A.N. This story used to be part of "The Silver Haven" but after the last edits, it was obvious this one could work better as a story of its own. So, here it is. Hope you enjoy it.

Cheers,

Kiwiruvian

A groan escaped her lips even before she made the conscious decision to try and shift sore muscles. All at once memories and senses awoke, assaulting her with knowledge and making dread build up at the bottom of her stomach, or perhaps that was the result of the bitter-sweet and sickening smell of decay and other scents she did not dare to attempt naming.

She tried to move her head. Ugh. Bad decision, the pounding made itself known. She had hoped for it to remain almost as dull and numb as it had while she started to stir. Making it even worse was the sharp sting of a still fresh wound at her temple. She grimaced, feeling her skin pull with what she believed to be dried blood. A bath. Yes, that sounded like the best of ideas right now.

Fingers curled, but only moving her arms to push herself higher against the cold stone wall she had been laying against proved too much a strain.

Belore, what has happened?

The last she remembered, she had been with one of the assault groups in the Eversong Woods. With the perpetual smell of fall and golden shades of trees all around her and the army of elves as they waited the command to advance.

Their task, to attack the scourge from the side, hoping to block their way to Silvermoon. Or at the very least to stall them enough for civilians to flee to safer ground. It all had been hastily organized, no one had really thought possible for the enchanted gates to fall and leave the Quel'dorei haven unprotected. And she could see it in her comrades' faces, most of them still shocked but determined to protect with their lives what was theirs.

How long has passed? Had they won and forgotten the wounded behind?

No. They wouldn't have…

It was then that her half asleep mind snapped wide awake.

She remembered the blow to her head and the skeletal figure with rotten limbs that rose in front of her. All around the screams and noise of war, clattering of swords and swoosh of arrows faded as she faced her executioner. She thought the end had come for her then. Regret set deep in her soul at not being able to keep the promise to her little sister. At least she had been able to see her grow up. To see her taking on a path much different to her own, but proud of her nevertheless. At least she knew her little Erannis was far away with other elves and not here in the middle of the chaos and destruction. Without formulating conscious though, Threshe's hand had closed around the ring dangling at her neck by a thin silver chain.

The skeletal hand had closed around her throat and raised her without effort while squeezing. She had met her assailant's empty gaze as she dangled in his powerful grasp, shaking in desperation as no air made it to her lungs. Her vision darkened. Behind the scourge though, she remembered well seeing a man in hood and dark robes. His smirk, tugging on grey lips.

Eyes wide open, she found herself panting after snapping from the vivid memory. Chest heaving with every breath, even if it brought more of the nauseating smell, and cold sweat forming over her spine.

Belore. Where in hell was she? She took the time now to strain her hearing in the darkness. Quiet sobs, the sound of other people stirring nearby, groaning in pain or wheezing through damaged lungs. And metallic sound of chains being dragged.

Ignoring the shaking of limbs, she shifted to her knees. The rustle of chains and her searching fingers confirmed that she had been chained to the wall on which she had awoken. Ankles and neck where crudely decorated with saronite shackles, loose enough to allow movement but not as much to be able to slip out of them.

She swore under her breath as she tried to look about for something, anything that would help her somehow to pick the locks. All around she could only barely make out dark lumps of other prisoners in what she assumed to be a circular cell.

The quiet sobbing seemed to come from somewhere at her right. She could only assume, as the figure seemed to be coiled on itself against the wall, facing away from her. Dark fingers gripping the chain as it shook with every drawn breath. Threshe bit her lip, pain cursing through her soul as the person reminded her of how she had found Erannis hidden away under a table, not too long after they had learned of their parents' death. She bad been but a child and Threshe had been just at the right age to be considered an adult.

She looked away; nothing good would come now from delving into sad memories. To take action, that is what she needed to do. Locking away the pity eating at her and the almost compulsive need to reassure the one crying with empty words, she re-assumed trying to find something that would somehow help her own predicament.

At her other side she noticed another figure. This one seemed to be deeply asleep with its back to the room. Slowly an as quietly as she could, she reached for it. Trying first in soft Thalassian and then in slightly accented common to catch the man's or woman's attention. She growled under her breath in frustration when neither seemed to work and had to strain against the shackle at her neck to finally being able to get a hold of its shoulder and pull to turn and face her. How could anyone sleep through this conditions?

She could not contain the scream tearing through her throat, making many others about jolt in surprise and the one at her right to cry even louder. Threshe scrambled back as fast as she could on clumsy limbs until her back hit the stone wall.

There, now laying on its back the troll's unseeing eyes stared through open lids to the ceiling of the cell. Even in the darkness, she had been able to see the milky film covering them and the bloating starting to disfigure its features. No wonder the smell of death and decay had been so overpowering. She fought the urge to retch, even if it took all her concentration and empty stomach.

She did not have much time to think of it or what it meant for everyone else in the cell. Did they just leave their prisoners to rot away as some sort of cruel torture to the others? Is that what she had to look forward to? She cursed her fate, but the thought was cut short by the almost explosive bang of a door colliding against the wall as it was roughly pushed open. Oh, she jumped and could hear the whimper from the one at her right followed by a string of whispered words in a language that seemed both vaguely like thalassian and not, she managed to catch a few words here and there: protection, mother, moon. A prayer of a kind or another it seemed, in Darnassian perhaps? But that did not seem as important right then.

She had to look away from the almost painful glare of the torch lights from the hall outside. She was barely able to see by the corner of her eyes, the four figures striding into the cell and finally a fifth.

Only when she had grown used to the glare, did she attempted to look over. Four silent men in robes, two at each side of the door stood in an almost guard-like manner. Her gaze though, stayed on them only for a few seconds before shifting to the man in dark armor. Heavy footfalls of plated boots echoed in the cell with each step he took. Dark gaze seemed to weight each and every one of the prisoners, stopping on her the longest.

She tensed, breath catching in her throat, but dammed if she was going to look down or away in submission. She was a guard and like one, if she was to die it would be looking defiantly into death's or this man's eyes.

She could have sworn to see a dangerous glint behind his grey eyes, one that almost made her cringe and try to hide somewhere in the wall. To just stay there and become invisible for as long as it took.

He broke his stare then and kicked the troll's body, making her gasp at the sudden move. For all his height and bulky frame in plate armor, he was swift. The guard in her could not help but admire that. He muttered in a deep and oddly calm voice. "Take that away to the ghouls' cage."

Without a second to spare two of the servants moved to raise the body, she could almost see their grimaces at having to deal with the stench of the decaying carcass but dammed if they were to complain.

The dark lord, as she had already named him in her mind, turned without another look to the prisoners. She was just about to release her breath in a sigh when she heard his last words before he stepped through the door.

"Prepare the Quel'dorei and bring her to me."

What?! She prayed mentally and looked about the cell with too wide eyes, hoping to see another Quel'dorei. She had to snap her gaze back, when the two men in robes leaned down on her to unlock the shackles and each take an arm.

She was roughly pulled to her feet and tried to pull back from them out of instinct, not knowing what it meant for her to have been chosen.

What would they do to her? How long did she have until her last breath? Would she be tortured? Would they show mercy and let her go back to her homeland?

Her thoughts rushed in her mind, trying to find an explanation and a sliver of hope in them. She doubted the last would ever come true, even more as the unrelenting grasp on her arms tightened. Cold fingers digging into her flesh and she was almost dragged down the hall.

The sound of the slamming door of the prison she had been moments ago ringed in her ears. Overriding the almost growls of her hopeless struggles to free herself from the silent guards.