A/N: This chapter was a blast to fix up.

Thank you to Coincidencless for spotting all those embarrassing mistakes.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Nine days. Nine days of constant flying, of praying the lightning didn't hit her before she could find an island to wait out storms on, nine days of barely anything to eat. Only the toughest dragons could stand to fly for a solid week, and even Nalice had to rest on occasion. The mail drake could make the journey in four days, but he had the speed of youth and the efficiency of years of practice. The flight from the Dragonblight to either Azerothian continent was just as bad.

When she began to spot fishing boats below, Nalice dived into the water and spend hours propelling herself under the surface with wings as good as webbed feet, only needing to stick her snout above the surface every ten minutes. Once close enough, she shifted into the form of a mortal. People stared as she clambered onto the docks of Theramore, soaking wet and stinking of seaweed, but she ignored them and strolled into Theramore as if she did it every day. It felt good to stretch her legs after tiring her wings so badly.

She found the cottage soon enough. It would be foolish to act on an impulse without evidence, and no doubt the cottage would hold some. She placed her hand on the doorknob, her mind working hard to pick the lock with telekinesis as passer-bys gave her odd glances. She turned the handle and strolled through the doorway.

She expected dust. She expected cobwebs. She expected cold air and homeless squatters.

But everything smelled clean and fresh. She smelt a familiar scent, and a foreign one. The familiar one had been here for quite some time…

What?

Puzzled, Nalice strode through the house as if she owned the place and came across the study. She opened the door to find a dark-haired woman lounging in an arm chair, a blonde man by her side. Conversation stopped in its tracks as both looked to her, one with a confused expression and the other with an arched eyebrow.

"Fancy seeing you here." The dark-haired one looked unphased.

Nalice crossed her arms and gave the dark-haired one her best glare. "I see you have a visitor."

"Who's this?" The blonde blinked.

"My cousin, Nalice." The dark-haired woman rose. "I'm sorry, Ben, could you come back later? She's often… demanding."

"Uh." The human faltered. "Alright. I'll see you later then, Ebony."

"Wait." Nalice flung out an arm to block the human's path. The human bristled, already annoyed. "How long has… Ebony been in Theramore?"

"I've known her for years." 'Ben' gave her an odd look.

"That does not answer my question," said Nalice. "Has she been here for the previous few months?"

'Ebony' rose an eyebrow. Ben frowned. "Of course she has. I'm her neighbour. I see her around all the time."

Ebonaria had been in Theramore all along?

Then who…?

"If you are certain." Nalice moved her arm. The human gave her a disgusted look. Nalice listened to his footfalls echo down the stairs. After the front door closed, she said, "Consorting with humans, Ebonaria?"

"It pays to have ears in the community." Ebonaria sat down behind her desk, abandoning the arm chairs by the fire. "Given the dragon scare in Stormwind, some of the mortals here are suspicious of the Black sightings far to the south as well. The friendlier I am with everyone, the less they could ever suspect…" She drummed her nails on the wood. "Why are you not with my mother? And what is all this about asking if I have been here recently? I have been nowhere near Stormwind, so if anyone did something, Nalice, 'twas not I."

"You are correct, of course." Nalice seated herself in the arm chair her cousin had vacated, eyeing the other with disdain. She would not sit in human filth if she could help it after spending so much time in Stormwind. "There was one thing I forgot whilst on my way here. You were present in the Wyrmbog when I departed for Stormwind. How could you be in two places at once? Whoever our enemy is, 'tis not you. But if it is not you, then who is it?"

"Enemy?" said Ebonaria. "Do tell."

Nalice had expected Ebonaria to explode in fury, but of course she wouldn't. Nalice had spent far too much time among humans. Black dragons stabbed each other in the back all the time, Ebonaria would not be offended by natural suspicion. "What does the name 'Evenian' mean to you?"

"That's the name of Romathis's spy. Mother told me."

"What else do you know of him?" She would not tell Ebonaria the truth. Ebonaria knew too many people, would not keep secrets, and they could not afford to alert the true culprit.

"Only that he frustrates my mother to no end." Ebonaria took the other arm chair. "What of it?"

"Has Romathis ever contacted you?"

Ebonaria snorted. "He believes my mother would depose him one day and have me replace him. Of course he does not speak to me, though I would not be surprised if he has others keeping an eye on me."

A human would criticise the poor communication of the Flight, but such a paranoid cluster of dragons valued privacy. A dragon would take advantage… a dragon, some dragon, sought to spread paranoia among the Black Flight. They took advantage of what was already there. This dragon had great intelligence. This dragon knew to fight dirty, because they lacked the strength to fight openly. This dragon had a deep understanding of alchemy. This dragon had been around mortals often enough to know that the Dragonblood were immune to Dragonbane.

And what dragon, out of the hundreds Nalice had known over the millennia, fit into all those categories? What dragon was known to enjoy mortal company, and rumoured to enjoy it too much, possibly enough to sire Dragonblood? What dragon was the best alchemist Nalice had ever known?

And who was also an adult heir of Deathwing?

Nalice had lied to Onyxia. Onyxia moped about her brother far too often. The Dark Portal was closed, yes, but not for long. The demons had not scattered. She could not allow Onyxia to wait for rescue like a weakling!

But Sabellian was on the other side of that Portal!

Or was he?

How many times had Sabellian gone into hiding to avoid attempted assassination for his disability? How many times had Sabellian appeared to have vanished off the face of the earth for decades, sometimes centuries, to hide among mortals? He was a karkunashj, a cockroach that survived even when everything around it had died. He could escape the gronn better than even the most elite fighters could. He could have returned to Azeroth and simply not told anyone. He could have hid under their noses, biding his time…

And now he worked to undo the Flight that had persecuted him for ten thousand years. The final, ultimate revenge would be to exterminate those who had tried to kill him. His last insult would be to outlive them all.

His friendship with Onyxia? Only part of the plan. He'd reached out to those stronger than him who were manipulated by his charm, in spite of the stigma. He had had three mates and a consort when he'd left for Outland, after all. Maleficent had left him to his own devices, Ravenia and Lividia ignored him unless it served them, though Orion was the only one who seemed proud of their bond. Sabellian must have predicted he could use Onyxia for his own ends later on… and he knew that if he played his cards right, Ebonaria would be blamed.

"Well played, father," Nalice murmured. "Well played. But we've caught you."

"Apparently my mother is not the only one who speaks to herself." Ebonaria raised an eyebrow.

"Knock knock," said a voice at the door.

Both dragons jumped, and Nalice whipped her head to the door in a snarl. "Bronze! What are you doing here?"

"A Bronze?" Ebonaria drawled. "What a privilege to be in your presence."

"I'm here for Nalice." A gnome stood in the doorway, golden hair in coiled plaits on either side of her head. "I have something for her. Something you've been looking for, for a while. And another thing, something which will nip this civil war in the bud before it begins, if you should use it properly."

"My father is a traitor, is he not?" Nalice rose. "He has been hiding here all this time. And you knew."

"I can't give you the answers." Hora held out an envelope. "But I can guide you to them."

Nalice smelt Romathis's scent on it before she swiped it from the Bronze. She pulled out a sheet of parchment, eyes scanning over it. "This is one of the letters from Romathis to Evenian I was looking for! You had it all along?"

"There were more, but this is the one that speaks loudest." Hora dipped a hand into her pocket.

"Why did you not give it to me before?" Nalice clenched her fists. "Why not before I started this journey? Why not months ago?"

"The time was not right." Hora withdrew her hand, and Nalice glimpsed a vial in her fist. "If I allowed you to see that letter before… Onyxia's child has to be born."

"So she can die for it?" The parchment rustled as Nalice waved it in the Bronze's face. "You know what will happen when Romathis finds out! It is a miracle Omnarion lied for her in spite of Evenian's best efforts!"

"But I have something which will prevent the civil war from ever coming to pass." Hora held up the vial.

Inside swirled yellow liquid.

"I know that potion," said Nalice. "My father developed it himself. How ironic…"

"You have to use this on Evenian." Hora held it out to Nalice. "But not yet. He will recognise it. He will not take it willingly. You will have to find a way to make him take it. Your answer lies in Blackrock."

Nalice glanced back to the letter in her fist as she took the vial. "I know. Reginald Windsor. Evenian's last resort, if his plan falls apart… we must kill him before we confront Evenian." She looked to Hora. "But why must we interrogate him? There is no more to learn, I have all the answers!"

"No." Hora gazed up at her. "There is one last piece to the puzzle that must fall into place. One final confrontation that will change everything. And it all starts with that…" She tapped the vial in Nalice's hand. "Good luck, Nalice. This will be the last time we speak for a long while. I'll be leaving, soon, because my job will be done here."

"What is your job?" Nalice lowered her hand, gazing at the gnome.

The gnome smiled. "Helping you where you can't help yourselves."

"We can help ourselves better than you think!" Nalice bristled at the expression. "Don't be so arrogant, Bronze."

The gnome continued to smile as she shook her head. "It's not just you I have to help, Nalice. But you're a Black dragon. I know you won't understand even if I explain. But know that if I weren't here, things would be far worse than they are. Trust me, Nalice."

"You're a Bronze." Nalice had forgotten about Ebonaria until she spoke. "Why should we trust you?"

"Because I know how this is going to end." The gnome bowed.

"And what's this about Onyxia and a child?" said Ebonaria.

Nalice turned a glare on her cousin. "Share that and I will personally rip out your throat, Ebonaria." She glowered at the Bronze. "I must return to Stormwind with all haste. Blackrock, you say?"

"Indeed," said Hora. "You will understand and figure it out. I know you, Nalice. You're very intelligent, even if you pretend otherwise."

"Ha!" said Ebonaria. Nalice sneered, and stormed out of the room, clutching the letter in one hand and the vial in the other.

Ebonaria gazed at Hora for a long moment. "So, you interfere with our fates. Why am I not surprised, Bronze?"

Hora gazed at the floor, a sad expression on her face. "I'm sorry."

-o-O-o-

"It all makes sense now!" said Nalice. Onyxia stared into space. "Don't you see? He seeks revenge!"

"No, your explanations don't make sense." Onyxia shook her head, sitting back. "Sabel always preached against the cycle of revenge. Or he would have lashed out thousands of years ago."

"There were those who thought we abandoned him in Outland, and the broods that went with him." Nalice leaned on the desk. Between them sat Romathis's letter. Onyxia hadn't dared look yet. "Perhaps you recall how vocal Orion was about it. Sabellian would have survived." Nalice clenched her fists. "After watching his mates perish, after watching his children die. Do you not think that would have made him snap, or that he could have manipulated you?"

"If Sabellian survived, I do not doubt that watching such tragedy would have changed him forever." If he survived. Who would he be now? Would he still be the wise wyrm Onyxia remembered? He was dead, not a traitor. "He would never betray me. He has been hostile to others, hostile to you, but rarely to me."

"You think you're special?" Nalice sneered.

"Even if I did not mean so much to him, he would never turn on his own kind, no matter how much we may deserve it." Onyxia tapped the desk, then took the envelope. "Did the Bronze call him Sabellian?"

"No, but — "

"Then Sabellian is likely not responsible."

"Who else could it be? I wouldn't be surprised if it was Hora at this point."

"I have my suspicions…" Onyxia opened the envelope. "Let us see what this says."

"The vial." Nalice held up the delicate crystal container, her hand distorted through yellow liquid. "We must interrogate Evenian as soon as possible."

"If Hora said that we cannot just give the potion to Evenian, then I believe her." Onyxia opened the letter. "Hora knows our future."

"But can she be guaranteed to herd us to one that benefits us? She is Bronze, Broodmother. And do not forget she sacrificed the child, why would we be any different?"

"Kat, is everything alright?"

Both women froze. Katrana shot Nalice her iciest glare, rummaging through Bolvar's mind to see if he'd made out anything incriminating. Once she sensed him puzzling over sacrificed the child, she draped another blanket of magic over his memory, disgusted with herself as she did. "I am just speaking to Nalice about something, it is no matter," she called out, as Bolvar appeared at the doorway. "I thought you had a meeting to tend to with your advisors?"

Bolvar frowned at Nalice. "Alright, but if you need anything..."

"I shall be fine," said Katrana. "The child shall not be here for a few days yet."

"Alright, Kat." He smiled at her. "I'll stop my fussing." He shot Nalice a glare. "Look after her."

"Katrana never needs looking after," said Nalice.

"No, she doesn't," said Bolvar. "But if something happens somebody needs to be ready to run to Brother Bronzewing, because Kat won't be able to do it, and Sam can't right now." He sighed and shook his head. "I'll see you this afternoon, Kat."

"Have a good day, Bolvar."

When Bolvar was gone, Nalice sneered. "He makes me sick. When will the child arrive? Soon, I hope? Human gestation takes forever."

"A week at most, more likely a few days." Katrana looked to the parchment.

E,

I am uncertain of what you say. In spite of Onyxia's frailties, I doubt she would ever betray us to mortals. Perhaps thirty years is too long among them, but they pale in comparison to a lifespan that is incomprehensible to you. She would not switch loyalties so quickly. Thirty years is long for a dragonspawn, but 'tis but the blink of an eye for a dragon.

Never question her again unless you have evidence.

Onyxia blinked. "He defended me."

"It gets worse," said Nalice.

Windsor is deep within the earth, with the Dark Iron dwarves. I have no intention of doing as you suggest. If we should need to change plans, having a human with knowledge of Varian's fate and Prestor's identity could ruin everything if we do not get to him on time. We need Onyxia in Stormwind. Whether she has betrayed us or not, right now she is all that stands between the humans and us. Once the army is ready, if I have evidence that she has betrayed us, we shall release Windsor. But not a moment before then.

I do not know what has gotten into your head. You were once such a faithful servant, but now you are slinging accusations and speaking lies. I have exchanged letters with Omnarion myself, and he denies any existence of this supposed Dragonblood pregnancy. Onyxia is no human whore.

Onyxia went cold. She glanced at Nalice.

Nalice said, "Omnarion lied to his master. This must be where Evenian started to intercept his mail, to stop Omnarion foiling him."

"Is there a way to check whether Romathis believes Evenian now?"

"That was the only letter Hora gave me." Nalice's frown deepened.

When I see the child, I will believe it. Until then I am under no inclination to listen to you. Plainly you hold some grudge against my sister. Perhaps you feel you could have done her job better? What has gotten into you, fool? You have never questioned my orders as much as this. My sister is not to be killed, my sister would sooner die than mate with mortal scum, and if she did not destroy the Dragonbane as soon as it was brought to Stormwind, it was because she had better ideas. She did not "let it slip", as you have suggested, out of any sense of betrayal. She would never, ever risk the Dragonflight. Omnarion's word is against yours, and whilst I once believed him a fool, I have to say that as of late, I wonder if that status has not reversed itself.

R

"He believed in me." A lump rose to Onyxia's throat. "He defended me. Omnarion lied for me. And Evenian used a foolish mistake as evidence for a supposed betrayal, the seeds of paranoia." Onyxia put the letter down, feeling numb. "Why did Omnarion lie for me? I thought he served his master above me."

"Perhaps he knew the consequences that would ensue if Romathis believed the truth," said Nalice. "Omnarion is weak. He has been among humans for far too long, he walks the line between human and dragonkin. Perhaps he felt projected camaraderie with the Dragonblood, as it would be neither human nor dragonkin itself. We may not ever know."

"This is why I have survived so long," Onyxia folded the letter. "This is why nothing has happened. Evenian had every intention of allowing my child to survive to term to present to Romathis as the final evidence of my supposed treachery, and he intercepted Omnarion's letters to isolate me further. Why did Romathis not come down here himself to demand why?"

"Perhaps Evenian posed as Omnarion," said Nalice. "But he could not change Omnarion's personality without arousing suspicion. When forging Omnarion's letters, he would have had to make it look like a gradual change, and he had plenty of time. The civil war would not start until the child was born. Romathis would be disgusted to know that Deathwing's blood runs through the veins of a mortal. He would see it as an abomination. He would call for its murder, and…" Nalice's accusatory glare threatened to burn holes into Onyxia's eyes. "And Evenian knows you would defend it like a mortal.

"If Romathis defeated you, then nothing would stop the mortals from killing him. By setting Romathis up to murder you, he sets Romathis up to be murdered, in turn, by mortals. Most of the Black Dragonflight is in the Steppes, and it's only thanks to your efforts that they live. If they alone died, almost the entire Flight would be gone." She drummed her nails on the desk. "And if Romathis killed your Brood before that happened, only a few would be left after all those deaths. It would be nothing short of a massacre. Sabellian knows this. He seeks to provoke my uncle into having you slain... using your mortal child as a weapon. This is why he waited so long to strike."

Onyxia said nothing, staring at the desk.

"Windsor must be assassinated." Nalice sat on the desk. "I can send Samantha to do it, providing I can pry her from the brat."

"Amandine is dead." Onyxia finally found her voice.

"Then that just makes it easier." Nalice folded her hands on top of one another. "She will accept any suicidal mission now that she is mourning it. But in the meantime, if your child should be born…" She leaned forward. "Kill it. Strangle it with its umbilical chord. Claim it died that way. Evenian would have no evidence to kidnap and take to Romathis, and combined with Windsor's death, everything will be prevented. The Bronze told me so herself that this civil war can be prevented."

"I will not kill it!" Onyxia bristled.

"If you do not, you risk destroying all of us!" snapped Nalice. "Even if Romathis knows what Evenian intended, he would still not allow the child to live, and you would still not allow its destruction! The war would happen anyway, no matter how aware you are! The child has to die, Onyxia, and the Bronze knows it."

"Amandine died for a future that has still not come to light," said Onyxia. "Must my young do so as well?"

"Yes." Nalice's eyes narrowed. "It must die. Would you sacrifice the rest of our kind just for the sake of one infant?"

"Of course not." Onyxia felt hollow.

"Use your disgusting, human compassion if you must. A child born of Black Dragonblood will only hasten its own death. It will only bring destruction and misery to those around it. What, Onyxia, did you believe you could stay and raise it?" Nalice's fists clenched. "That you could play human as it grows older? You are Broodmother, not only of your own children but the entire Dragonflight. You are responsible for them, not your human pets." She sneered. "By allowing the child to live, you will have betrayed us all, Onyxia. And if you won't kill it, then I will. I have no intention of going extinct for a mortal brat."

"You have said enough." Onyxia aimed her hard gaze into Nalice's eyes.

Nalice sneered. "The mortals have made you soft."

But they hadn't. Her manipulations of Fordragon had opened her eyes to the Old God's corruption that drove the Black Dragonflight. She'd been freed.

... But that was the problem. The Old God drove the Black Dragonflight. To go against the Old God was to go against the Flight itself.

And who would ever believe her if she spoke up?

Onyxia held Nalice's eye. "You will send your Dragonsworn into Blackrock Depths to assassinate Reginald Windsor. Is that clear? We must not allow Evenian to use him as a weapon against us."

"It is clear," said Nalice. She lifted her chin, looking down at Onyxia. Onyxia returned her gaze just as coldly. "But remember what I said. Anything for the Black Dragonflight. No matter what the cost."

No matter what the cost.

Her children had died because Shaw had been willing to do anything it took to save Stormwind. Including murdering children. Her children. Her hand clenched.

"Dismissed," she said coldy, and Nalice left without another word.

She was not like Shaw. She was no child killer.

-o-O-o-

Sam should have known that her private time to mourn would not last long.

Nalice returned and dragged her out of her rooms in the middle of the night. "The child is dead? Good, then you will not be distracted" was Nalice's only comment before she launched into a detailed exposition of the story so far.

All Sam could do was mumble in reply. "But Onyx told me Sabellian was nice. And dead."

Nalice sneered. "Do not be so familiar with the Broodmother!"

Sam was presented with new gear, including two new knives. Nalice snapped and bitched as Sam strapped it all on, but Sam ignored her. It felt a bit stiff, but it was better quality than Sam had ever hoped to wear. No doubt Serinar had financed it unwittingly.

Her mistress walked at a brisk pace through the near-empty streets of Stormwind. When had the fall come? When had the heat of summer faded? To think, it had been a year since Mandy had been born. Since Windsor had disappeared. Since that whole dragon fiasco started. Sam wrapped herself in her cloak as much as she could, but still the encroaching winter chill crept into the folds.

Winter. She didn't want to live to see it. Perhaps she'd die before it came. Perhaps whatever Nalice wanted to do with her now would kill her. That would be good. She'd see her little one again.

They walked for hours. Dawn hinted over the Elwynn foothills by the time Nalice stopped by a bowl in the earth. "Stand back," she commanded in Draconic. Sam knew those words, and obeyed.

Nalice's nails transformed into claws, her eyes turned yellow, her hair shrank into her head. Her face morphed into a long, cruel snout, and her legs became pillars. The form grew, and grew, and grew, until a behemoth loomed in front of Samantha. Her blood ran cold, her heart thundered in her chest in fear, and sweat beaded on her forehead as she looked up at a creature so massive it should be impossible, sending a jolt of primal fear through her. Her feet froze to the ground. She waited for those terrible jaws to snap her neck, for those cruel talons to rip her skin open...

She yelped as the claws lashed out and closed around her waist, and Nalice carried her servant into the sky.

-o-O-o-

When she finally let Sam go and shifted back into her form, Sam staggered across the burnt ground and lost her balance, falling to the heavy, cobblestone-like slabs that covered the bridge in relief. Ahead lay the entrance to Blackrock. All around Sam she felt the heat of the Steppes. Her skin felt dry and tight over her bones.

When was the last time she'd eaten? Drank? Already her parched throat cried for water. She hadn't brought any.

"You have a mission," said Nalice.

"I never would have guessed." Now that Nalice wasn't in the form of a freaking scary wyrm and they were both on solid ground, Sam's confidence returned. She never wanted to fly ever again.

"Enter Blackrock." Nalice gestured to the mountain in front of them, which jutted into the sky like a malformed knife. "You will proceed to the center island by walking along a chain. You will make your way down into Blackrock Depths. Follow the tunnel, you will find it. Blackrock Depths is occupied by the Dark Iron dwarves, and the first thing you will come across is the Detention Block. You will proceed along there, find the main guardsman and pickpocket a set of keys. You will be in stealth the entire time, you must not be caught or you will die and everything is lost." Her eyes narrowed on Sam. "When you find those keys, you will locate a man by the name of Reginald Windsor."

Reginald Windsor?

Sam had never spoken to him, but she knew him. She'd seen him laughing with Bolvar Fordragon more than once, when she was a maid and Fordragon wasn't yet Highlord and he, her brother and Windsor used to be found talking together in the training squares.

"Reginald Windsor," she said. "Then what do I do?"

"Kill him."

Sam blinked. Her heart stuttered in her chest. "Kill him? Why?"

"Because if he is not killed, he may lead to Onyxia's death, and the deaths of many, many more dragons, thanks to Sabellian's treachery," said Nalice. "And you do not want that."

"Of course I don't!"

"Then do your duty."

"I'm thirsty," said Sam. "I need water."

"You will receive the supplies you need when you return," said Nalice. "Use the scent-concealing spell I taught you. The guards of the Detention Block have dogs, and they have keen noses. If you fail, Onyxia will die. Consider water as a reward for a job well done."

Alright. Fine. Who cared, anyway? Maybe she'd keel over and die of dehydration before she got much further.

"Most importantly," said Nalice. "I hear there is something in there you can use to entice a dragonspawn to drink a potion it won't want to, but I don't know what it is. Keep it in mind. Onyxia has every faith in the Bronze who informed us of this, but then, she's an incompetent bitch no longer capable of leading us. Go."

Getting up the bridge to the entrance was the first difficult part. It was a steep hill, and her legs hurt before she even got to the top. But Nalice had trained her, and she had the stamina, though she hadn't worked out since Mandy had died. After Nalice had left, Sam had neglected her nightly training and she could feel herself paying the consequences for it already.

She slipped into stealth before she went inside and invoked the spell, expecting guards to loom around the corner at any moment. But the massive circle of stone inside was deserted save for a Black drake that soared high above the magma. It was like nothing Sam had ever seen before. The massive architecture of the dwarves looked like a road that had once been populous with wagons and transport of all kinds, the center of a once-thriving city.

Now it was only an echo of what it once had been.

A massive island hung in the abyss, suspended on enormous chains that threatened to break and topple it into the lava. And she had to step onto that? How!

Her eyes followed the chains.

She found a way onto one of them soon enough, through a small dirt hill. She mounted it and crept down the chain, wondering how the carts would have travelled down it. The solid chain did not even sway underneath her. It felt warm through the soles of her boots. How did the Dark Irons get their food down this? The chain was broad enough for a cart on each side to travel by itself. Perhaps it had been like a road, though as Sam stepped over the gaps between the links and looked down to the magma below, she wondered how the wheels would have managed those gaps.

Fel. Perhaps the dwarves didn't use carts at all. Perhaps they had a food source beneath the earth.

There were still no guards of any kinds in the island that hung above the magma. She proceeded through what seemed to be a tomb with some awe.

"I don't know, Stout. I really don't."

... as Sam followed the tomb out onto a rounded path, she stopped at the sound of voices. The path lay jutted into the side of the island without any way to stop herself falling into the magma. She pressed herself against the wall.

Below her stretched another enormous chain, leading to an island of metal stuck to the cavern wall. Here the heat became even more unbearable. And on the chain she saw two familiar figures. Her eyes widened. Voices carried up to her.

"Because of his grandfather there's no way the Dark Irons would have let him die. We have to find a way past those dogs, we can't get reinforcements without arousing suspicion, we…"

"There are hundreds of cells!" protested a female voice. Sam thought it had been Lana's, but it sounded unfamiliar. "They have so many slaves just left there to die. We've been searching all year, Leo, we can't stay here forever."

"We can't give up on him!"

Sam slipped out of stealth as she stepped onto the chain. It wouldn't do to startle the people on it and send them plummeting to their deaths.

The female dwarf noticed her first, eyes widening. "Hey!" The human man turned to look at her. His jaw dropped as the dwarf continued to speak. "You! You're from the Keep, aren't you?"

"Who are you?" Sam peered at her. "You're not Lana Stoutwell."

"No, ma'am." The redheaded dwarf bowed. "I'm Aridonna Stoutwell, her niece, but people just call me Stout."

"Samantha?" said Leo. Sam twitched.

"Lana hinted you were somewhere here, but I didn't expect to run into you." Suddenly Sam felt comfortable knowing she had weapons at her hips. "I hear you're off chasing dragons."

"We're on a rescue mission," said Leo.

"Have been for months now," growled Stout. "I don't even know what the date is."

"It's the first of October," said Sam.

"October? Bloody hell, we've been here longer than I thought!" said Stout.

"We're looking for Reginald Windsor." Leo sighed, and shook his head with a frown. "We're so close I can smell him. I go into the Detention Block every single day, have been for two months. I bet he's where the dogs are thickest, and I've yet to find a way past them."

But she could. She had a spell on her side, one most mortals didn't even know existed. "Do either of you have water? I'm sorry, I lost my supplies when I came out here."

"You look thirsty." Leo pulled a canteen from his hip. Sam tried not to run to him, and took it with relish, willing herself not to drain it. "We made friends with a mage who's been stationed out here for a while, so drink as much as you like. I'll be able to get more."

"There's not much water in the Steppes, but we manage." Stout took one of the waterskins from her hips. She had three, Sam noticed, as she gave Leo's back, willing herself not to drink anymore. "You keep this," said Stout. "I'll be able to get more soon enough. What are you doing here?"

"Stormwind nobility had a mission for me," said Sam.

Leo's eyes widened. "Bolvar finally sent help? They got past that monster Prestor?"

Sam blinked. "It's Prestor who sent me."

"Pres..." Leo's jaw hung open. He looked down to the knives at Sam's hips. "They want you to kill him."

"What?" Sam blurted. And hoped to the Light that Leo thought it was shock, and not denial. "I was a fucking maid and a pickpocket, Leo. These are for self defence. You know, dragonspawn? Dark Irons? I need to not-die?"

"Perhaps not..." Leo looked sheepish. "You're here to find him, then?"

Shit, what to say, what to say? She never thought she'd meet the Brotherhood of Cinders down here! "I'm on recon. You know we can't just charge in here and rescue him, you should know that."

"Of course I do." But Leo's tone held no impatience as he frowned. "We've been doing just that for months. We can't go in with all guns blazing after all." He glanced around them. "Come down and talk to us, up here isn't exactly the best place. Our mage is in our camp."

"We should be getting him help," said Stout.

"He can wait half an hour longer," said Leo.

Finally, Sam glimpsed her enemies. Dark Irons patrolled an enormous quarry that Leo led her into, but the three of them ducked down a side passage behind some enormous rocks and into a small cave which held some crates, a few bedrolls and the mage.

Their mage turned out to be a rather soot-stained gnome who shivered in spite of the heat. "You're back already?" The gnome blinked at them as they came back, and then saw Sam. "You brought help?"

"You'll have to wait a bit longer, I'm afraid," said Leo. "Sorry mate, we'll be going back up once we've given Sam the rundown."

"What's wrong with him?" said Sam.

"He's got fever," said Leo.

"Had fever," said the gnome with a vacant grin. "It's chills now! I hope it won't get much worse. Do you need water?"

"Lots of it," said Leo, looking to a small crate which Sam saw was filled with empty waterskins and canteens. "Sam needs some."

"My pleasure!" The gnome's hands shook as he conjured. His palms glistened in the arcane light.

Sam sat on the ground. She hadn't even started, and was tired already. "Tell me what you know."

Leo unrolled some parchment across the floor. "This is a map of the Detention Block."

Stout glanced at the mage guiltily, and folded her legs underneath her. Sam looked over her brother's shoulder.

Now she looked at him, she could see resemblance. Where her skin was dark, her brother's skin was pale. He had a nose that was too crooked to be her mother's, but he had the same brown eyes she did.

Their father's eyes. Her mother's eyes had been brown, too, but much deeper than Sam's. Her eyes had been so dark they looked black. Her skin had been much darker than Sam's, too.

Sam jerked back to the present to hear Leo speaking.

"... southern portion of the Detention Block, where the dogs are thickest." Leo drew a circle in charcoal. "He can't be anywhere else."

"I wish we could free them," Stout murmured. Her eyes looked sad.

"Free who?" said Sam.

"The slaves." Leo sat back. "They hollow out the rock and put the slaves in, then solder the bars there. There's no dignity. Sometimes the cells are smaller than coffins. They get no privacy, no food, no water. They waste away in their own feces. To go in there, day after day..." Leo clenched a fist, and his face became wracked with grief. "... hearing their sobbing, their misery. We slip them mana biscuits whenever we can, and we beg them to keep quiet. So far, not a single one has told. They think we're going to save them all."

"And we will," said Stout. "But first, we need to find Windsor."

"Have you asked the slaves about him?" said Sam.

"Of course we have." Stout shot Sam a disgusted look reminiscent of her strict aunt. She jabbed the map. "That's how we've managed to narrow it down. He's with the more high-maintenance prisoners. The ones that have... relative luxury. They have four walls and a door, anyway. If he's lucky he doesn't have an orc as a roommate."

"And you don't know which cell he's in." Sam looked between them both. "I don't suppose you managed to snag some keys?"

"Leo's been nicking whatever keys he can find." Stout pulled a keyring from her satchel. "You're going in?"

"Yes," said Sam. "I have to look around and see Reginald Windsor's conditions." Now that she'd had time to think, the lie came easier. "I'm to scout out security, tell Windsor to sit tight, and people will be along."

"And they just sent one person?" said Leo. "Just one person?"

He still suspected her true goal, didn't he? "I had two companions, but they perished on the way." She lowered her head. "To dragonspawn."

The lie worked. Stout glared, and Leo sighed and shook his head. "I'm amazed that Prestor allowed this."

"She faced a lot of pressure." Play along, Sam. Let them believe the worst. They'd be blindsided, overconfident. "She's under a lot of pressure at the moment. I think the entire court is starting to suspect something. I mean, she passed the Dragonbane testing with flying colours..."

"Dragonbane testing?" Stout blinked at her.

"They gave everyone in the nobility a vial of liquid extracted from Dragonbane," said Sam. "They've been making batches of it and making the important people drink it. The first people tested were me, Anduin's tutors and bodyguards. Lady Prestor was in the second group. They've only done a third since of a few more nobles."

"And she passed?" Leo wore the same amazed expression his guildmate did. "I cannot believe it."

"Sabotage," Stout growled.

"They tested the stuff on whelps, and they died," said Sam. "It's a nasty, painful death, I hear..." And knowing that those whelps could be the children of Nalice or Onyxia... she suppressed a shudder just on time.

"How's the guild?" said Leo.

"I talked to them," said Sam. "They're fine."

Stout and Leo exchanged glances. "So they haven't run into any trouble?" said Stout.

"I think they expected some kind of altercation after you left," Sam looked to Leo. "One that never came."

"They chased us out of Stormwind for nothing?" said Stout.

"Not nothing," said Leo. "We still have to get Reggie." He poked the badly-drawn map in front of him with the charcoal. The mage watched on, sweat pouring down his face before he grabbed another canteen and poured it over his head. Leo rescued the map from splashes.

"This is curious, what you say," Leo murmured.

"If it's true." Stout levelled a glare at Sam.

Sam just shook her head. "I don't expect you to believe me. Rumour has it you want to assassinate Katrana Prestor."

She'd meant the barb as a distraction for her lying, but Leo seized up, eyes hardening. And then she remembered the assassin that had fallen off the rooftops during the Winter's Veil dance, so long ago. "That was you?" Sam's eyes widened. "You tried to kill Lady Prestor?"

"Of course not," Leo snapped, but Sam recognised the harried look of a guilty man. She pressed her lips together and looked down at the map. What little water had splashed on had already evaporated.

"They killed the man who tried to assassinate her," said Stout. "The dragonspawn. They cornered him in an alleyway and killed him. They serve Lady Prestor, they said so."

"Said so." Leo frowned. "But now I wonder, perhaps that was their intention? To blame someone we hate to hide the real dragon? Chase us out so we could not find them?"

And in Sam's mind, everything clicked. "The assassin was Rudolphus Withering."

Stout and Leo exchanged glances. "What makes you say that?" said Stout, as Leo put on a derisive sneer. Leo shot her a glare.

"They told me Rudolphus Withering went missing at Winter's Veil, that dragonspawn got him," said Sam. "So you did arrange an assassination, and he was the one who carried it out, and he — he fell off the roof, but his back was turned to me so I didn't recognise him. And the guards followed him, and — "

"The guards turned out to be dragonspawn, yes." Leo rolled up the map, but not before Sam got another good look at it. "There's a plot in Stormwind regarding the Black Dragonflight, Sam. Letting out Reginald Windsor may be the key to uncovering it. He did a lot of recon while he was here, before the Dark Irons got him. He may have the answer. He may know what this is all about, what the Black Dragonflight might plan to do. But right now, it's too risky for me to go into Stormwind. The dragonspawn have marked me as an enemy, they chased me out of Stormwind."

"An assassination attempt on that Prestor bitch, eh?" said the gnome. "You never mentioned that. Impressive."

"If we fail, it's the noose for me, you know." Leo glanced at Sam. "Because of what I've done. If we uncover this plot, then our names would be cleared. We need to find Reginald Windsor. He must have some information. And even if he's not... he's my friend. Which is more than apparently Bolvar thinks of him."

"I'm going to look for him." Sam stood. "I'll let you know if I find anything. Can I have more water, please?"

"There's caterpillars on you," said the gnome dazedly, inching away from Sam.

"He needs a priest," said Stout. "Now. He's waited long enough."

"I don't want you going in there alone," Leo said, looking at Sam.

"You do all the bloody time!" said Stout. "Leo, let her do it, we need to go find a priest before we waste more time."

"The dogs will smell her! It's a bloody miracle I've avoided them for so long."

As Leo enticed the feverish gnome into producing some water, Sam said, "Do you know a Clarisse, Leo?"

Leo glanced up at her as the gnome fumbled with his magic. "Yes, I did. She was one of my father's little spies. And personal whores." His nose wrinkled. "Bloody hell, she's younger than me..."

"Were they close?"

"Funnily enough, yes." Leo handed her the waterskin the mage filled. Sam gave them both wavering smiles. "I think so, anyway. I always got the impression he told her things he didn't tell even me. Something about her that he liked more than most women."

Sam couldn't imagine what it was, and from the tone of his voice, neither did Leo. "She said we were half siblings," she said. "Do you know anything about that?"

"Half siblings?" Leo blinked at her. "Bloody hell, you're young enough to be my daughter."

"That's what I said." If only Leo was her father instead, in spite of his loathing of Onyxia. He had a kind smile, and she longed to cling to him and cry and never stop. "Your father sounds like he gets around a bit..."

"I'm not surprised."

Anger flared. "You knew?"

"No!" said Leo. "But as I said... I'm not surprised. My father slept with any pretty thing that took his fancy. He often had to charm women as part of his missions, to get closer to his contacts. He was the best damn rogue Lordaeron had and it was hard to get a hold of him. Fel, when I was a teenager I had to help cover up one of his affairs and find a home for a baby boy who was only one of our bastard half-sibs."

"I... see." Disappointment flooded her. How could her father be such an... such an ass?

And he's dead. We'll never reconcile, even if he wanted to know me. Which he wouldn't.

And Nalice wondered why she preferred dragons.

And another sibling... what did he mean, one of their siblings? There were more? "How many were there? Where's the boy now?"

"I don't know," said Leo. "Father never stuck around long, he didn't care. Most of them happened in Lordaeron, I expect some of them are even Forsaken now, if not Scourge. If they're unlucky. I got Eddy adopted by a noble family in Andorhal, as a servant boy."

"Why you?" Sam murmured. "Why did he raise you, and not any of the rest of us? He knew I was on the streets, he knew I was his daughter. Why you?"

"Because he had to," said Leo. "My mother was a noblewoman in the Lordaeron court. Terenas himself held her in high esteem, you know."

Sam perked, and blinked at him.

"Her family was one of the few families that knew my father personally," said Leo. "They'd wanted to take him out, or something, I don't know what. He heard rumours, seduced her to find out if they were true. They were. She got pregnant with me, he bolted. Rather, he tried. They dragged him back kicking and screaming, I hear." A faint smirk appeared on his face. "Good on 'em. They told him that he could raise the child and not tell a soul that he got my mother knocked up out of wedlock, and they wouldn't ruin his life. They had enough information they would, and they'd make damn sure he raised me and didn't give me away, either. So my mother had me in secret and my father took me." His eyes unfocused. "I don't even know what noble family she was a part of, or even her name." He ran a hand through her hair. "I used to think Kat Prestor was a half-sibling of mine, you know. Every time I encountered a ferocious little brat of a kid I thought they might be a long-lost sibling, because gods know what his blood would do to the kid. But, well. You never know."

If only Kat Prestor was her sister!

"Leo," said Stout. "How touching and stuff, but we need a goddamn priest, and Morgan's Vigil is a long way away!"

Leo smiled at Sam, and she thought she would dissolve into tears on the spot as he clapped her on the shoulder. Brother. Family. The first family she'd had in forever. He wasn't like his father. "Take care of yourself," he said. "Come back here when you're done, and let us know what you find."

"I will," she lied.

Leo's smile grew. "And when this is all over, I'll come visit my niece. Tell her I say hi, will you? It'll be her birthday soon, won't it?"

A lump rose to Sam's throat. Her jaw tightened, and her vision blurred. She'd forgotten. For a few blissful hours, she'd forgotten…

"Oh, gods," came Leo's voice. "Is she alright?"

"She's gone," Sam choked. "Blood sickness."

"Oh, Light. I'm so sorry. I should have known you wouldn't just come out here when you had a baby to look after..."

"I'll be fine," said Sam. "Don't worry."

"Do you think you can wait and take care of him?" Leo looked down at the gnome. "We'll talk later." He pulled her into a hug.

He needed a bath.

"Of course," said Sam.

But when her brother and Stout left, she tucked the gnome into his bedroll and left him there.

-o-O-o-

Leo had left the map of the Detention Block on the cavern floor, and Sam had taken it, against her conscience's orders, and attached it to her belt.

The sounds of sobbing and crying preceeded the Detention, and the stench of urine and feces mingled with the smell of sweat as she weaved her way past miners towards it.

Family. She had family at last, and she was about to betray him. Family. But how could she choose between Onyxia, who'd saved her, and a brother who never cared? Why would he care now that they were blood? His father never had.

Because he has a heart. Because there's no reason why he should care for some random waif on the street, unless she was blood. He cares now, doesn't he?

And she was about to murder his best friend to help his other best friend's wife.

She'd never killed before.

Reginald Windsor had a name, had a face she knew, had friends in Leonardo Withering and Bolvar Fordragon. And he had fought the Suicide Squad as she was in labour with — well, when she'd been in the infirmary. From what she'd heard, he'd been a good sport about his loss. Her throat tightened as she crept deeper into the Detention Block.

She cast the scentless spell as she entered. Dark Irons patrolled the premises. She heard the snuffling of hounds and tame dogs.

Nothing Leo could have said prepared her for what she saw.

Some of the prisoners hung from the ceiling in bird cages, cramped tight, bones jabbing out of their skin. She could have thrown up from the stench of death and decay, the sadistic laughter of the guards, the sobs that never ended that wormed their way into her head. She had to stop to cover her mouth, suppress the urge to be sick.

And Reginald Windsor was in there, somewhere, and had been for a long time. How could he have borne it?

No wonder Leo was so bitter towards Bolvar. Bolvar had been so quick to give up on Windsor, but if he knew Windsor was in this atrocity...

Would he come to the rescue? Or would he still have abandoned him? He was human, after all.

But Leo had come for Windsor, and he was human. And a Black Dragon would abandon anyone stupid enough to be captured to their fates —

Stupid enough! Windsor wasn't stupid, coming out here to save his kingdom, was he? But he was an enemy of the Black Dragonflight. He supported the capture of dragon children as pets, the skinning and murder of Onyxia's kin for armour. Jettion had been such a cute pet, until Nalice said... "And what would you do if Amandine was captured to be kept and raised as a dumb pet?" Nalice had spat at her. "If she had been skinned? Yes, Samantha, you heard me: they even skinned the whelps."

Sam grit her teeth.

This was hell. Listening to the dying, the distant screams of tortured prisoners, the sick... she thought she heard somebody's breath rattling in their chest and for a brief moment she was in the cool infirmary with a dead baby in her arms and the scent of a night breeze on her nose. She suppressed her tears.

South. She had to go south. Past the dogs.

And she had to find a cell that Leo hadn't found in two months.

But she had the scent-concealing spell on her side; Leo hadn't that. With that in mind, she plunged deep into the southern corridors where the dogs were thickest. Occasionally they cocked an ear or turned a head, but with no smell to tell them of an intruder, they relaxed. She proceeded as silent as a ghost far past where Leo would have been able to go.

Reginald Windsor couldn't be far away.

Avoiding the patrols was easy enough. Finding the right cell wasn't. She stopped by each door, listening. If she heard a thick bellow inside, then, well, Windsor wasn't in there. Humans didn't tend to sound like cranky orcs, after all. If there was silence, she tried the handle. Some were unlocked and empty. The locked ones she bent beside, peering through the gap above the floor. There would be little light, but it was easy to make out human feet. All the prisoners were barefoot. Most of them were dwarves. Some elves. A strange amount of orcs. When she saw human feet she tried every key in the lock, or picked it, waited for a patrol to pass and allowed the door to drift ajar.

Sometimes the prisoners heard the creak. They looked up, faces full of dread, and when she did not recognise them she closed the door, leaving them to their relief that nobody would hurt them.

Not a single one didn't have scars.

She searched for what felt like hours. She re-cast the spell with paranoia, conserving what little mana she had when she dared. Every now and then she stopped in a corner and took a drink. After a while her stomach growled. The last thing she needed was for it to give her away. She wished she'd had the foresight to ask the gnome for some mana biscuits or conjured bread. She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten.

She searched and searched and searched, until finally, she opened the door and found a familiar face.

A/N: Whoa, thanks to everyone who reviewed! It always makes me happy to see new faces too, so hello.

Seripithus: Onyxia would totally wield that pen by filling it with the blood of her enemies, too.

JustMe: I loved writing that part. Thank you.

Brosauce: You're not the only person to think so! Oh gawd.

Goth: Thank you so much. That really cheered me up to read!

Tito: Indeed. We shall see how she'll try to get around this...

Zeitlos: Heh heh heh.

Etincelle: Thanks!

Tarod007: We'll see about that! ;)

Maraad: More DoTs! More DoTs! Then DPS very very slowly.