"Okay, kiddo - you've been sulking in bed for a week," began his guardian, Sir Griffonclaw. Snow FitzSilver had arrived in Ironforge with a head wound and a concussion, and Griffonclaw had taken him home. The head wound was healed that very day, and the concussion had been dealt with as well. Healing Snow's spirit was another matter.
Snow FitzSilver, his ward, sat up. "Head wound. Concussion."
Griffonclaw pointed his finger like a pistol. "I healed the head wound before we left the tram. The concussion took longer because it wasn't an emergency, and there was no reason to have you dehydrated and weak; the Light steals from your body's resources for the healing, so I let nature take its course. Well, with the Light's help... but just a little." He smiled affectionately. "So why the brooding?"
"Brooding?"
"Yes, a sombre emotional state characterized by depression and despondency. Brooding. So enlighten me, kiddo," requested Griffonclaw. We may be citizens of Ironforge, and live here, but we human, and brooding and a taciturn surliness isn't part of our natural psyche."
Snow remained quiet, gathering his thoughts. "I was on a monster hunt in Darkshire, with about a score of others."
"...and together you slew the creature."
"Well, they did - I was so out of it from my head arguing with a headstone that I was useless. I got off two shots, and missed... Fel, I'm lucky I didn't hit one of the others. Others were injured, and one died - because I wasn't pulling my weight."
"...Snow, I am sorry that you and others were hurt, and glad you survived without permanent injury," said Griffonclaw slowly, his voice laden with empathy. "The path you have chosen - helping keep others safe, and defending those who cannot effectively fight...
"... like myself ..." interjected Snow.
"Interrupting is rude," Griffonclaw added, almost automatically; Snow had a bad habit that Griffonclaw had been unable to remedy while he was growing up. "the others knew the risks as well. While regrettable, there is rarely violent conflict without injury or death. The creature you described had killed, and would kill again; honor the fallen, who made the choice to protect others by slaying the beast."
After a pause, he added "I am very proud of the man you have become."
The silence between them grew, but it was borne of familiar comfort and undoubted love.
"So what do I do" quietly asked Snow.
"Well, I can tell you what Uncle Jon did," Griffonclaw said. "He has spent his whole life doing what he calls 'cheating' and what I call 'optimizing his offensive capabilities to ensure maximum effect and minimal threat'. He is an accomplished apothecary and a certified combat medic; he often envenoms his throwing knives and other weapons. He has a Gnome friend who makes him explosives, smoke bombs, and other devices to minimize the risk of combat. He never stops learning, never stops finding another way to protect himself and the family from harm." Griffonclaw frowned. "He has even become adept at the Shadow magic of the Arakkoa to enhance his stealth and disguise abilities, which may ultimately cause more harm than good, but that is his choice."
"Do you think he might be willing to help me?" asked Snow.
"I think he will, if approached; none of his children have followed in his footsteps thus far. I know Alia is relieved; she worries about Jon constantly, but at the same time is very proud of the good he does. And while he doesn't really know how to show it, I know he would do anything to keep any of his family safe. Or at least more safe."
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