone to even a simple greeting felt like a door slammed shut in his face. And yet.. in her voice and her eyes he sensed pain, perhaps one greater and deeper than his own. The emotions locked in his neck tightened their grip.
Perhaps it was her lack of faith in him... or perhaps she simply accepted Allison's words as truth and was forced to loose her faith in him. Troubled with his own battle to breathe, trying to make sense of her rejections he didn't know which emotion to follow. A mixture of guilt, and betrayal poured in his thoughts like poison in his veins. He forced himself to swallow, despite the pain it caused and sat back up. He could feel the pain gnaw his heart, the whispers of doubt echo in his mind.

A memory resurfaced in his mind as if it were conjured by magic. Face to face, he stood before man he would have quailed and fled from had it not been for his faith, his faith in the Light, his faith in his friends... and his faith that he should stand there where the Light had placed him. The man's wicked voice laughed grimly and repeated once more, with a tone of victory and pride:
- "See.. your friends will betray you. It was only a matter of time". Pierre's knees began to tremble. His resolve before this dark man was waning. Failure seemed imminent, when Pierre forced the memory away. Perhaps this was the taint of Shadow, that it could plant seeds of memories so they could resurface when he was too weak to battle them. Or perhaps, it was the Light bringing him a warning of his condition.

No... it is not a doubt in my faith... but a doubt in myself. replied Pierre. Faith in the Light and one self were not entirely unrelated however. Presented with this weakness, Pierre frowned and sharpened the stare of his eyes in the plastered wall before him. He stood up and looked about the room, the usual warmth and welcoming stare of his books and writing materials seemed stolen by the void in his heart. For the first time in his life, books didn't manage to replace his lack of company. Their silence only emphasized the lack of her voice, which he so dearly missed. He felt alone.
"I'm in need of your help", he spoke out loud to his books but they only stared mutely in protest.
"I didn't do the mistake I'm accused of!" he scowled at them, to no avail.

He sighed in defeat and ran through the books he had memorized and studied in his mind instead. Words and knowledge formed in his mind as if they were wisps of smoke dancing before him. Few religious figures were protrayed as married or having had romances. Most books spoke only of their dedication, and perhaps hinted a life of celibacy. Pierre could feel in his heart why it would be so. There was no room for doubt, or hurt feelings. Perhaps.. if he truly wanted to be a priest and save his friends, even her, then he wouldn't have time for love, or be doubted by it. He couldn't let the voice of such a fiend in his mind have any power over him. He could not afford feeling the way he did.

"So... This... This situation.. must end", he whispered and nodded thoughfully. He remembered a few words but he couldn't remember from where.
"Shadow will create doubt. It will bring disharmony. It will take all you have and try to use it against you. It will try to twist you and turn you to its path. Don't give it anything. Not a memory, not an argument, not a word that it can use to sow doubt."

"I know what I must do then.", he spoke and nodded to himself in confirmation. Resolve came back and brought boldness along. The knowledge of what action to take, pushed him into action.
I just hope she'll listen with her heart and let me explain.

"Irys? Will.. Can.. ehm.. Can we speak for a moment?"
Irys seemed to freeze on the spot, a muffled gasp nearly choked her. She was about to say something, but it was lost in her surprise. Perhaps Jean's unsure tone in his question failed to indicate his intentions, but whatever they were, she trembled with fear. Jean bit his lip. He didn't know how to bring this to her. Would she be glad? Relieved? Or would she be devastated, unwilling to accept what he had to say?

Pierre couldn't know. All he knew was the pain he had heard in her voice, the hidden tears in her eyes and the pain he felt in his own heart.
She nodded silently, with a tremble on her lips in reluctance of letting him speak first. He guided her from the Cathdral to the lake, pausing at the edge of the water.

"I.. have given this some thought.. ehm.. Hm."
She couldn't contain her words any longer. With an unsure voice, laden with emotion she blurted out what had been lying on her mind.
- "Jean.. I.. I'm so sorry.. I know you didn't do it. I'm sorry for having shown such little faith in you. I let myself be lead by gossip. I'm... sorry for the pain I've caused you."

Oh dear.. The words echoed in his mind and gripped his heart. He longed to reach out to her and hold her, and think everything was over. She believed in him. This was all he had hoped for.
No, he corrected himself. Now.. she bears both the pain of this gossip and the guilt for the pain it caused me. This.. doesn't heal the pain that was caused to her. Does this change what must be done?
- "Jean.." she looked at him, worried. His internal struggle revealing only a mild frown and distant stare, till he shook his head in answer to his own question. The air about them fell silent under the burden of these unspoken words. Pierre tried to speak, struggling with his breathing in between.
"I've given it some thought Irys.. I.. well hm. We can not afford doubt. This pain... hurt.. It is a weakness we can not let any Shadow ever gain control of. We..ehm... So.. I've... decided.. ehm.."
There was a burning desire to speak. It was clearly visible in Irys' eyes. Her heart longed her to burst out in tears, throw her arms around him and tell him she loved him. She would stroke his arm and neck and try to comfort him till this nightmare was over. But before her heart overthrew the fear that paralized her body, Pierre lifted his hands and moved over the water, touching it with only the tips of his toes.
"I decided... to take a leap of faith."

She stared, confused. Her heart jumped on the briefest moments of hope that her fears might prove untrue. Doubt soon washed away the hope and filled it an unsettling darkness of uncertainty. Pierre beckoned her and she followed, not being unfamiliar with the spell. They had used it many times before during the training of their mental and spiritual abilities. They used to meditate on the lake, when time was more kind to them.
In the middle of the lake, they held eachother's hand and began their meditation.

Both had known times where this exercise proved easier, but despite the tension of the moment, they managed to reach to eachother with their mind. After a veil of mist had cleared before them, they could see eachother, standing in the middle of the lake. Pierre's somewhat incoherent thoughts produces a haze in his voice that costed her every bit of effort to understand.
"Shadow.. or doubt's contemptful voice will... ehm.. try to create doubt. One.. ehm.. can not let it.. ever gain the leverage it needs for such. But... If I shut you out.. then I would have let the Shadow's tone and voice push me away from what.. I love most. This.. is.. me, Irys. This is my mind, my spirit, my soul.. ehm.. my being.. heart.. love..hm. All that I am, and all that I will ever be. All my knowledge and all I ever did for as far as my memory allows me to remember it, is open to you now. It is your for the taking. I bind my faith to my love. I will be true to it and follow it religiously. I will know naught else but to follow it, and not heed any word of doubt. I will not let a word stray me from this path. I am.. yours..."

Pierre fell silent. He wondered if this were the right time ask her hand, but he wanted to offer himself first. Perhaps Irys was overtaken with too many emotions to express herself in their connection, but Pierre only felt the silence. He felt a pain growing in his heart, the void returning as his emotions reached for his neck in a firm grip. He'd just bound himself to that fate, if he lost. It was a gamble but it was the only way he knew to fight this. Faith, above all, and in all that is fair and what could be more fair than an honest love?
Her shape started to fade in his mind. He stared at her, silent and dreading he had failed. A mist started to form around her, claiming her and pulling her away from their connection. Suddenly shouted out of the mist:
- "I love you Jean! More than anything!"
Pierre gasped. He felt air rush in his lungs once more as his heart leaped. Mist began to veil his vision but he ceased to care. Emotions began to overtake him as his concentration waned. He wanted to let it all go and hold her! He felt her squeeze his hands in reply.
He opened his eyes, already smiling broadly at her. She looked back and for the briefest of moments the world seemed stand still.

It truly was a brief moment. Soon their eyes widened in suprise, followed with a stare of horror. Pierre tried to shout out in dismay but he was too late. The world, looking glorious in her eyes only a moment ago suddenly turned dark and cold. Pierre gasped for air but swallowed only water. His lungs burned and he started to swing his arms in panic, till he finally reached the surface of the lake and spluttered the water from his lungs. He looked for Irys. She had suffered a similar fate but returned only an amused smile, swimming more comfortably in the water.

Pierre guided Irys upstairs in the inn. Upstairs, she guided him to her room.
- "Could... we.. finally have this moment to ourselves, then?"
"It's been a long day... I..I think our duties.. are done for today. Yes, we would be free to retire and have this evening to ourselves."
She smiled warmly at Pierre and guided him to the bed, sitting down next to him.
"Shall.. ehm.. I.. I read a poem?" he asked, somewhat hesitantly. She laughed softly and shook her head.
- "Not right now. I..", she began to blush, ".. You lay here."
She pushed him down on the bed. He stared at her with wide eyes. She slided from the bed and walked to her closet. Pierre battled off his fatigue, settled himself properly on the bed, craning his neck to look at her, surprised, overtaken, overwhelmed. She swung a door open from her closet, and grabbed something from the clothing rack, hiding it conspicuously with herself. She gave the open door an approving nod and disappeared behind it, using it as cover. Pierre lowered his head in the pillow and massaged the acking muscles in his neck.

Perhaps we did deserve some time to ourselves, he thought, it has indeed been a long day.. in particular the evening. He tried to recollect all that had happened that evening. It had started with the council...
Pierre imagined himself standing in that hall once again. Something important was discussed.
What was it again? He tried to remember.

The hall was echoing strong voices, but there was also a tone of worry in them. There was a request for military action, a sad but important necessity. Then the room turned silent and for a moment only the gloom from the candles seemed to fill the room. That is, untill Pierre stepped forward, braving two marvelous books in his hands. Light seemed to whirl around him as if it were a rush of air twisting around him. The light illuminated the room in a brighter hue. Pierre was brightening the room. Confidently he raised the books in one of his hands, and held them aloft. The room gasped in awe at their magnificence. He heard Irys speak behind him:
- "Oh Jean.."
There was an unexpected sad undertone to it. It somehow didn't fit his memory. With a mild frown he wound back the time and replayed his brilliant entry in the council. Now she obediently exclaimed her pride of him, with a gentler, warmer tone, far more fitting for this memory:
- "I'm so proud of you, Jean"

Proudly Pierre heaved his chest and looked upon his audience, who returned wide-eyed stares, delighted by his presence.
"Herein lie the answers to gathering all great medical minds!" he spoke with a booming voice. The audience nodded and cheered in joy. The General, seeming smaller somehow, seemed overtaken by emotion and winked away a tear as he nodded approvingly. The Minister of Defense uttered something about "Merrit to the Alliance". Pierre slided the books with a gentleman's non challance on the Council's desk. They seemed to glow. So clear was their magnificence that they didn't need to read it, to know their brilliance.

Silence soon fell about the room again, and Pierre guided his fellow Brothers and Sisters outside.
"To the Cathedral!" he pointed out, and in the blink of an eye they were there, dressed in their finest clothes to welcome a lost soul who had, at last, found the path to the Light. The details of the ceremony seemed to pass through a haze of mist... all but the prayer of Pierre!

When the ceremony was over, Pierre found himself in a room of the City Hall, questioning Irys for her final test as Disciple. Sir Valestrion was blowing his nose in a handkerchief, in tears, moved by this moment. She was doing brilliant. The more questions Pierre fired at her, the faster she answered till her answers caught up with his questions. Saying only one word already brought her to the right answer. She was displaying the brilliance of her mind with every word. Her answers came so fast, they turned into the questions and Pierre, joyfully following the game of questions and answering turned to answering. Their interaction was overwhelming Sir Valestrion who, through his tears and trembling voice, declared them both passed and more knowledgeable than the brightest Champions.

Walking out of the City Hall immediately entered them in a heart-lit room, overlooking a young couple, bearing two newly born children. Blessings were uttered, so strong and powerful that they invoked images of a great future, impossible to be deterred! After these blessings they left the room, and found themselves on the streets. Pierre could hear a call for help in the distance.

"Forgive me, my love! I must save the Alliance!" Pierre told to Irys, and his feet lifted from the ground, making him ready to fly. But something went amiss. The air suddenly solidified behind him, pressing against his side and back. Gravity seemed to change, pressing him against the solid air. Pierre blinked.

Opening his eyes Pierre stared at the ceiling of Irys' room. The room was dark, lit only by a small gleam of lantern light from the street that shone through a narrow opening in the window shutters. Irys turned under her covers, leaning into Pierre. In her sleep she tucked her sheets closer to herself, her arms revealing she was wearing her comfortable pijama's.

Pierre looked down and noticed he was still in his clothes, laying on the sheets. He crawled silently out of the bed and moved to the closet to change. A white, delicate robe was hanging by the closet's door. He looked at it, in wonder. It seemed ... short, and very thin, very light and very delicate. He stared at it in wonder, having never seen anything like it. He glanced back at the bed and saw Irys sleep. Eyeing the dress again he concluded it must have been hers... but it seemed oddly revealing.
"Oh... Oh dear.."

Pierre looked up at the moonlit sky and sighed briefly. What a day it had been. It seemed the world and every wheel of fate was pulling him this way and that. So seemed to be the way of fate, when all he longed for was to sit by the side of the woman where his heart belonged.
He slumped to a stock room near the infirmary and checked the bowl of herbs he had prepared. They had dried properly now. They were ready. He grabbed a candle from his own stash and placed it in the kettle, lighting it with a timber from the hearth. A pleasant, fresh and flowery fragrance started rising from the kettle. It lifted his spirit enough to bear a soft smile. It would have pleased her any day. He resolved to a firm march to the room where Irys was laid to recover, letting the smoke spread throughout the hall. The pleasant smell seemed to lift the gloomy atmosphere. Or perhaps it were the healing herbs, camouflaged by the odor of the flowers, that performed their benevolent work on the room. Pierre hoped it could lift Irys' spirit and improve her condition the same way.
He placed it a few steps from her bed, and waved a towel high up to speed up the diffusion in the air.

Then he slumped to the side of her bed and held her hand. The frown of her troubled sleep seemed to soften. Would it be enough?
He gently lifted her head and stretched the towel over her pillow, against the cold sweat she had at times.

With a heavy sigh, he placed a hand against her cheek and muttered another blessing. Years of research, near countless books of old and modern blessings, prayers more numerous than many books could hold... His throat ached from uttering all those his little mind could remember and still he felt at a loss for words at times. But one source of words and songs was left, that seemed neverending, and never ceased to let his tongue pray for her. He took a few breaths and softly began to sing, another song from his heart.


We showed faith, in love and peace,
Why are we challenged, by battle fierce?
We sought to serve the Light in peace,
But these days, strife seems to increase

Duty has called us, so far, far away,
From our homes, where we like to stay.
To a field of battle and hurt we stare,
At a cost for us, we can never bear.

Why did fate choose love for us two
Only to strike with fear of losing you?
My beautiful love, my angels' face
I pray we never have to part our ways

So please my love, let your head rest,
May my work make your recovery blessed,
Help your heart and mind grow strong,
Let me live by your side, where I belong.

Holding your hand, future seems bright,
Freed of worries, guided by the Light,
Where we'll walk together, side by side
And all we'll have is our love in sight.

So I dream of being forever with you,
Of a home perhaps, our dream come true
So I dream, and for your recovery wait
So I pray we'll never know another fate.

- "Jean?... Jean... Jean!"
Pierre opened his eyes as Irys shook him awake. Her white robe and golden hair basked in the moonlight, giving her a soft glow with an angel's visage. Pierre blinked, to make sure he wasn't dreaming. Her smile made his heart leap and woke him with a jolt. He jumped up from the bench in the infirmary where he had nodded asleep and reached for her hands.
No, he thought, This is better than a dream, and returned a smile and for this brief moment of silence the world around them faded. Slowly reality poured back in. First came the dry heat from the mountain, as the wind swooped past his neck. It brought the scent of the dry, beaten earth to his nose. Then it brought the noise of strange birds and the snoring of the patients in the military camp. Reality dawned on Pierre like a cold breeze breaching your warm shelter in your sleep.
Well.. Almost. He managed to hold back a sigh, driven by the pang of disappointment.

- "I was wondering why you hadn't come to sleep."
"Oh oh.. right.. I.. eh.. seem to have..nodded asleep. Right. Hm. Shall we.. retire then?". She nodded. "Ehm.. have.. have your bandages been checked?" She shook her head and kept his mind captive with her smile.
"Well.. Ehm. I..eh.. shall we?"
She leaned in and whispered a request to have them changed somewhere less open. Pierre gathered his gear in agreement and followed her to the infirmary bed he had managed to save for her.

The wounds were healing well, but there was some work left, still. The stitches needed to remain in place, to make sure. The long time they had been in there started to show. Her skin was turning red around the thread. Pierre bit his lip at the sight of them. They would leave a mark... He feared it were his failing to treat her with other means that she would not be forced to bear such a mark. He resolved not to stop his treatment at that, however. He sneaked in some harmless fragrance in his palm, mixing it with the wound salve before he smeared on the wounds with a gentle touch. When the bandages were refreshed, he helped her in her nightrobes. Irys took his hands as he let them slide over her shoulders with the robe.

She held them with an ever so gentle touch, hands warm and soft. It rooted him in place, stronger than any shackles could. Their eyes locked, their love pushing them closer, till they shared a kiss.
Better than a dream.

A priest, in bed, with a woman!
Blasphemy!

The land lay barren, beaten to dust by the constant warfare. Death crawled from the earth, coughing up the excess of bodies it consumed. Dust swirled from the ground with every whisper of wind, either an attempt of the land to conceal its wounds in vain, or a feeble attempt to choke whatever war-crazed troops remained. The land, dying under the feet of the very soldiers that tried to save it, hungered for water and peace...It began to feed on what little spirit was left in the soldiers.

The camp offered but little refuge from the horrors outside. Hope was at an all time low. No soldier shouted for victory, lest he were deemed delirious. Wishes of safety and well-being turned personal: "I hope you, at least, will make it.". Such wishes for the army as a whole seemed lost and were left unspoken. The lack of recovery rooms in the infirmary had forced the troops to host their injured friends amidst the healthy troops. What seemed like a smart encouragement for the injured to help them recover, twisted into a morale breaking sight. If a soldier healed, another injured brother in arms took his place. Slowly a grim mood began to settle over the tents. Whispers echoed the darkened minds: "At least we were the lucky ones". Here and there, soldiers would blame the leaders for their situation.
Hope of victory had been replaced by a stoic sense of duty. Some relied on their religion, to accept their fate and keep a stallward face. Some crawled into a corner and looked about them as if they were but lost children in a world of terror. Fear, of loss, of pain, had settled in their hearts and overthrown their mind. Others fought such fears by accepting defeat. Loosing that fear liberated them from doubt, but turned their talk and humor black.
What battle spirit was left after the battle of swords, faced another battle in the camp.

The occasional cough of a sick soldier, too weak from injuries or fatigue to fight the simplest of diseases, the unfocused stares and muffled greetings conjured an orchestra of false tones like a wail from a thousand voices.

Pierre held Irys' hand tightly as they walked under this orchestra of despair. In this darkened world, her hand felt like a stronghold for his heart and mind, a reminded of a better life and time.
Time... Pierre thought. Of all resources this war cost him, time seemed the one most dear right now. To escape this madness but for the briefest of times, to be with his love and know only this. He exhaled through his nose as he glanced about the gloomy camp. Further in the camp, a captain was detailing how wrong she felt the commander's tactics were.
Pierre shook his head in disappointment and guided Irys to the infirmary. The gloom from the camp was replaced by the snoring and wailing patients. The Elven lanterns, usually uplifting with their bright colors, emphaszied the ill view of the patients by contrast.. Like painted eyes and mouths on pale visages.. the face of a grim clown.

Pierre braved a way past the injured to the first floor... the treatment room. Perhaps there, they could find a brief escape. They did. The pale moon shone brightly into the room, blessing Irys with her mesmerizing glow. Her hair shone like gold, waving lightly in the midnight breeze.
If only we had more time.. he thought. Blades proved the bane of these patients. Time was theirs. Their duties bound them to the treatment of an army that didn't seem to heal. With such little time to spare, Pierre clinged desperately to what little they could share: the touch of a hand as they walked, a smile as they spoke, the warmth of her voice, the glimmer in her eyes. The treatment of her wounds had turned into a brief pauze, a moment to themselves... the only moment their duties granted them a brief repose. Pierre treated her wounds with great care. She healed him with a kiss and a gentle stare.

A few night elves walked in, apparently to treat an injured leg on one of their scouts. Pierre sighed and looked pained at Irys.
"Shall we retire then?"
She gave him a gentle squeeze in his hand and an encouraging nod.
"I love you, Irys."
Her smile renewed his spirit more than any amount of time could.