To Fight the Snow (Rohwyn)

I'm hoping to effect a kind of resurrection for my character Roh -- not to say she's been dead, but for a year and more (since the First Company of Lordaeron fell apart, even) I've rarely played her apart from her Council work. In this, I hope to inspire myself to a new beginning.

==

Rohwyn looked out through the frost-kissed pane, pressing her face to the glass. Dimly, she could make out the last sigh of sunset rolling away behind the western hills, giving way to the embrace of a winter night.

Winter... it was only November, but the Redridge air smelt of snow.

In the room behind her, a fire crackled in the hearth, its steady glow reflecting in the panes. The firelight of home, of consolation. In the other room, Eselan would be at his desk... she could see his lean face, head bent over a military treatise, though he had not fought on campaign in over a year.

The destruction in the city had taken its toll on him. He had been charged with its defence, only to see much of his charge swept away in flame and ashes. They both carried scars, she and her husband, in their separate ways.

Rohwyn turned away from the night, but started as she saw her own face mirrored strangely in the glass.

Was this really Rohwyn Aethelbrand?

She lifted a pale hand, touching the hollow cheeks, tracing a finger across the pinched lips. And the eyes - they sank into her face like deep blue coals, burning cold and weary against the dark.

How many weeks in the embrace of a fever, waking to find that the child she had waited to welcome into the world was gone?

With a sigh like dry wind drifting across snow, she closed her eyes and turned back toward the warmth of the hearth. She still lived; and the living have no choice but to weather the drifts.

'Mama, 'm tired.'

With a faint smile, Rohwyn reached down to pick up the towheaded boy. Her son was nearly two years old, and he was growing fast.

'We'll be there soon, Aramus. We'll rest when we get to Uncle Theo's shop.'

Shifting the child against her hip, Rohwyn threaded her way through the crowded street, dodging men with heavy loads and narrowly avoiding a clattering cart. She and Aramus had arrived in the city in the back of a wagon full of turnips; today she wasn't Rohwyn Leomin, chairlady of the Stormwind Council, former commander of the First Company of Lordaeron, and priestess of the Light. Today... she was just Rohwyn, the soldier's daughter. She would always be more comfortable in homespun than in the city's blue and gold.

'Does 'ncle Theo have horses?' Aramus mumbled, sucking on his fist.

Rohwyn chuckled, glancing down at the straw-coloured head. Aramus had developed a sudden passion for horses a few weeks ago, and all he had wanted to do on the ride to the city was look at the horses passing them on the road.

'No, dear, he doesn't have room for them. But he has a nice shop, and we're almost there.'

Rohwyn turned a corner, then, and found herself in the small cobbled street where Theodric Aethelbrand had his leather goods shop. It had been a long time since she had seen her brother. Theodric was fifteen years older than she, and had left for an apprenticeship in the city when she was small. They had never been close, but a visit was more than due.

Gently setting Aramus down, she took the boy's hand and walked up to the door.

Leather hinges creaked as Rohwyn led her son through the door of Aethelbrand and Andrews, Leatherworkers. Everything from bridles to bootstraps hang from the walls to display the master's handiwork, and the small shop was sweet with the scent of fresh leather.

As the door to the back room opened, though, the rank smells of the tannery behind drifted in. Aramus' face scrunched up, and even Rohwyn, farm-born, couldn't keep a momentary wrinkle from her nose.

A man came through into the shop wearing a thick apron that was greasy with his trade. He was tall and lean, the odd son from the stocky Aethelbrand line, with greying hair and an honest face. But as he saw the pair, a scowl crossed his features.

Rohwyn's stomach tightened. Had it been so long that her own brother didn't know her? Theodric had not always had an easy life, but she had hoped that he had become happy as a master with his own shop.

'Rohwyn,' the man said, wiping his hands on his apron, and Rohwyn breathed a silent sigh of relief. Though his tone seemed strangely gruff, at least he knew her.

'Theo, it's been-'

The tradesman knotted his hands and set them on the counter, and his eyes moved suddenly to the child at Rohwyn's side. Seeing the look, Rohwyn lifted her son to the counter, a swift smile appearing on her lips.

'Aramus,' she said, supporting the boy, 'this is your uncle Theo.'

Theodric looked at his nephew, who stared back with quiet wonder, and grunted. He nodded and then moved toward the other end of the counter to pick up an awl and a patch of new leather.

'Theodric Aethelbrand!' Rohwyn hastily set Aramus down and bustled down the floor to face her brother across the counter. When last she had seen him, there had been no surliness, none of this reserve--

'Can't you even welcome your own nephew? I've been telling him all about Uncle Theo's shop, and he was wild to meet you. You... you've never even seen him.'

Slowly, Theodric placed the awl against the piece of leather in his hand and began to punch a series of even holes.

Her face flushing, Rohwyn slapped her hands down on the wood. 'What has come over you? Have I done something to you? You used to be so... so happy and... full of life.'

Theodric didn't look up, but finished making the holes and turned the leather over, bringing out a rag to oil it. 'If you've come because you need my services, I'm always happy to oblige a customer.'

Stung, Rohwyn turned around to scoop up Aramus, her first inclination to run from the shop, but suddenly she heard a peal of laughter from the child. He had sat down in the middle of the floor and was making grabs for a stripy orange kitten, which merely arched its back and mewed with all the indignance it could muster. So instead, she knelt down carefully to pick up the boy, telling him softly that it was time to go.

'You're the chairlady of the Stormwind Council.'

Rohwyn's head turned, and still kneeling, she stared at her brother.

'I... but... Theo.'

He shrugged, continuing his work.

'I don't think I understand.' She stood up slowly, leaving her son to his new companion, and tucked some hair behind her ears.

Theodric snorted, beginning to stitch the strip of leather to a segment of harness. 'No, I'll wager you don't. I'll wager you don't understand what it's like down here in the streets of this city. Do all of you up there see the starving, or do you just see the prices of food written down on paper?'

'Theo, I don't... it's not like that. I-'

'Save your explanations, Roh.' Theodric thrust his work down on the counter, his own temper beginning to spark. 'I've had one job in two weeks. I can't even feed my own apprentice, and you come down here with your son, expecting me to welcome you with open arms.'

Growling, he shoved the harness to the side and started for the workroom door. 'You've never known what this is like. You grew up with the priests. You've never starved.'

The door slammed before Rohwyn could think of a single word of reply. For a long few moments she stood looking at the half-finished harness, at its even stitches and carefully cured leather. At last she turned to her son to detach him from the orange kitten, which had at last curled up at Aramus' side, and made her way back out into the crowded street.