As the summons runes flickered out of existence, Haa'aji snapped his fingers at Cinder, much to her distaste, "We be needin' heals—"

"Doesn't look it," the druid muttered, walking past him. She nearly hit him in the face as she flipped her hair, and for once he didn't dodge it. As Cinder hurried up and clasped hands with Liila, the little elf gave her a faint greeting, her pale blue eyes already scanning their surroundings for something.

Haa'aji felt indignation rising in his gut as he glanced back down at the message on his guild stone and then looked back at his little elf. "Ya don' be lookin' like ya just nearleh got ya head chopped off…" he hissed, his gaze narrowed as he tried to calm himself down. While he knew Liila couldn't stay dead, he'd never seen what happened if she was actually dismembered and didn't want to learn the hard way that it was her one true weakness.

Thus, when he'd gotten her message saying she'd been attacked, he'd felt like he was going to kill himself some elves if she came back irreparably damaged—or at least, more so than she usually was.

"Oh, that happened a while ago," Liila murmured her gaze inspecting Cinder and Enlyhn before she turned her attention back to Haa'aji. "I ran into Cheneta, and she healed me. Tatai is still mad at us, by the way…" She paused and crossed her arms. For a breath, silence settled over the four, but she couldn't handle it. As Haa'aji watched her look over their surroundings again, it occurred to him that she hadn't sent him a distress call until he'd sent out his message about Gregor and Timmons. His eye twitched as her next question confirmed his suspicions. "What's this about certain guild mates having heartbeats?"

Haa'aji stared at her blankly. His head tilted to the side, and a slow frown overtook his features. After all this time, after all his warnings…that she could still come running like this…

Even as Liila avoided eye contact with him, he felt Cinder and Enlyhn's eyes upon him. It was a rare occasion when he lost his calm, and it was a sore hit to his pride that there had been an audience this time. However, as much as he would have liked to fall into playful bickering to dismiss his earlier concern, he found his mood too sour to comply.

Ever since their meeting in the Plaguelands, years ago, Liila and Haa'aji had only ever truly failed to see eye to eye on one issue. On any other subject, one or the other could be swayed to at least meet in the middle ground. But not this. This was the one weakness of Liila's that Haa'aji couldn't free her from.

Timmons Burlaste.

Haa'aji loathed the damned warlock, though he made sure nothing too horrible ever befell him, as Liila was so smitten with the rotting sack of bones. How many times had he tried to reason with her? Tried to point out that as a dead creature, Timmons could never be there for her as a man should. He was dead, and she wasn't. She deserved a chance at everything life offered, a stable home, a family, children, all that woman stuff that most females held in such high regard.

And yet Liila had never seemed to want any of that. No, she was content with the life she had now, because somehow Timmons was her savior. While yes, he had been the one to give Liila that pale scar running down her left arm, breaking the hold those runes had had over her free will, Haa'aji hardly considered that an act of heroism. After all, there were but two ways to make the runes light up long enough to do anything to them. Either a death knight had to summon them—at the time of Timmons' 'heroism', the knights had all still belonged to the Scourge—or after they brought her back to life.

It had never been put into words, partially because Timmons and Liila had some unspoken agreement to never say what had happened and partially because it disgusted Haa'aji too much to say it aloud, but Timmons had killed Liila to free her from those runes.

Haa'aji had a need to know most everything going on around him, but of all the information in the world, how Timmons had done it was lost to him. Really, he knew Liila would tell him if he asked, but he couldn't. He couldn't hear that Timmons had smothered her or snapped her neck or drowned her…he couldn't hear anything like that and then let that warlock continue existing. She was like a sister to him, someone to protect, to keep safe from monsters like Bloodsworn and Timmons.

So long as he didn't ask and she didn't tell, he could almost pretend that it hadn't happened. That maybe some other miracle had brought the runes to the surface long enough for her to be freed.

Even if he didn't know how, he still knew the truth, as much as he wanted to pretend he didn't. And that truth left him reviling Timmons. Liila deserved so much more than to spend the rest of her life occasionally clasping hands with or resting her head on a dead man's shoulder.

And so he'd tried to get her to see what the world of life had to offer. And every time she stumbled into a relationship, he'd hoped, prayed that it would be enough to break her of her inexplicable infatuation with Timmons.

And each time those relationships had ended with her quietly breaking it off. Haa'aji would come back from a hit or a surveillance mission or even just an idle damned walk to see Liila and Timmons sitting side by side, joking together. As the warlock would look up and offer a casual wave as though he didn't know how much the troll despised him, Haa'aji would see the way Liila's eyes lingered on Timmons', and he'd wanted to die inside.

So long as Liila could be close to that monster, she'd been happy.

But now…dear gods, with that despicable heartbeat pummeling Timmons' breastbone, would Liila be thinking of doing something stupid? Like confessing her feelings? She could be so intelligent, but surely in her weakness she wasn't looking at Mitchell's botched experiments as some beacon of hope that her love might someday be realized.

Cinder and Enlyhn looked from one to the other as Haa'aji stewed in his anger, and Liila looked at each of them expectantly, pretending not to see how angry her closest friend was. The two of them rarely had genuine disagreements, so to see them at odds with one another had piqued both of their audience's curiosity. Cinder, however, knew better than to ask what was going on. If there was a secret between the two, it would easily go to their graves. She offered a quick, hushed explanation of Mitchell's research and that he and his two experiments were entertaining the important people at the moment.

"If Timmons and Gregor are alive—"

"We don' be knowin' what dey be right now," Haa'aji snapped, forgetting that he was trying to convince people that there had been no experiment so as not to incite riots in forsaken territories.

"All the more reason for me to see them, then," Liila spoke softly. Her expression was surprisingly neutral, and for a moment, Cinder wondered if perhaps she were falling into another void tantrum.

"Cinda alreadeh healed dem."

"And if our travels have taught us anything, it's that no one healer can cure every ailment. Perhaps a priest's perspective—"

Before she could finish her argument, what sounded like a strangled scream escaped Haa'aji's throat, and he threw his hands up in the air, abruptly stalking off into the Drag. He paused only to spit to the side when Enlyhn asked him where he was going. "Ya got dis, mon. Ya not be needin' meh ta hold nahbodeh's hand."

Both Cinder and Enlyhn's jaws hung slack as their guild mate disappeared into the shadows in the blink of an eye. However, even as Cinder forgot her earlier determination to stay quiet about the argument, she turned to Liila and felt her heart skip a beat.

The little priest's gaze was on the entrance to Grommash Hold. She looked almost as though she were holding her breath. Cinder had never really known Liila during her worst times. By the time she and Haa'aji had come across the ocean, presenting themselves as members of the forsaken, both of them had already overcome their demons and were fairly intent on lives of mischief to make up for their months of misery. However, the look that now played on Liila's face was what she imagined one would look like upon seeing light for the first time after months of being trapped in dark caves. Like some unknown hope had just been stirred.

Cinder followed Liila's gaze and saw Gore leading the rest of their guild mates out of the building, with Gregor and Mitchell matching pace almost directly behind him and Timmons loitering in the back, his pace considerably slower than the others. His hood had been pulled so far down that it practically covered all of his nose—it was a wonder he could even see to walk—and his frown looked more pronounced than she'd known a human face capable of.

As Gore started down the steps, he had to say he wasn't surprised by Haa'aji's disappearance. However, the soft hiss that came from behind him from Timmons hadn't been expected. When he glanced over his shoulder, he could feel the hostility rolling off the warlock. For a breath, he couldn't figure out what could have triggered Timmons' mood to worsen. After all, while he'd been annoyed by Lady Sylvanas' scrutiny, he hadn't seemed overly concerned that she was unpleased with the progress Mitchell had made. However, as he turned his attention back toward the street in front of them, he saw Liila straighten up, her expression shifting from something he hadn't managed to catch to one of calculated calm as she took a few steps toward them.

Even as he puzzled over it, Liila and the other two swept up to meet them. Liila stopped short a few feet, and it looked like it was a chore for her to tear her gaze away from Timmons and focus on Mitchell and Gregor.

Even as Mitchell threw himself forward to drape his arms over Liila's shoulders—Cinder was hardly someone for him to cry to as she hated him, and he figured that if anyone could feel for his plight, it would be his favorite elf—and go off on a rant about genius minds being underappreciated, Timmons abruptly picked up his pace and stalked past them, the dry dust of the road billowing about his feet as he hurried away.

With Mitchell acting as a new cloak, Liila couldn't well chase after him, and her attempts to look like he wasn't her main concern shattered when she called out his name. Even as Mitchell lifted his head from her shoulder, more out of irritation that he'd been interrupted and was apparently still underappreciated than any concern for where Timmons might be wandering off to, the warlock had merely slowed his pace enough to glare in their direction.

While none of them could see his eyes, they could feel a burning sensation in the back of their minds. He was in no mood for celebrations.

"Timmons," Liila called out again, carefully untangling herself from Mitchell and starting after him.

The warlock stopped in his tracks and whirled to face her, faint traces of red creeping into his pallid cheeks. "What?"

There was such venom in his voice that Liila's steps faltered, though she didn't stop completely until she was in front of him. She reached out her hand toward his. "I thought…maybe I could check how you're doing…perhaps I could—"

"Don't touch me!" Timmons hissed, recoiling from her.

Liila's brow knit together. "Why are you being like this?"

Timmons took a few jerky steps backwards as he gave her the bird. "I don't need some corrupted priest trying to cast spells on me so just…just leave me the fuck alone!"

~"~

Wren wasn't typically one for drinking at bars. Before he'd joined Impervious, he normally found himself cracking a few mana crystals into a bottle of Silvermoon port and then nursing his drink alone in his room or in some quiet corner of his family's manor, praying to anything that might listen that Adrias would be too preoccupied sleeping with another man's wife to bother him.

Tonight, however…

Even if he hadn't done enough to get himself in trouble with the guard, he didn't doubt that Adrias would have run home to their father. It wasn't that his older brother was some centuries-old tattle tale, but that he couldn't keep his mouth shut when it came to Wren.

No doubt Adrias was plotting some act of vengeance against his brother for today's public humiliation—really there'd been hardly anyone present to see, and those who did would've already viewed Adrias in ill regard, assuming they even knew him, but that hardly mattered to the idiot 'lock—and had gone to their father, asking how far he could go with his murderous schemes with them still being considered 'boys being boys'.

Dear Light and Nether both, once Adrias had practically scalped Wren as a youngling. Wren had refused to give him a toy, and Adrias had lashed out so vehemently that it had sent him fleeing to their father in hopes of safety. However, when he'd presented his father with the madness going on, the warlock had merely waved his hand and said, "Adrias was just trying to get you ready for the trolls, as you keep going on about being a farstrider. I take it you've learned to avoid getting cornered in such a manner?"

Worse yet, on the occasions that Wren did get angry enough to retaliate—it was odd how Adrias always played the victim when he was always the one to start their fights—his father always found the time to chastise him, like he was still a damned youngling.

And with the look in Adrias' eyes as he loped away down the street, with shadows practically abandoning their posts to slither after him, Wren had little doubt in his mind that his brother was planning some form of 'payback'.

So either he would be attacked by something upon his return home or he would be met with a lecture about how Adrias was to be the grand warlock someday and how Wren needed to keep from doing anything that might diminish his brother's reputation—as though the warlock didn't do enough of that already.

He might have dared it, as his father's more recent lectures been on morality and forgiveness—two things that Wren had little doubt his father knew next to nothing about, and the irony of him being schooled by such a man on these topics was not lost to him.

Since he couldn't go home, Wren had found his way to one of the quieter bars in Silvermoon and found the perfect spot where he was all but invisible from the rest of the world and only someone truly leaving no stone unturned would stumble across him intentionally.

After all, even without his family drama, he'd have wanted to make himself scarce, at least for now. Why? Because of the little stunt Liila had pulled.

Sethyl may have been quick to forgive her for sneaking into the city to find answers, but Wren was not. Sure, he wasn't fond of half the people he'd called favors in from, but that didn't mean he'd wanted them wasted. By the Sunwell, Captain Dawningblade had ranted at him for almost two hours about all the inconveniences he'd gone through. After all, switching guards' routes and hours, and finding a few who would be more tolerable of a high elf's presence to escort her hadn't been a walk in the park. And the captain's mood had only worsened when Wren had tried to joke that at least the two of them were even now.

Wren did feel bad. So much had been done on Liila's behalf, and she'd basically just dismissed it. Seeing as he'd not seen her in her bloodied clothes and didn't know all of the details surrounding her meeting with Sethyl's paladin friend, he couldn't help but wonder what had possessed her to stray from their plan. And honestly, if she'd had a trinket which could make her appear as a sin'dorei, why hadn't she said so? Nether's twisting paths, why didn't she just use that to blend in and find her answers on her own time? Why waste so many other people's instead?

While he might have been open to reasons and explanations earlier in the evening, with a few drinks in him, he was almost as mean a drunk as Sethyl. He didn't see how anything could be a reasonable excuse for such inconsideration, and it occurred to him that he ought to tell the little elf just that.

It was somewhat of a miracle that he was able to write out a coherent query into his guild stone, but he had to wonder if he'd managed to send it when no apologetic response was forthcoming.

After a few increasingly indignant messages to Liila's stone went unanswered, he managed to turn his stone's channel back to the generic one for everyone in the guild and sent out another message.

If Liila had a damned trinket that could have gotten her into Silvermoon without the fuss, why go through all this nonsense?

As he'd focused on spelling his words correctly with the sort of attention that only one incredibly high or wasted could muster, he'd failed to notice a young mage enter into the bar and wander down the row of booths, looking from one side of the room to another, searching for a quiet place to sit.

When she'd come to the end, she'd noticed Wren sitting by his lonesome and had wandered up to him, her hand half raised in a wave when she realized he was quite preoccupied. As he glared at his little stone, it didn't occur to him that he might have an audience. Just as curiosity overtook her, and she reached out to tap his shoulder and ask him about the pretty stone which held his attention so captive, green runes lit up in the air over the stone.

It was Enlyhn.

Because we figured your lot would be able to tell between a trinket and the real thing? Considering she was nearly beheaded by that light lover, I can't blame her for her reservations.

Wren frowned and tilted his head slowly, taking in the words.

Nearly beheaded?

That's what I said.

Wren was far too drunk to comprehend what must have happened. Instead, he was still angry at Liila.

Well why didn't she say so? She hasn't responded to any of my questions.

Do I look like her keeper?

Even as Wren's frown deepened, another message popped up. It was Margaret.

Wait, when did you ask her? Just now?

Yes.

Wren's brow knit together as Enlyhn took the type to write out hysterical laughter. Even though Margaret responded with something, more laughter overwrote her words, and Wren found himself scrawling out an angry response.

Enough! What's so funny?

Margaret responded again, quickly.

I wasn't there for it, but Liila and Timmons were arrested for dueling in the middle of Orgrimmar. They're in Grommash Hold's dungeons for the night. Gore had their stones taken so that the grunts wouldn't find them and so that they wouldn't try to plan an escape.

Wren stared at the words, tilting his head as he wondered just what had happened, his earlier anger abruptly dissipating. However, another string of laughter appeared from Enlyhn, and he quietly pocketed his stone as the warlock fell into a fight with Margaret and Sham, who was apparently trying to sleep and quite annoyed that her stone kept going off in the middle of the night with such unimportant drivel.

"That seems pretty useful," the mage standing beside Wren offered, finally, as he reached for his drink again.

Wren bolted upright, sloshing some of the liquid onto his fingers as he stared up at her in surprise. The young elf arched her eyebrows, her light orange hair framing her face prettily as she put a hand over her heart.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you…"

As she kept speaking, Wren tried to think if he'd said anything important on his stone, but his memory was far too fuzzy for him to consider that he hadn't accidentally brought up any dire guild secrets in the last twenty minutes. It took him a moment to realize that the woman was staring at him expectantly, and he frowned. "What?"

"Your name?"

"Wren." He scratched the back of his head before remembering his manners and offering his guest a seat, though he would have rather stayed alone. "And yours…?"

She gave him a funny look as she slipped into the seat across the table from him. "Zeresa, like I said earlier."

"I'm sorry," Wren offered, leaning his face into his hands and rubbing his eyes quickly. When he sat back up, he offered her a small smile. "I'm afraid I'm not much for company tonight."

"And yet you invite me to sit down."

"I guess I'm not much for thinking tonight, either."

"You look like you could use someone to talk to."

Wren paused, looking her over more carefully. She was slender, as most any elven woman, and her ears were adorned with half a dozen different piercings. A few of them were through more brittle areas of cartilage, and he had to wonder if she was a fan of pain to have gotten them. He frowned as he leaned back in his seat. Either she knew him from his family's connections or she was after something else. Information on his stone, perhaps?

As he tried to think of a polite way to dismiss himself, Zeresa reached out and put her hand on his. "I'm sorry. If I'm truly bothering you, I can go. It's just…I haven't been back to Silvermoon in so long, and I was just…I just feel a little lost." She gave him an earnest, shy smile, and he suddenly saw the same sort of loneliness which hounded him in her softly glowing eyes. "I was just looking for someone to talk to. I shouldn't have bothered you—"

"No, stay," Wren found himself saying without thinking. He turned his hand over to catch hers and smiled. Perhaps a distraction would do him some good. Something that had nothing to do with his guild or his family or his favors. "You said you're just getting back into town? Where from?"

Zeresa hesitated before shrugging lightly. "The Plaguelands."

With a sympathetic frown, Wren nodded. "Ah. Not a pleasant trip, then."

"Anything but," she murmured, looking toward the wood of the table between them. She was quiet a moment before squeezing his hand. "I'd rather not talk about such things, if you don't mind. Perhaps, if you're up to date on gossip, you could tell me what I've missed in my absence?"

Wren straightened up and nodded, calling a waitress over and asking for a water as Zeresa ordered her first drink. Suddenly, the notion of being sober wasn't nearly as terrifying as it had been. As he sunk into banter with his newfound friend, a smile found its way back to his lips.

~"~

Renza'shi tapped the letter in his hands against the doorframe to Blood and Honor's makeshift guild hall. They were currently torn between trying to repair their old one or just focusing their efforts on Northrend. And Taknar wasn't speaking to Gore. He was under the impression that the former commander had ordered his rogue to take care of the matter and that made him trust Impervious less. He hadn't thought much of them at all until Murk and Renza'shi's story of Haa'aji being there before the guild hall blew up.

Everyone was bitter about their hall being destroyed. How many trophies from battles against the Alliance had been lost? How many plans for future attacks were now charred nothing?

Renza'shi knew what he was about to do wasn't going to make matters much better. Especially since he was friends with half of Impervious.

He took in a deep breath and walked forward into the room. And frowned. More of his guild was back than he'd been expecting. Honestly, he'd hoped to catch Taknar by himself, though he doubted that would ever really happen. His guild leader was always surrounded by some of the guild's strongest members.

Renza'shi walked through the groups of his guild mates, eyes straight ahead, barely nodding as people called out hellos. Taknar had been speaking with a few others, but when he saw Renza'shi heading his way, he dismissed the others, not that they went anywhere. However, they were content to hold off on their conversation.

Renza'shi stopped in front of them and Taknar nodded to him, saluting. "Lok'tar, friend."

After mirroring the salute, Renza'shi glanced around for the first time, seeing that most eyes had turned to him. He saw Murk near the back of the room with Lisp and instantly snapped his attention back to Taknar. "We be done searchin' fa spies, yeh?"

Taknar frowned, but nodded. "The warchief has told us to stand down." Even as Renza'shi nodded slowly, Taknar reached out and patted his shoulder firmly. "You don't need to worry over reprimands. Thrall understood why we followed Hellscream's request."

Renza'shi stared toward the ground for a long, quiet moment before finally holding out the letter in his hands. Even as Taknar furrowed his brow and took it, Renza'shi took in a deep breath. "Ah be sorreh ta say dat Ah be resignin' from Blood 'n Hona." He bowed his head quickly. "Ah wish ya blades stay sharp 'n ya enemies fall befora ya feet."

Before Taknar could gather himself enough to ask if Renza'shi could be serious, or Murk or Lisp could make it through the crowd to ask if he was crazy, the troll turned and walked out of the hall, his head held high.

Renza'shi would never be anyone's puppet like that again.

~"~

Leafless sat on the shore of the Scarlet Enclave, watching the waves sweep along the shore. The ocean had done its best to wash away the carnage that had happened years ago, when the death knights had marched upon the Scarlet Crusaders' homes and crushed their hopes. However, if one walked the beach, one could find fragments of bone, half buried in the sand, a testament to the horrors the minions of the Lich King were capable of.

Leafless had been one of his champions. She had cut down innocents, reveled in their suffering. She had forgotten her druidic origins and succumbed completely to the Lich King's will.

Most knights felt a sort of camaraderie that they had all suffered such a fate, losing themselves, becoming monsters. However, all one had to do was remember Shadow and acceptance that there was no choice disintegrated.

After dying to the Scourge, Leafless and Shadow hadn't seen much of one another, even as they worked for their master together. Somehow, it was like fate kept them apart. She hadn't seen his turmoil, so she often wondered if she might have turned out the way he did, had she been in his shoes. She doubted it.

Shadow, after all, hadn't needed the Light to free him from the Lich King. He had found his free will on his own, somehow. Even as the Scourge marched against Silvermoon, Shadow had attacked Bloodsworn and saved Liila from his clutches.

Then, as the legend among Leafless' fellow knights went, he'd gone back to Bloodsworn's lab and mercifully ended the lives of all of those trapped under the bastard's care. He'd released them from their pain quickly.

Some said he probably only actually freed the first of Bloodsworn's prisoners, but Leafless believed the whole of it. Especially after seeing him when he was brought back to Acherus.

With help, Bloodsworn had managed to subdue Shadow, and they had dragged him back to their base, presenting him to the Lich King with disgust and hopes that the tauren would be tortured. As Leafless had been passing by, on her way to slaughter innocents, she'd seen Shadow on his knees in front of their master, other knights holding him in place. She had stopped, wondering dully where she'd seen him before.

And then she'd seen him call forth his blade and destroy his captors. She'd been frozen, watching in awe as the creature she could only vaguely remember cut down knight after knight who came after him.

The Lich King had been in shock. But as soon as that shock wore off, he easily brought Shadow down.

But his defiant pet didn't care. Shadow laughed at Arthas, telling him that he'd better kill him, or he'd bring all of Acherus down, one way or another. He knew who he was, and he wouldn't be a tool of the Lich King.

More than a few death knights had born witness to those events. After Shadow had been dragged off—hung up on meat hooks for all to see that should they betray their master they would not be blessed with death—whispers had begun. People asked others if they remembered who they had been before their master. For the first time, voices started to echo their unsettling blanks. Minds began to pick at lost memories, and the Lich King's whispers in their heads began to grow desperate.

He was losing his champions.

The Light's warm touch was all they needed. It transformed, different to each person. A lover's touch, the heat from an anvil as one threw themselves into their work, the warm sun beating down on the plains of Mulgore. Remembering that there truly had been a life before all this carnage was all the knights needed, and they reached for it.

Some were bitter to have their memories, knowing that their families were dead—some by their own hand—but there was an unspoken truth among the knights as they rode back to Acherus to claim it as their stronghold: one cannot fight the Lich King's will; while they deserved blame, not all of it, at least, was due to them. Arthas was responsible for their actions more so than they were.

Blood had been one of the first to push through the ranks to the inner chambers. And he had found Shadow, still hung up on display. Leafless didn't know the details, but Blood had set Shadow free, and then Shadow had proceeded to tear an abomination apart with his bare hands. Blood still loved that story.

They had all fought together to take Acherus, but as the dust settled, gazes turned toward Shadow, not that any lingered. If they had honestly not been completely to blame for their actions, then how had that single tauren defied their master's will so completely? If they had tried, could they have reclaimed themselves before all the atrocities they'd committed?

Could Leafless have prevented herself from killing all those people? What bothered her, almost more than the knowledge that she had killed so many, was that she couldn't remember their faces. They hadn't been important, little more than bugs she was tasked with squishing.

Some of her brethren claimed that the faces of those they'd killed haunted them. How was it then, that her ghosts left her be? Really, the only thing that brought any measure of terror to her heart was that word might somehow get back to her family of what she'd become. That was why she, like Blood, had changed her name.

Well, until late that had been her only fear. Now, she wondered if Shadow could ever forgive her. She remembered her final moments before her death. They'd been running, side by side, fleeing the Scourge. And then a hook had caught her in the side and dragged her back. As she'd watched the world shift, she'd seen Shadow whirl around and start back toward her.

She'd wanted to yell at him to keep going, but her world had dimmed and vanished before she could muster the air to her lungs. Sometimes, when she allowed herself to daydream—a dangerous past time for any death knight, as their master still whispered to them, relentlessly—she found herself managing to scream for him to run, to leave her. It was the closest thing she had to real dreams, and it always made her wonder how they didn't play out the same every time. Surely it was her conscience creating the alterations, so...why wasn't she more in control?

In some dreams, Shadow did keep running. He made it home and lived his life, and Leafless hated him for abandoning her. In others, she was happy for him. In still others, he ignored her pleas for him to save himself and suffered the same fate as reality.

It drove her crazy.

Had he really only hung around because of a promise to her father?

The soft clink of metal behind her drew Leafless from her misery, and she scowled without turning around. "Blood, I told you. I'll come back when I feel like it. It's not like we're doing anything important right now, anyway."

"I'll agree to that."

Leafless froze. That wasn't Blood's voice. Jumping to her feet, she drew her blades as she whirled about to see who had come up behind her.

Derik Bloodsworn.

His weapon was sheathed, and he had an almost amiable expression on his face. Leafless had hardly dealt with Bloodsworn during their time working for the Lich King, but most everyone had a story of what a prick he was.

He held his hands in the air in surrender. "I'm sorry, really. I just meant that the Alliance isn't moving forward toward Northrend, yet, either." He took in a ragged sigh. "I just...I come down here, on the rare occasion that I'm near Acherus, to think." He dodged back a few steps as Leafless started toward him. "I was at the battle of Light's Hope Chapel, too, you know."

Leafless paused, her blades still ready to strike as she tried to remember if he had really been there. She remembered him taking down five guards at a time and then...he had been stunned with the rest of them. She moved back a few paces, keeping enough distance between them that she could defend if he tried to talk. "I've never seen you at Acherus."

"Well, I've never seen you there. Does that mean you still work for the Lich King?" There was the slightest hint of resentment in his voice. He finally lowered his hands and walked past Leafless, pausing to kneel down and pull a skull from the sands. He handled it so gently, his brow knitting together with regret. "I generally stay in Stormwind, but...your little elven friend has friends in all sorts of places. She told those friends of my past deeds and consequentially took my home from me."

Leafless narrowed her eyes, though the other knight kept talking.

"I suppose I can't fault her. After all I've done, it would be ridiculous to imagine she could do anything other than hate me."

"How stupid do you think I am?" Leafless hissed. As Bloodsworn looked up, still holding the skull in his hands, she had to fight her disgust. "You led the assault on Orgrimmar."

Bloodsworn set the skull on the ground and rose back to his feet. "Did you see me there?"

Leafless had been ready to cast conversation aside, but she paused. This had to be a trick of some kind.

"You didn't. No one did, because I wasn't there," Bloodsworn spoke so softly. His voice was so...lonely. "I bet I know who started that rumor, though."

"She wasn't alone in fighting you."

Bloodsworn seemed confused for a moment and then paced to the side a few steps. Finally, he turned back to her. "I know...through the grape vine, that you are friends with the little elf, so surely you must know she is not well." He grimaced. "I made sure she never would be."

Leafless found herself lowering her weapons, despite herself. His face...it was true remorse, if ever she'd seen it.

He seemed reassured by her actions. "Let me present you with what I think happened. If you disagree that it could be possible, then I will leave you be. If not...you look like you could use a friend as much as I could."

"Speak quickly." Leafless didn't like how earnest he seemed. This wasn't at all the Bloodsworn that she'd heard of. But then, she hadn't really heard about him since the battle at the chapel. There were probably all sorts of horror stories about her floating around, should she ever choose to seek them.

"Under Arthas' will, I spent months torturing that little elf. I do not deny that, for it is the truth of my sins. However, she is damaged. I did that, too." He hesitated. "Perhaps a human death knight did lead the attack against Orgrimmar. Maybe when she saw him, she saw me." He paused again, looking pleadingly at Leafless. "I mean, was there anyone else who could confirm the death knight's name?"

Leafless frowned. There hadn't been anyone else. It had been Liila alone, ranting and hissing to Gore and Gregor about how even after all this time the bastard wouldn't leave her be. They hadn't realized that Leafless and Blood had been nearby when she'd been seething, and as soon as Gobber wandered into the room, Liila's face had blanked, and her rants had ceased.

And Mitchell had said that she'd attacked him once, thinking that he was her torturer. It had been a brief moment of insanity, but...everyone knew she wasn't stable. When they'd first joined the Horde, the death knights, Liila had been skittish at best. Until she'd seen Shadow.

After that, Liila had pretty much dragged him into the guild, and he had insisted that he wouldn't join without Blood and Leafless.

Leafless eyed the man in front of her. Part of her told her that she ought to just skewer him while she could, that there was no way that he could be telling the truth. However, another part of her whispered how he was in the same position she was. He had no home to go to. He was alone. And there was someone who blamed him for his actions, even though if he had been himself, he never would have done such things.

He hadn't wanted to hurt Liila, just like she hadn't wanted to hurt Shadow.

"I'm her monster," he whispered. Leafless blinked as she realized that Bloodsworn had walked up to stand in front of her. "She can't help but see me for the villain that I was. And I doubt there's anything I can do to earn her forgiveness."

"What do you want?" Leafless took a step away from him, staring down at him with a mixture of distrust and sympathy. "Pity?"

"I don't know," Bloodsworn shook his head slowly. "Maybe...I just want someone to believe that I'm not a monster." His eyes were downcast. "Maybe then I'd be able to believe those words the Light preaches. That I'm not beyond saving. That none of us are."

Leafless inspected him carefully before finally shrugging. "Once the Lich King is dead." As he tilted his head, not understanding, she sighed. "I think once he's gone for good, we'll be able to find our salvation."

Bloodsworn nodded slowly. However, before he could speak, Leafless took a few steps away from him. She still didn't trust him. "I'm going back to Acherus. Are you...?"

"I think I'd like to watch the surf a bit longer." Bloodsworn offered her a tired smile and nodded as she headed up the beach, back toward the Ebonhold. He waited until Leafless was almost back to the teleportation device before turning his gaze out to sea and allowing a wicked grin to creep across his features.