26 ADP

The hot, dry air was oppressive. Even the gentle breeze that stirred brought no relief, only fine, red dust that clung to any moisture. Gylledra wore a scowl as she wiped the phosphorescent blood from her blade and looked at the towering portal that loomed overhead. Demons did not pour through it as they had several weeks earlier, but the demonic forces remaining on Azeroth seemed to still be making an unholy pilgrimage to this place.

She sheathed her sword and spat blood onto the stair before gingerly touching the cut on her lip, healing it. Their dealings with demons had been minimal in the five years that had passed since she watched Archimonde fall at Mt. Hyjal. The Blasted Lands was a vile region even without demons; it was inhabited mostly by ogres who were by no means a delight to interact with. Some of their blood stained her blade as well.

When the Horde and Alliance began sending their troops through the Dark Portal to the Outlands, the shattered remains of Draenor, Gylledra had sent three sizable detachments of her own Nameless soldiers through. What had begun as a small organization of informants and specially trained operatives had, to put it mildly, expanded unexpectedly and exponentially in the last five years. Her Horde troops were led by the orc, Pava, her Alliance troops were led by a human called Andreus Croy, and lastly, Nasorya had taken with her many of the more clandestine-oriented individuals with special assignments. They all had their assignments and had all been reporting back to Gylledra regularly.

"Are you ready?" Varok asked from atop his wolf.

"As ready as I can be to step from this hell into the next." Her glower deepened, and she wondered, not for the first time, what the last half-decade had done to make her dread what once was a thrill. The enjoyment she took from killing demons was greatly diminished as her hatred for them increased. Grim satisfaction still settled over her as the light of life left their eyes but…to her horror…she found she'd much rather enjoy the ordinary chaos that came with day to day life in Orgrimmar. Having something to live for had taught her where she should find joy. Eradicating fel infested filth was no longer a pleasure, only a necessity.

Passing through the portal was unremarkable, at least for Gylledra, as she had moved between many worlds and many different planes of existence over time. The orcs had no trouble either, but as the group as a whole emerged on the Stair of Destiny in the Hellfire Peninsula, various trolls, tauren, and blood elves staggered, slowly acclimating to having been torn from one reality and spat into another, very distant one.

The pungent stink of fel burned her nostrils as Gylledra's eyes were met with what appeared to be a stalemate battle. The base of the stair was teeming with demons as Horde and Alliance alike fought to keep them back. In typical Legion fashion, more emerged from two demon gates, immediately replenishing all that fell.

Varok stared out over the barren landscape which was oddly the same red as the Blasted Lands they'd just come from. "There is nothing familiar left…it is more of a wasteland than when I left."

"Magic ripped this world apart." Gylledra replied and let out a long breath. "I suppose we ought to carve our way through this mess if we're ever going to get to Thrallmar."

"An inconvenient delay." He grumbled.

"One we don't have time for."

Before Varok could stop her, Gylledra started down the stair, not looking back to see if anyone followed her, she didn't need them to. She was tired and feeling well beyond disagreeable and this was better than inadvertently taking it out on those around her she cared about. She reached her arms out to the side and sent forth a cascading torrent of void that poured across the area in front of her like thick, heavy smoke. It bypassed any Horde and Alliance soldiers and from within it, black, clawed hands reached out, grasping the demons and pulling them down as though beneath the surface of water. As the void slithered outward, it left behind the shriveled husks of what had been their enemies. Gylledra lifted her hands and pushed outward, expelling a shockwave that threw back those who remained as they were consumed by fire from the inside out.

Having heard and seen the commotion at the stair, a Pit Lord was barreling down the road, screaming obscenities and threats. She planted her feet, baring her teeth like a feral animal, reaching downward, gathering power, charging it up before she reached out again, black and blue spikes forming mid-air and driving into the Pit Lord's body from every angle until at last he fell, the bright fel-green glowing blood pouring forth from his wounds.

There was one thing left to do, and with a final gesture, the demon gates collapsed, damaged beyond any repair. The Legion would need to rebuild them entirely. With a long exhale, Gylledra relaxed, turning around to find an army of shocked faces, and one very not-amused one. Varok didn't particularly like not being let in on a plan, though, to be fair, she hadn't exactly had a plan.

"Happy now?" He asked.

"A little." She gave a shrug and he sighed, not pleased, but not particularly surprised by her behavior. As his mate, she was loving and fiercely loyal to him, as a soldier fighting with or for him, she was a monumental pain in his ass. She knew it because he'd told her…many times.

"Let's go." He growled. As much as it annoyed him, Gylledra knew he wasn't angry with her. He was as sleep deprived as she was; the last year, while relatively quiet in terms of major conflict, had proven challenging. There were many nights like the one before, some worse than others, where she woke violently, haunted by what she had seen in Ahn'Qiraj.

Gylledra and Varok rode quietly side by side past the bodies of demons littering the road, their soldiers marching behind them. Her mind was going in many directions all at once as she planned for deeper exploration of the Outlands, but also worried about what Varok might be putting himself through…this had been his home, the world he was born on, that he had learned to fight on…where his son had remained when the Old Horde crossed into Azeroth nearly thirty years earlier. He had said little of what was on his mind as they'd prepared for this journey and taken it.

They would provide support for the Horde already in place, as Thrall wished to visit the uncorrupted, Mag'har, orcs in Garadar, the small settlement in Nagrand. The look on Varok's face when they received word that the Mag'har had survived and thrived even after all this time, was burned into her mind and rivaled even the Warchief's reaction.

"I am afraid to search him out, only to find that he died as a child, or was killed." Varok told her, with his uncanny ability to know what she was worrying over.

"How do you do that?" She muttered, but one side of her mouth tugged upward.

"I have spent a great deal of time looking at you." He replied, nudging her gently with his elbow. His smile meant he'd already put the events at the Stair of Destiny behind him.

"Will you look for him, though?"

"We will fulfil our orders first and foremost as the Warchief expects, then I will have leave to go to Garadar myself." He'd already planned it out, it seemed, and she was also certain that in the meantime, he would stoically worry himself into madness.

"A sound plan." Gylledra agreed, omitting the fact that her own agents were already on the hunt for Dranosh Saurfang. She wanted to know ahead of time what sort of news Varok would be receiving. Knowing him as she did, there was no doubt in her mind that he assumed his son was dead, that there was no way after all this time and after the violent destruction of Draenor for him to have survived. It was shocking enough that any Mag'har survived.

Being in this place and knowing what it meant to Varok had pulled many of thoughts to the forefront of her mind that had never surfaced before. She did her best to push down what she believed was nonsense, one of her age and status should not be concerned with measuring up to ghosts and memories.

Thrallmar was in every way an orcish military outpost. There were no provisions for comfort, only the barest of necessities. Gylledra had no complaint, however, she expected nothing less. An unsettled feeling had filled her since setting foot in Outland and did not subside. The first two weeks in the wretched Hellfire Peninsula came and went with alarming speed. Gylledra had set up her temporary headquarters in a pavilion out of the way beside the main hold but behind the inn. Being in Outland at least allowed for the information to reach her faster and her dispatches to go out sooner. The Ethereals in the shattered borderlands of Netherstorm were somewhat concerning; her mentor thousands of years earlier, who himself was an Ethereal, had told her about his kind and the potential trouble they could cause.

It was the fel-ridden hell hole of Shadowmoon Valley, however, that caused her the greatest trouble. Not only was it the epicenter of the current demon infestation, there was a Black Temple where of all the people in all the worlds, Illidan Stormrage ruled. She had served in the Moon Guard both alongside him and under his command; to learn that he had taken the fel into himself was a horror greater than she could have imagined.

Gylledra had never missed or longed for sunlight so much as she had after only a couple of weeks confined to the strange, permanent twilight that hung over the whole of the Hellfire Peninsula. She'd been born a night elf and then became Nightborne, she was meant for the night, but whatever it was in Outland, it did not suit her. She'd begun to feel as though a shadow hung over her too.

She was down to her last candle as she sat at the large table littered with papers, her own notes, books, missives, quills, empty and full bottles of ink, and a platter with stale bread and cheese she hadn't touched. She was sorting and organizing the intel to make it easier to grab up specific reports when she needed them. Sleep was fitful at best since coming to Thrallmar in addition to her previous issues, and this day felt more exhausting than most.

The flap-door was suddenly flung wide, the wind making the candle-flame dance, sputter, and then extinguish. She stared at the wax stump, the wisp of smoke rising, and she sighed. From the corner of her eye she saw the hulking, amorphous shape of an orc framed in the doorway, darkening things even further. Perhaps it was a good time for a break, though she was still frustrated with the untimely interruption.

"What?" She asked sharply, and looked up at the intruder, shrouded in darkness.

"Is this where I can find Lady Saurfang?" The voice was deep, as was most orcs', but his was a voice she didn't know. Though unofficial, the nickname title had spread like wildfire and stuck ever since the end of the Third War.

"I have been called that, yes, but my name is Gylledra Alenos. What is it you need?" The chilliness remained in her tone as she attempted to relight the candle.

"You are Lady Saurfang? I expected…"

"An orc? Sorry to disappoint. What do you want?" She rolled her eyes at his astonishment.

"I am looking for Varok Saurfang, and was directed to you." He told her, which gave her a second of pause. "As I traveled, orcs in Zangarmarsh sought me out and directed me here."

Gylledra gave up on the candle, getting to her feet; she made a small gesture so that a web of fairy lights appeared over their heads, illuminating the dark space. Able to see clearly, she found herself staring into a young, Mag'har version of Varok's face, and her mouth dropped open in shock. His brow furrowed very much like his father's did when faced with something that didn't seem to be making sense and Gylledra searched for her voice.

"Dranosh." She finally managed, and his eyes widened in surprise. Her impatience and exhaustion had vanished as she gazed in wonder at Varok's son. He was the spitting image all the way from the crease in his brow to the braids that hung down his chest. Like Varok, she had begun to think there was little chance he had survived all this time.

"You know me?"

"If I am called Lady Saurfang, don't you suppose that it would make sense that I know his son's name?" There was no stopping the grin that spread across her face as she knew how happy this was going to make Varok.

"But why do they call you…you are my father's mate? An elf?" He gaped at her.

"Times have changed." She mused. "Now I can see, though, how he looked when he was young, you are the mirror of him."

"Is he not here in Thrallmar?"

"He is out with a patrol, Varok does not do well sitting still when his mind is so busy. But he will be here shortly." Gylledra came around the table and took the bewildered Dranosh by the shoulders in greeting before stepping past him to get outside. Spotting one of her own, a troll called Ja'ven, she gave a small, beckoning wave to him from where he was woodworking. Dranosh had followed her out and watched the troll approach.

"Yes, General?" Ja'ven asked, keeping his voice low.

"Find High Overlord Saurfang, whatever he is in the midst of is not so important as this. Let him know it is of the utmost urgency that he returns immediately to speak with me." She explained. He glanced by her, eyeing the towering Mag'har.

"Dis be his boy, den?"

"You leave that announcement to me, Ja'ven." Gylledra smirked, though.

"I will fetch him, my lady." He put his fist over his heart before he trotted off, gesturing at his apprentice to take his spot at the workbench.

"General?" Dranosh asked from behind her, and she turned, smiling cryptically.

"I am, yes."

"I think perhaps then I better understand how a warrior like my father has an elf for a mate." He told her.

"Well, I was not always a general."

"You lead Horde forces?"

"Yes and no." She paused, trying to decide how much to tell him as she had no doubt that he would go under Varok's command and not hers. "The Legion, which is responsible for Draenor being in the state it is in has sought for many thousands of years to destroy Azeroth, the world I come from, that the orcs now call home as well. I gathered many skilled people of all races and factions to act as agents and soldiers against the Legion. It is our goal to free the world of demonic corruption and influence, and ultimately aid in the complete dismantling of the Legion, which…that also involves bringing down a mad, dark Titan."

"I see." Dranosh nodded. "It does seem a worthy cause. The orcs I met in Zangarmarsh, they were agents of yours, I presume."

"Yes, their assignment, and that of many others, was to find you or information regarding you…whether you had died or not." Gylledra saw that his eyes were darker, more brown than amber and she thought it must be that his mother had dark eyes.

"Was all this on my father's orders?"

"I have not told him I sent anyone to search for you. He is still fulfilling the Warchief's orders and planned to seek you out himself once cleared to do so. I am not his subordinate, of course, and could not stand idly by when it was within my power to do something."

"I see…" he murmured again.

"It may seem dishonest, but he is very much afraid that you died, and I will always do everything I am able to ease his suffering." She looked down for a moment.

"I understand." Dranosh touched her shoulder and she looked up, surprised. "It is clear, how you feel. I admit I am afraid to disappoint him, I have heard so many stories of his ferocity in battle, all his victories…his strength and honor…"

"You could never disappoint him." Gylledra felt a strange, perhaps almost sad, pang deep down. She would never have a son. "The possibility that you lived and have grown up has been a light in the darkness for him, despite his fears. It is true, he is…an incredible warrior. His strength and skill are unmatched, most orcs have died in battle well before reaching his age. I'm not sure I've ever seen greater."

"I don't doubt what you say, but perhaps as his mate, you are a little biased." Dranosh chuckled and she did smile at that, giving a nod and a shrug.

"That could be true, but I have led forces into battle for hundreds of his lifetimes…yet when I first saw him fight…I had never seen anything like it." Her cheeks grew warm and she looked away again, feeling a little bashful, but her heart swelled, as full of love for Varok as it had ever been. Even during their most difficult times, her love deepened every day it seemed. She cleared her thought. "Come, while we wait, I will show you around."

Gylledra introduced Dranosh to various individuals whose paths they crossed as she pointed out the various shops and buildings that he might find necessary. Many outright stared at him, seeing the obvious resemblance to their High Overload despite her not introducing him as Varok's son; that would be for Varok to do.

As the tour of Thrallmar drew to a close, they stopped in front of the hold. Dranosh was describing his childhood in Garadar and behind him, Gylledra could see two riders coming in at breakneck speed, pushing their wyverns to their limit. Dranosh continued about the unknown force inside him that drove him to leave his home and seek his destiny elsewhere as Varok leapt from his mount the instant all four feet touched the dirt. He barreled toward her, his face etched with concern, as always, expecting the worst.

"Gylledra! What has happened? Are you alright?" He unknowingly almost bowled his own son over, nearly picking her up as he took her by the arms and looking as though examining her for injuries.

"I am fine, nothing has happened. But…your son wished to speak with you." Her eyes turned to the nervous looking orc and Varok blinked, processing what she had just said to him before releasing her and whirling around. The elder and younger Saurfangs stared at one another and Gylledra's heart was pounding watching as so many things flashed on her mate's face. Shock, joy, mild apprehension, shock again.

"I am Dranosh." The younger greeted, his eyes on his father, and his need to make him proud plain on his face.

"Yes, of course…" Varok breathed, his voice heavy with emotion. "My boy…my son…" He reached out, taking Dranosh by the shoulders and blinked back the joy threatening to spill down his face.

"Father." Dranosh replied, nodding, looking as speechless and overjoyed as his father, who laughed then and pulled him forward into a tight hug as they clapped each other on the back. It affected Gylledra far more than she expected and she fought to keep her composure.

"My son!" Varok said again and when he stepped back, he hastily wiped at his cheeks. "How did you know to come here?"

"Your mate has that answer." Dranosh gestured to Gylledra who was trying to dry her own eyes and Varok turned to her.

"You did this? You brought him here to me?" He asked her and not knowing what to say, she simply nodded. Many had gathered around by then, watching the reunion. Varok took Gylledra in his arms, though, and kissed her in a way that was not meant for spectators. A small tremble coursed through her when he gently pulled back, his eyes fixed on hers and she took his face between her hands.

"I wanted you to be happy." She whispered.

"You have made me happier than I have ever been." He told her, his tears coming down his face. "Thank you, my love, there is no greater gift than this." His lips met hers again and she inhaled sharply, and her cheeks were burning hot. Orcs simply did not express such affection before the eyes of others, that alone told her much about how happy he was.

"You have a lifetime of talking to do with your son. Go, talk with him." She smiled, and he gave a nod, pressing one last kiss to her forehead before he released her and turned back to Dranosh.

"Come, let's eat. I want to hear everything." Varok gripped his son's shoulder and they headed for the inn.

Gylledra ate alone beside a small fire and could see Varok and Dranosh at a table outside the inn still deep in conversation periodically punctuated with laughter or raised voices accompanied by descriptive gestures of warfare. Nasorya, who had just arrived back at Thrallmar strolled up to Gylledra's fire and sat down, reaching for an empty bowl.

"Eating alone?" She asked unnecessarily then looked more closely and saw Gylledra quickly brush away a stray tear. "What the hell happened, Gyll?" She glanced over to where Varok was then back to Gylledra again. "You're crying? I will rip his fucking balls out through his throat…" She snarled and moved to rise.

"No! No…Nas. It's not bad." Gylledra stopped her. "He is with Dranosh." Nasorya looked back over, her mouth dropping open.

"Wow…aside from the obvious difference in hue…and…oldness…they're exactly the same!" She exclaimed.

"Yes, it's rather remarkable. I was quite taken aback."

"Looks like a lot of nice features in the new and improved model, too bad it's his kid and you're still stuck with the decrepit one." Nasorya sighed theatrically and ladled stew into her bowl from the pot hanging close to the fire.

"Your kind and generous opinions of Varok never cease to amaze me." Gylledra snorted.

"Why aren't you over there with them? I can't imagine you're disinterested in whatever his son has been up to for almost three decades."

"Because it isn't about me, Varok needs time with his son."

"And?" Nasorya gave her a level, knowing look and Gylledra attempted not to grimace into her bowl, giving a small, half-hearted shrug.

"And I know Dranosh will want to know about his mother. And, well…I don't want to know about her."

"Ah, there it is." A contemplative look crossed Nasorya's face and Gylledra narrowed her eyes at her.

"Just leave it alone, Nas."

"How old is Saurfang?"

"Whatever this conversation is, I don't want to have it."

"Well, based on Thrall being, what…about…twenty-five, and he's the warchief and a very skilled, accomplished fighter…" Nasorya pursed her lips, going on anyway. "He's been the Warchief since we've known him, what…nearly six years? Five? And he doesn't have a mate and hasn't put forth any offspring…knowing what we do about Saurfang when he came through the portal, he must have been in his mid-to-late twenties. Dranosh was just a baby then and orcs usually start making babies nearly as soon as they find a mate, so I can't imagine he was with his mate more than a year or two at most. Even then, he was off most the time doing orc stuff, hitting things with his axe and the like…"

"WHAT is the point of this analysis?" Gylledra was growing agitated and the outburst attracted the looks of various individuals, including Varok himself.

"Just listen to me, Gyll. We know how stupid younger orcs are…with the exception of Thrall, but he is…oddly mature." Nasorya, on a roll, set her bowl down. "Back then, Saurfang was already a well-known warrior, but also a hot-headed youth and then he drank demon's blood. How much time can you surmise he actually spent with his mate?"

"I don't fucking care how much…"

"Probably enough to make Dranosh, which is what…two or three minutes?" Nasorya chuckled at her own joke as Gylledra glared at her. Usually, she wasn't quite this obtuse. "You are his great love, the love that only ever happens once in a lifetime if it ever happens at all. So, don't torture yourself comparing yourself to a ghost…"

Gylledra surged to her feet, throwing her bowl to the ground and only then did Nasorya realize she was genuinely angry and stood up, eyes wide. "I was not questioning the greatness of his love for me. Do not presume to know my every thought and insecurity."

"Oh, right, of course. Silly me, thinking that thousands of years in your company would give me a good idea of exactly what that look on your face means." Nasorya frowned and poked her in the chest. "You did a beautiful thing for Saurfang, don't let the past mar that. You are his mate."

"I am not an orc, Nasorya, am I even really his mate if he will not marry me and I can never give him children?" Her words bore with them a blow that neither of them had expected. Gylledra wasn't even sure where the thought had come from, she had never consciously paid it mind, but obviously it lurked inside her, waiting for a vulnerable moment to strike at her. Nasorya looked as though she'd been slapped.

"Oh, Gyllie…I…I didn't know that you…"

"No." Gylledra put her hand up, stopping whatever the rest of the sentence would be. "I told you I didn't want to talk about it, and you pushed anyway." She breezed past Nasorya and a moment later found wyvern reins thrust into her hands by one of her own guards. She gave the tauren woman a nod of thanks before mounting and taking off out of Thrallmar, much in need of some time without anyone trying to convince her of anything.

It was growing later, and the air had cooled and though she felt chilled, Gylledra didn't return yet. The breeze on her face as she slowly flew, kept her alert. She truly was happy for Varok to have his beloved son back. He had been very hard on himself over the years, torn between upholding his promise to his dead mate…his real mate…and the feeling that he'd abandoned his son to live as an orphan. Now he would be able to make amends, get to know his son, and forgive himself for whatever blame he always taken upon himself.

Gylledra's own infrequent insecurities were of no consequence and she had no desire or intention of burdening Varok with them. She wished she had never said anything about it to Nasorya, they were her own things to deal with and she knew how ridiculous they were. Sometimes she wondered at the pettiness of her own periodic self-pity when the rare occasion of such feelings did crop up. This, she imagined, was yet another reason she'd avoided intimate involvement of any sort for so long. But she also regretted nothing, whatever ridiculous passing notions she experienced, being by Varok's side had brought to her more happiness and clarity than she'd ever had by herself. Before even crossing through the Dark Portal into this place, she knew there would be things like this that would arise as different facets of Varok's past were faced.

The semi-darkness of Outland night had set in by the time Gylledra returned to Thrallmar. Most everyone had turned in and she returned the wyvern to its stable. She took off the saddle and harness then fed and brushed the creature before closing it in to its stall where it seemed to happily settle down.

Varok was alone by the fire Gylledra had vacated earlier and he looked up, smiling at her as she approached. She was glad to see him and took his hand as he reached out to her, pulling her close to stand between his knees. He wrapped his arms around her as he buried his face against her chest. Gylledra let her cheek rest on the top of his head as she stroked his hair.

"Where is Dranosh?" She closed her eyes, relishing the closeness, and the warmth that constantly radiated off his skin.

"He had not slept between Zangarmarsh and arriving here, he was exhausted, so he has a room at the inn for the night, tomorrow we will get him some armor and a place in the barracks. He wishes to serve the Horde."

"He is your son, I expected nothing less. He will make as fine a warrior as his father." She kissed his hair, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"How are you?" He asked against her. She made a noncommittal noise and he looked up to meet her eyes. "I saw you quarrel with Nasorya." Damn it.

"It happens." She pressed a kiss to his lips, hoping the subject would die as she attempted to tempt him with her feminine wiles, but when she pulled back, he looked more determined.

"Not like that it doesn't." He replied, and she heaved a sigh. "You were upset enough to storm off…"

"Varok…"

"I think there are some things we need to discuss…" He began, and she pulled back from him at once.

"Did she…" The words came out as a hiss as fury suddenly coursed through her body. "How could she? She had no right to speak with you about anything I…" He took her firmly by the waist, preventing her escape.

"She would die before she betrayed you in any way. She has said nothing to me." His voice was stern and Gylledra knew he was right. Nasorya would push boundaries and disregard basic social rules, but would never betray Gylledra. "She gave me a scathing glare, but said nothing."

"She pressed for a discussion I preferred not to have." She finally admitted, begrudgingly.

"My old ears are keener than you think." He took her into his embrace again as she tensed up, realizing he'd heard. Shit, damn it, damn it… "What you said…"

"I don't want to talk about this." She said quickly, wishing to flee and never face this topic, to pretend it wasn't a thing and that she had never said a word about it.

"We must." Varok insisted.

"Why? It doesn't matter, we've both said stupid things while angry…"

"It is something that matters. I saw your face, I know when you are truly wounded. Whether physically or otherwise." He wasn't wrong and she grew more uncomfortable. She had never been good at discussing things of this nature, things that hurt her heart. She barely tolerated having feelings of any sort to begin with!

"I didn't know that you thought about children."

"I don't." She answered too quickly. "It isn't possible, there is nothing to discuss about children."

"Why did you tell Nasorya that you are not my mate?" He asked. She squirmed internally and somewhat externally as well, against his grip.

"I…because…" She fought for words and against feeling too strongly so that he would see. She didn't know why, but she didn't want him or anyone else for that matter to see that things hurt her. "…we never…"

"Stood before others and made promises to each other?" He offered. Gylledra clenched her teeth and stared at him. Her lack of response was enough of a response for him. "Do you want to do that?" He asked. Do I? She wondered. If it bothered her so much, in some way she must have desired it.

"I never said anything for a reason!" She snapped and finally did push his hands off. She stepped back, taking deep breaths and looked away.

"Which is?"

"It doesn't matter. I wish I had never said anything, this is stupid…"

"It's not." He replied.

"I am far too old to be concerned with small matters."

"You're not." Varok shook his head. "It is no small matter."

"I have been content all these years, Varok. It is fine." She wanted the conversation to be over. She'd reconciled herself with this particular matter years ago, but here it was, rearing its head again. "There doesn't need to be any further discussion…"

"It is not fine." He stood and turned her to face him, wiping away with his thumb a tear on her cheek. She reached up, wiping angrily at her own face, ridiculously offended that it would betray her in such a way, giving away her feelings like that. She took a deep breath and let it out in a huff. "Tears are not fine." Varok whispered.

"Tears mean nothing." She snapped, not even certain why she felt angry. Was it because of the discussion or because she was forced to face something she had pushed down out of sight for the last several years?

He sighed. "Gylledra…"

"Varok…I have no desire to have a child, I am eleven and a half thousand years old. And I…I do not need some formal thing to show we are…what we are." What are we? It wasn't clear if she was telling him that or reassuring herself. He pulled her close though, watching her eyes.

"We are mates." He told her with that infuriating ability to discern her thoughts from her face alone. "Have you forgotten that a very long time ago we peered into the darkest parts of each other? That we each saw the horrors and the pain that the other had endured, the things that had created us?"

"Of course not." She whispered. Their minds and hearts had connected those years ago on the deck of the ship as she was falling into darkness. But he reached inside of her, to the very essence of her being, binding them for but moments into a singular consciousness that linked them more deeply and intimately than any physical act of love ever could.

"I have been remiss in that I do not tell you often enough how important you are, that I love you as I have never loved before."

"I know that you do…I am not some ignorant ninny in need of constant reassurance…" She started.

"Nevertheless, I will make sure you never have even a moment of doubt." He gave her a thorough kiss, the kind she was powerless to resist, and it left her feeling a little light headed when he pulled back. "When I saw the broken state of this world, I was sure my son was lost, that he must have perished in Garadar. I was too afraid even to send my own scouts to find him, you did what I could not and now for the first time since I can remember…I feel whole." He tilted her chin up so she looked at him. "You did that."

"I would do anything to make you happy."

"For that, you should be properly thanked." He arched one brow at her and her mouth dropped open, mock-scandalized as he got a handful of her backside.