A/N: Okay, so this fic is turning out waaay longer than I expected. I honestly thought I'd be done with part one by now, but it's, um. Not gonna happen any time soon.
To all those who are fretting about Bronze/Onyxia happening, I do intend to cover what exactly being mates means to dragons (in this fic, I'm not actually sure when it comes to canon, I tend to fill in a lot of gaps I see in canon) at some point in the future.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
"Judging from the expression on your face, my presence here is welcome," said Nalice.
Onyxia realised her smirk was broad enough to be mistaken for a grin, but didn't allow herself the indignity of scrabbling for control.
Pride first. Always.
Instead she said, "I am surprised you came. Is the Obsidian Shrine too dull for you? Where is Serinar?"
"Serinar is in the Shrine, it is still most difficult to pry him away from it no matter how empty it has become the past few thousand years," said Nalice. "I visited Dustwallow to see my favourite cousin when..." she frowned, sniffing the air. Her eyes narrowed, and she eyed Onyxia as she spoke. "... when your letter arrived."
Damnation. There was no way Nalice couldn't smell… "You arrived with swiftness. Good."
"I have no fear of humans, nor of teleportation," said Nalice. Her nose crinkled.
"And what do you intend on doing with yourself here?"
"Whatever you bid of me."
"Good," said Onyxia. "First and foremost, I want you to remain here until I release you." The last thing Onyxia needed was for her to inform the other dragons of Onyxia's… condition.
There was little doubt Nalice could smell it. Pregnant women always smelled a certain way…
And if she told, things would get a lot worse. Perhaps Romathis had planned for that…
Onyxia gestured to an arm chair in front of the fire. "Sit."
The stuffy room closed in on her, but Nalice did not even shed her fur cloak as she sat. Onyxia's overheated hands gleamed with sweat. She glanced at the fire. She always used to stoke it this much without a problem, and only humans found the room too hot when she did…
Did mortal pregnancies come with fevers as a side effect?
"Your presence here will have to be minimised," said Onyxia. "The humans gathered Dragonbane and have distilled it into a potion which they intend to feed to every noble and visiting diplomat, possibly more. You are hardly here on official capacity, but you may be at risk, for being a new face."
"Ah," said Nalice. "And that would explain why you have… ensured you will not be exposed." Her eyes narrowed.
"Unlike some, I am not afraid of doing what has to be done to protect the Flight," said Onyxia.
"And here I thought you impregnated yourself with human spawn for the fun of it," Nalice snorted.
"Quite the opposite, I assure you," said Onyxia.
"A human mate. Disgusting."
Isn't it fortunate my mate is a dragon? "I agree," said Onyxia.
She lowered her eyes to Onyxia's stomach. "I'm amused. But why order my cousin to bury your eggs?"
"Romathis may take advantage of my current problem to steal my unhatched children," said Onyxia. "He intends to trap me. If I did not catch with child, the Dragonbane testing would have caught me."
"I do not see how that is his responsibility."
"It was him who suggested it, through one of his scalebanes," said Onyxia. Because I was too busy with books to steal the plant while it was still possible! "He knew I would have had to either give in or abandon my post, and we all know how dangerous abandoning my post would be at this time. And yet, now I have insured myself I would be powerless to stop him should he make a move on my brood. Romathis, I believe, has the false impression that his force is big enough to invade, and therefore does not need me anymore."
Nalice shrugged. "If that is true, why does he not simply invade already? And it seems like a logical solution anyone with low enough standards would suggest."
"You would risk us just for the sake of pride," said Onyxia. "I'm not afraid to stoop to such levels. No price is too great for our safety."
"Pride is everything."
"Not if we're all dead," Onyxia snapped. "And no, I do not know why Romathis simply does not attack already." She gazed into the flickering, orange flames which emanated searing, uncomfortable heat. Who cared about the Stormwind winter? It would be a relief to feel it! "He plays some kind of game, and I am ignorant to the rules. That is why you are here."
"I see," said Nalice. She lounged back in the armchair, and Onyxia half expected her to begin purring like a cat. "And you wish me to uncover these rules."
"Civil war is on the horizon," said Onyxia. "If I lash out in defence of my Brood, he will jump on the chance to decimate us and take the Flight for his own. He has been outside of Stormwind all this time, there is no reason why he has not been gaining allies in the rest of the Flight."
Nalice frowned. "If that is true, he knows I would not take his side."
"Play ignorance."
"Obviously." Nalice shot her a look of annoyance. Onyxia met her eyes. "I know I must, but he still will not tell me anything."
"Investigate. Look around. Use your head."
Nalice's eyes narrowed further. "Like you did, I see," she remarked, looking into the fire. "You could have found a better way."
"I could have? I'm waiting for your suggestion."
Nalice scowled. She did not speak for a long time, and when she did it was to say, "Am I correct in assuming that the Highlord has something to do with your... condition?" She gestured to Onyxia.
Onyxia glanced down at her still-flat stomach, and wondered how long it would be before she showed.
Though a lot of female dragons did not become broodmothers, Onyxia found comfort in being pregnant and having young — bad symptoms and obvious drawbacks aside. She'd had a clutch every time her mating time came, and…
… It was like carrying a part of home with her, even if her body were different. She was a mother, a protector above all else.
Even if it was mortal.
"You would be correct," she murmured. Her tone sounded too weak for her liking. "Humans are easily swayed by those they feel affection for, and so I play it in my favour."
"And get a little pleasure for yourself in the meantime," Nalice smirked.
Ugh. "I take none in it," Onyxia said.
Nalice snorted. "Everyone has tried it out before in mortal forms."
"Don't be disgusting. I did not until recently, and made sure I was drunk first," said Onyxia flatly. "Though you appear to be different."
"Really?" Nalice arched a sceptical eyebrow. "Ten thousand years and you and your mates and consorts never —" She frowned, and murmured, "Then again, this is you. If you're going to use a mortal, make sure you at least enjoy it, you may as well reap what few benefits there are."
"Some of us don't lose sight of our goals, Nalice," said Onyxia. She crossed one leg over the other.
"Whatever you say," said Nalice. "Perhaps Sabellian turned you off mortals with his little… pets."
Dragons did not always use titles with their parents. Nalice hadn't called Sabellian 'father' since she was a drake. "I never met any of his mortal associates."
"Associates?" Nalice snickered. "So what is it you wish me to do?"
"Visit Blackwing Lair," said Onyxia. "Give me whatever information you can, and do not get yourself killed."
Nalice rose and bowed. "I have one last question. That Samantha girl, the one who led me here, do you know her?"
"She looks after the prince on occasion," said Onyxia. "Her child is deathly ill. Why do you ask?"
Nalice's eyes glinted, a small smirk twitching one corner of her lips. "I think she is worth keeping an eye on, if you ask me. That hatred she has for nobles… it may come in useful."
-o-O-o-
Ash curled in the air like burnt paper. The air reeked with dead fear and the stench of burning corpses. The smoke-wracked sky pressed in on them.
And in a yard, unaware of the end of the world all around him, a boy played, watched over by a silent man.
Chocolate hair hung over green eyes as the boy tugged at his mother's hand. His older self stood by a wall, staring into space with a frown as the scene unfolded in front of him. The blonde woman laughed. "Alright, alright," she said. "I'll push you. But you're old enough you should be able to swing yourself, by now."
The two figures walked as if through water, as if Bronze magic had slowed down time. Onyxia looked around for Hora, but could not find her.
"Bolvar?" said Onyxia, to the man by the wall.
"Mmm," was all he said.
It was the boy in the swing who looked up. "Yeah?" he said. His older self did not even blink.
A man stepped out of the house, and turned to look at her. She saw streaks through his hair, the same colour as his son's, and blue eyes that seemed softer than she was used to in the Highlord's eyes. His gaze slid past her as if he had not seen her, and fixed on his wife and child as they played.
She turned to look at the young Bolvar again, who couldn't have been more than five in the dream, but mother and son had forgotten her presence and now the young Mrs Fordragon pushed her child on the wooden swing. The older Bolvar did not move, standing as if in a thrall. The house stood alone, the only structure remaining in the perpetual blaze that scarred Stormwind. Around them, weeds and plants had begun to spring up in the ruins, nature claiming Stormwind as its own in an attempt to bring it back to what it was thousands of years ago, defying the magical fire. The canals, empty of water, were now filled with stones, charred wood and bricks.
In the distance, a man in orange robes picked herbs.
Onyxia hissed and clenched her jaw, tearing her eyes away. The Highlord's visage by the wall threatened to fade away. His younger self sat on the now-still swing like a statue, green eyes empty. His parents were gone.
Perhaps, on a certain level, she could empathise. Both her parents were gone now. Sintharia had been killed hundreds of years ago.
"Kat." The boy on the swing stirred. His body had grown to that of a teenager's as the other Bolvar became more withered and translucent. "I'm glad you're here. I miss you, when you're distant."
But he did not look at her, and Onyxia walked away from him.
Bricks and rubble slid away as she lowered herself into the canal, passing a destroyed bridge, and picked her way back out again over a pile of ruin.
By the smouldering crater of the park, caressing a green shoot, knelt the man in orange robes. He crouched, framed by the shattered and burnt-out planks of wood around him. Bricks, with mortar still clinging to them, lay scattered at his feet. His right leg looked withered away underneath the fabric of his clothing and when it pulled taut she made out the outline of a brace underneath.
"I'm sick of you invading my dreams," said Onyxia. "Begone."
"Oh yes, command your subconscious to do what you want it to, that has always worked in the past," Sabel said. The plant bloomed white underneath his touch. His fingers closed over the base of the stem, the roots pulling free from the cracks in the stone with little resistance. He placed it gently in his bag, as if it wouldn't wither away and die in hours.
Onyxia sighed. "Of course, I should have known you would state something so… Sabel-ish. It is such a Sabel thing to say."
"Or perhaps it isn't," said Sabel. "Perhaps it's merely because you are dreaming that you think it is something I would say. Dreams can fool people like that. Some don't even need to be asleep to fool themselves." He rose from his kneel. "Once upon a time, as a drake, I thought I was a seer, unable to tell the difference between fantasy and reality. I was as immature as a whelp."
"Leave me alone," said Onyxia. "You're missing. Probably dead. Or are you alive out there, somewhere? Too weak to find a way back home?"
"Or perhaps it is you who is weak for not coming to find me."
The statement left her reeling. "We owed you nothing," Onyxia spat.
"You all owed us everything," murmured Sabel, looking down at another plant. Silverleaf. He gently eased it from its place in the rubble. "And you know it. We sacrificed ourselves for you. Deathwing abandoned us to our fate, to be massacred by the gronn. And you? You didn't come after us. You could have tried to reopen the Dark Portal, but you didn't, did you? You left us to die."
Onyxia's chest tightened. "If you were strong, you would have found a way."
"And yet, you need us right now, don't you?" Sabel smirked at her maliciously. "You're trapped in Stormwind, thinking, if only Sabel were here, he'd know what to do. Instead, you're forced to rely upon my less-than-charming daughter. You are burning bridges, you are allowing chaos to descend upon all of you as the Flight teeters on the brink of a civil war... you're doing a wonderful job without us, dear sister."
Onyxia narrowed her eyes.
No excuses. Even Sabel loathed excuses. I'm doing the best I can! She wanted to say, but it was not good enough, and they both knew it.
"You should treat your mortal better, too," said Sabel.
Onyxia sneered.
"I spent many years among mortals," said Sabel. "I know them well."
"You spent time among them because you were a coward!" said Onyxia. She gestured to Sabel's withered leg. "You hid from our kind so they would not use your weakness to kill you."
"So I disapprove of dying," said Sabel. "Don't you? And no, that was not my reason to be among mortals, though I admit to being barely able to stand our kind. Don't you remember what I told you, long ago?"
He sank onto a stone bench smeared with charcoal marks. Without a word, Onyxia sat beside him. Her chest felt hollow. "I think…" she frowned. "You told me something. A story. A dream — that dream you had as a drake."
"You remember?"
"No," said Onyxia. "But my unconscious would. Tell me."
Her subconscious, in the guise of her brother, went on. "I was a drake, when I had it, the most vivid of nightmares that left me unwilling to sleep for months before exhaustion claimed me. Over the millenia, time diluted it until the waters of my memory of it ran clear. But from time to time something would trigger the memory and bring the dream rushing back as if I had never forgotten..."
"It was about a mortal," said Onyxia. "I recall now. A vrykul."
"When the demon soul tore our father apart, it was traumatic for all of us, especially his consorts and mates," said Sabel. "But it is what happened after that gave me nightmares. Seeing him made of plate that barely held him together... that's what scared me. It triggered a nightmare so vivid and lifelike that I felt as if it were some kind of... some kind of vision of the future."
She remembered this. She remembered him telling her this; the two of them as three-thousand-year-olds, mere whelps compared to what they were now.
The dream shifted, morphed and changed until they sat upon an edge of a cliff and watched a vrykul village below, the village Sabel had been in for hundreds of years in various guises as the generations grew old and died. He'd fancied himself their protector, until warfare wiped them out. Sabel could not protect them even then. In the dream their forms shifted until they were two vrykul with their legs dangling over the abyss, millenia before the birth of Baron Sablemane and Katrana Prestor.
"In the dream, I was a whelp," said Sabel. "And Deathwing held me in his claws. But it wasn't the Deathwing we knew as children, it was the powerful Deathwing as he is now, a being of fire and magma. It hurt me for him to even hold me, the plate heated my scales but not enough to burn. A battle waged on around us fought on both sides by mortals and dragons alike. I knew at that moment I was going to die, that he was going to kill me."
"Then it was not real," said Onyxia. "Back then, he was made of flesh and blood like the rest of us."
"But some dreams are so vivid they remain with you forever," said Sabel. "All the Flights fought against us. The mortals nearby gazed up at me in horror, looking tiny from my height. They were afraid for me, and I learned why quickly enough. Deathwing's razor claws tightened around me, and cut through my scales and hurt me." He touched his hair, his eyes staring at nothing. "At that moment, the dream fragmented and shifted so much I thought it was about to end, but it didn't. Instead, below us, a mortal stepped forward."
"A woman," said Onyxia. "A vrykul."
"Yes," said Sabel. "She stepped forward and begged Deathwing, the Aspect of Death, for my life. I was but a tiny whelp, a little weak thing being crushed in his grip, and she wanted to save me." He tilted his head. "After it was over I remember she picked me up and cradled me to her, and through the agony it was a comfort. She helped heal me." He straightened up, smoothing his robes over his legs. "And when I woke up I was convinced, for quite a long time, that she had been real. That Deathwing threatened me even before he became Deathwing, that a vrykul woman had saved my life. Enough time had passed that though she would be old, she would still be alive, but, of course, I never found her." He smiled faintly, an action which raised Onyxia's hackles in reflex. Of course, the fool would do such a human thing! "But in the journey I gained a new appreciation for mortals, found kinship in those the rest of our Flight despised. And so I never truly left them if I could help it. I left on occasion when my mates and consorts called for it, but when my children and broods did not need me, I dwelt among the short-lived mortals." He gazed down at the village. "And I followed them. I followed them as they gave birth to small, sickly creatures that escaped death across the seas as one by one, the clans of their parents disappeared into hibernation. I watched their children build their new society in the Eastern Kingdoms. And for a long time, I was a part of it too." He smirked. "They still have no idea that three of their most famous alchemists were actually me.
"Don't be unkind to your mortal," said Sabel. "When your bond is cemented you will be his guardian, his protector. Our kind threaten him, but when you become his mate you will be obliged by our laws to protect him from anything that threatens him." He shook his head. "Treat him better, Onyx. He never asked for this. Think like a human, but keep the spirit of the dragon within you."
-o-O-o-
"He insisted I remove myself from the Spire," said Nalice. "The third time I almost lost an eye."
Katrana frowned, swallowing against the nausea that rose within her throat. Within the week Nalice was gone, the beginnings of morning sickness had flared up. "It's a bit of a misnomer," Hora had told her. "It can appear any time of day."
Dragons did not get morning sickness.
But mortals did, apparently. Katrana nursed a coloured glass, hoping that the terrible sense of smell humans had would not detect the ginger drink within. The herb eased the illness.
"He guessed my true allegiance," said Nalice. "The fact he did not even fake civility is concerning, to say the least."
"You were gone for a week," said Katrana. "Did you not have a look around?"
"I slipped inside whenever I could," said Nalice. "You are correct in that the army there is no match for Stormwind, though they are working very, very hard. It could be finished within two years, I can estimate, from what I saw. I finally acquiesced to his request when he became… violent."
Katrana frowned. "So he wants to play it cautious, then, though that does not explain his sudden activity. What would Serinar think of this?"
"His opinions are his business," said Nalice. "I see him taking the side which he estimates to be stronger, unless I can help it. And the odds do not lie in your favour, aunt."
"He fights the coward's battle, then," said Onyxia.
Nalice narrowed her eyes. "His priority is the wellbeing of the Flight. He is quite adamant that the strongest should lead…"
And you have not been proving yourself as such, the implied words hung between them.
"Stand by me, whilst I think," said Katrana. "I shall come up with a plan."
Nalice echoed her thoughts. "What plan? I am at a loss and cannot see any good options."
"Rent a house in the city," said Katrana. "Remain close by. If you were to use your connections to me to obtain quarters of your own, you would find yourself at the end of the Dragonbane testing sooner or later. At least if you are not part of the Keep in any official capacity, you can avoid it."
"For however long," Nalice murmured. She scowled. "Is that dreadful female still crying?"
Katrana bit the insides of her cheeks. She'd barely heard the sniffling from the other end of the gardens, but Nalice's still-sharp ears did not betray her as hers did. On a wall, eyes red, sat Samantha. She held her baby close, cheek on top of little Amandine's head.
Ignoring her niece, Katrana strode towards the mortal. "Is Amandine unwell again today?"
Samantha smiled weakly up at her. "She's always unwell," said Samantha. "But she'll be okay."
"That is not what you informed me," said Nalice. Never before had the urge to cringe become so overwhelming. "I thought the child was dying?"
"Yes," came Samantha's choked voice. "She is."
"Then she is not going to be 'okay' then, is she?" Nalice sniffed. "Fool. Do not be so emotional. If death cannot be prevented there is little use crying about it."
"And may I present to you overwhelming evidence to support the case that Nalice may not be of my brother's blood after all, and that his wife must surely have been impregnated by a common ogre," said Katrana.
Nalice's eyes narrowed. "You — "
"Oh, forgive me," said Katrana. "For offending you as such. I am quite certain that the ogre must have a good pedigree."
"You — "
"When in Silvermoon, Nalice," Katrana quipped. Nalice glowered at her father's favourite idiom. "Do at least pretend to possess a heart, will you?"
"At least I have a spine," snarled Nalice.
Katrana's jaw clenched, but before she could retort Samantha interrupted her. "Lady Prestor?" she said. "Could you please hold Mandy for a moment?"
"You would not honestly touch it," said Nalice.
Katrana saw the spark of determination in the young human's eye. "Of course," said Katrana, placing her empty glass on the wall.
The child's weight was oddly light in Katrana's arms as the child snuggled into her.
Samantha smiled sweetly at Nalice. Her fingers curled into two tight balls.
Nalice only let out a disgusted snort as she snatched Samantha's wrist, her fist mere inches from Nalice's face. "That was pathetic," said Nalice. "If you are going to assault me, at least do it properly. But you know what, I find myself bored. I shall offer you a good shot in the training rooms, where you are less likely to get arrested for your insolence. Consider it a favour."
"You'll regret it." Sam attempted to tear her wrist away, but Nalice did not let go, stretching her lips with condescension.
"Then do accompany me," said Nalice. "Lady Prestor, perhaps you would wish to watch."
"What an honour." Katrana's words dripped sarcasm as she rocked the half-sleeping infant in her arms. "Samantha, please put her in her place."
Katrana directed Nalice to one of the training rooms not far from the outdoor square. The room stretched almost as large as the banquet hall. Gleaming weapons lined the walls. Various equipment lay scattered across half the room, including pull-up bars and weights, leaving the other half bare of all but a few sparring couples. Firm mats ensured that once Nalice was done playing with her food, Samantha would not get concussion after Nalice knocked her to the ground. Now that her nausea had subsided, Katrana pondered the possibility of having a spar herself.
"I see we are not alone," Nalice wrinkled her nose. "There is nothing more charming than the stench of sweat, would you agree, Inkweaver?"
Samantha made a soft, strangled squeak in her throat.
"Ah, I forgot, shirtless males often prompt that reaction," said Nalice, as if she were discussing bowel movements.
"Highlord," said Katrana, dipping into a curtsey as two men, wearing only cotton pants, approached. Bolvar grinned, running a hand through damp hair as sweat dripped down his face. Behind him, Adam Rivers sported a few bruises. "Sparring with the captain, are you?"
"He just finished kicking my — oh, I see we have polite company," said Rivers. His eyes flashed towards Nalice, confusion settling in. "Pardon me, my lady."
"I had an advantage, he's been training the Squad all morning," Bolvar said. He wiped his face with a small towel. Katrana noted the well-defined, firm muscles of his chest and arms. He had been exerting himself…
Katrana glanced up to see Bolvar smirking at her. She hissed and tore her eyes away, cheeks burning.
"And who is this?" Nalice drawled, eyeing the Highlord with disgust.
"I don't suppose she's a relative of yours, Lady Prestor?" said Bolvar playfully.
"You would be correct," said Katrana, forcing herself to meet his eye. His smirk only grew. Katrana glared at him. "Highlord, allow me to introduce you to a… long lost relative of mine. My niece, Nalice, who recently found me. Nalice, this is Highlord Bolvar Fordragon, Regent Lord of Stormwind."
Nalice swept over in a bow low enough to be called mocking. "Highlord Fordragon, what a pleasure."
"I was not aware Lady Prestor had a niece," said Bolvar.
"I found her only this week," said Nalice, rising. "Please pardon me, I was about to help this woman… vent. Samantha — that was your name, was it not?"
"And still is, unfortunately," said Samantha. "Dreadful, isn't it?"
Now this was interesting. Who knew Samantha Inkweaver had a spine?
Nalice snorted. "I suppose it could be worse. Have you trained in combat at all?"
"I'm a rogue."
"Huh," said Nalice. "And here I thought you were a spellcaster, that would have explained the pathetic attempt at attack. You hit like a girl."
Not even Bolvar dared snicker at that.
A couple of others in the training room steadily perked up in attention, gazing towards their little cluster. A couple of members of the Brotherhood of Cinders doing pushups on the other side of the square had abandoned them in favour of open staring.
"Funny, that," said Samantha.
Nalice strode to the centre of the square. Katrana perked, anticipating the violence with eagerness. How long had it been since she watched a good brawl? Nalice beckoned to Samantha. "Well, hurry up. Hit me."
Samantha hesitated.
"Or shall I hit you first?" Nalice sneered. "You will not even follow up on your desires, how pathetic. Who taught you to be such a doormat? Was it your mother? Or did you possess a spineless father?"
"My mother was not a doormat!" Samantha fell for the cheap taunt, fists clenching.
Fight! Katrana heard the booming voice from within Fordragon's head, muffled by the cooling down of the amulet. The Taint. Kill the mortal!
To his credit, Fordragon did not even flinch.
"Ah, so it was your father," said Nalice. "Was he your mother's bitch, then?"
It went as predictably as Katrana guessed. Mouths fell open as Samantha snarled and charged towards Nalice, but not a single punch landed. Nalice dodged, blocked and danced away from Samantha's hits, frustrating the human more and more. "Miserable," said Nalice as Samantha began to falter. "You cannot honestly be getting tired already. Put your back into it, you little bitch."
Kill her, let her blood paint the walls! Katrana felt the Taint's bloodlust rise within her.
Katrana heard Bolvar mumble, "Stop being so melodramatic."
Talking to the voices in your head, now? Katrana said to him in her Onyxian voice. Bolvar jerked upright and looked around self consciously.
Amandine stirred in Katrana's arms. Her eyes still fixed on the one-sided fight, she rocked the infant. At a small whine from Amandine, Katrana looked down. The child's mop of dark hair clung to her face with sweat, her face ruddy. Katrana brushed the hair from Amandine's eyes, and the baby blinked up at her miserably before her eyes drifted shut again.
"It will not always be so miserable, young one," she murmured.
It will end, one day, she heard Onyxia say in Bolvar's head. One way or another. Death is… not so bad, I would not think.
What would her own child look like? It slept on within her, free of illness, aware only of the hot safety of her womb.
In front of them, Samantha grew angrier and angrier with each failed attack on Nalice. Nalice danced between Samantha's hits with a smirk. "Nalice," said Katrana. "Your form is terrible today. Legs further apart, don't skip, that would only make it easier for her to trip you."
"If she had the skill, perhaps," said Nalice. And when Samantha swiped her legs towards Nalice, Nalice dodged again. "Don't kick, you fool," Nalice snipped. "It looks good but is asking for trouble, and is terrible technique. Let me show you how it's really done."
Good, finally! said the Taint, the dark voice snarling inside Bolvar. Katrana felt Bolvar's twinge of horror, guilt and misery. Kill her already!
She felt its glee as Nalice struck out at Samantha. Every hit landed, but Samantha refused to yield as her body grew tireder and tireder. Beat her to within an inch of her life —
Did Nalice possess the Taint, too? Did it whisper to her unheard, or did she think it was her own thoughts? Katrana tensed in horror as Samantha fell backwards at last and Nalice pulled her fist back —
Nalice quietly allowed her arms to dangle by her sides.
The Taint raged within Katrana, starved.
"Ow," said Samantha. "Fuck."
It's been so long since I saw a good kill — Katrana stopped her thoughts in their tracks. The Taint writhed and snarled in Bolvar's head, and the Highlord quietly rubbed his temples, his stress emanating from him in waves.
But Katrana felt cold. My child will feel that one day, she thought. All children of the Black Flight do, and the mortals are no exception. He will not be able to resist it, not be able to control it. When he is old enough he will slaughter others and revel in the blood he draws, and until the humans kill him he will be a menace to their society…
Katrana's hold on Amandine tightened. Nausea broiled inside her, churning her stomach. It had nothing to do with morning sickness.
What had she done to the life inside her?
"I thought she was a caster," said Bolvar, looking at Nalice's robes. "Bloody hell, you haven't even broken a sweat! Miss Inkweaver, are you alright?"
"The floor broke my fall!" called out Samantha happily. She stumbled as Rivers helped her up. "Ow. How's Mandy?"
"She is fine," said Katrana quietly.
"That was pathetic," said Nalice.
"You are hardly in a position to provide criticism, your technique was terrible," said Katrana. "As I said, do not skip, you are asking to be tripped. Do not duck so dramatically like that, in a real fight one could have easily gotten a stab in and ended you. You left far too many openings in your attempt to show off."
"If you're so good, why don't you fight her?" Bolvar suggested with a wry smirk. "Without any spells."
To Nalice's credit, when she blanched, she covered it up quickly.
Katrana smirked. She held out the infant. Bolvar took Amandine with bemusement, resting her against his shoulder.
Katrana looked back to her niece. "Weapons, perhaps?"
Nalice tilted her head. "If the possibility of me killing you does not worry you, then certainly."
"I have no fears for my life."
Katrana chose a pair of swords from the wall and held them both out. Nalice hesitated for only a moment before choosing the sharpest one.
"Lady Prestor, with all due respect, aren't you a mage?" Bolvar sounded worried, chewing on his lip. "This really isn't..."
The members of the Brotherhood of Cinders looked amused. "I want to see this," said one of them. "No, I need to. I need it like air!"
The dwarf beside him nodded. "Ten gold on the angry lady."
"Which angry lady?" the first Brother snickered.
"The one who just beat the crap out of Inkweaver."
"That's not fair, it's obvious she's going to win."
But Nalice looked wary as the two women circled one another. Of course, she had plenty of reason to be — she was four thousand years behind her aunt.
Katrana grinned at her.
Nalice's snarl was instantaneous. "I'll wipe that smile off your face — "
Katrana rose her sword with barely a flick of her wrist to block Nalice's strike, before she whirled it around to the side. Nalice's own sword rang in the air as she parried.
Just as Samantha had been, Nalice was doomed from the start. Every dragon knew how to fight in mortal form, and Katrana had mastered it thousands of years ago. Barely did Nalice have time to raise her sword before Katrana struck. Both women panted, leaping to and fro, spinning, slashing and thrusting only to be foiled again and again.
"Bloody hell," said Bolvar, as Katrana drew first blood — a scratch on Nalice's cheek. "They're going to kill each other."
Kill. Wound, maim, injure, disable, destroy —
Oh, shut up, said Bolvar's voice.
Hearing the Taint, and remembering how it would desecrate her child, drove Katrana in helpless fury as her slashes sped up. Nalice fell onto her backside, and Katrana pointed her blade at her niece's neck.
How easy it would be to just sever her spine, the Taint whispered to her. The blood would shower everywhere. The Titans purge the weak, just as they deserve, and she deserves it for allowing herself to lose...
Nalice gazed up at Katrana through ragged strands of dark hair, half-kneeling on the floor, her eyes hard with loathing.
Katrana lowered her sword. Only then did she see the way her audience gaped at her. "Well," she said. "Point proven — "
In the corner of her eye, Nalice moved.
Reflex flicked Katrana's sword to clang against Nalice's, before she sliced. By the time her conscious thought caught up to her body, Nalice clutched her side in expressionless pain.
Katrana's sword glimmered red. "Do not sneak up on someone with a weapon unless you want to die."
"That was a dirty trick," Bolvar growled, continuing in his head, They could have killed each other!
Blood beaded and flowed between Nalice's fingers.
"Shit," said Samantha.
"Somebody retrieve a priest," Katrana called out. As Rivers broke away, Katrana knelt by her niece.
There was only one language every Black Dragon understood without doubt, and it wasn't Draconic.
Katrana gripped her niece's chin hard, and snarled at her under her breath in their native language. "Remember your place, Nalice. You have been petulant and obnoxious to me. Pregnancy or not, do not forget why I am Broodmother of the Black Flight. Do not forget that if it weren't for the walls that surround us, I could kill you easily. Do not make me regret sparing you."
Nalice gazed at her angrily, but said nothing as Katrana released her and stepped back. Bronzewing clucked as he strode into the training room, seemingly unfazed by Nalice as he bent beside her. Nalice's eyes widened — no doubt the Black had just caught Bronzewing's scent.
"Nalice is not a waif that would blow away in a breeze," said Katrana, as Bolvar stepped closer. "She is strong, she will recover. She can handle this."
"And much more." Nalice lifted her chin with pride.
That family is nuts, thought Bolvar.
-o-O-o-
Samantha took her daughter back, following Bronzewing from the room. The Brotherhood of Cinders drifted after them. "We have to recruit that lady!" said the human, but the dwarf frowned, troubled. Adam Rivers clucked, picking up the abandoned weapons and taking them away, leaving Katrana alone with Fordragon.
But she frowned in thought now that the atmosphere had settled down. Never before had she particularly cared that her mortal child would be cursed with the Taint. Why did she care now? Why did the mere thought horrify her?
At least it would take a few humans down with it. But Katrana's attempts at reassuring herself did not fool her, and she felt uncomfortable at her change. Now Nalice had arrived, it became all-too clear how mortal-like Onyxia had become.
"I'm sure Nalice will be fine," said Fordragon. Katrana blinked up at him with a frown. He smiled at her. "You didn't cut deep, Bronzewing said it didn't go down far at all, she'll be in and out in only a few minutes, I bet. And as you said, she's a… well, if your brother's your half-brother she's not a Prestor, but the same thing applies?"
"I have not known her long," Katrana lied, "but I do not doubt much could stand in her way."
"She's like you in that regard," Bolvar reached out to touch her cheek. Katrana sucked in her breath. "We're alone, don't worry." He stepped closer. "You seemed to have warmed up to her already, it usually takes you a while…"
"Jealous?" said Katrana, too conscious of how close the human stood. He had been satisfied with how slow their relationship had developed, for him to suddenly be so affectionate…
He smiled. "Maybe a little," he said in a quiet murmur. Only a small space remained between them.
Katrana Prestor's human body took the opportunity to note that Bolvar was still half-unclothed. Onyxia squashed that thought flat before it could lead anywhere disgusting. The human body has a mind of its own, she recalled her father saying long ago. She wished he hadn't been right.
He stroked her jawline. "I so rarely get a kiss from you."
Damn! Did she not please him enough? Seeing the look on her face, Bolvar smiled at her. "I'm not complaining," he said. "I enjoy our little chess games, enjoy reading beside you… as long as you're there."
He came closer — a brief touch against her lips, before he drew back with a smile. "I'll see you at the next assembly, then."
For a long time afterwards, Katrana stood on the same spot, staring into space as she thought about her future, the future of the child inside her, and the soft, gentle affection of the human who demanded far less of her than she had ever expected he would.
A/N: Writing the dialogue of dragons gives me a headache. If you think it's bad in here, they sound even more melodramatic in canon... uggh.
Thanks to all who reviewed!
Kai: 'Tis quite a big burden for a child to bear, as if he doesn't have enough on his plate!
JustMe: Part of the reason I loved HP so much was all the death. As morbid as that sounds, I love it when I'm brought to emotion by a story and HP did just that. Not everyone can be saved, no. And yes, I read Frostblood, it's an amazing fic I kind of read several times because I am addicted.
Anon: Not a flame at all! As I said above I hope to make it clear just what exactly is going on between Hora and Onyxia soon, but it may be a while in coming depending on where I can squeeze it in.
Seripthus: Hmm, it wouldn't reveal too much if I told the modern name for it, but I'm not sure if some people want to figure it out as the story progresses and don't want to spoil it for those who are. I can guarantee you've heard of it, but not everyone may be familiar with the symptoms.
Zeitlos: Eee, reviews like yours always make me happy! And poor, poor Hora. I think she's learning the hard way what it's like to be a Bronze.
Ariaelyne: I'm really pleased to hear that! :D And yes, time travel hurts the brain. A lot. It always amuses me how whenever paradoxes are involved in fiction, people tend to shrug because there's no way for them to ever make sense.
