Title: The Forsaken
Author: Link Worshiper
Pairings: 1=2, maybe some others if I feel like it
Rating: PG-13
Stuff: Fantasy AU, fluff, sap, language, adventure, WoW nerdiness
Disclaimer: I own Gundam Wing action figures? Warcraft and its lore belongs to Blizzard Entertainment. Both things are being played with out of fangirl love.
Thanks to danse and Natea for the once over. Despite the fact this is part of Natea's birthday present, I still needed her to fill me in on the Alliance history they don't teach us on Horde, so thanks for that also =P
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Sorry this took forever to post. I've been in the process of moving out of my mom's house for the past month or so, plus job hunting, so I haven't had as much time to work on fan projects as before. Things seem to be settling down a bit, though, so I think I can get back to writing a bit more regularly. Thanks to everyone who's been reading and reviewing. I hope you continue to enjoy the story.
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Part XII
Dalaran
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The first time Duo Blackscythe ever came to Dalaran, he was hardly a boy of five, loitering on the steps of Krasus' Landing with his brother a few nights before the Feast of the Winter Veil was to begin. He had one arm wrapped around the older youth's leg, the other extended upwards so that he might grip the hem of the blanket that swaddled the wailing infant his brother held close to his chest. His name had not been Blackscythe then, or even Duo for that matter, but rather some other title that had been given to him by parents he had been long since forgotten. Remembering that blustery night, Duo couldn't help but feel detached from the memory, as if he were watching someone else's life when he recalled the time when he had been alive.
After waiting in the snow for what seemed like an eternity, a mage clad in the purple and gold regalia of the Kirin Tor came scurrying out from the main gate to meet the brothers, a hand pressed to the crème cowl to keep the wind from blowing it away into the night. As she neared, Duo's older brother spoke directly to her, wasting no time with formalities: "Sister Helen, I presume?" When she nodded, he said, "About time. We'd have survived orcs only to die of cold if you'd taken any longer to meet us out here."
At the mention of orcs, Helen gasped, covering her mouth. "Where do you lads hail from?" she asked fearfully. She had heard that armies of green-skinned warriors had been aiming to satisfy their bloodlust with a string of merciless attacks on humans.
"Stormwind," said Duo's older brother bluntly. His answer chilled Helen's blood more than even the howling blizzard that whipped around them. "When the Horde razed the city, we ran."
"And the lady gave us her baby!" Duo chimed in eagerly, giving the swaddling blanket a tug. The sudden draft of cold that hit the baby caused it to let out a piteous wail. The sound seemed to startle Helen, who hadn't realized until that moment that they had an infant with them. Instinctively, she reached out to take it from the older brother.
"Just who are you boys, anyway?" Helen asked, pressing the crying baby to her breast and rocking him gently.
"Oh, apologies. Our father used to speak of you. I'm Solo, and this is my little brother," he replied with a slight bow, extricating his younger sibling from his leg so that he might present him to the mage more appropriately, though Duo still seemed more concerned about the baby's welfare than introducing himself properly. He jabbed a finger at the wailing bundle in Helen's arms and added, "And that's Heero!"
Grimly, Solo finished by saying, "And as far as we know, we are the only survivors of the Horde's assault on Stormwind."
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Years passed, and Stormwind was eventually restored to its former glory under a new king, the young Milliardo Wrynn, but the three refugees had found a new home in Dalaran and had no desire to go back. Their reasons for this were all as different from the next as each boy was from the other: for instance, Solo had found a calling working with the younger children at the orphanage that had reared him and his brother, while Duo had shown interest in studying magic, and had since become and acolyte of the Kirin Tor.
Meanwhile, Heero, who had been immediately swept up by a doting, motherly Helen the night he had arrived in Dalaran, simply accepted his existence for what it was, completely unaware there had ever been anything else. Helen had never quite found a way to properly explain Heero's rather unique circumstances, so she, quite simply, never told him the truth of it. Heero, of course, had the sense to know that he was an extremely fortunate orphan, but he had no reason to question beyond that, and quite frankly, didn't care to. Luck wasn't something he liked to risk upsetting, as he was certain he was already on shaky ground with it as it was.
And yet, despite a childhood spent in the cradle of Dalaran's elite, Heero couldn't help but feel something was out of joint. By most standards, Heero's life was not dull, but he often found himself dragging on through his days mechanically, finding his routine disinteresting and passionless. He studied magic because he had been raised in the arms of Kirin Tor mages, and though he was technically proficient in his learning, he privately thought such meditative teachings were not something for which he felt naturally inclined. Proof of this could be found easily in his best and only friend, Quatre, whose innate abilities were only accentuated by his passion for the craft.
Not that Quatre's life was exactly ideal either. He was the son of the High Archmage, the Kirin Tor leader to whom everyone in Dalaran looked to for guidance. The pressure that fell on Quatre to excel and follow in his father's footsteps was immense, but Quatre secretly harboured a desire to follow the path of Elune, something that would surely upset all the expectations most people had for him. Heero empathized with this torn feeling, thinking it rather similar to his own situation, and thus found a confidant and fast friend in Quatre that he had yet to discover anywhere else.
"Perhaps you should turn to Elune as well," Quatre suggested one day as the two of them shared sandwiches by the fountain in Runeweaver Square. He chewed thoughtfully and swallowed before adding, "The way of the Moon might help you find peace."
Heero, who had just finished lamenting over his morning casting class, pressed his cheek into his palm. "I'm not sure I would make a very good priest, Quatre," he sighed, staring down at the rosy cobblestones beneath their feet. "It's possibly more meditative than even being a mage."
"I meant, you could be a paladin," said Quatre, taking another large bite out of his sandwich. "You're still young enough, I think. And then you could at least learn swords and polearms and such."
"Maybe," said Heero with another sigh, though the suggestion was actually something worth considering. "But then I would still be disappointing Helen."
Quatre took a moment to finish the last bit of his food and then reached for the flagon of berry juice that sat between them. After taking a long sip, he said, "Look, Heero, I know you feel the need to please her since she's just short of being your mother, but I really doubt she would stop you if you expressed your feelings about it to her."
"Easy for you to say," Heero retorted morosely. "At least your father will still be your father, even if you do end up a priest instead of a mage. Helen has no reason to stay attached to me in that case."
"Now you're being ridiculous," chided Quatre, pursing his lips. "Just because Helen adopted you doesn't mean that she loves you any less than she might if you were actually her blood."
Heero merely grunted and stared off down the street, idly watching the passersby with blank eyes. Most of them carried on with their business without a care, and Heero found himself secretly resenting them for it. He didn't mind being adopted, but it sometimes bothered him that he didn't really know who he was. Becoming a mage almost seemed as arbitrary as his name, which was one he couldn't even be certain was actually his. Mulling over the thought, he distractedly reached for his own sandwich, which had been lying beside him, still wrapped in the linen Quatre had tied it up in after he'd made it.
Only to find it wasn't there. Heero's hand closed around air, and he suddenly snapped to attention, glaring down at the place where he'd put the sandwich when he'd sat down. Looking up, his eyes swung around the square, glaring suspiciously at everyone nearby and wondering which one of them had the gall to steal from him. Quatre stared at him, a little mortified and confused as to what had set Heero off.
Heero was hardly paying attention to Quatre, though, especially when he caught sight of the culprit, who was indiscreetly unwrapping Heero's sandwich to take a hearty bite. He had longish, brown hair, which hung around his face in messy chunks, and wore the robes of a Kirin Tor acolyte – something that just served to annoy Heero even further, considering his recent train of thought. Angrily, he got to his feet and stalked over towards the thief. "Just who do you think you are?" Heero demanded to know as he approached, catching the longhaired mage apprentice off guard.
Undisturbed by the fact that he'd just been caught, the acolyte let a lazy smile cross his face. "Oh, was this yours?" he drawled, holding the sandwich out towards Heero.
"Yes," Heero hissed as he snatched it back, far from amused.
"Ohh," the acolyte hummed, lifting his now-empty hands up like he was offering a truce. "Didn't look to me like you were going to eat it. I hate seeing food go to waste."
"Well, I was," snapped Heero. Then, without another word on the matter, he marched back over towards Quatre and the fountain, careless of what the acolyte thought of his abrupt attitude. He sat down with a huff and moodily lifted the sandwich to his mouth, tearing into it more out of resentment than hunger as Quatre continued to stare. He shot his blond friend a look, squishing an agitated, "What?" around a mouthful of food.
"Nothing," Quatre answered, promptly closing his mouth. His wide, blue eyes darted in the direction of the kleptomaniac acolyte, who had taken up residence on one of the benches that surrounded the perimeter of the square, and offered a small shrug of apology.
The sound of Heero's voice sharply drew Quatre's attention once more: "Do you know him?" Heero demanded, glaring sternly over his sandwich.
"You mean Father Maxwell's boy?" Quatre asked, nodding his head in the direction of the acolyte, who, in turn, waved back with a smug look on his face that Heero did not appreciate. "Yes, I know him. A little," Quatre went on, ignoring Heero's reaction. "He works in the library during my history classes, anyway. I see him cataloguing books all the time."
"I didn't know the master of the orphanage had any children of his own," was all Heero drew from Quatre's description. "I thought that was the reason he took the reins of the orphanage at all."
Quatre shrugged again, this time with genuine uncertainty. "Maybe he decided that with all the children that come and go through his doors, it was time he found some to truly call his own," Quatre surmised. "He is getting rather old, and from what I hear, the older brother is being groomed to take his place…."
Heero took in this information, nodding only after he had processed it all with his usual, meticulous precision. He glanced up to reexamine the acolyte, a little annoyed to find himself staring at an empty bench. The sentiment was short lived, though, and he soon returned to his sandwich and his prior conversation with Quatre about their studies.
Little did he realize that his relationship with Duo Blackscythe was far from over.
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Hallow's End had come and gone, and it seemed like Brewfest had barely arrived before the first flurries of the cold seasons were heralding the approach of the Winter Veil. The snowiest time of the year was always a somewhat solemn time for Heero, despite the joyous holiday spirit that pervaded the annual celebrations. Instead of focusing on the traditions of the Winter Veil, Heero was busier contemplating the childhood he hardly remembered, desperate that he might one day draw out some detail that had escaped him all these years.
Unfortunately for Heero, Quatre was probably the biggest proponent of Winter Veil festivities in all of Azeroth. Without fail, every year, Heero ended up being dragged to this or that holiday party or dinner, forced to feign enjoyment for the sake of his friend. The moment Winter Veil lights and garlands started adorning the streets of Dalaran, Quatre was already talking about gift giving and dancing. Heero wished he could take no part in any of it, hardly one for social extravaganzas of any kind, but he also knew his participation in such things was very important to Quatre, so he never protested even when Quatre pushed him into situations that made him uncomfortable.
This particular year, there was to be a grand ball hosted by the Kirin Tor for some of the most elite figures in Azeroth. As the son of the Archmage, Quatre was, of course, expected to be there, and he was determined to make sure Heero would be as well. "Please, Heero," Quatre begged as they sat together in the library, studying, "if you go to this ball, I promise I won't ask you to any other parties for the rest of the year."
Heero frowned. He was willing to go to please Quatre, but he was wary. "What is so important about this particular ball?" he wanted to know, not even bothering to look up from the book he was reading to ask the question.
Quatre balked a little, unsure of how to explain. "Nothing," he finally said. "I just think it would be good for you. Maybe you'll meet someone new."
"Are you saying you are tired of my company?" Heero asked, his flat tone doing well to mask his concern over such a thought.
"No!" Quatre exclaimed, growing flustered. "It's just, well… you know, so many people from kingdoms all over the world will be there. It might help expand your horizons a little…."
The frown still had not left Heero's face. "I think I'm rather well-rounded as it is," he said, not quite seeing Quatre's point. "Besides, what's the point of meeting someone from another land if it's doubtful I'd see them again?"
Quatre let out a huff of exasperation, the first real hint of his toil to get Heero to be more social. "Being well-rounded is more than just knowing the things you find in the library backwards and forwards, you know," he said, sounding a little weary. "I mean, there's a distinct difference between reading about the elves of Silvermoon and actually meeting one."
Heero suddenly snapped shut the book he was reading. "I don't see why you're pressing this so adamantly. You know I'll end up going anyway," he snapped, getting to his feet with a fiery glower in his eyes. Clearly annoyed, he stalked off towards the bookcases as if he meant to return the tome in his hand, though his true intent was actually just to find a little seclusion amid the shelves.
Unfortunately for Heero, solitude was not to be his. He had no sooner gotten far enough into the labyrinth of bookshelves to be removed from Quatre, when he found himself stumbling nose-first into someone else.
"Hey, watch it!" came an annoyed grunt as Heero withdrew with a muttered apology. He looked up, half expecting to see some annoyed scholar preparing to berate him for his carelessness, and was surprised to find himself met with none other than the acolyte who he would eventually know as Duo Blackscythe.
"Well, what do we have here?" said the acolyte, a lopsided grin on his face. He stood with a hand on each hip, a stack of books hovering magically at his side. "Heero Yuy, isn't it? The magic student who finds spellcasting a bore."
The only response Heero could muster was the ability to let his jaw fall a bit slack. He was so amazed that this stranger seemed to know who he was, much less his name, that he forgot to take offense at the jibe. Certainly, he had seen him around, suddenly taking notice of his existence ever since the incident in Runeweaver Square, but he didn't know much more about him than what he'd casually observed from afar. He couldn't even supply a name to call the acolyte in return.
"Heh, don't say everything all at once," the acolyte quipped in the stead of Heero's silence. Snapping his fingers, he beckoned the book from Heero's hand and called it to his own with an effortless spell. "'The War of the Ancients'," he read aloud from the book's spine, that amused expression still firmly in place. "Doesn't look like something that's going to help you much on your exams." He tossed the book into the air, and, as if guided by a string, it flew up and landed neatly atop the stack of magically floating books. Then, turning towards the bookshelf, he looked up and summoned another tome from one of the top shelves, catching it as it dropped from is perch. Handing the new book, which was entitled 'A Guide to Elemental Sorcery', to Heero, he said, "This should be much more useful, I think."
Dubiously taking the book, Heero thanked him without a hint of amusement in his tone. He was well aware that history books weren't going to help him with passing the biannual exams that were fast approaching, but he couldn't help but find more interest in the lore and campaigns of wars past than the tedium of focused casting. It was hard for him to tell if the acolyte also knew that as well, or if he was genuinely trying to make a recommendation. Somehow, Heero had a feeling his initial instinct was the correct one.
"So," the longhaired acolyte went on, mounting one of the nearby bookcase ladders, his floating stack of books in tow, "what brings you to the library today, Heero?"
"Accompanying a friend, I guess," Heero answered, not really in the mood for explanations as he watched him climb the ladder and, one by one, return the books in his stack to their proper place with a flourish of his hand.
"Not doing a very good job, are you," the acolyte rejoined with a smirk Heero couldn't see from the floor.
"I needed a break," Heero deadpanned.
"What, from not studying?" the acolyte asked with a laugh. He flicked one hand to the left, commanding the rolling ladder he was perched upon to slide over a couple of feet. "You'll never become an acolyte with an attitude like that, even if you do have connections with the Kirin Tor."
"Maybe I don't want to be!" Heero snapped, unsure where his acerbity was coming from. Much to his furthered annoyance, all the acolyte could respond with was a chuckle and, "I didn't think so."
Pulling the last book of the stack from the air to manually return it to the shelf, the acolyte slid down the length of the ladder and alighted on the floor. Crossing his arms and leading against the bookcases, he arched his eyebrows and asked, "So let me ask again, what are you really doing here."
Sensing the acolyte's urge to play this kind of game with him, Heero said, "Here in the library or here?"
"Here," said the other with a lackadaisical roll of his shoulders. "Though, really, I suppose it's an unfair question: I mean, after all, why is anyone ever anywhere, you know?"
Heero sucked in a breath at the train of thought the acolyte's comment conjured: never truly knowing who he was had led him to such existentialist thinking on more than one occasion, but having such things voiced was something altogether different. Deciding to neatly avert the mention of such a topic, Heero said, "Like I told you, I was here with a friend, until I decided I needed some space."
"Ahh," the acolyte hummed; "And now, you're here with me."
"Not by my choosing," Heero retorted sharply.
"Such things are not always for us to choose," the acolyte shrugged again. Then, the mischievous grin returned to his lips and he added, "Or perhaps t'was Fate did that."
Heero had a mind to argue back, to say something snarky about choosing to walk away, but something else in the back of his mind left him pondering the acolyte's words instead. He got the distinct feeling that there was more to the other man than what met the eye, but he wasn't quite sure he wanted to stick around long enough to delve beyond such appearances. "Who are you," Heero asked, not cutting any corners. "Really."
At Heero's abrupt question, the acolyte seemed a bit taken aback. "Is conversation really such a crime in your book?" he wondered, shaking his head incredulously at Heero.
"It is when you presume too much," Heero hissed back. He hoped his prickly demeanor would eventually scare the acolyte off, but was sorely disappointed to find that this tactic, which usually worked so well with other people, was not effective here at all. Heero found the other man's tenacity extremely infuriating, and decided to let the longhaired mage know it: "I don't need you acting like you know me so well! Such things frustrate me enough with the friends I already have, much less you."
"A wonder you have any with an attitude like that," the acolyte answered coolly. "How is it that you even managed it at all?"
Heero's rejoinder was crisp and immediate. "Circumstance," he said, crossing his arms and frowning at him.
Much to Heero's chagrin, his succinct answer only caused the acolyte to burst out into laughter. "And this isn't circumstance enough for you?" he wanted to know between wheezing guffaws.
Heero looked away to hide his faltering expression, feeling a bit meeker that his steely demeanor seemed to have no effect on the other man whatsoever. The whole thing made him incredibly anxious. "I barely know you," he tried to protest. "I don't even know what you're called."
A terrifyingly mischievous smile laced the acolyte's features, and he said, "Well, perhaps I'll tell you if you make the effort." Casually, he added, "Perhaps we could meet again, and we could talk some more."
Something enticing glinted in his eyes, though Heero couldn't say exactly what it was. All he knew was that the swallow that fell down his throat hurt, and that he was vaguely intrigued by the mysterious air to the acolyte's invitation. The notion didn't last particularly long, however, and he was quick to snap himself back to attention. Straightening, he said, "I'll think about it." With that, he quickly turned on his heel and marched back towards the place where he had left Quatre and his studies, adamantly refusing to even glance back at the acolyte and the triumphant smile he was sure to be wearing on his face.
But just as he was about to reemerge from the bookshelf maze and rejoin Quatre, Heero faltered when he realized that Quatre was no longer alone. Sitting with him in the chair that Heero had vacated was a girl with honey blond hair, chatting casually with Quatre. She wore the gold, white and violet robes of a magic student, suggesting that she was a friend of Quatre's from one of his classes. Heero thought she looked vaguely familiar, as if he might have seen her around, but he still had no idea who she was, and felt uncomfortable intruding on a conversation he was very likely to exclude him. Still, he couldn't help but overhear snatches of what they were saying to each other, curious as to what sorts of things Quatre spoke about with his less difficult acquaintances.
"Well, did you find out?" asked the girl, leaning her chin in one hand. She sounded excited to hear whatever news Quatre had about her query.
"Sort of," replied Quatre, leaning back in his chair. "I didn't get a definite answer, but it seems more likely than the last time I tried."
The girl's shoulders slumped slightly, but she didn't allow it to quell her hopeful demeanor. "I really appreciate you going to the trouble," she said. "It's not something anyone else is fit to do, I think. He seems much more willing to listen to you than most, anyway."
"Well, he can be a bit difficult," Quatre mused with a shrug. "But that's not to say he's completely unreasonable. I think he'll at least go, so even if you don't get to escort him, you could at least have a few dances."
The girl sighed thankfully. "One dance is all I want," she said, sounding a bit wistful.
It was about then that Heero had an epiphany and realized that they were talking about him. No wonder Quatre had wanted him to go to the Winter Veil Ball so desperately. Obviously, this friend of Quatre's wanted to accompany him, and Quatre was working hard to facilitate her. Heero frowned at the notion, feeling no more comfortable with it than he did at the prospect of getting to know the acolyte better. As far as he was concerned, the ball was an occasion to do no more than put on his nice tunic and slosh back a couple glasses of fine wine. He would go to please Quatre, but there was only so much he was willing to push for such an occasion. He would have to devise a way to bring this situation up to his blond friend as soon as the girl was gone. Anxiously, he waited for her to leave, more than certain that he did not want to make his presence known while she was there.
"Well, thank you so much, Quatre, dear," the girl said presently, rising to her feet. She leaned over the table to take up Quatre's hands and kiss him on each cheek. "I really appreciate what you're doing for me. I just… well, it just seems like no matter what I do, I can't even get him to notice me, much less become closer to him."
"It's no trouble at all, Relena," Quatre smiled warmly. "I like to think that, sometimes, all Heero needs is a push in the right direction. He can be rather single minded at times, and the blinders he wears keeps him from thinking about anything that's not routine."
"I'd like to hope I could become a part of that routine," answered Relena, exuding a confidence that furthered Heero's discomfort. He didn't appreciate the way they were speaking about him as if they knew exactly how he'd think or feel about the whole thing. He wondered if his reaction would have been the same if their plans had continued without his knowledge.
He had a sneaking suspicion that it would.
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TBC
