<18> The morning sun continued to rise as Nathan appeared through the portal into Teldrassil. Several other elves and worgen were constantly coming and going through the portal at all hours, making the streets of Darnassus quite lively indeed. Redressed in his traditional druidic garb, Nathan strode for the Cenarion Enclave and slipped through the crowd without difficulty. The matronly Portia was already patiently waiting for Nathan, perched atop a massive tree stump and humming a nameless tune. Her dress fluttered in the breeze, but her shapely blue legs were crossed to avoid anything less savory from occurring. Her golden eyes caught sight of Nathan immediately, and she carefully slid off the stump and approached him, clutching a long, ornate staff. “Ah, Nathan! You’ve returned… [i]without[/i] my daughter?” A few other worgen passed by, but Nathan kept his gaze on Portia. “With all due respect, Archdruid, we performed our duties unquestionably and without failure. I return with Quela in the sense of her words and her message.” Portia’s aura of kindness vanished like an extinguished candle. “I will ask this all of one time: Where is my daughter, worgen?” Nathan didn’t back down. “The message I have brought: Mom, the methods you’ve chosen to try and control me have only pushed me further away from you. I love you, but I have to be my own person beyond what you want me to be. You never let me get close to Barton when he was around, and I now believe you treated him with the same level of control that you did me. You can’t control everything, and as it stands right now I don’t really care if I ever see you again. But if I come back, you’ll never let me leave, and I can’t live like this. Learning the ways of the druids is about understanding and embracing nature itself. Nature is wild, untamed, and everywhere. It can’t be avoided or controlled in any permanent fashion. I’m sorry, but you haven’t left me any choice.” The Archdruid remained stoic and silent throughout Nathan’s monologue. The worgen eyed the thin line her lips had made, and he wondered if he shouldn’t be running for his life already. Time slowed down, and his heart threatened to beat right out of his chest awaiting her response. Slowly, Portia’s brow arched, and she lowered herself little by little as tears began to stream down her cheeks. Her hands shook as she attempted to cover her face. These were no crocodile tears that some might use to manipulate -she couldn’t manipulate Nathan any further- rather the genuine realization that she had pushed her daughter away had fully sunken in. Her sobbing turned into an all-out ugly cry, prompting Nathan to politely rush over, help her up, and guide her into the nearest druid’s hut. Most of the passerby ignored it, save for a single worgen -one who had been subtly hovering nearby- who slowly ambled after them. Portia eased into a nearby chair and tried hard to recompose herself. Nathan backed away and leaned against the far wall of the tree, folded his arms, and let her run her course. He was very certain she had something else for him to hear. Indeed, when her sobs turned into a small quiver, she was able to muster the ability to speak. “Nathan… I’m so sorry for dragging you into… o-o-our family matters. I j-just thought that… that maybe if you met, sh-sh-she just might understand.” “So… I was a tool to gain her some tolerance for worgen?” Nathan prodded, the irritation clear in his voice. “N-not completely… nature is funny, you know? There is an added sense to it… even if not by blood, family ties can exude additional influence.” “What are you getting at?” Portia calmly met Nathan’s gaze. “You recognize the name ‘Torbin Aldrich’, yes?” Nathan uprighted himself. “How do you know my father?” The archdruid sniffled. “My lover, Barton, claimed he left that name behind when he fled Gilneas. He spoke of his young son once… that he regretted leaving, but couldn’t bring himself to return, even after he heard of your mother’s passing. He was a good man, but flawed, and he said he understood if you hated him for it. He passed several years ago… I am sorry you did not get to see him.” The worgen took several moments of silence to try and digest what Portia had just confessed. “So… you specifically assigned me in Darnassus, [i]knowing[/i] who I was, and sent me after my… stepsister, thinking our ties would be enough to bring her back?” Another sniffle. “It was a last resort, and a foolish one. Quela and I have… never seen eye to eye. She felt it was my fault her father abandoned her, and I allowed the idea to grow, thinking she might still think well of him. I didn’t want her to hate him, but I didn’t want her to hate me, either. I tried to be honest with her, but by then she wouldn’t believe me. I was the enemy… so I tightened the reins. The incident with Barton meant nothing to me, but it was an excuse to keep her close to home… until she ran. I have made so, so many mistakes….” “I can’t believe you,” came a gravelly, clunky-sounding voice. Both druids turned to find a female worgen hunched near the door, but in a cloud of smoke she disappeared, replaced by the scantily-dressed Quela. Portia looked like she could fall out of her chair at a moment’s notice. “Quela!?” The fearsome druidess strode over to Nathan and grasped his hand, squaring off with her mother. “I can’t believe you,” she repeated. “Of all the bullshit… WHY!? What’s wrong with me being my own person!? I’m not you!” “I couldn’t lose you, too!” Portia cried out and shot to her feet. “Your father was [i]everything[/i] to me before he ran off with some dwarven harlot! Every time I looked at you, I remembered how much I once loved him, and I did everything I could to make sure you didn’t leave me like he did!” “And how does [i]that[/i] make it RIGHT!?” Quela shouted angrily. Portia shook, then fell back into her seat. “It… it doesn’t.”