BECAUSE OF HER
A World of Warcraft fanfic by Anyia
His eyes were open, but he saw nothing but darkness.
Or, rather, he had one of his eyes open. His left eye was held shut beneath a bandage. The wound was closing, but the pain still burned.
Lor'themar Theron shut his good eye tightly, as if it would do anything to shut out what had happened only weeks before. Lordaeron fell. Dark'han betrayed them. The Scourge broke through. A death knight slashed the left side of his face open before he managed to cut the bastard down in a burst of rage. The Ranger-General was...
He grit his teeth and let his breath hiss in and out between them. She's dead because of me.
Lor'themar opened his eyes after his breathing steadied, allowing his remaining eye to adjust to the darkness. He was in a cave, and the rain was pouring outside. He forced himself to sit up, groaning as he felt sharp pains surging through his torso. He was battered and bruised...and not to mention feeling a bit lost.
Putting the events that led to Silvermoon's defeat from his mind, he tried to recall more recent ones. He was out in the once-beautiful forests of Quel'thalas with a small troop of the surviving Farstriders, trying to find anyone else who lived through the horrific events of the Scourge invasion. They had to rally what remained of their people under their Prince's banners if they wanted a chance to rebuild.
Then they were ambushed by a larger troop of Scourge. After sustaining multiple injuries and seeing that the odds were against them, they chose to split up and make a run for it. Running away with his tail between his legs tore at Lor'themar's pride, but survival was more important than honor or heroics now. He remembered collapsing in exhaustion, but he did not remember doing so inside a cave.
He glanced down and assessed his injuries. Someone had cleaned his wounds and bandaged them. Whoever it was also removed most of his armor in the process. Lor'themar did not like feeling vulnerable. He squinted in the darkness, and spotted what appeared to be his armor and his shirt across the cave floor, along with his bow, sword, and quiver. There was a makeshift fire pit in the middle of the cave, but the fire had burnt out.
He assumed one of his rangers found him and was caring for him, but he didn't like being unsure any more than being vulnerable. He took a deep breath and stood, his body complaining the whole time. He wobbled on his feet, and he had to blindly grasp at the cave wall to steady himself. I'm injured, hungry, and weak. How long was I out? Lor'themar shook his head, and hobbled his way to the other side of the cave. Halfway there, he heard footsteps in the rain. He would have dove for his sword faster if he wasn't feeling so woozy. By the time he had his hand on its grip, a hooded figure with glowing red eyes stood at the mouth of the cave.
Lor'themar raised his sword as best he could, trying to will his muscles to stop convulsing from the effort. "Scourge scum," he rasped, realizing how dry his throat was in the process. "Keep away from me or I will kill you and make sure you stay dead."
The creature's eyes narrowed at him, but otherwise did not move. After a few moments of silence, it threw a leather bag toward Lor'themar. The elven ranger instinctively raised his free hand to catch the bag before it hit him or the ground, but he didn't take his eyes off the creature.
The creature merely stared back at him with its cold, red eyes before vanishing. Lor'themar started at its disappearance, half-expecting it to suddenly appear beside or behind him to strike... but it did no such thing. In fact, the creature seemed to have left the cave.
When he felt sure he was alone, he let his sword sag to the ground, the muscles in his arm seeming to breathe a sigh of relief. He crouched down and carefully undid the bag's straps, dumping its contents onto the cave floor.
Lor'themar sat down, wondering at what he saw. The bag contained a flask of water, dried strips of meat, a bundle of nuts and berries, ointment, potions, bandages, and a set of flint and steel. Why would an undead creature bother bringing all of this to him? Was it trying to trick him and poison him? He opened the flask and sniffed at the water, not detecting anything suspicious. The Scourge's plague was baked into people's bread, and they unwittingly consumed it. He shook his head, quickly closing the flask again.
A shiver began wracking his body, and he picked up his shirt to pull it on. He assessed his surroundings once more, wondering if his supposed savior managed to gather additional firewood. True enough, he spotted a small pile of wood behind one of the cave's boulders. He picked up a few pieces to place in the fire pit.
When Lor'themar woke again, he was feeling weaker than ever. He needed food and water. He grimaced at the thought of eating the food the undead creature brought him, so he moved to the mouth of the cave to catch some of the rainwater in his bare hands. It was relatively brighter now, so he assumed it was daytime. The rain had not stopped since the night before, but it wasn't falling as heavily now. If the rain let up, he could probably go out and hunt some untainted game to replenish his strength. He was no longer as good a shot as he was before with the bow, but he figured he could at least try setting some traps.
He wondered if any of the rangers were out looking for him. He shook his head. That would waste their precious time in Scourge-infested territory, and he knew they were smarter than that. The best thing to do would be to regain his strength and seek them out himself instead of hoping they would come for him.
He peered out into the woods from the cave's entrance as he drank handfuls of rainwater. As he was looking to the east, a loud rustling came from the other side of the wood. Before Lor'themar realized what was happening, something with blazing red eyes caught him by the arm, roughly shoving him back inside the cave and down with his face against the ground. Lor'themar grunted in protest, irritated that his weakened body was not cooperating with him. The creature clamped a cold hand over his mouth, and he felt the weight of its body across his back, holding him silent and still.
Loud, thundering footsteps started drawing near. Lor'themar couldn't see what it was, but he could certainly smell it. Abomination, he thought with disgust. The large, clumsy creatures made of multiple corpses sewn together had a profoundly wretched smell that nobody could mistake for anything else.
Moments after the Abomination's footsteps faded away, the red-eyed creature released him. Lor'themar scrambled onto his feet, but wound up teetering and leaning back against the cave wall. "You," he started, trying to catch his breath from the exertion. "You knew that thing would have seen me there. Why did you...?"
The creature had its back turned to him, but it snorted. "Eat," it growled in the Common tongue, pointing at the abandoned rations in the far corner of the cave. Then it darted out of the cave once more.
Something about how the creature saved him from the Abomination and the way it commanded him to eat made him less suspicious about its motives. He tried the water first, then the berries. When he didn't turn into one of the Scourge the next day, he tried some of the dried meat. Over the course of a few days, Lor'themar began feeling more like himself again.
He was undoing the bandage around his head, getting ready to clean the gash that blinded him and apply a fresh layer of ointment onto it. It was healing faster than he expected it would, but he knew that he'd never use his left eye again. That, and it'll leave an ugly scar. Lor'themar sighed. He had always been careful about strikes to the face in combat. It wasn't like him to be that reckless.
But then he remembered the feeling of panic and anger that was rushing through him during that particular battle. The only thought running through his head was to make it back in time. He was lucky his reckless behavior hadn't gotten him killed.
After tying the bandage securely, Lor'themar laid down onto the cave floor. He stretched his hands out above him and flexed his fingers. He was strong enough to leave the cave and find his people in the morning. He wasn't in top condition, but the bruises and cuts on his body were healing well, and his muscles weren't as painful or unsteady when he held his weapons up.
He wondered if he would see the creature again, since he hadn't in at least three days. Undead or not, she had saved his life. He shut his eyes, feeling the drowsiness overcome him.
Lor'themar woke in the middle of the night to the sound of familiar footsteps. He had his back turned to the cave opening, and lay still as the footsteps drew closer. He heard a soft thump of a pack being laid down close to his head. He quickly whirled around and caught the creature by the wrist, and he saw her red eyes dilate in shock. She turned her face away and tried to jerk her wrist out of his grasp, but he held on tightly. She moved to draw one of her short swords out with her free hand, but Lor'themar swiftly sat up and hooked an elbow around hers to prevent her from doing so.
The creature was still avoiding his gaze, looking down and away, her hood covering most of her face. This was the first time Lor'themar got a good look at her up close. The blue-gray ears jutting out of her hood and the wisps of dirty-blonde hair peeking beneath it confirmed she was once an elf, warped and disfigured by death.
"Look at me," he said, softly. The creature's ear gave a little twitch, but otherwise she didn't move. "Please," he insisted. "Please. I have to know."
She turned toward him with agonizing slowness, and Lor'themar barely even noticed he was holding his breath in anxiety.
She looked straight at him, her face so close that he would have felt her breath on his face had she still been alive. She was scowling.
He knew that scowl. He knew the way it contorted her brow, the way it made her lips tighten to emphasize just how displeased she was. Seeing that scowl again tore his emotions between relief and heartache.
Lor'themar shook his head in anguish as he gazed at her. The fierce spark her eyes had in life was still there, but he could see the anger and torment mixed in with it. Her formerly soft, pink skin was dry and cracked; her golden hair robbed of its luster. He released her wrist slowly to reach up and touch her face. He could barely hear himself when he whispered, "What has he done to you?"
His fingertips barely even grazed her cheek before she jerked away, shoving him back onto the ground and standing up angrily. "Get out of here, Lor'themar," she spat in Thalassian. "I won't be back to help you again." And with that, she vanished, but he could hear her hurried, retreating footsteps as she ran out into the darkness.
Lor'themar rolled onto his back, staring up blankly at the cave's ceiling. I'm alive because of her. He slammed the side of his fist onto the ground, his other hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He felt his eyes burning with tears he refused to shed. She's dead because of me.
Author's Note:
I've always shipped Lor'themar Theron and Sylvanas Windrunner, but never got around to writing the stories I had for them. I've been renewing my interest in WoW, so I figured now was a good time to write all those stories down.
This is a what-if scenario I thought of when I wondered how Lor'themar first found out Sylvanas was turned into one of the Scourge instead of just being killed in action.