Crime and Marriage

"Are you sure you don't want to go? I could take you somewhere else if you'd like," Tasius said, reaching around to buckle his breastplate.

"I'm not feeling well, Tasius. We'll go to the theater some other time," she mumbled, head buried into the plush down pillow.

He set his helmet down and sat at the foot of their bed, studying her face intently. "Should I summon the doctor?"

"No.." she whispered. "It's nothing, I just feel weak today."

"Is it..?" his eyes drifted to her stomach.

It had been over a year since their marriage and Anasteria knew that she could not hold off her husband's hopes for a child. When they arrived in Silvermoon, he told her that he wanted a future with her. Saying no was hardly an option since she had nowhere else to turn, so she accepted his proposal. Her father, deciding that her marriage to a Bloodknight was no longer an affront to his authority, eventually forgave her and family bonds were restored. On Anasteria's left ring finger sat an exquisitely-crafted gold band mounted with a brilliant ruby (her father's specialty), offset with diamonds on both sides. It was a marvelous piece of jewelry that required weeks of painstaking skill and labor to create, but she didn't feel worthy of it. The first few months of their marriage had been nearly unbearable for Anasteria and she considered running away, but the pain of losing Rowan gradually receded to the background of her thoughts. It was now her accepted fate to live out her life with Tasius and be a good wife. This left her with occasional bouts of inconsolable depression and she'd lay in bed for days wondering where Rowan was, or what he was thinking about.

"Perhaps," she said finally, forcing a smile. It was better than saying no to him, he deserved some hope.

Resting his large hand on her stomach, he leaned over and kissed her softly. Had she been a different woman in different world, she might've longed for the kisses and caresses he gave so freely. Always gentle and honest, he nearly wept with shame when he told Anasteria how he let his mother meddle with her life. Even when she insisted that she forgave him, he swore to her that he'd do everything in his power to make things right again. The luxuriously large featherbed, silk dresses, finely-crafted combs, were all bought by Tasius to ensure that his wife would never be without the best.

"I better be off. Drills start in an hour," he paused, fervently adding, "I love you, Ana."

She mumbled reply, then sank back into the covers. She didn't think she was with child, but the very thought of pregnancy terrified her. Living this lie for Tasius's sake was one thing, but to have to raise a child as well? I'm being selfish, she thought. I have a good husband who loves and honors me, but I give my heart to a Night Elf that I've only known for a few days.

No matter how many times she chastised herself, her heart would never be convinced that she would spend the rest of her life with Tasius.

Rowan tore his undershirt into long strips, wrapping the longest piece around his bleeding forearm. The wound throbbed and he clenched his teeth as he wound the fabric around his injured limb. This one had put up a fight and Rowan had come close to meeting his end on the cobblestone road three stories below. Leaning over to retrieve her daggers, physical proof that the job was done, he studied her face. A Human woman with caramel-colored skin that was barely a shade lighter than her hair. His nose wrinkled at the noxious smell of Deathweed that lingered around her wounds. The poisonous herb, when properly mixed, infiltrated the body's nervous system, causing it to attack itself. After the host succumbed, it would prevent them from being resurrected by a priest. It was the perfect poison for assassinations, but left a harsh smell akin to rotting vegetables and vinegar.

Slipping the daggers into his pack, he left. It was past midnight and the moon had already drifted behind the towering cityscape, casting almost no light across the empty street. He hurried along, wanting to be rid of the daggers so he could collapse into his bed and forget about the world for six hours.

"What've ya got for me, Longears?" asked Flynn, his boss.

The elf unclasped the flap of his backpack proffering it to him. His heavy-lidded brown eyes scanned the daggers greedily and he wiped his hands on his vest before touching them.

"You'll get your payment when Parrot wakes up. He handles the vault."

Rowan turned to leave, but then paused in the doorway of the decrepit house that served as their hideout.

"What'd she do.. the woman, I mean," he asked.

Flynn looked up at him, annoyed, but answered. "The fuck I know. Pops told me she wasn't a believer. That's all he needed to say."

Nodding assent, the rogue let the house and headed toward the seedy inn that served as his home. The old building was dank from years of water dripping through the shingles, but it served him well enough. With a perfunctory nod to the innkeeper, he climbed upstairs to his room. Stormwind, for all its glory, had its bad parts of town and this was one of them. Sounds of fights, robberies, rapes, and other fits of violence rang through the alleyways at night, making it difficult to sleep uninterrupted. He pulled the grimy blankets around himself and shut his eyes.

Sleep wouldn't come easily that night though. Not by fault of the local riff-raff, but by his own thoughts. He tried to push the image of Anasteria out of his mind, convincing himself that he didn't even remember what she looked like. But he did, even the smallest details. He remembered how her honey hair gathered to a seductive widow's peak, giving her face a heart-shaped appearance. How warm her slender body felt pressed against his own, how good she tasted when they kissed. When he had too much to drink, he would curse her for bringing this fate upon him. He would blame her for his fall from venerable soldier to exiled assassin, but the anger always left as quickly as it came. If he had the chance to go back in time he would kill Duncan all over again, even just to save her innocence. Her innocence.. he thought. She probably married that smug paladin. Though he occasionally took the company of the inn's wenches, the thought of Anasteria with that man hurt him deeply. He loved her, he'd even killed to protect her. That carrot-headed gnat just charged in and galloped away with her in his arms like he was the hero. He never saved her life.

He got out of bed and went to the sideboard for a cup of wine. As he sipped the watery Cabernet, he wondered where she was and what she was thinking about. A knock at the door startled him out of his reverie and he leapt up in response, the metal cup clanging to the floor.

"Light's sake, Rowan.." the voice muttered, "it's just me."

A sigh of relief escaped his lips, shortly followed by an annoyed groan.

"Ryalle, I don't need your..services tonight," he said through the door.

"Fine, at least open the door. I just feel like talking."

"Well I don't. And I don't feel like being charged by the hour to talk to you." Would she never give up?

There was a momentary clicking sound near the handle before the door swung open, revealing the seductively-clad barmaid. Ryalle strode in, smiling broadly as she slipped the hairpin back into her mess of brown curls. The woman could indeed be called attractive, a full curvaceous body that was accentuated by a slim waist. She shut the door behind her and plopped into the chair opposite the elf, neatly crossing her ankles (why she always did that, he could never figure out).

"How was your 'job' tonight?" she asked, helping herself to the jug of wine.

"None of your business. How was yours?" he shot.

"Hm, fine, be that way," she said, pretending to sulk. "You're grouchier than an Orc, you know. Have you ever been with an Orc before? I have."

A coquettish smile spread across her full lips as she delighted in his shock. Orcs, not being known for their beauty or winning personalities, were still considered the enemy. Why would she tell him something so.. so disturbing?

"I'm joking," she laughed. "But what of you? Have you ever.. crossed factions?" She winked to emphasize the innuendo.

"No," he stood abruptly, pulling her up by the elbow. "Now get out of my room, whore."

A flicker of hurt passed through her face and Rowan almost apologized for using the disparaging word, but kept silent. The woman had no right to barge into his room at night and bother him so. She yanked her elbow away, as if sickened to be touched by him. Her features softened and she regained her characteristic smile.

"Remember when we shared that bottle of rum?" she asked.

"What of it?" he snapped. This was getting ridiculous. He moved to grab her elbow again, but she eluded his hands.

"When we came up here," smiling, she gestured to the bed, "and had a little fun."

That was enough. Rowan seized her, his mouth tightening to a threatening scowl that was only reserved for those who pushed him too far. The few times he'd been with Ryalle could only be recollected as a blur of desperately passionate moments they shared while he was drunk. The next morning, he would burn with regret and self-loathing, sending the woman away with insults and curses. Where once he criticized his comrades for their corrupt behavior, he now reciprocated, sending himself further down the path of hypocrisy. He dragged her across the room and shoved her out into the hallway, shutting her out. Through the crack of light beneath the door, the shadow of her feet could still be seen. What is this woman's problem?

"What was that name you called me, hm? Now that I think of it, 'Anasteria' doesn't sound all that Night Elvish. Nor Dwarvish.. not Gnomish.. certainly not Drae—"

The door was suddenly ripped open and he came at her, hands curling around her bejeweled neck. She went rigid, fingernails digging into his hands in attempt to free herself. After a moment he regained his composure, slowly relaxing his chokehold and pulling away. Ryalle sunk to the wooden floor, her chest heaving as her hands fluttered to her neck.

"Rowan, please. Alright..I'll speak plainly with you," she said brokenly.

"I don't want to hear anymore from you, wench," he spat, turning back to the doorway.

"She's a Blood Elf," blurted the woman. "None on the side of the Alliance would ever have a name so close to that of Anasterian Sunstrider. Please.. I don't mean you harm. I want to help you."

The Night Elf's jaw tightened as his rage boiled over into the coals white-hot fury. Was she making a mockery of him? He'd nearly choked the life out of her and she dared to push her luck? Rowan's face drained to a pale lavender, eyes narrowing to golden slits. The barmaid flattened herself against the wall, as if drawing herself further away would spare her.

With tears roaming down her rouged cheeks, she spoke in a voice so soft that her words only registered after Rowan slammed the door.

"I loved once, too."

A/N: I'm going to add my author's notes here so I don't spoil anything in my comments. I really liked writing this chapter. The new characters (and circumstances) in the story are, I think, very necessary to move things along to where I need them (that's as much as I'm going to say). Thank you all for your comments! I always like reading what everyone has to say about the story, so don't feel like you can't leave multiple reviews or anything!