Page 5: What Was Left Behind

He stood before me, and it was like looking through a frosted window, my brother on the far side. All the color had been leeched from him, his golden skin and hair, and his eyes which were once just a shade darker blue than my own. All of him held a silvery-white glow.

Yet he was not insubstantial to me. He was real enough. I have seen other spirits now, other ghosts and banshees, and their blows have rung on my armor as solidly as any other's.

He was my brother Oromet, and there was no doubt of it, except for one thing: the look on his face. I had feared to find him mad, raging, insane, driven out of his mind by what he had suffered and the things he had seen. Instead, all I saw in his face was hurt and anger. They were things I had never seen in my brother before.

As if he read my thoughts, his face crumpled in still more rage, but it was not thoughtless rage.

You've forgotten me.

His words echoed coldly in the room and my mind both, as if pealed out of a rusting bell.

I was astounded that he would say that. Of all the things I thought I might hear from him, it was never that.

"I never forgot you, never," I told him fervently, shaking my head. If ached to put my hands to his arms and clasp him, but I didn't dare. I still didn't know exactly what he wanted. "How could you say that to me? There has not been a day or night that I haven't thought about you, and regretted bitterly that you were gone."

Regret, he said coldly, what good is that? Do you think I don't know your mind? Do you think you're a stranger to me, Nenuial? I say you've forgotten me.

"I haven't! I miss you so badly, Oromet," I said, my voice breaking and my vision shivering to pieces like a dropped mirror through the prism of tears. "You were the other part of me, you were the better part of me! Do you think I don't know what I lost that day?"

My words seemed to send him into a rage. He seemed to shimmer before my eyes in a heat-haze. Fallen, damp-wrinkled books and ruined cushions blasted back from him, and a cold wave of air washed over me. His eyes blazed, more substantial than silver, almost blue again.

Listen to you! he howled, filling what had been our room with his fury. Listen to you, you've forgotten who I was! All I am is a symbol, all I am is a memory of loss! I'm not even real anymore!

"No, Oromet, no!" I cried, and now I did lurch forward against the cold air, clutching at his form. I felt him as though he were made of ice, slippery and cold and tricky-edged.

Yes!

"You were my brother, and my friend! You were my voice, you were the one I leaned on, you made me better than I was! Without you, I was nothing, for so long!"

He pulled back as though my words wounded him. You deny what I was with every breath out of your mouth. I was your brother, yes, and your friend. I was your voice, yes, and I protected you when I could. But I was also angry, do you remember that?

I shook my head. "Oromet, you were never really-"

I was! I had a terrible temper! Do you remember the vase I had made for our birthday?

And it was as if a light had flickered on in a dim part of my memories where I no longer trod. As a gift for my for our birthday, Oromet had comissioned a famous potter to make me a ceramic vase. He was very exacting about the details. He was a perfectionist, and he wanted it to be perfect. When it arrived, he examined it minutely, while the artist stood, cool and expectant in our doorway.

"You threw it to the floor," I said slowly. "You found a place where the finish was rough, and the paint beneath it was slightly fuzzy instead of having the hard clarity of the rest of the design. I couldn't even see the place, but it drove you mad."

He nodded at me, his eyes alight. Yes. It was garbage. I'd paid so much to give you a perfect gift, and she ruined it with her carelessness. I couldn't give it to you.

"Why would you want me to think about that!" I asked, confused, shaking slightly. "I don't want to think about that! The party was ruined, our friends were all embarassed, I was mortified, and that artist was so insulted!"

Because it was who I was, he insisted, now leaning close to my face so that his icy breath pushed against my cheek. That was me, as much as any time that I took you under my arm to shield you from a rough wind blowing through the city.

I remembered that too, and much happier, the way the wind would pick up grit and debris from the stone streets of Silvermoon and whip them through the avenue when the weather was bad. When we were out shopping, he would tuck me to his side and shield me from the worst of it, lest I get dirt in my eyes. I liked remembering that, it made me feel safe, it made me--

His eyes chilled again. You're doing it again. You're turning away from who I was.

"Why do I have to remember the times you were angry?" I shouted at him. "Why would you want me to carry around unhappy memories? You were dead - I thought you were dead! What would be the good in thinking of hurts long past, that could never be overcome? Why couldn't I just think of the good things?"

I wasn't just good, he insisted, and walked away from me. He stepped over to my bed and sat on the end of it, legs crossed, the way he so often had when we were growing up, and even after we were living here. So many times we would be up late into the night, even until the sun began to lighten the room, just talking, laughing... yes, sometimes arguing.

I went to go sit with him.

"This is why you wanted me to come here, Oromet?" I asked quietly, looking into those odd silvery eyes, trying to know him as well as I once had. He was right; he had been stormy. My eyes had been clear afternoon, and his had threatened rain. Always, I had looked into his eyes to judge his mood, to see which way the wind would blow, to try and head off trouble if it was coming.

Stormy. But not cruel, not violent, I had never seen him hit another person or ever raised his hand to threaten me in anger. But tempestuous. Life was big, to him. I was always small, always quiet, always watching and waiting. Oromet didn't wait. He seized, he enjoyed, he grew angry, he danced, he laughed, he threw pottery to the floor for a glazing error.

Yes, he said, and I could hear the relief in his voice. I wanted you to come here and see me and know me again. When I felt you, so close, and then realized what I'd become to you... what that day became to you...

"The day you died."

The day I died. It's nothing but a symbol to you. The end of the world.

"It was the end of the world, Oromet. I lost you, Mother, Father, 'Rima, Silvermoon... everything."

It was more than that, Nenuial. It was a day of bravery. It was a day of valor and steadfastness. Yes, we were defeated, but dammit, we didn't go down without a fight! You only remember mine and 'Rima's corpses, do you think I can't see it, flashing from your mind like the beacon of a lighthouse? You see our corpses, you see our deaths. But remember, remember. Before that, how many of the undead did we fell? How long did we hold out? And before that. Our training, our patrols. Why do you only remember the loss? Fifty years, Nenuial, that you and I were one, and in seven you've forgotten what and who I was... and who you are.

"Who I am?" I blinked, surprised. "How can I forget who I am? I didn't die."

You did. You died, less than 'Rima, but more than I. How do you think I can stay so... cohesive? I can't let go of who I was, what I was... and it's trapped me like this. But I remember you, Nenuial, better than you remember me.

"How can you say that," I murmured, dropping my gaze to the mildewed bedspread. "I think of you every day."

I remember who stood beside me in that battle. I remember who wasn't so afraid that she couldn't bend a bow in defense of our city. I remember who screamed at 'Rima when he ordered a retreat, and who I had to wrestle behind the city walls because she wanted to stand with the others out on the road.

I remember how terrible my temper was, and how impulsive I was. You only remember how you leaned on me, and how I took care of you. What about how you took care of me, dearest? I remember, even if you don't, who was the only one who could cut off my temper before it got out of hand. I remember who comforted me when another of my impulsive affairs went wrong. I remember who paid our household bills when I couldn't be bothered, who cooked so many meals for the friends I invited over thoughtlessly without asking you, I remember who made sure our gear was always taken care of and that we were always on time.

I remember who watched people, even if she couldn't bear to speak to them, and knew them so well that she was never surprised by their actions. I remember who shot better, and whose observations were always so keen that she knew which way a deer would leap before its head even lifted from its browsing.

I remember all that about you, and you've forgotten. My mouse, I used to tease you, but that's what you've become. A fearful mouse, who's forgotten she was the stronger of us two.

"I'm not, I never was," I insisted, tears spilling down my cheeks at the words he spoke. "I could never have done any of that if you hadn't been there, Oromet. You were the fire, you were the passion, and if I was the earth and the foundation, you see what I've become without you. Cold, grey and tired."

You let yourself become it, he said, and reached one hand out to cradle my face. The chill of his touch made my teeth ache and the eye on that side squint. You told yourself you needed me to take care of you, and without me to do it, you can't take care of yourself. But it isn't true, Nenuial. You were the one who took care of me.

"We took care of each other," I whispered. "I needed you, I needed someone to care for, Oromet. I needed someone to need me."

I know you did, and do, dear heart, he murmured, the chill gleam of his eyes sad. And I needed you. It was so dark, so long. The things we had to do, the things we could not prevent. Nenuial, they weigh on me, as your grey years weigh on you. The memories we cannot bear. Look at what I've become. This cold, pale shadow. This is not who I was. I was fire. Now I'm ice. I need you to remember me as I was, as I truly was.

"I missed you so much, Oromet," I said, and put my arms around his neck and pressed my forehead to his. The cold was like a dagger drilling into my brain, but I didn't care.

I missed you too, Nenuial, he said, and hugged me back, slippery-cold as ice, but it was my brother nontheless. And I'm so happy you finally came to me. I needed to remind you that you are strong, and that you were the stronger part of me. I needed to see you again and remind you that I wasn't just some lost symbol of love... I was a person, I was your brother. I need you to remember me that way.

"I know other Forsaken," I told him. "There are freed Banshees and former Rangers that work with Sylvanas... and there must be others. You won't be alone anymore. We'll make each other whole again."

We lay down on the bed, forehead to forehead, the way we had as small children, and he stroked my hair back from my face.

No, dearest. I'm not here to live with you again. I'm dead. I'm not a body trapped in life. I'm a ghost trapped in intentions. And I don't want to be dead any more.

I thought about Koani, and the way she'd gotten an elf's body. It bothered me, more than a little, the thought of a Forsaken stealing an elf's body to live again, and I wondered if I could bear to see Oromet that way.

No, Nenuial, that's not what I want, either. His cold hand stroked my cheek and he gave an arctic sigh.

You've found the Light. I want you to use it to release me. Let me die, not this half-shade of unlife.

I stiffened, I felt my lips forming the words no, but no sound came out. He couldn't mean it. He couldn't have brought me here to discover him again, only to ask me to kill him. He couldn't!

Not yet then, not yet, he said soothingly, and he worked the fingers of his free hand to clasp my fingers. I clung to him. I will wait with you until you can bear it. But don't make me wait long, Nenuial. I've waited for years in this twilight, like a sun that refuses to set. Let my day be done as it should have been. Remember me as I was. And remember yourself.

I closed my eyes, seeing behind my lids so many memories. Some of them were mine, some of them were his. Our childhood, and growing up, and all the lessons we'd tried to learn. And the places where I had shielded him from rough winds, and the places I had taken care of him, even as he did it for me.

I couldn't bear the thought of losing him a second time, even though I knew it was right. He was wrong about how strong I was. I couldn't bear to lose him again.