(The following is part two to Broken by Courtney Adler. You’ll probably want to read that first.)
As he kissed his wife good night, Varendil tried not to look at his failure, the scar that still traced down the side of her face. He’d done what he could to heal it. For a good six hours after she’d sustained it, he’d sat with her, Light magic washing over her face to no avail. Eventually she grabbed his hands, telling him it was okay, she knew she’d have scars from fighting, that he couldn’t cure everything.
Then Lissa died, and Varendil stopped caring about just about everything. But even that had started to fade and now when Varendil wandered Dalaran, it wasn’t just in grief, but because he had nothing else to do. He couldn’t go back out there and fight with magics that couldn’t heal a single claw mark. He couldn’t talk to anyone within the Crusade, they had much more important things to do.
In the end, Varendil lay in bed one night, slowly getting pissed. He sat up, crawling out of bed and putting his teal armor on and walking out the door. And Lanuria, who his motions had roused from sleep, watched silently, then pulled her own armor on after he left, curious and concerned.
He swiftly descended the stairs of the inn, then turned out the doorway into the streets of Dalaran, each step welling up more purpose, more anger, as he strode toward the array of portals leading to every Horde capital city. He paused at the fountain, taking a deep breath, collecting the anger he’d accumulated over weeks of grief and uselessness. Lanuria came out of the inn and jogged after him just in time to see him go through the portal to Shattrath.
The priest materialized in front of the portals to the Horde capitals, fists already clenched as he began walking toward the naaru hovering in the center of the city. “Guess what, A’dal!” he shouted, causing General Tiras’alan and Khadgar to turn, and one of the Shattered Sun soldiers around the room to stride over. Varendil pointed at him. “Oh, danger. Danger. You don’t wanna interrupt me.” The soldier stopped. “Besides, what am I gonna do, hurt him?” the elf asked. “Go back to work.” The elf waited until the soldier turned around to continue.
“I’ve been a damned good healer. I’ve saved hundreds of lives, cured countless injuries, healed Horde and Alliance soldiers alike. And the Light’s going to deny me the ability to heal my wife?!”
A’dal floated serenely.
“At what point did I not deserve this! My crimes have been atoned for. I’ve made peace with my cousin. My daughter forgave me, the daughter I sacrificed to this war.”
The naaru glowed quietly. Everyone in the area began to stare at the shouting blood elf.
“And my wife’s given as much as I have. Her faith’s stronger than mine even, and she’s not a practitioner of the healing arts. I don’t see why you can’t let me do this for her.”
The general stared, the archmage watched, and the elf’s will started failing.
“I don’t know what else I could do,” Varendil said a little less loudly. “I’ve been penitent, I’ve behaved well, I’ve fought the enemies of both worlds. I don’t…”
The naaru continued glowing quietly to itself. The elf collapsed onto his knees. The image of his wife passed through his mind just as she materialized behind him, having cautiously followed. Varendil stood.
“So be it. If you will not end her misery, then I curse you with it doublefold.”
Lanuria’s jaw dropped.
“From this moment on, every moment of agony on her part, every time she fears for my love because of her scar, every time she is ashamed to laugh in public without a hood on, every night she lies awake in bed with her fingers tracing the side of her face, may it come back upon you and haunt you for the rest of your limitless life.”
Lanuria, Khadgar, and Tiras’alan all stared. A’dal simply floated.
“So thanks a ton, A’dal,” Varendil said. “Now I get to go back there—”
Varendil pointed behind himself as he said this and a sudden burst of light shot out from his fingertip, catching Lanuria squarely in the face. She screamed and hit the floor. Varendil blinked, then turned around to see her lying on her back, propped up on her elbows. He swiftly ran over, and she brushed the hair out of her face.
Her skin was flawless. The scar was gone. Prompted by her husband’s stares, Lanuria slowly raised a hand to the side of her face and felt the unbroken skin. She looked up at Varendil, who slowly stood, looking back at the naaru over his shoulder.
“You’re an ass,” he said, then walked over to the portal to Silvermoon City and out of Shattrath.
Lanuria watched silently, then stood and sheepishly waved. “Hi, A’dal!” she said, before chasing after her husband.
Slowly, the sound of chimes laughing filled Shattrath City.