Dedicated to Sara@Finfychan for allowing me to incorporate her wonderful characters Fyn Godwin and later on Louvel Nottley in this story.  She is a great writer and does the most exceptional Oneshots, which if you have not read, I strongly recommend you do.  Thank you Sara

Nerisen introduced Tiene to Lord Jorach Ravenholdt. Jorach, Lord of Assassins, was a human rogue who put skill and dedication high above faction. He cared not whether your kin was a high elf, night elf, dwarf, gnome or human as long as your commitment was to your craft.

Proud though he was of his guild of killers and thieves, he had no qualms about inviting those from other guilds into the manor. He firmly believed all like-minded individuals and groups should work together to hone skills and learn from each other.

That was not to say that all who arrived were of the same frame of mind. There had been, on occasion, some unappreciative visitors who allowed politics to cloud their judgement. They were dispatched.

Immediately.

By all accounts, Nerisen was a fairly regular visitor to the manor and was welcomed by many he encountered as he and Tiene strolled through the guild, or academy as Jorach liked to think of it.

The smell of beeswax and honeysuckle permeated the air. All the woodwork, from the floors to the shelves, tables and chairs, and even the wall panelling, was dust-free and polished to perfection, with glass and silverware equally pristine. Even the many books and curiosities that filled bookcases and cabinets were all dusted, polished, sparkling, and well cared for. Whoever did the housekeeping here was definitely top of their profession, Tiene thought winsomely. Not a job she excelled at, that was for sure.

A resident rogue, Myrokos Silentform, shouted over and warmly greeted them. An old friend, Myrokos seemed more than willing to speak with Nerisen for hours on end if he could.

Tiene's trainer advised her, however, that he thought it might be unlikely they could stay as long as originally intended, as a large company of soldiers were stopping by, using the manor as a rest stop en route to their homes. Nevertheless, he encouraged Tiene to look around while he spoke with Myrokos and collected the books he had in mind for her.

There were, in fact, quite a large number of people just visiting the manor this day. Many battle-weary rogues were coming and going as Tiene was looking around the premises.

A few hunters, paladins and warriors were also amongst the visitors, as were priests and a few druids. It was not tradition for those not of the rogue persuasion to be allowed in the grounds, but many had become the rogues' friends during whatever battles they'd fought together and so were permitted access to the manor on their way home, wherever home happened to be.

Without trying to appear self-evident, Tiene listened to some conversations of those returning from battle. A few offered a nod in greeting or said a quiet hello as she passed by.

Tiene found herself deeply affected by the haunted expressions of some of the battle-weary men and women. From the snippets of conversation, their despair was completely understandable. The horrors they'd seen were indeed the stuff of nightmares.

Her breath caught in her throat as she overheard tales of comrades and family members being hacked down by the trolls and other races aligned with the Horde. Friends, brothers, sisters and fathers and mothers had all fallen. Villages razed to the ground - where nought survived.

She suddenly thought of Duthan and Lor'themar heading out to fight the Amani trolls on the border of their homeland. A gasp escaped her as the terrible possibility of losing them hit home. Tears sprang to her eyes.

"My child," a kindly voice spoke. She jumped, startled, and turned to find a little priest talking to her. A solitary tear trickled down Tiene's cheek. "Oh my dear, have you lost someone close to you?"

Tiene stared at the priest. He was a slightly odd little man. Human, with a kindly face, but there was an air of melancholy about him.

His robes of purple edged with eternium embroidered runes around the hem, neckline and long open cuffs looked expensive, yet he didn't appear to be a man of affluence. He inched a little closer, lifting his face to view her better. His eyebrows hitched up high on his forehead in a wordless enquiry.

She shook her head, trying to banish her concerns and focused squarely on the priest. "No, I haven't, thank you. I was just...well, I overheard some of their stories and..."

"Ah, yes." He nodded understanding. "Many have experienced terrible sorrow and loss. Now they must heal in more ways than a simple potion or spell can manage." He smiled wanly and turned to leave.

For some unfathomable reason, Tiene felt suddenly compelled to express her fears regarding her brothers. Who better could she speak to than a holy man? "I - I'm worried about my brothers, though," she said quickly as his short frame moved away.

The priest came back to her and placed a consoling hand on her arm. "I see. Would you like to talk?" he asked kindly.

"Yes," she heard herself saying.

"Shall we stroll outside then, child? It is a little overcrowded in here for now," he said, glancing around, making sure he'd assessed the situation correctly. Seemingly satisfied with his assumption, he looked back at Tiene with a crooked little smile. "'Tis a lovely day outside, and fresh air does help to clear the mind of troubles too." He bowed and gestured for her to move ahead.

She felt instantly comforted by his quaint manners and slightly frail little frame, although he looked in need of some care himself, if truth be told. Nothing a good meal and a hot steaming cup of honeymint tea wouldn't put right, she thought.

They ventured out into the small garden area and sauntered around some of the growing vegetables and herbs in the nearby allotment. The abundance of lavender and peacebloom soon masked the more pungent scents of Goldthorn and Silverleaf, which seemed to be relatively flush in the area. There was a bench halfway along the allotment, where the priest gestured for Tiene to take a seat. She smiled her thanks, and he sat beside her.

"What do I call you?" she asked.

"Oh, forgive me. I am Fyn Godwin. And your name, child?"

"Tiene Firefury," she answered. "How do I address you, though? I cannot call you just 'Priest'."

He smiled, and a small chuckle tumbled from his thin lips. "I do not have, nor do I believe in titles, Tiene. Fyn will do nicely."

"Fyn," she repeated as if testing how it sounded.

"Now then, your brothers. Tell me all about them."

Fyn listened without interruption as Tiene opened up about her family.

She told him all about Duthan and his current mission to fight the Amani trolls with the Farstriders. As she spoke of him, her heart swelled with pride. He'd worked hard and deserved his position as lieutenant. The Rangers under his command were loyal and respectful men and women, who Duthan always saw were well rewarded for serving their Ranger General and protecting their home of Quel'thalas.

Now, with the second war recently over, it remained the job of the Rangers to root out the Amani trolls who'd joined the Horde during the war.

Fyn knew that the trolls were a fierce race, well-versed in war strategies and tactics. Tiene voiced that she feared that they would be even more formidable having adopted the aid and influence of the Horde.

Ultimately, it was her concerns surrounding the safe return of her brother along with Lor'themar, who, she further explained, was basically a third brother to her. She spoke very fondly of him too, and his recent promotion.

Fyn felt a little sting of envy as she described the powerful bond she shared with all her family.

He lacked a good relationship with his sibling - and his father for that matter. His brother was the favoured one; as a warrior, he was off fighting whenever, wherever duty called. He was brave and fearless without doubt. Fyn loved him. He just didn't feel his brother felt the same for him.

According to his father, Fyn was a huge disappointment, and that was putting it mildly.

Fyn was as good as disowned when he'd announced his wish to join the priesthood. His father and brother considered it a coward's way out from serving his king and Azeroth. He would not listen when Fyn explained that he would be a devout priest who would serve on the battlefields, giving aid to the brave men and women who fought the war so they could fight another day and return to their homes and families afterwards. But his father would hear none of it, and that was the day Fyn "lost" his family.

Looking at the young girl in front of him, he saw so much love in her heart. It virtually surrounded her like an aura. That touched him deeply. Even when she continued past her concerns for Duthan's and Lor'themar's safety, she told him about the jests and tricks they - and her other brother, Inaris - liked to play on her. She smiled fondly as her memories of their teasing spilt forth.

*****

Then she explained how they'd encouraged her to seek her future as a rogue - an assassin, a thief. She stumbled a little then, apologising profusely at that point for wanting to kill, spy and steal (at which Fyn promptly suppressed his amusement) but explained she felt it was a path she needed to follow. A path that also happened to follow in her parents' footsteps. She swore she would only kill for the better of all the allied races in Azeroth.

"Well," Fyn said once it was clear Tiene had finished telling her story. "I am sure your brothers, including your adopted one - Lor'themar, was it?" He paused for confirmation. She nodded.

Fyn continued. "They will look out for each other, and all their fellow rangers will do likewise. There are no guarantees in this life, child, but friends and kinship are strong forces in themselves. Furthermore, they have you to come home to. A doting, dutiful sister. Now, what better safeguard for them could there be? Other than the Light, of course." His little eyes sparkled.

Tiene smiled, apparently comforted by his words, and she voiced her gratitude. "What of you, Fyn? Where is home for you, and what about your family?"

The priest froze for a second, surprised by the question. No one really asked about his life. He sighed, and the light in his eyes dimmed momentarily. After due consideration, he answered - as much as he could bring himself to anyway. "I come from Stormwind..." He turned his eyes to the manor. "But my home now is wherever these brave souls may be, on or off the battlefield. It is my calling, my path, you see?"

Tiene nodded.

"To tend the wounded and the sick and offer comfort where I can." He looked into her azure eyes. "I pray you never suffer injuries such as those I've tended to over the years, Tiene, but I also hope I may be at hand if such an unfortunate occurrence happens."

He felt her fingers close around his frail hand as she thanked him.

"There you are!" Nerisen's voice called over as he neared her and Fyn. "I've been looking everywhere for you. You have some serious studying to do, Tiene. However, as it is so busy here today," he nodded his respect to the little priest, "I think we shall borrow the books and head home now. It will be your night-time reading."

*****

Tiene stood. There was a touch of regret that she was leaving so soon, and strangely, it had nothing to do with the rogue's academy. She'd enjoyed the company of the little priest. Smiling fondly, she studied his thin face and sparkling eyes. "Thank you, Fyn," she said. "You have eased my mind. And I hope we meet again someday, preferably not on a battlefield, though."

Fyn chortled. "I hope so too, young Tiene. May the Light bless and keep you and your family safe. Blessings to you and your family." He glanced at the rogue standing beside them and added almost as an afterthought, "And to you too, young man."

Before they left the manor grounds, Tiene turned to look up the hill, in search of the little priest. There he was, heading back inside the building, with many battle-weary soldiers greeting and thanking him as he passed by.

She noted the sadness he bore. It was evident in his walk, his posture, his gentle manner. She wondered if her stories about her family had had a profound effect on him. He seemed a little more frail than when they'd first spoken. "No," she reasoned. He was bound to just be weary and footsore, like many of those he aided.

"Elu'meniel mal alann*, Fyn Godwin," she whispered.

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* Elu'meniel mal alann

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