Was he free? Was he happy? The question is absurd:
Had anything been wrong, we should certainly have heard.
~ W.H. Auden
The sun beat down upon them. Thassarian should have been sacking the city, raping, pillaging, knocking down statues. Instead he was here in a pointless duel with an elf convinced of- of something. He remembered when his right hand faltered, his runeblades keening for blood and the elf's brother had escaped. Remembered how he ran into an abomination, how its cleaver had swung so hard it lifted him before severing him almost in half, how the elf- seconds before his death- had shouted his brother's name.
'Koltira. Run,' he said softly. The elf's eyes widened, and to Thassarian's perpetual surprise- the moment haunted him years after- his hands opened, relinquishing his blade. They stood, facing each other. Thassarian gripped his runeblades.
'Do you not see?' Koltira smiled hesitantly. 'You are not a mindless servant of the Lich King. Come, human,' he raised a hand in supplication, 'tell me your name-'
Thassarian was stood flush against him, one runeblade pierced right through his chest, below his heart. One long-fingered hand grasped his shoulder for assistance, and Thassarian held the elf's waist as he laid him onto the ground, sliding his blade out. Long eyelashes fluttered on the suddenly ashen face. Thassarian brushed the hair out of the elf's blue eyes as he gasped, trying to something- anything- before he died.
'You were wrong, elf.' He was kneeling protectively over Koltira's body. 'There is no salvation for me.' Half-remembered images of his mother, his sister flickered through his mind. No salvation. He stayed until the elf, his hand loosely wrapped around the human's, bled himself out. Then Thassarian stood, lit a match.
He may have been a death knight, but- but what? Surely he, out of all people, knew why no man or elf should be subjected to his suffering.
Thassarian. The voice, snow flowing over bare rock, stung his mind. Save him.
The human, formerly a proud soldier of the Alliance, struggled to drop the match onto the very dead body. His fingers would not move.
I want him, death knight. Raise him for me, for the glory of the Scourge.
He fell to his knees, tears spilling onto the elf's cheeks.
Raise him as your own.
Thassarian's left hand shook as it buried itself within the elf's chest, lightly grasping his heart. If he waited just a little longer, the soul would definitely have fled the body, and it would be too late.
His mother, her body lying broken and lifeless, clawed into his vision.
Thassarian, the Lich King whispered, do you disobey me? Pain rushed into his brain, dripped into his body, causing him to scream. You are my slave. Now, RAISE THIS DEATH KNIGHT!
The death knight tilted the elf's face upwards. Crying blood- his master's shout having shredded his mind- he pressed his lips against the corpse's, exhaling. The Kiss of Death. The heart thumped within his hold as if frozen: Thassarian knew that tendrils of undeath were forcing the writhing soul back into the body. He forced his breath down the elf's throat until the heart beat strongly and the elf gasped within the kiss. Thassarian slipped out, arm sheathed in blood. He stood.
Koltira's eyes opened. The first thing he saw was Thassarian hastily wiping his face. The human extended an arm towards him: after a moment's thought, Koltira accepted it, hauling himself up. He looked puzzled, turning over his arms as he inspected himself. Thassarian was at a loss: the deed was done. What was there to say? This was no normal induction into an army, no buzzcut, no pride.
'I'm sorry.' Paltry words, but it must have been said.
Koltira shook his head, saying nothing. Thassarian coughed, looking away.
'What is your name, elf?
The elf croaked, stopped- raising a hand to his throat- tried again. 'My name was Koltira Spellweaver.'
'Rise then, elf, as Koltira Deathweaver. Take this sword,' he handed him his mortal blade, 'and wield it well until you can accept a runeblade.' Thassarian met Koltira's gaze, now unnaturally blue. 'The Scourge numbers in the thousands but your runeblade will be your only companion in undeath. Come,' he said, striding out of the courtyard, 'we have work to do.' The Lich King could keep his ceremony.
'Wait!' Koltira made no motion to move. When Thassarian did not turn he grasped his wrist and spun him. 'You have not even told me your name.'
'What does it matter?'
'Is it so wrong to want a friend, to reach out? Your army has killed my entire family and you want me to destroy my own city- '
Koltira collapsed to the floor, clutching his head. Thassarian stood, waiting for the Lich King to finish speaking to the high elf: when he stilled, eyes closed, he knelt just out of the elf's reach.
'He is our king. We do what he says.'
Koltira stood, clutching his sword- Thassarian barely reached out in time to grab it, centimetres from his heart. Eyes crazed, Koltira wrenched out of his grip.
'I did not ask for this!'
Thassarian saw a young elf cheated of his life, his death. He saw the brave warrior determined to understand. In an action defying his master, he emptied his mind, making himself as small as possible in the consciousness of the Lich King.
Something could still be done. His soul could still be saved. This elf was his charge, his responsibility.
He took the blade, dropped it onto the ground.
'What-'
Thassarian raised a hand to his lips. Stepping closer to Koltira, he forced the elf to look into his eyes. They were the same as his now: they were brothers, after all. 'Stick close to me and do as I do. If you do well, he shall never have to speak to you again.' The elf smiled hesitantly and Thassarian's heart was crushed within the roiling depths of his soul. So easily seduced with the illusion of safety, comradeship: the facade would wash away soon enough. The human was suddenly struck with a thought: he was Koltira's superior.
He was never one for leading. Thassarian looked at the elf, pitied him. He met Koltira's gaze, saw one eyebrow cocked in an unvoiced question. Insubordinate. He could grow to like this one.
'My name is Thassarian.'
I realised that I'd never written this scene (it feels rather cold, actually. I'm sorry if my attempt at heartlessness ended up looking like literary ineptitude). Thassarian's probably just daydreaming on the boat. What boat, I hear you ask? Thassarian and Koltira are spending Winter's Veil together this year so they're going to have to figure out a way to smuggle someone to a major city... It's either gonna have to be a giant wriggling bag or a dodgy robe and hood.
P.S. As demonstrated by the Lich King, improper use of capital letters can kill. I wish more players could get that in their brain. ._.
