Vendel'o Eranu Belore
By Rillan macDhai
As the teaser said, this is adult stuff. If you are offended by sex or swearing or guy/guy pairings, especially if it gets violent, don't read this. Rated M for blood, sick humor, semi-graphic vampire feeding, guy/guy pairings, language, very non-consensual sex/rape, and other potentially offensive / eye bleach requiring imagery. Or not, but just to keep the website happy….
If you've been reading my other Warcraft stories, this is an extreme prequel to "Rogue Magick" and and explanation of the background that led to "For All the Fallen"
Thalassian translations: Belore = the sun,
Kim' = little
'dorei = children/elves, so guessing 'dore = child/elf
Vendel'o eranu = Help me forget
San'layn = Darkfallen, vampiric undead elves
Some of the descriptions below are drawn from the game Vampire: the Masquerade and various other vampire lore.
Research on WoWwiki has shown Taldaram, Valanar, and Keleseth (the Blood Prince Council in WoW) all have white/silver/grey hair when you first encounter them. When you fight them again in Ice Crown Citadel, Valanar (I think) still has white hair, but Taldaram and Keleseth look like their hair is either black or maybe dark blue. So… maybe he dyes it, maybe its magick, only his hairdresser knows for sure… As for the name difference – Arthas seems to like renaming people after he messes with them or Tal may have chosen it for himself…
They had come into Ahn'Kahet seeking undead Nerubians and cultists and they had found them. They also found one of the San'layn, the Blood Prince Taldaram. Laughing, he had danced among them, feeding where he would, magick and claws making short work of the adventurers. For the brief, wonderful moments of combat, he had felt alive again
Now he knelt in the midst of the carnage, licking blood from his fingers, sucking it from the bodies of the fallen, from their weapons and clothes, even from the floor. None of it would be wasted. For a time, such a little time, he would be warm and the terrible hunger muted.
In the silence, a faint sound intruded on his feeding.
Breathing.
Heartbeat.
One of the cattle was not quite dead yet.
He flowed through the dead, knelt and licked blood from the fingertips of one of the fallen. "Still warm," he whispered, pleased.
Not that the blood was, that was his own, but the flesh was warm and undamaged, the fingers still pliable, not already stiffening in a body's brief shock at being dead. He began unbuckling the armor and setting it aside, looking for wounds he might exploit.
There were bruises on the pale arms, a wicked one on the unhelmed head. The skin was scraped there and in the manner of head wounds of any sort, there was a good bit of blood, clotting now. "Sin'dore," he chuckled to the body. "Blood elf, indeed."
This one he vaguely remembered batting across the room into a wall. It had slid down and never rejoined the fight. "I'll have to remember that trick," he said to himself, laughed, and continued undoing the other's armor. "I wonder how my blood got on you. You're too soft to have cut me. Perhaps magick?"
He turned the other in his arms, still examining for wounds, but beginning to be aroused by the warm and unresisting body. Finding nothing else to account for its unconsciousness, he turned his attention to the head wound.
Investigating with fingers and nose and finally tongue, he lost himself in the scent of soft hair and elf. From somewhere in his memory, an image fought its way past what he was now, reminding him of sitting like this in a room somewhere with his face buried in his roommate's mane.
"My fire-sworn mage," he whispered, naming a memory that still haunted him after so much else had gone cold and faded. "Could this be you?"
He gathered the other more firmly into his arms and stood without apparent effort. "I haven't had a bedmate for a while. Arthas certainly won't begrudge me borrowing you. And if the swelling in your head doesn't push your brains out, perhaps I'll get to talk to you and find out who you are. If not, well, there's always necromancy."
Ignoring the rest of the dead, he conjured a portal and stepped through into his rooms at the Citadel
"Draw a bath," he commanded, setting his servants to work. Indicating the body in his arms, he added, "And draw a bath for this one as well. And light the braziers in my bedroom."
He waited, acutely aware of the elven man in his arms, of his smell, of the heavy boneless weight of him, the heartbeat and the slow, but still steady breathing. Abruptly it wasn't enough to wait and see if the other would return to consciousness on his own.
"Bring me a healer. Now!"
"My Prince is injured?" inquired his major-domo.
"No, this one is. I want him repaired, cleaned, and in my bed as soon as possible. Keep him warm and dress him in something fine, something with fur and velvet. And use the padded manacles, I don't want a mark on him."
The thought of the elf mage chained and in his bed tightened things in his body that rarely responded anymore. He ran a tongue across his lips, savoring the thought, delighting in wanting sex again, not just blood and life energy.
"Not a dinner guest, then," his major-domo observed dryly.
"No. Not. And this one is mine. Tell the staff. Any who harm this one will find themselves spread across the Glacier for the frostwyrms. And by harm I mean not a scratch, not a taste, nothing."
"As you wish, my Prince." The lesser San'layn held his arms out for the sin'dore. "Enjoy your bath. I will attend to this one myself."
Reluctantly, the San'layn prince gave over his burden to the other.
Refreshed from his bath, his hair still damp and loose, and enchanted back to its original color of dark auburn, he picked up a blue silk robe and fur-lined slippers and threw them on. Leaving the robe unbelted, he stepped into his private room to find it had been transformed into an oasis of warmth and light. Tapestries and hangings had been added to block the drafts of cold air he generally ignored, and lanterns' glow mixed with conjured light. More fur rugs graced the floor, adding to the possibilities for love play. Again he felt the tightening in his groin as his nose encountered the other's scent, his arousal poking the silk, tingling at the touch of the smooth fabric. His fangs ached as well. I will have to be careful with him or I'll undo all the healer's work.
His servants had hung curtains around his bed, blue and green and violet silks sewn together in mimicry of the aurora, green-blue and deep blue like the heart of the glacier. The curtains were tied back, revealing his prize sprawled on the bed in an artfully careless way, partial covered by a fur lined with teal satin. He detected the work of his major-domo in the posing and approved.
The healer's magick had faded the bruise marring his captive's face, his overall breathing and color were better, and the servants had dressed him in golden-brown velvet slightly darker than his hair. Black silk gloves covered his hands, starkly contrasting with the white furs of the bed and the furred manacle cuffs around his wrists. The chains were loose enough to allow the mage some movement, not so loose as to allow casting or strangling himself. Soft-soled knit boots, lined with black fur and cross-gartered around slim legs disappeared under the velvet robe and the coverlet.
"Ah, kim'dore, you are beautiful."
There was a catch in the other's breathing, a quickening of the heartbeat.
He smiled to himself and sat down on the edge of the bed with his back half to his captive and took the closer of those hands in his, beginning to carefully, slowly, strip off the silk glove as a kind of prelude to the foreplay.
Fabric out of the way, he nuzzled the lax fingers, fully aware the other was awake and trying not to respond. He licked the palm of his prisoner's hand, starting as close to the wrist as his tongue would reach under the cuff, wiggling it slowly across the center and out to the tip of the middle finger. His prey shivered, trying to pull away, fingers curling around the palm in protection. He chuckled softly and turned his attention to the back of the hand, teasing the veins there with his tongue, letting it dart and force its way into the webbing between the fingers until the other gave a small involuntary moan of protest.
Smiling to himself, he forced the fingers to uncurl, licking and sucking each one, grazing the tips with his teeth. The other thrashed at that, trying desperately to pull his hand away.
"Stop it," he ordered before the elf could injure himself against his grip. "Lie still and I'll release your hand."
The other froze instantly, but he could feel the fine tremors still shaking through the elf's arm. He turned the hand over again and kissed the palm gently until his captive moaned and tried again to flinch away.
"You taste so good," he almost-apologized and released the wrist cuff.
The other pulled his arm to his body and rolled onto his side away from the San'layn prince. When his captor did not immediately pursue, he wiggled up the bed, shifting his still-chained arm into a more comfortable position. Chain clinked as he shifted his feet, not quite hiding the sounds he made as he worked his fingers to restore circulation to his still trapped hand.
"What did those idiots do now?" the blood prince growled. Turning around, he threw a hand out and caught one of the other's legs. The elf immediately went still again, but his heartbeat betrayed his fear, as did his scent.
Tracing his hand down the leg to just above the ankle the prince found his answer; the boots had been laced on after the elf's legs had been chained together. A second chain ran from his leg irons to the bottom of the bed.
"Well, I told them to keep you warm," the blood prince spoke more to himself than to his prisoner. "Thankfully I also told them to put you in my bed or they might have been more literal. Of course, I would have flayed the muscle from their bones, but that might not have gotten either of us more than revenge."
He stroked the leg possessively, letting his fingers wander back up the length of the boot, seeking out the ties and slowly loosening them. Just touching the other man, even through the layers of clothing, kept him aroused. "Whatever smell you have about you, we should bottle it and drop on Sylvanas' Forsaken, if only to see her face at the orgy it would cause."
He eased the boot off and undid the shackle, gently stroking the leg and foot, untwisting the silken pant leg that had been crushed tightly to the skin. He shifted up the bed, tracing fingers along the leg, sliding his hand under the robe and up the thigh, stroking the leg through the silk almost to the hip. The other shivered, his body tensed in fear, as though tightening the muscles might prevent injury, prevent penetration.
Tal slid his other arm under and around his prisoner, pulling him closer as he rubbed his face into the velvet covering the elf's back and shoulder. He wanted to roll in the scent like a cat in mint. It was intoxicating. He tightened his embrace, one hand firm against the man's chest, the other curling over the hip to caress the soft skin of the groin.
"Shall I take you?" the blood prince asked, a mere politeness, since he intended to have the other no matter what the response, if his captive even dared to make one. He rather hoped the spirit in the lithe strong body would fight; it would make the conquest sweeter.
The elf's body did tighten even more, but when movement came, it was the free arm reaching up with sudden violence not to strike, but to pull his own hair from against his neck and under their bodies and flip it aside. He bowed his head, the offer silent, but unmistakable.
"Do not seek death," Tal told him, a catch phrase shared between both Scourge and Forsaken. Still, it was a shame to not take advantage of that freely offered neck.
He shifted, releasing his grip on the other's chest to push up on that arm, dropped his head and licked the neck from collarbone to base of ear. That taste told him he dared not linger there if he wished to preserve his bedmate for any amount of time.
To distract himself, he stroked the flaccid penis of his prisoner, imagining it lightly scored and oozing a dew of blood and precum. As he felt it begin to respond, even as his own began to throb painfully at the fantasy, the elf suddenly flew into frenzy, thrashing, clawing and kicking.
Delighted, he released his grasp, sliding deftly out of the reach of the other, laughing at the crack of the discarded manacle off his cheek from a well-placed throw. He was not so pleased when the man began a fire spell and released an arcane torrent to silence the mage.
The spell broken, the elf made a leap for the bedside table holding various wands and other items Tal sometimes used either for love play or torture. The leg chain pulled him up short, forcing a pained yelp and flattening him onto the furs. The blood prince's major-domo had a fine eye for calculating how much chain would allow movement without letting his master's bedmates reach anything more dangerous than the bedding itself.
Now painfully aroused, the San'layn moved across the bed, pinning the other before he could recover. Forcing his claws to retract, he tugged the silk pants down around the elf's legs and flipped the man onto his belly. Licking two of his fingers, he also scored them lightly, willing the blood to flow. The sight of his own blood excited him still more and he felt his own type of precum wetting his legs as he forced his fingers into the elf's tight hole.
It was hard to ready the elf with the man still fighting as much as he could while held face down in the bed. Not wanting the risk of releasing his claws and disemboweling his bed partner, he pulled his fingers out and pulled the man back onto his shaft. The elf screamed at the rough entry, then threw himself backwards, taking all of Tal's length into himself without warning and almost knocking the blood prince over.
"Fuck me then, damn you, if you want it that much," the elf cursed, his voice white with pain, even as he tightened himself around Tal's cock. "Fuck me and drain me and know, once I've joined you in hell, I'd better be mindless or I'll do to you what you did to my friends."
"Lick the blood from my body and try to drain me? That might be fun, kim'dore. Perhaps we'll try it in time," Tal almost purred. "But your body says it likes me where I am now, so perhaps I'll give it what we both want. I intend to keep you until you willing suck me off, until all you can think about is the next time I'll touch you like this."
He closed his fingers carefully around the now stiff cock of his prisoner, shifted their position slightly and began to jerk the other off, even as he moved within him. Within moments, the elf was arched back against him, his breathing gone ragged with fury and pleasure, tears running down his face as his body betrayed him. When Tal thrust his tongue into the other's ear, he knew the elven mage was his as the body shuddered and tightened around him. The force of the other's orgasm brought him over the edge as well and then he let himself fall, rolling slightly to the side to avoid landing with his full weight on his unwilling partner.
The elf was sobbing fully now, muttering brokenly, "I didn't want it to be you. I told myself it couldn't be you." And then, to the San'layn's complete and utter surprise, his prisoner curled and twisted until he was snuggled into the curve of his body, his free arm and leg thrown over the prince, holding him in a lover's embrace while still sobbing inconsolably.
Unsure what to do given this turn, but pleasantly relaxed, Blood Prince Taldaram pulled a bear pelt over both of them, gently stroking the elf's hair until the exhausted man fell asleep with his head cradled on Tal's chest.
Unbidden, another memory teased him, of another moment like this, when he'd realized how pleasant it was to have someone warm and willing in his arms, to not spend another night alone. He didn't know where or when it had occurred, but he was sure the man in his arms then was the same one he held now. "So you are real," Tal whispered to the elven man, softly, to avoid waking him. "If only I could remember more about you."
When his hearing detected the elf's breathing and heartbeat had slipped into the patterns of deep sleep, he carefully disentangled himself. With a feather touch worthy of a master rogue, he released the other from the last chains and cleared them from his bed. He cleaned himself and then, somewhat to his own bemusement, removed the blood- and cum-stained furs not lying directly under the sleeping elf.
Clean up mostly completed, he wandered around the room, picking up a book only to discard it a moment later, a wand he'd planned to finish enchanting, but sometime soon, not right now, a dozen different items that held his interest for only a moment, until, giving in to his desire he crawled back onto the bed and lay there watching the other sleep.
In the silence, it was easy for him to hear when the other's breathing changed, the speeding of the heartbeat and to catch the stomach-tightening scent of fear as his unwilling lover awoke. It surprised him, though, how much his body reacted, hardening in anticipation of feeling that lithe body under and around him again.
He caught the other as soon as his eyes flickered open, dominating the elf's will purely for the sake of preventing delays. "Bathroom," he said, pointing, giving both command and direction. "Attend your body's needs, clean yourself, and then return to me. Do not harm yourself."
While his 'guest' was occupied, he summoned his major-domo. "Bring mortal food, something fresh." He fixed the man with his stare. "Something we would have eaten before . . . before Arthas," he finished. "And check before you come in. We might be . . . 'playing,' and I'd hate to lose you to a misplaced spell."
The man lifted an eyebrow, interested. His prince laughed, and kissed him full on the lips. "Perhaps later, once he isn't so new. Now, go."
He shut the door, just in time to catch the last words of a spell. Though he threw himself into motion, the arcane missiles tracked on him unerringly. Laughing at their sting, he grabbed the mage, silencing him with a deep kiss, though the elf fought and tried to bite.
"Save it for the bed, kim'dore," he said, pinning his hands. He stoked the elf's hair away from his face, looping it behind one perfect ear, and let it fall into a long tail down his chest. Shaking his head, he said, "I don't think golden-brown really works on you, but then, you have more color to you now. Lordaeron blue and gold, perhaps?"
"Not blue," the mage said.
"What?" It was the first thing he'd said that hadn't been a curse. Tal wondered at it. "Red?" he asked.
"No!" The vehemence was not feigned.
"No longer one of Kael's followers, then?"
"Kael betrayed us all, even Illidan, to serve Kil'jaden. He left you here . . ."
"I'd heard that, command must have finally driven him mad. And, yes, he did leave me here," the Darkfallen agreed. "Though, to be honest, it was a miracle anyone got away. Arthas . . . moved faster than he did in Stratholme."
Not wanting to attract his dark master with his thoughts, the blood prince asked, "So, what color shall I make your robe?"
"Green. Or violet. Or white, just not red or blue."
"White is the color of death, here in Northrend. Besides, I'd lose you in my bed. Green, I think." The magick was simple and easily cast. The color was striking on the mage, the perfect counter to skin and hair and a compliment to those angry fel-bright eyes.
"What color were your eyes?" Tal asked, staring at him. Something tickled the back of his brain, some memory trying to surface.
The elf dropped his eyes away, skittish of meeting the San'layn's gaze again. "Green, they've always been green, even before the fel. You don't –"
He might have said more, but the major-domo arrived then, peering in before entering, escorting a lesser servant who was carrying a tray of covered dishes. Tal paused for a moment to tie his robe and his prisoner Blinked for the door and was out it in a flash. The prince cursed softly, mostly amused, said, "Put that beside the bed, I'll just be a moment," and flowed into pursuit.
One fireball and several toasted servants later, Taldaram returned to his room, the kicking, flailing, cursing mage thrown over his shoulder.
"Does insanity run in your family?" he asked mildly, depositing the elf into the floor furs beside his cold hearth. "Or is it just you?"
The angry mage forgot himself and met Tal's gaze. Instantly, the blood prince seized control of his mind and forced the man to his knees. "Service me," he ordered, wrapping his fingers in the elf's long gold-brown hair. "No biting beyond what you would do with another lover."
The elf laughed harshly, brief and bitter. "Only you," he said and took Tal into his mouth and throat. The blood prince gave a startled cry of pleasure as his partner pulled back slowly, letting his tongue play over the tip, sucking gently, then more fiercely, one hand wrapping around the San'layn's leg to steady himself. Fingers caressed his thigh, his balls, teased up the crack of his butt, while their owner's clever mouth worked him, pleasured him . . . and pulled back teasingly as everything started to build within him.
Annoyed, he pulled the other's head back so their eyes could meet again, but the elf had his tightly closed, not that it would have protected him from the blood prince's domination. But the sight of his prisoner, his lover, with two fingers in his mouth, licking them sensuously, froze Tal in place, the order he'd been about to give forgotten.
Instead the elf gave an order, a request, "Spread yourself for me."
Tal shifted, mesmerized by the change in the other.
"You still don't remember, do you? I never thought I'd have you again."
Before he could answer, before he could even adjust to the other's mercurial mood swings, the elf had engulfed him, fingers seeking and finding and entering. Mouth and tongue and fingers probed him, tasting, sucking, moving around and within him. Moving with him as he thrust into his lover's willing mouth. In moments, he was built back to the edge. The next time the man sucked him deep the prince felt his body let go. With his head thrown back in a silent cry, he came, the brief intense whirlwind more of psychic energy than physical ejaculate.
The mage, unprepared for the outwash of energy, gave a cry of mingled pleasure and pain and fell back into the furs. He writhed, his back arched, and he came violently, drainingly, his body falling back in boneless exhaustion. Tal, almost ready to collapse to onto his knees, stared at him in wonder.
"I wish I did remember," he said softly. "It's a terrible shame to have forgotten anything like that. Fire-sworn? Why is that the only name, the only term, I can associate with you?"
But the mage, his breathing ragged, either did not hear him or did not choose to answer.
After a few minutes of watching his lover recovering, he said, "I'd had them make dinner for you, before your grand adventure through my halls. It might still be warm."
"If you don't mind," said the elf, his voice touched with exhaustion and the aftermath of pleasure and perhaps gratitude. "I think I need something. Can I get cleaned up first?"
He crawled shakily to his feet, clutching the side of the bed, watching his footing in the soft furs. "I won't run, I won't kill myself, and I won't cast spells."
He licked his lips. "You still taste good," he said distractedly, stepping out of his pants, and giving himself a quick wipe before letting the robe slide down. "Even with the blood."
"You are white to your lips," Tal said. Alarmed, he took the other's hand. It was cold even to his touch.
"It's cold in here," said the mage, "and the hallway was even colder. I know we're somewhere in a glacier, but can you do anything to make it warmer?"
"You were running my halls in your bare feet," Tal said, scooping the other into his arms. "I'm sorry, I didn't think. I forget how cold it must be for someone still living. And whatever energy you absorbed from me just now is not healthy for the living."
The mage went completely stiff in his arms, then just as quickly relaxed.
"I'm going to put you in a hot tub until you're warm again and then you're going in my bed. No more running, at least not until I have your boots back on you."
"Boots, that sounds good," the mage agreed. He turned in his arms and kissed Tal on the throat, tongue gently brushing the skin of his neck. "You taste like fire and blood and sex, but you're so cold."
"Then let me at least get you warm before you bring me again, foolish mage, kim'dore."
"Not a child anymore, Tal," he sighed into the blood prince's neck.
"If we're to that point, what name shall I call you?"
"You've named me already." A hand hesitantly brushed his face, his hair. "Fire-haired and fire-sworn." He sighed again, "but you don't remember."
"I remember you, or someone much like you, and since you seem to know me, I'm accepting it's you," he shrugged and shifted the smaller man to one arm as he turned on water, letting the steaming stream rush into a carved granite tub. "Check that, I don't want you scalded."
"You'd trust me to tell you?"
"I'd trust you to yelp, if it's too hot."
"If I'm going to die from fire or heat," the mage said, "even I would try to find a way to do it a little faster." He held a cautious finger out, testing.
"No, that's good. It could be a bit warmer even." The mage shivered.
Tal did something with the controls. "Try it now."
"Ah, that's good. I think that will work."
"Don't drown yourself." Tal helped him out of the robe, took one quick, admiring look and lifted him into the tub.
"Ah! Ow! Damn!" The mage winced, shifting uncomfortably but deeper into the water.
"What's wrong?"
"Just . . . stings a bit. You've never been . . . ow . . . a gentle lover."
"That's what these are for," Tal said, retrieving the distinctive shape of a potion of healing from a cabinet across the room.
"Drink it," he ordered as the mage turned the bottle in his fingers. "And don't break the bottle."
"Damn," the mage said mildly. He drained the bottle, swallowing, but making a terrible face. "Does everything here have blood in it."
"The skeletons don't. And while some of the others have blood of a sort, I wouldn't drink it, even if I were starving."
"Why didn't you?"
"Why didn't I what?" Tal was confused
"Drink mine. Why not just take me when I offered. I could feel your teeth on my skin. Why bring me back here at all."
"Because I wanted you, not your blood, not your life, my self-destructive mage, that is all too easily taken and forgotten. I wanted to fuck you. Perhaps not so violently, though that was very nice. And what you did, just now, that was lovely. It isn't often someone can make me feel this way."
The mage rested quietly in the water, color slowly returning to his face.
"But you don't remember me?" he said after several minutes.
"Not in any clear way. But you know me. Or knew me?"
"I knew you before you came to Northrend with Kael'thas and Illidan. You never came home."
"Too many of us stayed here," the Darkfallen agreed. "The snows took the lucky ones, Arthas was only able to raise the bodies. I'm not sure he's even bothered finding all of them. But you weren't here with the ones who got away completely?"
"No, I was still finishing my training. Do you regret –"
"Getting caught? What I am? Only when I'm melancholy, which only happens once or twice in a year's turning, there are entirely too many interesting things or people to do otherwise." Changing the subject, he added, "And you've been in there long enough, little frog. I'm not cooking a feast for trolls."
He lifted the elven mage out of the tub, wrapping him in a thick towel and a blanket over that and carrying him back to the bed where he fed him, then set a fire roaring on the hearth and otherwise made the room warmer. Once again he held the elf while he slept, the other curling against him as though it were the most natural thing he could do, all the fury and suicidal behavior put aside.
The Blood Prince's head came up like an angry wolf's as his major-domo entered the room unannounced.
The lesser San'layn halted at the doorway, well aware of his transgression. Dropping to the floor in total obeisance, he managed to still make himself heard. "My Prince, your dominion is under invasion."
The Prince snarled, crossing the room to his servant in a blur. "Ahn'kahet or here?"
"Ahn'kahet, my master."
The Prince growled again, but this time his anger was not directed at the Darkfallen at his feet. "Rise, you are forgiven. Now, leave me."
An angry San'layn can dress and don armor remarkably fast, in utter silence and complete darkness, but Tal wasn't worrying about the noise he made and the room was well lit. The elf had awakened when his major-domo had entered and he'd so precipitously left the bed. Bemused, the mage had wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and gone to the bathroom. He returned to see a dark whirlwind crashing around the room and stood looking at it in confusion, reluctant to enter and perhaps cross its path. He was aware of the intense regard of red eyes. "Get in the bed, my fire-sworn, your lover is called to battle."
"The last time you told me that, I couldn't walk right for three days. And you never came back." He crossed to the hearth instead, shivering with premonition. "Whatever it is, don't go."
He took a slice of bread and cheese from the tray beside the bed and nibbled, staring into the fire. The whirlwind paused beside him, became Taldaram in his battlegear, complete but for the mask, his hair still red.
Like flames and autumn leaves.
Firesworn dropped the food, his eyes gone very wide. "Don't go," he repeated. "And don't tell me your king requires it, this one cares less for you than the last one. Kael at least grieved for the ones he lost." His eyes widened ever further and rolled back in his head, but he didn't faint.
"For the Light's sake, my fire-haired, my demon lover, don't chain me in that bed!" he said in a terrible voice.
"Where else can I leave you?" the prince asked and kissed him deeply, bruisingly, lifting him off the floor, the elf giving himself over to the kiss, wrapping his legs around his lover's waist, their arms wrapped around one another until the elven mage squirmed involuntarily with the need to breathe.
"The Light has no dominion here," the Darkfallen said, "and I don't even have time to fuck you, so be sure I'll come back. I would not go to into Hell without tasting you one last time."
"Don't joke. Don't leave me here."
"Would you fight against the living at my side? I do not think I can expect that of you, no matter how you feel right now. I've not broken you so far you would betray your allies, even for love or lust of me."
He knelt, retrieving chains, ignoring the elf that now frantically fought to escape his grasp. Satisfied they were within reach, he simply fell into the bed.
Tal forced a hand still and clamped the manacle around the elf's wrist. "Don't fight me. I would leave you loose, but you change moods like the winds. I don't want to come back and find you dead, my rooms in flames, or you in Arthas' hands for blowing up part of the Citadel. Or in Valanar's. He would torture you to death just to anger me."
"Why do you care? We both know this is going to end with my death."
"No, it won't," Tal said vehemently. "It never ends. Not here. But there are many different ways to die and be turned. I can't stop that, but I can influence how. You have a powerful and devious spirit; perhaps my Queen can be persuaded. And I would value an ally against Valanar and his brother."
"Better you kill me yourself, Tal. You've seen what I've done here. If I have any free will left I would destroy as much –"
"No! Don't speak of it. What I know, He can know. Besides, things change once you've risen. Do you truly think I chose this when I was still like you? I did not, I was Kael's, but it makes a great deal more sense from this side." He pinned his mage's other free arm and snapped the cuff.
"Don't leave me chained!" There was very real fear, edging into unreasoning panick, in the elf's voice. "At least have the decency to kill me. What if I'm right and you don't come back again? What will happen to me then, Talindor Brightblade?"
But the blood prince snarled and put razor claws into his leg, forcing a scream from his prisoner at the sudden pain. "Do. Not. Ever use that name! Give me your other leg! And do not kick!"
The force of his will crushed any defiance the elf still had. Taldaram shackled the undamaged leg, claws still in the other. He slowly withdrew them to the whimpers of his prisoner, licking the blood away, laving the wounds until they healed from the strange magicks in his saliva and the whimpers had changed to moans of pleasure. He then bound the other foot and snapped the restraining chain from the end of the bed in place.
He put the elf's fur lined boots back on, laced them lightly and covered his naked body with blankets and furs. "Do not kill yourself while I'm gone," he ordered. "Do not provoke someone else to kill you. Do everything you can to remain alive until I tell you otherwise. We have cultists a plenty willing to die for us, I don't need your blood. I would have you stay alive as long as we can manage it." He smiled, showing his fangs before concealing his face with the mask he wore in public. "Trust me, sex is much better with you this way."
"If you don't come back," said the elf, forcing the words out against Tal's compulsion. "What then?"
The Blood Prince shook his in admiration. "You are so strong and so stubborn. I should be back within hours. If I'm not, if they can send a group capable enough to injure me and I can't get back immediately, you have two days. It won't be pleasant, but I will heal you when I return. If they actually put together a group all as capable as you, my fire-sworn, and I can't return unless my queen or Arthas summon me back, you'll die moments after I do. If I don't get back within the two days, then the same thing will happen. My test subjects told me it isn't completely painless, but it is very fast."
"And this is supposed to make me feel better?"
"No, not really, but you won't die of thirst, which I can tell you on good authority is a very unpleasant experience."
"You are so beautiful," the elf said, "that I forget you're undead. Until you say something like that."
Tal kissed him. "Stay warm, stay alive."
"I can't wish you luck. I know what you can do, at least, what you did up until sometime a bit after you threw me across the room."
"I understand. You're still alive. I'm not hurt that you side with the living, it means you aren't as warped as our little Cult of the Damned."
"I don't want you dead. I just wish you were free," the elf whispered. "I wish you were still alive."
"You wouldn't want me free, kim'dore," Tal answered, settling his cloak around himself as he headed for the portal room. "I was never a nice person, I would do a true demon proud, if I were free as I am now."
"I know," he whispered to the now empty room. "I still love you anyway." Talindor, he whispered in his mind and he wept for lost memories.
It was not a few hours, but a full day had not yet passed with Taldaram stepped through the portal into his rooms again. He was paler than normal even for one of the San'layn and his eyes seemed very huge and glowing. His armor was in ribbons and the scent of ash and ozone clung to him. Nasty, gapping wounds showed through his armor, but there was not even a smear of blood anywhere upon him. His hair, stark white again, whipped around him, lifted by the pure dark Hunger roiling off him.
His servants, those who'd gathered to attend his needs on his return, became even more motionless, each fearing to draw his attention.
Our initiates, where?
His major-domo pointed, In the crevasse, my master.
He did not flow, he walked, slowly. And the Hunger roiled, but gathered slowly, like a cloak about him.
The initiates, those of the Cult of the Damned and other recruits deemed worthy to be taken, had a comfortable, if chilly room in the crevasse. They all fell silent as he entered and walked into their midst. Each realized what his presence meant, and some did not seem so pleased to find their goal was actually at hand. Those he singled out and sent from the room. They would stock his larder and feed his lesser servants, though they did not know their fate fully, yet.
"Who would seek Death?" he asked, letting them feel the Hunger as he released it, bit by bit.
None moved, until a Troll woman stepped forward. She was not a beauty, even by the judgment of her race, but her carriage was proud and her eyes mostly free of fear. He took off his mask and smiled, welcoming her, as elves rarely do with trolls. She smiled too and said, throatily, "Ah, mon, you be havin' some fine tusks. Come, pierce me with them."
She walked forward, shrugging out of her robe to reveal a firm and naked body that made up for her unfortunate features. She knelt before him, putting them at a height, and offered her long neck with a sensuous lifting of her head. Despite the Hunger prompting him, despite the offered neck, he pressed himself against her, lifting her head and kissing her deeply, cupping her beasts to gently tease her pierced nipples with his thumbs.
He was being far more gentle and restrained than he had with Firesworn, but the Hunger was beginning to caress her itself, drawing her energy to him, replenishing his spirit, easing the damage of the wounds he bore. He deliberately let her tiny tusks slice his tongue, willing the blood to flow until she almost choked of it. She drank him down, their tongues playing with each other as he helped her clean the blood from her mouth.
"Lie back," he whispered. "Let me make you a woman before you join our ranks."
"You know our customs," she said. "You do me honor, San'layn prince."
"Your bravery does you honor. Let me pleasure you and thank you for the gift you give me."
She rolled onto her back from her kneeling position, spreading herself wide in offering. He took a deep, unnecessary breath and lowered himself until he knelt over her, turning her head to lick the length of one ear, then piercing the cartilage with his fangs, two quick bites on the upper and lower parts of her ear. From a still intact pocket, he took two pairs of studs, one set of truesilver, the other of carnelian that matched her eyes, and forced them through the holes. He dabbed the holes with his tongue, turning the studs as he did so that as his blood alchemy healed her, the flesh did not grow fast to the metal. He repeated himself on her other ear, taking the bone ornaments from her beasts to adorn her new piercings.
"You claim me, mon?"
"I mark you as my woman, that you will be treated as an adult by any of your kind. You will wear my jewels and none will doubt your bravery or your strength. I can not fill your belly with my seed, but none will think you still a virgin child."
He bit her and released and bit again, marking her with his bites from ear to chest, taking each breast in turn and feeding briefly before threading a fine gold chain between her nipples, securing it where her bone ornaments had once rested. He bit again, across and down her belly in a pattern of loa snakes down to the thick fur around her sex.
The Hunger, draining her, and the pleasure of his bites, held her in a lassitude. He licked her and she opened herself wider, welcoming his tongue.
Smiling to himself in anticipation, he shifted until he had better purchase on her legs, then bit down, piercing her clitoris. She bucked wildly before the pleasure subdued her, his blood alchemy soothing the pain, intensifying the pleasure, so she did not fight him as he drained her. As she calmed he slid a hand inside her wetness, probing, finger fucking her until he felt the warmth of her blood and woman's cum and she screamed and moaned and passed out from blood loss and died, drained of blood and energy. He licked the last of her from his hand, savoring the taste as he cleaned each finger. "She will make a fine death knight," he said, "with an affinity for blood.
He turned his still terrible red gaze on the rest of the cultists.
"The rest of you will make a wonderful lunch."
He released his Hunger fully, striking down and draining over half a dozen before he was sated, his body once more smooth and uninjured, and warm. Those who had managed to escape him, he deemed worth of raising, and gave to the lesser San'layn to convert. The moment he had passed the surviving cultists off to his major-domo, he was gone
Firesworn had been singing to himself, every ribald, filthy ballad he could remember. He'd actually worked his way through "The Ballad of Kal'uak Nell" and "The Bastard King of Stormwind", and was somewhere about the one hundred and forty-fifth verse of "What Do You Do With a Drunken Magister?" when a dark whirlwind spun into the room and the San'layn Prince was suddenly releasing his bindings. "Oh, what do you do with a drunken magister? Get him really fucked and tie him to a banister . . . Oh, hai."
He licked dry lips in the silence as the blood prince continued undoing his shackles, his eyes on the long white hair still swirling around the Darkfallen. "Umm, which one are you?"
"Yours, kim'dore. The others cannot enter so far into my rooms without there being a great deal of noise." He scooped the elf out of the bed and carried him to the bathroom.
"Your hair –"
"Is white. I know. It's one more tiny annoyance in a very large list of them today. Here, drink this. I'm amazed you could still talk, let alone sing."
"Stubborn, that's me." He tasted the liquid cautiously, then drained it. "Oh, Light in a bottle. Mana. And blood." He made a face. "How did you get blood in a mana potion?"
"You don't want to know what goes into mana potions."
"I do know. But normally you don't taste the blood."
"Normally you wouldn't put that kind of blood in them, even if you did have it on your shelves," the San'layn prince quipped
"Put me down, Tal. There are things I don't think you want me doing while you're holding me."
"I suppose not." He carefully helped the other man to a lower corner of the room. "Though it would hardly make things any worse."
Once he was certain the elf wasn't going to fall over, he turned his own hair red again. Turning to find the faucets, he muttered to himself, "I hate, hate, hate having my hair bleach every single time I use my powers. The damn stuff was dead before I was, why the hell does this have to keep happening?" He turned the water on full force into the already full and steaming tub and simply stepped into it, armor and all. Water splashed everywhere, but mostly went out the drain. He leaned back directly into the flood from the spigot and let it pound over him.
After some timeless moment, he became aware the temperature of the water had changed and someone was in the tub with him. The water stopped and he was aware of being watched.
"You order me not to drown myself and then do that, there was only so long I could watch you."
"You know I don't need to breathe, kim'dore." Tal didn't even bother opening his eyes.
"Yes, but you look like you still do." Splashing. "Is this safe to drink?"
"If enough of the crap I had all over me has drained out, the water is purer here than in Sholazar.
The elf began unbuckling his armor and gently tugging it off.
"I have servants to do that, my fire-sworn mage."
"They seem conspicuous in their absence. Sort of like all day." He undid a piece of shoulder armor and threw it across the room. "You could have told them to bring me something to drink occasionally."
"Do you think I would trust them with you out of my sight?"
"I don't think you trust them with me even when you can see us. Well," his voice changed, even as his fingers worked at another buckle, "we don't have to worry about that after today."
Tal's eyes flashed open. "What happened?"
"You said you didn't think you'd broken me enough to have me fight by your side against my allies," the mage said softly, fingers still working on buckles and knots. "You did today."
"I just wanted you to be safe." Tal stroked his face, traced the length of an ear, "I wasn't even trying to mess with you."
"I know, I think that's part of what helped me hang on. But if you ever chain me and leave like that again, even if you do come back, I greatly doubt it will be me you return to though my body might still be alive." The elf held up a piece of armor, frowning at the tatters to which it had been reduced. "And what happened to you today?"
"Your vision came nearer to coming true than I was happy with," the blood prince answered. "I've not been so frightened before, it was not pleasant."
He moved in a sudden wave of water, splashing the floor as he pulled the elf into his arms. "Not for myself, but for you if I couldn't return. What was worst was not even daring come to you immediately least I'd drain you to death myself."
Firesworn, meanwhile, was searching his body for wounds, a process involving a great deal of touching.
"Whether or not I take you into battle with me, I promise I won't chain you again, my lover. At least," he smiled, snuggling against the man in his arms, "not unless you ask me to?"
"Be assured, Tal, autumn-haired demon that you are, the Frozen Throne will be overgrown with flowers before I ever ask that."
The Darkfallen laughed, a pure joyful sound free of his usual dark overtones and swung the elf out of the water. "Get yourself dry, I'll peel myself the rest of the way out of this and join you by the fire."
"I don't mind helping you undress."
"I know you don't, imp. But I know it's too cold in here for you. It would be a damn sad thing to lose you because you catch a chill."
"Ah, I think I have to agree with that, these boots are soaking wet." The elf, still naked from his previous bath, stripped off his sodden boots and hurried to raid Tal's wardrobe. "I'm stealing your clothes," he said.
"You've done it before," Tal replied, and then stopped. Yes, he's worn my clothes before. I remember seeing him standing so, head tilted as he chose and snatched clothing, throwing it on all in a rush. He stood staring until the elf was dressed.
"You're not getting out of your armor?" The mage had pulled on a long sleeved tunic and another pair of black silk pants, then pulled a second pair of pants, unbleached wool this time, on over top. Sitting, he tugged on a pair of pale house boots.
"If you touch anything metal, you might explode," Tal observed.
"If it made me warmer, I might not care." He gave the Darkfallen a sidelong glance. "I'm going into the other room. If you have any carnal desire for me or if you just want to sit and talk, I'm going to be by the fire."
Tal joined him as he was cautiously investigating the new tray of food the servants had snuck in while their master and his pet were out of the room. "I see you haven't forgotten your training."
His mage started at finding him so close. "'For the dead travel fast,'" he quoted from a popular novel. "Apparently, you can also get dressed fast. If you can call that being dressed." Tal had thrown on another silk robe, pale blue, trimmed with white. The boots he wore were, in contrast, a blue that was almost black. They clung like stockings to his knees.
"As dressed as I usually am, when I don't have to go out. You remember how I was –" He stopped, remembering a lazy afternoon, studying in his room while sprawled on the bed, spending more time stealing glances at the green-eyed elf he shared the room with than the book he was supposed to be reading. "You do remember how I was," he finished.
Firesworn smiled, sadly. "Better than you, Firehair."
"Step back, I'll make sure no one's volunteering to feed the frostwyrms." He held a hand out and let a tendril of the Hunger roil out and across the food.
"Nothing there to harm you, lover," he said after a moment, drawing the tendril back to himself.
A soft series of chimes sounded in the room.
Tal's head snapped to the door. Tendrils again began swirling around him, lifting his hair.
"Valanar or Keleseth?" asked Firesworn, matter-of-factly pulling the green robe over his head and settling it around himself.
"Neither. Lana'thel."
"The Blood Queen." He didn't even see the prince move. Shivering with more than cold, he snagged a wand from the selection on the table and cast an armor spell on himself.
Tal reappeared by the doorway, not in his combat armor, but in something far more formal than the silk robe he'd been not quite wearing. Violet tendrils still roiled around his feet, rising almost to his knees. Firesworn joined him by the door, standing to one side to avoid the roiling deathchill around his lover.
The blood prince gave him an unreadable glance, then dropped to one knee in a deep bow to his queen. Firesworn hastily copied his movement.
"I see the rumor is true, Blood Prince," she said. "You have reclaimed your shadow."
Firesworn was aware she had moved closer, if only by the cold intensifying around him.
"So, little mage, would you fight at your lover's side, as you could not before?"
"Yes."
"No hesitation. Good. Stand, young one. Stand, both of you."
Firesworn stood, watching her carefully through dark lashes as he still kept his head slightly bowed. Tal had not quite put himself fully between his queen and his lover, but no one could miss his positioning.
She smiled at him, at both of them. "One mortal day and night and an hour beyond. Arthas does not know yet nor does Valanar, and Keleseth . . . Keleseth will be otherwise occupied. Make your choices, Talindor Brightblade, Magus Firesworn."
Tal stiffened at her use of his old name, head suddenly full of pain and chaos.
Lana'thel inclined her dark head, turned and left them.
"Doors," said Firesworn. "We might want to add some doors."
You have a key to one door, fire-sworn mage. Lana'thel's voice whispered. Will you choose to use it?
He returned to the hearth, shivering. Lana'thel, already talking in his head. Twenty-five hours. It was sobering. And terrifying if he looked at it too closely. Bemused, he reheated his meal by reflex and began eating.
Taldaram of the San'layn, once Talindor Brightblade of Tranquillen, paced his rooms, distracted. His head ached abysmally. Finally, he sought out a bottle and joined his lover and prisoner at the hearth. His mind refused to settle on anything and, beyond the elation being slowly replaced by a growing dread, he was no longer sure what he felt about Lana'thel's acceptance of the elven mage.
"Drink?" he asked.
"What is it?"
"Bloodwhiskey."
"Sure, why not." Firesworn held out a glass and the autumn-haired San'layn poured him two fingers of a red-gold liquid
Tal took a swig from the bottle.
Firesworn took a more cautious swallow. "Bloodwhiskey. I see how it gets its name."
"You don't have to drink it."
"Don't I?" the mage asked, holding the glass up and looking at him through it. He slammed back the rest of the drink. "I'd say my options are rapidly becoming limited on the matter. Pour me another."
"You're sure?"
"As sure as I am of you. It doesn't make me less afraid, but it makes it bearable. Pour the whiskey, Tal. Just one, I don't want it to interfere with anything later."
While his lover poured another drink, the mage shrugged out of the green robe. He looked at the wand he'd claimed, then set it aside. Whatever else happened, he didn't think he would need it. Suicide was no longer an option, probably hadn't been from the moment he'd walked into Ahn'kahet. Not by his own hand, at any rate. Reclaiming his glass, he sipped the whiskey.
The San'layn prince felt some of the tension ease from the other, the scent of fear dissipate. Then, with a sigh, the man leaned back against the stone of the hearth, close enough to feel his body heat.
The elf spoke in his low, rich, and quiet voice and it was the turn of his captor-lover to go motionless. He asked as though he were resuming a conversation long discarded, "Can you remember what you said to me? You were so angry they'd assigned me to your room."
"Fire-sworn mage?" he asked doubtfully, the voice stirring those memories he couldn't quite reach. His red eyes, normal now but for their hue, tried to read the other's face, but the elf's eyes were tightly closed.
"You didn't call me that until later, when you were teasing me about my magick, Talindor."
The San'layn shook his head against the sudden increase in pain. "That isn't my name." But he didn't erupt into violence the way he had when the elf had first used it, despite having ordered him to never speak it again.
"It was you name, then," the other said fiercely. "Do you remember what you said?"
"Open your eyes," the prince commanded.
"No, that wasn't it." The elf's voice held a mixture of frustration, amusement and defiance.
Defiance, coupled with that name, he would not tolerate. "Open your eyes or I will cut the lids from them with my claws."
"No," the voice was quiet again, but firm. "I need to remember you as you were and it's easier to fight you this way."
Provoked Tal flexed his hands, the claws extending, but the elf shifted himself with his free hand, deliberately putting himself closer to his angry captor. He squirmed until he was almost sitting in the prince's lap, the Darkfallen's hands at his crotch, his leg scored with trails of fine cuts from the San'layn's claws, the blood welling as tiny red jewels through the slashes in both layers of pants.
The elf's body heat and scent and blood scent were suddenly all around him, making him catch an unneeded breath.
"Tal, do you remember? The first night when you forced me? The night you became the only man to ever have me? My rapist turned lover?" He arched, deliberately rubbing himself against the San'layn prince who jerked away in surprise, suddenly completely flustered.
"Damn it! Tal! Talindor! Tell me you remember?" The mage caught his arm in both hands, changed his grip to the San'layn's face, turning his head and deliberately forcing him to meet his gaze. "Talindor, beloved, come back, if only for tonight."
The sobbed desperation in the voice and the name finally released something chained when the Lich King and the Blood Queen had taken him. There was a distinct 'click' in the prince's brain like the unlocking of an overstuffed closet, and memories were falling through him or he through them, to a room at the mage academy. His room…
How dare the masters assign some complete stranger to his room? Well, there were ways to force the intruder out, pleasant ways, though the intruder might not agree.
He closed the distance to the other elf, forcing him to retreat until he was trapped against the wall between the bed and dresser. "Talindor, what -- ?"
"If I'm forced to share my room with you, then I'll force you to share your body with me. I'll fuck you. Every night," he smiled wickedly. "Every day, until you leave."
"I'll tell the magisters."
"Fool! You think they wouldn't have their cocks up our asses if they weren't so busy fucking each other and playing politics? Not that some of them don't anyway, but most of those get sought out by the warlocks. Be thankful for that."
He pinned the elf with his own body, excited by the other's attempt to get free, the warmth of his body, his protests. He pulled the younger man's robe up until his hands could make free with his sex. Rubbing the other elf's cock through the fabric of his underpants, Talindor forced his tongue deep into the man's mouth when he gasped in shock and pleasure. His other hand forced the younger man's legs apart until he could probe his ass, pushing the fabric aside to circle his anus, teasing the opening, thrusting in.
The other's knees buckled and he would have fallen but for Tal's hands, his mouth suddenly responsive and demanding.
"Relax, don't fight me, let me slide another finger inside. It will make it easier."
Kisses like fire and blood and sex. "Oh, goddess, it feels good. It hurts, but it feels good at the same time. I'd rather you were my first than any magister. Fuck me, Talindor?"
"You'd give your virginity to me?"
"Yes! You are beautiful and powerful and strong, all the other students are afraid of you, and I've wanted you since I saw you," the slender elf admitted. "Fuck me at least once, pop my cherry, let me spend the night with you and in the morning, if you still don't want me here, I'll ask for a transfer, and you'll have your room to yourself again."
"So, this was all an act to get into my bed?"
"No, I didn't know they were assigning me here. And I wasn't sure what you were going to do to me. You've got a reputation. But," green eyes met his, "but I wasn't upset when I realized who I'd be sharing a room with.
"Fuck me, Tal?" the elf begged, no, demanded, arching his hard firm body against him again.
The San'layn prince was eager to comply, deft fingers undoing laces and removing cloth just slowly enough to keep from injuring the other. As on their first night, he simply pushed Firesworn's pants out of the way, barely thinking to ease his entry with hastily applied oil. But this time the younger mage knew what was happening, knew what to do to give both of them the greatest pleasure. When his climax shuddered through him, Tal's came only a moment later, the San'layn sinking his claws deep into the bed furs to prevent himself from slicing the younger and still mortal elf to the bone.
"That," said his fire-sworn mage, tightening himself again to wring a moan of pleasure from Tal, "was wonderful. Worth dying for." And he latched his blunt mortal teeth into the San'layn's neck and bit. Hard. Hard enough to draw blood.
Tal, for once caught completely off guard, reacted without thought, pulling away and pinning the other, slashing Firesworn's arm and sucking the welling blood as fast as it filled his mouth. The other gave a sigh of pleasure and relaxed under him so suddenly it shocked him out of his defensive need to control and dominate. And kill.
"Belore! No!" He slashed his own wrist and forced it to his lover's mouth, willing his blood to flow, licking the wound he'd made in the elf's arm until it closed.
Firesworn coughed and thrashed, sputtering and splashing them both with flecks of Tal's blood and his own. "I wasn't dead, I'm not dead, I just came again. Stop dripping blood in my mouth."
"Fool! Fool of a blood elf," Tal hugged him, laughing and crying at the same time. "If you die, I'll lose you to Arthas."
"I'm here. I thought that meant I'd already lost."
"Only to me." Tal stroked hair from across his lover's face, drinking in the grass-emerald green of his fel-bright eyes. "You never were able to defeat me when we dueled."
"That's because you had two more years of training."
"Then trust me, for I've had more 'training' in this as well," his voice had gone suddenly bitter and flat. "If Arthas takes you, we will never be the same to one another again. For all he allows me my own thoughts, when his mind is turned fully on me, I am only a puppet and all else is dust and ashes. And no mortal lives long in the Citadel, even if Arthas pretends he doesn't notice. Lana'thel knows that as well."
Reluctantly he pulled away, belting his robe shut. Striding to a cabinet, he began rapidly sorting through items and scrolls. "Come with me and stay close."
"Always."
"Oh, my love, if only that were true," Tal said sadly. He led the way to his portal room, his glare warning servants from his path.
"Put these on," he ordered, handing his fire-sworn mage outdoor boots and cloak from his own gear, stuffing other items into a carrypack. "Hurry, we'll have very little time once I cast the portal and they realize where it opens."
"What?"
"I'm getting you out of here, that's what."
"Come with me."
"I can't. I'm Lana'thel's, and through her, His, and I've no business in the living world, my fire-sworn. The hunger never leaves me entirely, you've seen that, I could so easily have drained your life and blood and never known it was you. It was just a perfect moment, the only time I might ever have recognized you."
"Tal," his lover bit his lip in frustration. "Must I lose you again so quickly?"
"Yes, Light, yes. I'm not waiting until the last minute to dramatically let you escape after a night of passion. But my blood is in you, through my own folly. We are bound with more than memory now. Pray they never force me to use that bond to call you. Get as far away from Northrend as you can and never return. Go to Outland, it will be years before our army marches on the Dark Portal."
Tal forced the sight of his sorrowing lover from his mind, concentrating on weaving magicks into a tunnel between here and there, focused through a stone still attuned to the magickal pattern of Quel'Danas.
He opened his eyes to the portal. And his mage, still lingering, tears in his eyes. "Go, you idiot."
"I love you."
"I know. Live for me, Firesworn. It was your gift to me, now I share it back with you. I have an acknowledged daughter in Silvermoon. Find her for me. Take her to Outland with you. And – Run! Now! He's coming!"
Tal whirled and also ran, reaching the doors to his quarters just as Arthas came storming through, Frostmourn bare in hand.
The Lich King stopped, taking in the sight of one of his San'layn in a rare state of undress, appearing only slightly startled by the arrival of his liege lord.
"What have you been doing, Taldaram?"
"Fucking, my king," the fallen blood elf said bluntly.
Arthas, for all that he commanded the Scourge, for all his mind was bound with an ancient Orcish warlock, had still been a young human, a young human paladin who had shared the majority of his race's taste in bed partners. "And your catamite?" he asked stiffly, knowing Tal's appetites.
The Darkfallen shrugged sensuously, "I sent him home, knowing you disapprove of my choice of bed warmers."
The Lich King's eyes narrowed. "And if he might have had some vague use to me?"
"He will be yours eventually, my king. All living things die."
"I meant in the near future, as well you know, elf."
"You can leave me my thoughts, Arthas," Tal said, his voice gone perfectly flat, "and have my service and skills or you can take them and this body will still fight for you, but it will be no better than a ghoul. Or you can take all that I am with Frostmourn. I exist by your will, at your whim, do with me as you please."
"And if I pleased to have you in my bed as you had that elven mage, what then?" There was a grim and edgy smile in the shadows of that helm. Tal had no doubts of the outcome of such an encounter.
"That would not happen, my liege."
Arthas could move when he chose to, his gauntleted fingers gripping Tal's jaw with almost crushing force. "And why would that be, my blood prince?"
As quickly as he had seized him, the fingers released their grip. Tal fought a brief, successful battle to neither lunge at the Lich King in reaction nor rub his jaw to make sure the bone and flesh were still intact.
"Because neither of us would be with the one we most want," the San'layn known as Taldaram replied.
Arthas went completely still and Tal had a feeling for an instant, it was Arthas Menethil and not the Lich King, who stood there.
"True, my blood prince. I will leave you to your thoughts then."
And Arthas left his rooms.
Rough draft finished 5/16/10 – Rillan macDhai