No one saw us this evening hand in hand
while the blue night dropped on the world.
Why will the whole of love come on me suddenly
when I am sad and feel you are far away?
~Pablo Neruda
'Give us a reason, Mograine.' Thassarian was pacing the Shadow Vault: he looked to Koltira for support, but the elf's face was hidden in the shadows.
'Think you that we're the only ones who want to see him dead? The whole of Azeroth is crying out for vengeance, Thassarian. All have suffered at his hands: the final blow must come from the common soldiers, for they have suffered the most.'
Thassarian growled, turning away. His comrades had died by the Lich King's hand: he had been forced to kill his own mother, forsake his people. He wanted to be there, wanted it to be his sword that spilled Arthas' lifeblood.
'You will be on the Skybreaker, waiting to transport the Alliance heroes to the upper levels. And you, Koltira,' he glanced at the high elf sat in the gloom, one forearm balanced on his thigh. Only his blue eyes burned through the darkness. 'You will be on Ogrim's Hammer with the Horde soldiers, ready to supplement the Alliance forces. If all goes well, you'll both be ready for the Plagueworks within an hour of entering the Citadel. Understood?'
Koltira finally spoke up, his insubordination cutting the frosty air like butter. 'Do you honestly think the Alliance and the Horde can fly past each other and remain unharmed? The Skybreaker and Ogrim's Hammer are both mobile fortresses. They'll blow the other out of the sky in the name of glory.' He stood. 'I want to be stationed somewhere else, Mograine. Anywhere but the zeppelin. Please.'
Darion Mograine merely shook his head, also getting to his feet. 'We won't be there in the throne room, but we still have obligations. I know about… you two, but you'll have to be apart for-'
'This isn't about being on different skyships, Darion! This is about one of us having to watch the other one go up in fucking flames. I do not want to be responsible for Thassarian's death-'
'Enough!' Darion hissed. Koltira shut up, dropping his hand: he had been yelling, his finger pointing accusingly at Mograine's face. 'Remember your place, death knight.'
Thassarian watched him leave. Koltira stared at Thassarian as if to memorise his face.
'It will be alright. Have faith, my friend.' Thassarian took Koltira's hand, gently pressing the palm to his lips, to cup his cheek.
'Why do I think that something's going to go wrong?'
Thassarian laughed. 'We were baptised in misfortune, love.' He grinned sheepishly when Koltira looked up, shocked, at the endearment. 'Yes, it's true.' He looked into the elf's eyes, trying to sound as sincere as possible. 'You must trust me, Koltira. By the Light, why is this sounding so much like goodbye?'
'Are you going soft on me, Thassarian?'
He grinned roguishly. 'I promise, Koltira, I will only ever go hard when I'm on you.'
Koltira's shoulders shook with hysterical laughter. 'You're unbelievable, Thassarian.' They kissed in the half-dark, so different from that hesitant first kiss in Acherus Hold. Thassarian walked away, stopped, looked back.
'Deathweaver. How's about we go for a drink at the Legerdemain after this?'
'As long as you're paying, sir.' Koltira smirked. 'I'll meet you at the bar.'
'Get down!' Thassarian threw himself onto the floor just as the bomb connected with the planking.
Overlord Saurfang was no battle-lusty fool, and neither was Muradin. They knew the stakes of the war against the Scourge; they knew the dangers of getting distracted. After this fight, no one would know who fired the first shot: it wouldn't matter either. What mattered now was which force would make it to upper Icecrown Citadel.
'Mages! Get yer asses up here and freeze their cannons!' The dwarf, middle son of the Bronzebeard clan, almost flung a petrified mage onto the deck.
Ogrim's Hammer was blowing the Skybreaker out of the sky.
Thassarian dragged himself upright: the skyship was listing slightly starboard and the lights on the zeppelin opposite them smudged themselves onto his eyes. The explosions were muted in the back of his brain now: Thassarian was not mortal, but he knew he'd pay for this in the morning.
If he made it.
'Saurfang! Stand down!'
The giant orc, resplendent in his armour, standing defiantly on the deck of Ogrim's Hammer, backlit by lanterns and magefire, roared magnanimously. 'If you cannot defeat one zeppelin's worth of Horde, what chance have you against the Lich King? You stand down, dwarf, and let the real heroes of Azeroth deal with this!' At this, he pointed at the skyship and another volley of cannonfire thudded against the beleaguered wood.
'Thane Bronzebeard!' Chief Engineer Boltwrench weaved his way towards the dwarf, having to shout over the din. Thassarian merely held on, eyes clenched tightly closed. He hated flying even when no one was shooting holes into them.
'Status report, soldier!'
'My girl can't hold out much longer- the starboard engine's down and it'll take too long for us to switch to the backup.' Wrenching open one eye, Thassarian saw the small gnome wringing his hands. 'Most of our engineers are focused on keeping the bomb below decks away from the fire!'
'By the Light,' Muradin breathed. 'It can't end this way...'
Thassarian leaped forward, intercepting a Horde warrior with a jetpack. Parrying his thrust, he shoved forward with one shoulder, knocking him off the ship.
'Sir,' he yelled, 'We have to abandon ship!' He recognised that look in Muradin's eye: pig-headed defiance. He dragged the dwarf to one of the gyrocopters still capable of flying. 'Sir, we know the Horde can't take down the Citadel on their own. You need to survive.'
The dwarf stared at nothing for a long moment, then nodded. 'Aye, Thassarian. I'll kill a couple of those wretches for ye.' Raising his voice, he commanded, 'All right, ye miserable lot! Get on the gyros! The rest of ye, get yerselves a parachute! Yer goin' groundside!'
A flurry of movement bought the Alliance heroes- some lightly injured, others more dangerously so- portside. Thassarian waved them over to the gyros, the marines taking over the defence of the ship, battlemages deflecting the Horde spells.
'That's everyone-'
'Sir! Zetsubou and Caladborg are still below decks- she won't move!'
Thassarian growled in frustration. 'I'll get them.
The dwarf nodded. 'Alright, lads and lassies: evasive manoeuvres!'
Alliance soldiers were passing around parachutes: High Captain Barlett was there, supervising the impromptu evacuation of his ship. He'd been ordered to jump: the Alliance did not have enough talented sky captains for one of them to go down with his ship. He nodded grimly as Thassarian strode past.
A group of soldiers had crowded around the two paladins: the female, Zetsubou, was waving them away.
'Soldier! Your orders were to evacuate!'
Her brown eyes were strained. 'With all due respect, sir, I'm not going anywhere.' She was knelt by Caladborg, his face white with pain. A large splinter of wood was sticking out of his stomach, the wound seeping blood. Thassarian looked up and met her eye. 'He was hit by the shrapnel, sir. I can't move him until he's healed.'
Thassarian nodded. 'That's the tank's life you've got in your hands, lass. I hope you know what you're doing. Make it quick.'
Zetsubou nodded, her right hand glowing white: pressing it hard onto Caladborg's belly, she slowly eased the splinter out, throwing it away. All that was left of the gaping wound was a large pink scar. Caladborg groaned, being supported by Zetsubou on one side and Thassarian on the other as he stood. Strapping him into the gyro, she saluted Thassarian.
'Have a safe trip, sir.'
So. That was all the heroes off the ship. It was their turn now. Accepting a parachute from a soldier, Thassarian readied himself, gulping.
It was a long drop. It was alright to be afraid.
'Thassarian, sir,' Boltwrench quipped, his conversational tone tinged with hysteria. 'You might want to move quickly. They've set fire to the lower decks. I'd just like to remind you that there's a massive bomb down there.' Nodding, the tiny gnome leaped off.
'Lok'tar!' Thassarian turned and saw Saurfang laugh once again. The Horde, thankfully, did not shoot the survivors. They had achieved what they wanted, anyway. A variety of faces leered at the Alliance and their burning glory as they abandoned ship: Ogrim's Hammer had suffered minimal damage.
Thassarian sought a face in the crowd: he found it, pinched and weary.
Koltira Deathweaver gave him a small nod before Thassarian closed his eyes and jumped.
Northrend's dawn shot the sky through with peach and pink. The larger of the two moons was still visible against the mountains, reluctant to leave.
It seemed like the entirety of Dalaran's population was crowded in the buildings around Krasus' landing or on the platform itself. A city's worth of breath was held, waiting.
Finally, a limping Ogrim's Hammer appeared on the horizon. It was filled with Horde and Alliance forces, all of them present when the Lich King, when Arthas, bless his tortured soul, was finally laid to rest. Next came Tirion Fordring's gryphon: the paladin's brow was creased in confusion and sadness. As the citizens of Dalaran cheered, he and the heroes stood silent, some looking lost, upset, others devastated. They filed away in a ragged line, making way for the rest of the soldiers, the ones tasked with holding the Scourge forces in the courtyard at bay. Darion Mograine stomped away, silent as always: Muradin Bronzebeard walked shoulder-to-knee with Overlord Saurfang, both broken with grief. Both had lost too much, been reminded of too much, to care about much else. The cheering quietened then, the crowd honouring the dwarf who had come back from the dead to kill his friend and the orc who had walked through a portal away from his son and fought many battles, none of which compared to the one against his son.
As the crowd dissipated, a high elf death knight was left standing alone on the platform. He had looked for a face amongst the crowd and did not find it. Sighing, he made his way into the city. Pausing, mid-step, one long eyebrow cocked curiously, he walked past the Sunreaver's Sanctuary, instead stepping into the Legerdemain Lounge, filled with battle-weary soldiers.
Thassarian sat by the bar, sipping from a mug. Looking up at Koltira's entrance, he smiled, pushing a glass of champagne in front of an empty stool.
Sorry for the super-long chapter! I don't know what happened...
Also, apologies for tampering with the ICC storyline: it's just that I know Fordring would've found a way for the alli and the hordies to work together, even if they did fall out halfway through the run. I added my paladin and her friend to be the face of the raid.
All in all, it was a lot of action for a love story, don't you think?
