A/N: A late update! Never fear, unless something comes up it shan't happen again.
I've been worrying for some time that every single chapter I put up is the one that makes everyone go "OH GOD THIS IS AWFUL" no matter what reviews say (yay anxiety, I'm sure all fanfic writers have felt some variation on this before) and it built up too much, so I took a week off to get some distance. Then my Dad went into hospital, eek. He's doing OK, but I'd appreciate good vibes. He wants to come home today but the docs might not let him, so we'll see how it goes.
Anyway, I'm back, and it feels good to be back!
Chapter Twenty
Stormwind burned.
It was like the First War all over again, but no orcs swarmed the ruined streets. Orange stained the sky, but Bolvar heard no screaming, no crying, no panicking. Ash floated on acrid smoke, the air searing from fire. Bolvar's eyes watered, the smoke choked his lungs. Ahead he saw the Keep stark against the sky, the stones bleached white. His neck seared with pain, but when he touched it nothing was there. The silhouettes of two enormous gargoyles hulked on a tower each, black against an orange canvas. He felt their ominous gazes pierce him.
"Bolvar!"
His heart caught in his throat and his eyes combed the ruins in front of him. "Reggie?"
"Bolvar!"
"Reggie!" he yelled. He started picking his way through the rubble, running as fast as he could towards the voice without tripping or stumbling over stones. "Where are you?"
"I'm over here," said a silent voice.
The stone in the courtyard of Stormwind Keep was pure white, barely smudged with any soot. Reginald Windsor stood by a fountain, his dead eyes staring at Bolvar, stiff in his armour. "You."
"Reg?" said Bolvar, taking a tentative step forward. Reginald's eyes narrowed through streaks of soot and scratches Bolvar could not remember that littered his face.
"I can't believe you left me here," said Reginald. "Left me in their clutches. How could you?"
"What?" Bolvar choked.
"We were friends, Bolvar!" His bellow echoed against the walls of the Keep, amplified by the entire city and the empty sky. "Our entire lives we knew each other and you just left me!"
"I can't send anyone after you, Reginald," said Bolvar, his heart tightening in his chest. "You wouldn't want people to die following you, I know you. It's best we leave the dragons alone — "
"And see what happened because of that!" Reginald gestured to the ruined city, his voice growing into a hysterical scream. "They're dead, all dead! All of them. She was right under your nose all along and everyone paid the price! I was just the beginning, Bolvar."
The orc invasion hadn't been like this. There had been chaos everywhere, not a deserted and haunting city…
So this was a dream. Only a dream. He exhaled in relief.
"I can't follow you, Reginald," said Bolvar, his lips barely moving in a murmur. "We can't follow you. How many more people must die —"
"Because of her?" said Reginald. His armour clinked as he pointed.
Bolvar looked over his shoulder.
And then he saw her.
He thought she was an oversized gargoyle at first, but now the dream etched and weaved her form in horrific detail. Two curved horns jutted into the air. White shards of stone flaked as her claws dug into them. Her yellow eyes seared him with malevolence, reflecting the fires and ruined buildings around Stormwind.
He knew her.
But it was only a dream. The real Onyxia must surely be bigger than this; he'd never before seen so much as a drawing of her, but this couldn't be real.
And yet his mind painted a vivid picture down to the detailed purple scales on her hide, the loathing in her eyes and the distant scent of brimstone.
"How pathetic," said the second gargoyle.
Now that was a dragon, a mammoth of a creature that threatened to topple the tower underneath him from his weight alone, twice the size of his twin. "Humans are such weak creatures," said Nefarian. "So tiny. So stupid. So crushable."
Bolvar couldn't tear his locked gaze from the female. He felt no fear. Only awe.
"You're not going to hurt me," he said.
She tilted her head. Her voice sounded familiar and yet he knew for a fact he had never heard it before. "Not yet," she said.
Her form glowed white. Her scales shimmered and wavered like ripples in a pond, shrinking.
"The enemy we cannot see threatens us more than the one we can," Reginald droned from behind him. "In the end, Bolvar, you will see, and you'll wish you hadn't turned your back on all of us. I can only pray for the sake of everyone around you that by then it will not be too late."
He had held no fear of Onyxia as her white body shrunk and morphed. He had held no fear of the dragons that watched the two of them.
But at that moment, seeing Katrana Prestor step from where Onyxia had been shot a raw, cold bolt of terror through his chest.
-o-O-o-
The sides of his neck hurt when Bolvar awoke. He winced in pain, touching the skin. It burned underneath his fingertips.
What the hell? Did he burn himself there, somehow? Why hadn't he woken?
The dream floated back to him in fragments, vivid and alive. Even now he could still smell the faint smell of smoke, could still see Onyxia's eyes fixed on his…
He looked down beside him, and for a moment he was confused as to why Kat lay curled up on the chaise beside him, sound asleep, before he remembered the events of Winter's Veil Day. A soft smile tugged at his lips.
At least they spoke with one another again, he'd missed her. But in the morning's light, untainted by the fantastical mystique of Winter's Veil, he pondered his actions with some guilt. He was a Highlord. He shouldn't be off snogging one of his advisors.
But he'd missed her. He'd acted a complete fool by disregarding her apologies and brushing off all the progress she'd made, all the genuine changes she'd made to her treatment of others. He hadn't realised how much he'd come to enjoy their Friday chess games, how comforting her presence was to him when they simply read in silence. And —
Reginald.
Reginald had been in the background of his mind ever since his contact had stopped, but Bolvar had refused to confront it. And bloody hell, while he'd been enjoying Winter's Veil Day he'd forgotten about him. What kind of friend was he? Guilt rotted in his chest.
Whilst he'd been acting like a child in the park, Franklin Windsor spent Winter's Veil without his little brother. Whilst he'd been pursuing his own possibly-unwise interests, somewhere Reginald's body rotted under a hot sun against scorched earth. If he was lucky. If he'd been captured by the Black Dragonflight…
The thought made him shudder.
Perhaps it couldn't hurt to send someone to find Reginald. Nobody need ever know. Entertaining the idea, he slipped away from Katrana as best as he could, but she still stirred as he padded out of his study and towards the bathroom.
The mirror shone the dawn light in his eyes that crept in through a tiny window. He squinted at his reflection.
What the hell?
The burns circled his neck like some kind of grotesque necklace, but he never wore jewellery. He unbuttoned his shirt and squinted at his chest. He couldn't quite see the burn on his sternum, but it was there. Was he half blind? Going longsighted? No black, no white, nothing. He brushed at it, and for a moment he saw a clear red circle in his skin, hot to the touch.
Then the patch of nothing returned.
Was he still in a dream?
He heard movement from his study and, puzzling over it, returned. He half expected to see a dragon in there, for Onyxia to return to his subconscious to tear him apart, but it was only Katrana crouched beside the burnt-out fireplace. She nudged the half-dead embers in the fireplace with a poker.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to wake you."
"It is no matter," said Katrana, rising. Feeble flames returned to life in front of her, licking at half-burned logs. "I must return to my quarters and intrude no longer. Do have a good night, High — Bolvar."
When she turned around, Bolvar frowned. On an impulse he stepped closer, touching her neck. "You're burned. Like me. What happened? How did that happen?"
Katrana frowned and touched her throat.
A brief moment passed. His skin felt warm. Thoughts drifted in his head but when he reached out nothing was there.
Then she said, "How did what happen?"
… What was he doing? Why was he touching her?
He drew his hand back. "I… pardon?"
"How did what happen?" said Katrana again. She did not look confused.
Bolvar blinked. "I… what? What are you talking about, Kat?"
"I think you are still half-asleep, Bolvar," she said, touching his cheek. It was a simple brush of her fingertips, and then the contact was gone. "Still dreaming." Her frown deepened. "I must go. Good night, Bolvar."
"I…" what time was it? Some part of Bolvar told him he knew, but he couldn't remember. "Yes, I think I need more sleep. You look a bit tired too."
She gave him a nod before she left. "Good night, then."
What the heck just happened?
An odd dream, right. Something about Onyxia, of all creatures. How odd, that his mind had conjured such details when he hadn't even seen pictures of her. And there was Nefarian, and…
Reginald.
Reginald had been in the background of his mind ever since his contact had stopped, but Bolvar had refused to confront it. And bloody hell, while he'd been enjoying Winter's Veil Day he'd forgotten about him. What kind of friend —
A jarring sense of deja vu settled over Bolvar.
He shook himself.
Kat was right, he did need more sleep. He'd think about all this after he'd had sufficient rest.
He'd take the passage through to his room and collapse on his own bed. He'd be fine after more rest. The day before had taken a lot out of him, apparently. He hoped Fletcher enjoyed the discussion they had the night before, though when Bolvar prodded his memory further he couldn't recall what they discussed.
His throat heated again. His body reacted to damaged skin with pain, crying for the mind's acknowledgement.
It went ignored.
-o-O-o-
Every single move Katrana would make would be with the care of a builder, every half-smile a brick, every word a cobblestone. Without the smaller actions, the bigger structure would not hold.
She would fake it all.
A laugh to make him feel easier around her. A brush against his cheek. He enjoyed the small touches, and she put aside her repulsion to do them whilst they'd been at the park, and he seemed to thrive on it. What an emotional creature he was. She'd always thought males were supposed to be more stoic than females, but perhaps it was merely cultural and not biological.
Before he fell asleep she implanted the false memories, Fletcher's alibi. The Winter's Veil Ball was just under another week from now, and then the next phase of the plan could go underway.
She had not counted on the side effects. Before, the medallion had merely made it easy to eavesdrop on his thoughts, but it had never grown this bad. The boosted power strengthened the link between them, burned him as he slept as it grew hot. And if the amulet had heated…
Then it had been acting of his own volition.
But what had it done? Had it something to do with their dreams? There had been something alien about the dream she'd had, as if she had not been the dreamer, as if someone else's unconscious had bled into her own. Perhaps during their sleep the link had blown wide open. Like how one stood while conscious, she kept the connection closed without thinking, but during sleep her efforts collapsed with nothing to hold them in place.
As Katrana returned to her own office and finished her letter to Ebonaria, she pondered on it. She could feel the link now pressing in on her. Distantly her awareness registered Fordragon falling back to sleep, and decided that sleeping at the same time he did was much too dangerous.
And yet, it was unavoidable. Her sleep was ruined enough as it was without the solid eighteen hours a week she needed. She did not have time to sleep in the day. He'd have the dreams, they would have the dreams, at least twice a week.
It helped that, long ago, she'd planted the order for him not to notice the medallion's existence, or the existence of her own. It was not a stretch to have him ignore the burns the same way. With luck, no one else would press the issue and become suspicious of his programmed response to questions.
She opened her drawer and pulled out another sheaf of paper, getting to work copying the first letter. In spite of the risk, she kept a meticulous record of all the orders she sent in case she needed to refer to them. So far, Romathis had not disturbed her Brood again, but Ebonaria stood vigilant.
Katrana felt it would not last long. What was his plan? Why did he creep around behind her back with his secrets? Was this some kind of test?
-o-O-o-
The next night, Amandine would not settle.
Rocking had little effect, a warm bath failed to soothe her, and soft singing went interrupted by Amandine's ear-splitting cries. The baby had no temperature or sickness, but by the time the clock struck two Sam had had enough. She returned Amandine into her crib and sat in a stiff chair in the main room with her palms planted over her ears.
She'd never hurt Amandine, ever, but now she understood why some mothers snapped. Of all the challenges in her life, taking care of a baby was the worst. She'd looked after younger rogues on the street, taught them to steal and beg, but they'd always been old enough to be independent if the worst happened to her. Amandine needed her. She wasn't a five-year-old that knew how to put food in her mouth and snatch things off the side of a stall in the marketplace.
Nobles thought five was too young even for that, but nobles didn't know a damned thing about fighting tooth and nail for survival. Just as Sam didn't know a damned thing about taking care of babies.
But she knew how to do things alone.
She'd never thought she'd be anything but a single parent, if she would ever become pregnant. It was far from rare for contraceptive potions to fail and for whores to fall pregnant, and a lot of them kept the child. Sam spent many years of her life surrounded by single mothers, strategically disappearing if one needed help with their young. She never thought she'd end up with a husband even when she caught Norris's eye, so the thought of having someone else get up to feed the young one from a bottle remained an unattainable fantasy.
Even more so now she already had a child, but at this stage she'd settle for an arranged marriage if it meant someone else dealt with it from time to time!
Amandine sniffled and sobbed in the other room. Sam's being stretched between guilt, despair and irritation. Perhaps Amandine lay on the brink of yet another damn illness. She'd had a fever last week, a cold the week before, and Sam wasn't surprised if the childhood illnesses lined up at their door and hit the child all at once at some point. But Sam had given Mandy the medicine Horan Bronzewing had given her last week and it had little effect.
But what did she expect? Since when had anything ever gone well?
Life did not work that way for Samantha Inkweaver. She'd thought things picked up when Norris came into her life, but then life screamed just kidding! and ripped the carpet from underneath her feet again. Apparently Life thought eighteen-year-old single parents were hilarious.
This was nothing new. True, Katrana had been kind to her, but it was only a matter of time before the other shoe dropped. What would it be this time? Would Anduin run away again and have her fired? Would Norris find some way to take Mandy away from her? Would Katrana get sick of her presence?
The kitchen lay shrouded in darkness, stacks of bowls lurking in the sink like some fearsome monster. Sam hadn't slept all night, and she still had to look after Anduin and Mandy in the morning, and perhaps Myth too. She sank to the floor, resting her back against a cupboard, forehead on her knees. How would she cope? Every day all she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and sleep forever.
Sam didn't know how to live in this world, only how to survive. She was a child raised by children, a child raising another child. They'd taught her to steal, how to trick a man, how to please one. They'd never taught her about employment, or how to spell. Sam faked most things.
And yet she still annoyed everyone around her. Granted, it wasn't hard to annoy Katrana Prestor, but sometimes Anduin was a little too short with her and the nobles sneered as she walked by and Fordragon seemed annoyed if she asked him too many questions or spoke to him too often. Had she been too personal, perhaps? Was it bad ethics to make chitchat with your employer? She couldn't remember if you were supposed to make friends with them or not.
She pulled herself to her feet. On a sudden impulse she opened the top drawer and sat on the bench. She lay a kitchen knife across her knees. It glinted in dim light.
How pathetic.
She didn't even feel miserable, only apathetic, viewing her circumstances with detachment, so why did she act like an angsty teenager? She used to get depressed, years ago, but eventually life's hard edges wore it away. She worked like the clockwork boat Bolvar had given Anduin for Winter's Veil, merely winding herself up and then doing her daily jobs until she was done. Life was hard, she knew that, but it was hard for everyone. She felt as if her entire mind had calloused. Underneath, she suffocated without air.
Amandine still cried. Sam put the knife back, filled with self disgust.
She was irrational. Just a stupid whore who couldn't do anything right. She should check on Amandine again, just hold her until she went to sleep at whatever fucking hour that would be, and then Sam herself could go to sleep. She wouldn't mind not waking up, if sleep's darkness just took her into a gentle embrace and never let go. She'd only ever had bad luck. She was tired of it.
But Kair had been kind to her. He'd offered her his help. And it was only a few hours from dawn, but right now Sam ached for a warm room with light and someone else to hold the little one for a while. It was the middle of the night, but…
At this stage, exhausted and dragging her feet, she couldn't bring herself to care. She didn't even feel guilty for not caring. She was just done.
-o-O-o-
"Do not look so surprised," Kair said, when Sam knocked on his door to find him wide awake. "My kind are nocturnal, remember. Ah, come in, allow me to light a candle for you, I know your kind do not see well in the dark… is the little one alright?"
"She won't stop crying," said Sam. Her voice threatened to break. She was the adult, she shouldn't be the one weeping! "I've tried everything, I can't…"
"Shh," said Kair, taking the infant from her arms. He looked down at her. "She feels warm. A fever."
Tears of frustration prickled Sam's eyes with heat. "She didn't have a temperature five minutes ago!"
Shuffling the infant in his arms, Kair balanced her in one arm and touched Sam's forehead. "That would be because you have one as well," he said. "I fear the stress has gotten to you. Raising a child alone is difficult, though I never knew Myth when he was that young." He rocked the child, oblivious to her screeches. "It is best to keep an eye on her, in any case. Could I trouble you to brew some tea for the two of us while I attempt to soothe her?"
"Alright."
"The tea leaves are beside the basin."
Sam filled the kettle, put it over the fire and hunted for the little tin of tea. Amandine's cries died down to hiccoughing sobs as Kair rocked her. Of course, she'd settle for him, and not for her own mother. Sam heard not a peep from Myth. Perhaps children had better luck with turning their sleep cycles upside down.
"I did something stupid earlier," Sam confessed.
"Mmm?" said Kair.
"Almost sliced my damn arms up," she muttered. "Talk about mental."
Kair looked up in soft surprise. Sam turned away to avoid his eyes, dark in the dim light. "Why would you do that?"
"Hell if I know," Sam snapped. She breathed in. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't take this out on you."
"You feel hopeless," said Kair. It wasn't a question. "Why else would you do it?"
Ahh, her friend, the night elf therapist.
"I just wasn't thinking," said Sam. "I don't even feel unhappy. Things are tough, but…" she shook her head. "Pathetic, isn't it? When life chucks you lemons and all that. I shouldn't be wallowing in misery. I'm not even unhappy. Just... tired."
"You want to rest."
"Gods, yes," said Sam. As the kettle started to whistle she snatched it off the stove with a tea towel before it could disrupt Amandine's sleep. "Times like this I miss my mother. She died ages ago."
"And your father?"
"Never knew him," said Sam. "If I knew someone who did I could ask what happened to him, but my mother died before she could tell me. He might still be alive out there somewhere, or he might have left my mother a widow. I don't know." And like the boiling water into the cups in front of her, her words spilled from her before she could stop them. "After she died I didn't have anyone to take me in so I just scrounged around, looked after myself, made friends who got me into... a certain business. Then Norris, and now I'm here. It wasn't fun. Wasn't fun at all." She offered Kair a cup, before she remembered the child. "Oh, um. I'll just take these into the main room, then?"
Kair nodded with a faint smile. He followed her through as she put the tea cups down with a delicate chink against the glass surface of the table. "I wonder what happened to my mother's blackwhelp," she murmured.
"I hear you like dragons," said Kair.
In here, next to Kair and surrounded by fluttering candles, her problems seemed so tiny. So far away. Amandine slept on, and would likely sleep for a while. Thank the Light.
"I find them fascinating," said Sam, sitting into an armchair. She blew on her tea, watching the steam curl in the air. "My mother used to tell me fairy tales about fairies and dragons and knights, and she had that little pet whelp. The whelp was a savage little thing, not like Jettion. Though he snaps a fair bit." Talking, yammering on like this helped her fragile nerves. And Kair, smiling as if he wasn't quite paying attention, didn't seem to mind. Already she felt herself settle down like little Amandine had. "Speaking of which, have you heard much about the dragonbane testing?"
"Mmm, I've heard nobles discussing it in the library," said Kair. Ah, so he was paying attention. "They are worried, should one develop an allergy to it they would not want to be killed for it. Times are getting very tense, and we do not want this to turn into a witch hunt. If one should voice valid concerns they would only be accused of having... scaly leanings."
That was certainly a way to put it. "Do you know who's getting tested?" said Sam.
Kair sipped at his tea, Amandine snug and silent in the crook of his arm. "They're still growing the plant, I hear," said Kair. "It will be some time before there is enough to test everyone. They are mainly occupied with testing the highest tiers of nobles, along with visiting diplomats. There are rumours that dragonspawn have already infiltrated the Keep and replaced nobles. Fearmongering, I hope. And there's also the rumours that there have been a few posing as us for some time."
"Well," said Sam. "That's silly. They would've had to be here for years, then, if not longer, and we would've noticed by now."
Kair shrugged. "Dragons can live a long time," he said. "The dragon Nefarian is believed to be ten thousand odd years or so. Deathwing was over sixty thousand."
"Wow," said Sam. "So why isn't the planet crawling with them? They lay dozens of eggs in a clutch, so I've heard, so you'd think they would outnumber us."
Kair tilted his head. "The Black Dragonflight caused quite a scuffle, I hear. The only knowledge we have of the Dragonflights is through what the Green Flight tells the night elves, and even then they do not tell us much. Aside from that we have only mythology to go on. They tell us the Black Flight are just as evil to the other Flights as they are to us."
"Except they don't seem too interested in us."
"I certainly hope so," said Kair with a frown. "One never knows. When I was in the Dream a dragon told me a story about the Black Flight. Apparently they are a violent society that would feed upon each other soon as they smell blood in the water. It is vicious, to say the least."
"Jettion's relatively docile."
"Indeed," smiled Kair. "Like an endearing pet, though we must remember he is a child with scales. Dragons are far more intelligent than we are."
"And yet Lady Prestor disagrees."
"And you do not, by the look on your face." Kair tilted his head. "Perhaps she merely compares them with her intelligence. From what I have heard she is quite intelligent herself and tends to think most people... not so much."
"That's an understatement," sighed Sam. She sipped her tea, swishing it around her mouth in thought before she swallowed to ask, "So what happens if Dragonbane turns out to be poisonous in the long-term?"
"Then we would be quite unlucky," said Kair. Amandine stirred and made a quiet noise.
"Well," said Sam. "Fordragon and Lady Prestor see too much of me, so they'd notice if I was replaced by a Dragonspawn, so I shouldn't get tested, what with Amandine and all. "
"Not necessarily," said Kair. "Dragons have produced mortal young in the past when — "
Amandine hiccoughed in the beginning stages of another fully-blown crying fit. Kair chuckled, holding her close. "No, young one, I doubt your mother is a dragon." He frowned. "Perhaps it would be prudent to take her to the healer in the morning. I hear there's a new one…"
"Horan Bronzewing, yes," said Sam. "Amandine's already made his acquaintance twice." She sighed.
"There may be an underlying problem if her illnesses persist," said Kair. He didn't even flinch as Amandine's cries grew louder. Samantha caught a peeping face behind a cracked door, but when Myth caught her eye the door closed and she heard feet pattering away. Perhaps Myth did not sleep so easily after all. "Samantha, allow me to take care of the young one tonight and get some rest."
Samantha's heart lurched in guilt. "Are you sure? I don't want to intrude, and you haven't had any sleep either —"
"I have, as a matter of fact," said Kair. "More than you will have if you go to bed now and sleep the rest of the night. Myth and I often sleep straight after work. I will take Amandine by before I am due at the library, if you wish, and wake you. But you're falling ill, Samantha."
"I feel fine."
"For now, indeed," said Kair. "And you need rest. You must take care of yourself, Samantha, even if you were not to be ill and I am offering my assistance. You will feel less… self destructive… if you allow yourself small luxuries during stressful times." He frowned. "You were right to come to me. My door is always open if you wish to talk."
"Distracting myself helped," Sam smiled. "Thank you, Kair. I'll see you in a few hours, then."
"Dream well, my friend."
There was something gentle about Kair, something non-threateningly. For the first time, she felt as if a friendship wasn't a mess waiting to happen.
Perhaps things would look up after all. She couldn't forget the light because the shadows were so deep.
But outside of Kair's room, surrounded by literal darkness once again, she felt her old worries close in on her.
She pushed them away.
She would endure. She always had.
A/N: As always, thank you for the reviews!
Kai: Big. Scaly. Dragon! Ha, I'm not easily squicked so I don't even bat an eyelid writing it, lol.
Anduril: Apologies for the late update, I hope this satisfies! Thank you. :)
JustMe: Relationships of all kind are something I struggle to write, I'll do my best to fix what looks iffy and prevent iffiness from happening in the future. If I didn't hate retconning I'd redo that chapter, actually. Thanks!
Coincidencless: We shall see what happens to her very soon...