6. Five Finger Death Punch - Battle Born
Tesonii slept solidly, but Aaren didn't sleep much. Perhaps if she ever meant to wake the mage-knight it wouldn't be so difficult, but she usually got up to roam her grounds soon after her companion fell asleep. The only problem was wriggling out of her grasp, but no matter what the priestess would do Tesonii wouldn't ever wake or even really stir, and tonight was no exception.
Typically, Aaren would roam silently through the snow and wind to either reflect on the things and people of the day that pissed her off, or what she would do in the future in response instead. Nothing that would truly happen, of course, but she enjoyed the imagery she afforded herself. More recently, she would use it to clear her mind of any of those strong feelings while inspecting the grounds. Not that she needed to check on it, everything was always as it should be.
Tonight, she considered recent things that have happened, as well as the things that happened months or years or decades ago. Things she usually went out of her way to forget or at the very least just refused to think about at any depth. Pulling the heavy cloak around her shoulders she found a smooth rock formation to perch herself upon and her thoughts drifted from the death of her mother to the death of the woman that wasn't her mother. How could she ever tell that woman's daughter of what happened, or would it even matter? Her chest seized, she stood and continued her pacing around the empty buildings and dark campus. She hated thinking of timelines and the manipulations thereof by people and creatures that had no business doing so, hated dragons more now than she ever had before.
She thought of the few memories of her mother's small family that seemed to vanish when she was very young. She thought of her father's family that would hardly consider her as such, (associated noble families to a lesser extent) and how they would finally forsake her and her mother when she blatanty refused to serve the magisters as they did, as the father she never knew did. She thought of years of her training in a monastery surrounded by mountains and hills and how it still made her happy to be all but isolated from the arcane even now, years and years later.
She thought of the sacrifices she made in Outland, though recently that time of her life had shown its ugly head again and again in the weeks past. The magister enjoyed her torment, but that isn't what she would focus on. Ambushes were prevented, plans were found and transports were learned of, everything she became aware of transmitted to her superiors with her cunning. Instead of the pain she inflicted she thought of the lives she saved. Aaren didn't think of herself so highly as to think she was so critical to the victories in Shadowmoon Valley and the Netherstorm, but she was glad to have done her part to help.
Returning to Silvermoon made her almost think twice of what happened, however. They expected her to remain silent in regards to the things she had seen and done. She never thought she should receive even a commendation, but she was invisible and merely existed quietly until ships bound for the Frozen Wastes were commissioned. She was never build for fighting, but poured every bit of herself into rigorous training and crippling the scourge's operations anywhere they existed until the doors of the Citadel were breached. Her time in Icecrown is why she will never be bothered by the winds and snows of Frostfire.
She was glad for such an uneventful life since then, until now. Her hatred of dragons of almost every color of the rainbow was more of a perpetual thought, now. Chronomancy was the most insane of the magister's studies, and never seeing or hearing of it again for the rest of her days would still not be enough. She didn't belong in Borrowed Time and wondered how soon her usefulness would run out and she'd be run off from a garrison she never visited aside from neccessity. She didn't belong anywhere else, either, though. It had been years since the lingering misfit feeling trailed behind her. She wondered how often Tesonii, someone much different than most other people she's met, had felt the same thing. Her thoughts regarding Tes usually turned to wonder when Aaren would finally break her poor heart, so she always moved on from the imagery rather quickly.
A gust of cold against Aaren's face brought her back to the night. She thought about how she wasn't always so cynical, but she couldn't quite remember when exactly that was anymore. If not just sometime before journeying into Outland, it must have been when she was a child and didn't know any better of how the world worked. Her flyers carried her the worlds over, but still not as much as she led her hawkstrider on the ground. She'd seen every land and worked in every one. If there was nothing else she knew of how life worked, it was that the only thing that was ever sure was the past.
That, and that Tesonii would be upset to wake up cold and find herself alone, again.