Anti-climax

Ash was carried on the air, and it brought the scent of death.

That, and many other scents, Shandris Feathermoon reflected. The smell of burning wood. The smell of fel magic. The smell of sweat and blood, shed by her people, their allies, and their foes. But mostly the smell of death. That pungent smell that mixed ash, magic, and blood, that was the same regardless of who had passed on from beyond this world. But even if she didn't have her sense of smell, the effect would have been the same. Ashenvale had been ravaged by the Legion and the Scourge. One couldn't walk a hundred yards without finding at least one body. One couldn't walk fifty without seeing the scars that war had brought to the land. One couldn't even move without seeing the dust and ashes carried in the breeze, as if Azeroth itself was giving its last breath.

Over the past few days, Shandris's body had come to feel like a puppet – no will or energy of its own, just being carried along by invisible strings, as if by the hands of Elune herself. Days ago, she and the Sentinels had held the line at Mount Hyjal. Thousands, night elf or otherwise, had given their lives for Malfurion Stormrage to spring his trap, to banish Archimonde from the world, and send the Legion howling back to the depths that had spawned them. Days ago, she and the survivors of what was already being called the Battle of Mount Hyjal, had celebrated their victory. In the hour of twilight, night had come, and the kaldorei would live to see the moon.

The outlanders had celebrated their victory as well with the rising of the sun. Shandris supposed they were welcome to it. Pinkskins, greenskins, she had no interest in whatever rituals they possessed. So when Tyrande had asked (not ordered, asked, Shandris had noticed) if she would lead a cadre into Ashenvale, to get the lie of the land, she'd answered in the affirmative without a second thought. The battle was over. Far as she could tell, the war was over. Now it was time to do what followed every war, and spend time rooting out the stragglers. The Legion and Scourge had lost their leaders, that didn't make the former any less dangerous, or the latter any less tenacious.

And yet, if she was a puppet, her joints were getting tired, and her strings were getting frayed. Glancing from her sabre, she took note of the Sentinels following her. She could see it in their eyes. See the way they moved. Could see the blood and dirt splattered across their cloaks and armour. Could see their banner held at an angle. She knew that they would like nothing more than to return to their families. To celebrate the Legion's second defeat in this world. Of course, 10,000 years had taught her that wants and needs were very different things, but-

"Hold," Shandris said, raising her fist. The cadre came to a halt and she dismounted to face the Sentinels. "We shall rest here."

None of her warriors objected. None of them spoke either, but Shandris could see their eyes change. Looks of relief. Of gratitude. Some bore the quiet resignation of knowing that they would have to continue the march eventually, that the day would offer them no rest. Neither demon nor undead were bound to the passing of moon and sun as mortals were. But…

Wants and needs, Shandris reflected as she gave her sabre a pat. Sometimes the two coincide.

She walked over to Elaris, her second. She gave a quick bow.

"Mistress Feathermoon."

"I think we're past formalities," Shandris said. "But if I may ask you to-"

"Take first watch."

"Actually, to find two others to take the watch."

Elaris looked at the Sentinels, some of whom had just collapsed onto the grass. "Do you think I would ask any of them to do such a thing?"

"I-"

"Rest easy Mistress, I will take watch."

Again? Shandris wondered.

"Key word being first," Elaris said, smiling. "All need to pull their weight." She nodded towards one of the Sentinels. "Some more so than others."

Shandris frowned as she saw who Elaris was referring to. "Be easy on her Elaris."

"Both of us have fought the Legion twice and lived to tell the tale. Neither of us are here by 'taking it easy.'"

Shandris didn't contest the point. She watched as Elaris broke rank, taking sword and bow in hand as she began to survey the perimeter. She knew that Elaris was right. Twice, the Legion had invaded Azeroth, and twice, their world had survived only by the slimmest of margins. One moment of weakness could see the world tumble over the precipice towards the chasm named oblivion. And yet…

And yet, as she walked over to one of the Sentinels resting on the ground, she reflected that she saw some of herself in the young woman before her, sprawled on the ground by a banner likewise cast down. 10,000 years, and her memories of the War of the Ancients was still strong.

"Ashai."

The Sentinel sprung up. "Mistress Feathermoon."

She nodded towards the banner. "You're entitled to rest Ashai. You're even entitled to get your armour and cloak dirty. But the banner of our cadre is another story."

"The banner?" Ashai blinked, before looking at the cadre's banner – a deep purple, emblazoned with a shield crossed by two arrows. "Oh! The banner!"

Yes, the banner, Shandris reflected as she watched the young woman spring up and grab the banner. As she began to drive it into the ground.

That's not going to hold, Shandris thought to herself as Ashai finished and looked towards the cadre's leader. "There. All-"

The banner toppled over.

"Done."

She at least had the dignity to lower her gaze, Shandris reflected. For a moment, she pondered her course of action – discipline? Compassion? Under normal circumstances she'd choose the former, but these weren't normal circumstances.

"Here," Shandris said. "I'll help."

Ashai nodded and Shandris raised the banner again, this time getting it into the ground properly. Under normal circumstances, she'd have nothing to worry about outside satyrs or maybe dark trolls. Under normal circumstances, people like Ashai Redleaf wouldn't even be here. She couldn't fault Tyrande's order of conscription with the coming of the Legion. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and as the Legion cut a bloody swathe towards Mount Hyjal, it had quickly dawned on the kaldorei just how desperate things were. However, among those desperate measures were conscripting night elves just 104 years old, putting a bow in their hands, and giving them orders that amounted to "shoot them until they're dead." Every kaldorei knew the way of the bow, but like all weapons, there was a difference between learning how to use a weapon and mastering it.

And somehow, Ashai had survived that, Shandris reflected, as they finished planting the banner. Somehow, she had stood where others millennia older than her had fallen. From Felwood to Hyjal, she had survived it all. Which left Shandris to question whether it was down to luck or something more.

She watched as Ashai flopped back down on the ground again. To the young night elf, maybe it didn't matter. But maybe-

"Did I give you permission to make the grass your partner?"

Ashai shot up again. "No, Mistress."

"No, I didn't." Shandris paused. "You may rest then."

Ashai flopped back down. After a moment's hesitation, Shandris took a seat on the grass opposite her. She might have been wasting her time, she reflected. Yet in Ashai, she couldn't help but see some of herself. Of the child she'd been when Tyrande had saved her in the War of the Ancients. She wanted to know whether she was seeing the same potential that Tyrande had seen all those years ago, or whether Ashai was like so many warriors in times of war. People drafted to fight, who wanted nothing more than to return home when the war was over.

"Ashai," Shandris began. The young girl started to get up, but Shandris interrupted her. "No, don't get up. Just…" She sighed. "I imagine you want nothing more than to return home right now."

Ashai did get up this time, seating herself on the ground.

"Am I wrong?" Shandris asked.

"I'm fine, Mistress Feathermoon."

"No. You're not. And before you say anything, that is nothing to be ashamed of."

"No Mistress, it is."

"Is it? You're among those who survived Hyjal." She forced a smile. "Ten-thousand years ago we defeated the Legion. Days ago, we defeated them again. Ten-thousand years after this, they'll still be singing the songs of our victory."

"Mistress Feathermoon, I didn't…" Ashai bit her lip. "Just…look, I don't know what you think you see, but believe me – I'm only here because I have to be."

"You volunteered for this cadre," Shandris said. "You didn't have to be when many others could have taken your spot." Ashai opened her mouth but she beat her to it. "Understand that is not an indictment, but…" She sighed, patting the young girl on the shoulder. "Just stay alive Ashai. I'd hate to have one die after Hyjal."

"I'd hate to die as well," Ashai said. "Just so you know."

Shandris smiled. But due to the blow of a horn, it faded just as quickly. Springing up to her feet, she saw Elaris sprinting back to her.

"Elaris?"

"Demons," Elaris said. "And the dead with them."

"How many?"

"Enough that I believe they may encircle us."

Shandris blinked – she hadn't expected the dead to show any such tactics. But then, some demons had a mind for strategy. Perhaps those abilities extended to leading the dead in a manner other than sending them to overwhelm their foes through weight of numbers. She looked back at the Sentinels – all had heard the horn. But only a few had got to their feet.

"Stand, sisters, stand," Shandris said. "Bow and spear, be ready, for our enemies approach."

The remainder quickly got to their feet. In silence, Shandris and Elaris made the signals for the group to form a circle around the banner. Whistling to her saber, Shandris added yet another to their rank. Twelve arrows were nocked. Twelve bows were raised in all directions.

"I can smell them," Elaris whispered. "Their rotting flesh. The blood between their teeth. The magic that keeps the dead and demons in this world."

"Then let us return them to that which spawned them," Shandris said. She glanced at the Sentinels. "Shoot straight, sisters. Shoot until our foes walk no more."

It wasn't much of a strategy beyond "shoot until they were dead," but she'd long learnt the worth of using pretty words when the situation called for it. Or, in the case of Ashai, giving her a nod of encouragement. Ashai, who gave her a nod and a slight smile in return.

Elune, protect us, Shandris prayed. By your grace we lived to see your light. Let us not fall now, after the final blow against the Legion. Let our ends be worthy of song, not but a coda to the war against the flame.

She didn't know if the moon goddess heard her prayers. She didn't know if she would grant them. But mere moments after them, it became a moot point.

Demons. A handful of red-skinned, eight feet tall brutes wielding halberds large enough to carve a night elf in two. They were the ones who emerged from the forests first, staring at the night elves with the hatred of a thousand hells, and the eternity of the Nether. But they were few. The ghouls that came bounding towards them were the many.

"Loose!" Shandris yelled.

The Sentinels did just that. Arrow after arrow was let loose into the charging horde. Arrow after arrow found its mark. But how much good it did varied. Over the last few weeks, Shandris and the Sentinels had come to learn how resilient the dead could be. Decapitation, dismemberment, these were the best methods of ensuring they stayed down. Arrows could do the job, but they required pinpoint precision. Precision that she could provide, as yet another arrow of hers found its way into the skull of a ghoul, causing it to collapse onto the ground, twitching. Others…others, like Ashai, weren't nearly as effective.

But they were doing the job. The undead weren't reaching their line. The demons though…

Elune preserve me.

One of them was charging towards Shandris. With two arrows already in its chest, and without any signs of slowing down. The creature that brought its halberd down to attack…and was parried as Shandris used her bow as a shield. She winced as the vibrations tore through her bow, through her arms, through her bones, through her soul. A small price to pay as she dropped it and quick as a cat, plunged her sword into its stomach. Not enough to kill it. But enough for an actual cat (a very large cat) of hers to pounce on it and sink its teeth into the demon's neck. Tearing through flesh and bone as the demon roared its last.

Too good for you, Shandris thought, not sure whether she was referring to the demon or her mount. Taking her bearings, she spotted Ashai, and-

"Ashai!"

The ghoul that jumped upon her as she was firing at another of its kin. The ghoul that began tearing into her, blood marking its claws and the ground beneath them.

"No!" Shandris drew her bow and fired. And fired. And fired again. All of the arrows sinking into the ghoul, none of them doing anything to stop its rampage. Marred by anger, blinded by tears, she couldn't stop it. It just kept tearing into her. Right up until Elaris brought her sword down, severing the ghoul's head from its body. A head that Elaris kicked away into the undergrowth before Shandris rushed over, lifting the twitching corpse off Ashai.

"Elune's mercy…"

Ashai wasn't conscious. She was barely even breathing. The ghoul had torn through armour and flesh both. Her neck was a bloody mess. Her chest was mangled, barely moving up and down. Glancing around, Shandris realized that the battle was over. It had cost the Legion and Scourge all of their number….and the Sentinels one too many.

"Mistress…"

Shandris knelt down and took Ashai's hand. She had no way of knowing if the girl could feel her hand in hers.

"Mistress, we can't save her."

If she could hear Elaris's voice, or the footsteps of those gathered around her.

"Mistress, all that is left is Elune's mercy."

Shandris looked up at Elaris. The one her elder in age, and junior in rank. The one who, if only for a moment, held the power of command at her lips, and life and death in her hands.

"Mistress, you know this." She drew out a dagger. "I can do it, if need be."

Shandris shook her head. "No." She took out her own dagger. "I led her in life, I can lead her to the hereafter."

Elaris sheathed her blade and lowered her head. All the Sentinels did. Shandris for her part put a hand under Ashai's neck, staring into the girl's silver eyes. Seeing their light dim, as life left her body at the same rate as her blood.

"You weren't meant to be here," Shandris whispered. "You weren't meant to die here."

No-one was meant to die after the final battle. The coda might end the song of war, but it was never what people remembered.

"I will sing for you," Shandris whispered. "Ten-thousand years, as Hyjal and its heroes are remembered…I will sing for you."

She didn't know if Ashai heard her. But with a quick plunge of her dagger into the girl's neck, Shandris ensured that she would never heard anything again…and likewise, no more know suffering.

In silence, she got to her feet. With gloved hand, she began to clear the blood off the blade. Wondering how many more times she would have to do this. Wondering what kind of world Azeroth would be. Whether war or peace would be the way of the world.

From within the forest, a bird began to sing.

A/N

The idea for this came from reading an article on Warcraft III: Reforged. As it turns out, the mission Eternity's End wasn't originally the final mission of Reign of Chaos, but there was actually a mission that took place after it. Blizzard ended up cutting it out. Truth be told, from a narrative standpoint, I can't fault that decision, because when you've beaten the big bad and saved the world, there isn't really much need for anything else. Still, the idea popped into my head of how it would feel to perish not at the culmination of a grand war, but after it, in a skirmish no-one would ever care about. Ended up drabbling this up as a result.