The Book of Vinwald

Finals... Almost... Over...



This means I might actually have time to write soon! ... But with patch 3.3 coming out and being a top dps in a guild determined to hit Icecrown Citadel the night of release, I don't know where the time will come from. We'll see.



And seriously, guys. Thanks for the reviews. They honestly do make me want to write more (and faster) so I can share it all with you. So please... Leave a contribution in the little box!















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After the move, things seemed to be well enough for Vinwald’s family, save for his distance from Twyla. Then, just over a year after the move, Vinwald’s father had died in an accident when a scaffolding had collapsed. Amarante had announced her decision to remain in Stormwind, as her shop was doing well, and her sister Olivia was doing well with the old shop in Stratholme. Vinwald remained with his mother, of course, though he yearned to be north where he could see Twyla more often. As it was, they were able to see each other only rarely.



She was primarily stationed in Lordaeron, but still was able to travel south on occasion, serving as an escort or envoy, and sometimes, when she was granted leave, she would make the trip south on her own, though her leave times were growing few and far between. And though they rarely saw each other, absence did indeed make the heart grow fonder. Fond enough that he had proposed marriage to her when she had arrived to visit shortly after her eighteenth birthday. Unfortunately (in Vinwald’s mind) his mother kept a close eye on the two of them to make certain that they didn’t get into the same situation Arthur had found himself in when he was sixteen. Still, they had managed to slip free for a few hours and celebrate their engagement in a room at an inn in Old Town, though Twyla was quite adamant that certain things had to wait until after they were married.



That hadn’t stopped them from getting up to other sorts of mischief, of course. The kind of mischief that the mere memory of it made Vinwald long for the day they would be wed and he could keep her up nights without worrying about getting caught or if they had to part soon.



Not that he hadn’t longed for that day anyway.



They planned to be married in three years, hoping that by the point Vinwald would finally be classed, and that they would have their home near to Stratholme, but not in the city itself.



Then, a little over a year before they planned to be wed, the letters from Twyla briefly stopped. Then word started to trickle south that some sort of plague was affecting Lordaeron, that the dead were rising, killing any of the living they found.



It seemed like it had only been a few hours since he heard the first rumor when a young girl holding an infant and a heavy looking pack arrived at his mother’s shop. Vinwald had just returned from where he worked in the Dwarven district, assisting a blacksmith of some renown and learning the trade from him.



The shop had been empty, and Vinwald was talking to his mother in low tones, sharing what little he had heard with her. He heard someone wearing plate armor step into the shop, and he turned, half suspicious, half hopeful. He was disappointed to see a city guard instead of Twyla in the doorway, and frowned slightly when he saw the young girl awkwardly holding an infant who accompanied the guard.



The girl, obviously bewildered and scared half out of her mind, was looking at Vinwald and Amarante with mingled trepidation and hope. Vinwald frowned slightly, feeling as if he should know the girl, that she was familiar somehow, before turning his attention to the guard.



“Dame Amarante?” The guard asked, looking to Vinwald’s mother.



“I am she.” Amarante said, taking a step forward, trying not to show her own puzzlement. “May I be of assistance?”



“These two took a mage portal into the city. The only thing we could get out of the girl is that they had to come here.” The guard sounded somewhere between indifferent and annoyed.



Recognition hit Vinwald like a blow to the gut, “Marilee?” He demanded of the little girl. He hadn’t seen her in years, since she was a toddler, but she was easy enough to recognize as she favored her father’s side of the family. She resembled Twyla to some extent, with her gold hair, pale skin, and big blue eyes. Eyes that were currently fixed on him in an expression of hope.



“Are you Vinwald?” She asked hopefully, “Uncle Vinwald, I mean?”



He gave a slow nod as Amarante moved forward to take the infant from Marilee’s arms. “What in the name of the Light are you doing here, young lady?” Amarante demanded, as the guard, satisfied that Amarante and Vinwald knew the two girls, turned and left. “And is this the little Elora your aunt was telling us about?”



“Yessm.” Marilee looked near tears as she hurried to explain, “Auntie Twyla and Uncle Roland sent us here through a portal. They wouldn’t tell me why; just that is wasn’t safe anymore. They we asking me if I had had anything made from grain and I haven’t, I swear! Not for days, because I don’t like black bread and I ate all the apples meant for pies, and mother-”



“What do you mean, they were asking about grain?” Vinwald asked, kneeling in front of the little girl.



“She kept asking me if I had had any, and if the boys had snuck me anything, but they hadn’t, I swear.” She protested, “And Auntie Twyla had blood on her armor, and Uncle Roland wanted to hug Elora but Auntie Twyla said something about not knowing how it was spread and he couldn’t touch her and then she gave me a pack and their coin purses and said we had to go through the portal and ask for Dame Amarante’s shop and stay here until she could come and get us and she said she’d come as soon as she could and,” Her words were rapidly degenerating into sobs. “And I could see things from my window, and people were screaming, and there was a fire, and it looked like the knights were hurting people and I was so scared, and-”



Vinwald reached out and pulled the girl into a hug, letting her sob against his shoulder as he looked up at his mother, expression grim. Amarante looked worried.



“It’s all right, dear.” She murmured, “I’m certain everything will be fine.” She didn’t sound certain, however. “Let’s get you cleaned up and find you something to eat, hm?”



“Uncle Roland gave us cimmanin rolls.” Marilee ventured, “He put them in the bag with his and Auntie Twyla’s coin purses. She said that’d help take care of us until she could come get us.”



“Thank goodness for her foresight,” Amarante sighed, before looking down at the infant in her arms, who had begun to fuss. “It will be all right, little one,” She murmured, “Everything will be as right as rain after a change and a meal.” She looked up at Vinwald, “We’ll need goats milk and something to give it to her in, as well as swaddling and-”



Vinwald stood, “I’ll see what I can find in the shops.” He kissed his mother’s cheek, and rested a head atop Marilee’s head, “And I’ll see what gossip or news anyone has about what is going on in Stratholme.”



“It’s likely too soon to tell.” Amarante cautioned as he moved towards the door.



“Likely, but that doesn’t mean I can’t hope for some word.”



~*~



There were no rumors or news in the market that day, or the day after. It was four days after the arrival of Marilee and Elora that they received any concrete news of what happened, in the form of a letter from Twyla.



His first instinct upon seeing the letter addressed to him from Twyla in the post was to rip it open and read it where he stood, but he managed to suppress the urge (if only barely) and hurry home with the post, dropping the other letters on the counter of the shop, before seating himself in the chair in the corner of the room, just behind the door where no one would see him when they entered unless they were looking for him.



His mother looked over from where she was showing Marilee how to sew the pieces of a shirt together, Elora in a basket behind the counter. “What is it?” She asked, seeing the look on his face as he tore open the envelope containing the letter, “Is it from Twyla?”



“It is.” He agreed, beginning to read.





Vinwald,



Oh love, forgive me for sending Mare and Elora to you without any warning, but there was no time. If we had delayed in sending them they would be just as dead as everyone else in Stratholme.



Yes, everyone in the city is dead. I am sickened to say that quite a few of the deaths were caused by me, and nearly all the deaths were caused by those of us who followed our prince. There was no other choice—it was to either kill them all, or let them rise as members of the scourge. The grain shipments from Anderhol were all contaminated with the plague, we’ve been fighting the undead fiends nearly nonstop but things seem so bleak… So many of our men who fall in battle rise to fight again only moments later, but they are no longer fighting with us, they are fighting against us.



Tell Marilee her parents and brothers are dead, but they died swiftly and painlessly. I was able to give them that much, at least. So many others suffered, no matter how we tried to prevent it… Father had already become one of the mindless and had killed mother. Others had also already changed… We had to do what we did, don’t you see?



I will come to you soon to explain everything, I swear it. We are at Menethil harbor now, but only briefly, before our force travels to Northrend. The one who unleashed the plague on Stratholme is there, and we go to fight him. I asked for leave to travel to Stormwind, if even only for a day, but it was denied by the prince himself. He swears that as soon as the ships are ready we will be setting off, and there is no telling exactly when that might be.



As soon as this nightmare is over I will return to you. As soon as we return I will resign my commission to Lord Uther himself. Servant of the Light or no, much as I love it, much as I am needed to help fight for it and serve others, I cannot endure another Stratholme. I will come for the girls, and, if you will still have me after knowing about these horrors and the rest (there is no time to explain everything now) I will more than gladly wed you as soon as can be managed.



Forgive me, love. Time is so short, and I cannot put everything into words. I will write again as soon as I am able.



Remember me, my love, and remember always I love you.



~Twyla





“Vinwald?” Amarante asked, watching the play of emotions on her son’s face. “Vinwald, what has happened?”



He swallowed hard, scanning the letter once more. “… Everyone in Stratholme was killed. That plague we’ve been hearing about was… She said that the grain shipments were contaminated, and they had to kill everyone to stop them from becoming undead.” He looked at his mother, pained, noting she wore a horrified expression.



“They killed them? Everyone?” She managed to ask, clearly remembering friends and family left behind in the city.



“From what she wrote her father had already killed her mother, and she had to kill him herself.” Vinwald added, forgetting that he was speaking about the Grandfather of the two girls in the room, and one of them was quite capable of understanding what was going on. “I think she-”



“Grandpa?” Marilee asked suddenly, tears in her eyes, and Vinwald realized he should have kept his mouth shut until she was out of the room. “Grandpa wouldn’t hurt Grandma! He loves her too much! And Auntie Twyla would never kill Grandpa! It’s all a lie!”



“Dearling,” Amarante murmured, reaching out to place a hand on the girl’s shoulder, “I don’t think it’s a lie. There have been so many rumors-”



“But what about my-?”



“I’m sorry, Mare.” Vinwald said softly, looking at the stricken little girl, “I… In the letter, your aunt said that they died.”



Tears were rolling down Marilee’s cheeks now, and she looked to be near hysterics. “But I didn’t get to say goodbye!” She wailed, “They can’t be gone! Mama was going to teach me to bake pies and ‘broider and… And…” She finally degenerated completely into sobs, and Amarante pulled the girl into a tight embrace, murmuring soft words of comfort to her. Vinwald looked down at the letter in his hand, completely bewildered by this turn of events, and wondering how Twyla could ever think he would refuse to wed her. Yes, she had committed terrible acts, and it was true that there was perhaps another way, but she had been forced to put her own family to the sword. She had been forced to put her friends to the sword, acquaintances, people she had known her entire life. Guilt and remorse were no doubt punishing her enough, he reasoned. All he wished to do was listen to her explain the whole mess, and then take her in her arms and comfort her while she wept; for no doubt she would cry over this debacle.



“Oh Twyla…” He breathed, “Return home safely, and soon.”