Despite having been out of the rain for the past three-ish hours, my pants, feet, and underclothes remain uncomfortably damp and cold. I've tied my black jacket around my belt in an attempt to dry my undershirt, a long-sleeved, dark red, threadbare cotton shirt that I've owned for years. I know I'd feel better in dry clothing; I can't retain body heat, and as I trudge along behind 'Fear' in silence, I cling my arms around myself and try not to show how chilled I really am. I'm probably going to get sick; my nose is already congested, and this is doing nothing for my immune system. I want nothing more than a hot shower, a clean pair of dry, warm pajamas, and my own bed. I'm up far past my bedtime, and my body is feeling it.
We're walking along a dim, occasionally lantern-lit path that winds through the forest unending. I haven't said a word this entire time. He doesn't want to talk to me, fine. I'm not going to be one of those people who's so self-absorbed that she can't shut up for...for however many hours this is going to take.
I have no idea how far away 'Elwynn' is from where we are, but he acted like it was a long walk. It's definitely a long walk, already. My feet are sore and wet, and they've been rubbing inside my boots so badly that I can feel the blisters forming with every step. His stride is also hard to keep up with. I'm five-foot-five, and I barely reach his chest. His legs are probably an entire foot longer than mine, and his steps are fast. I've had to basically jog half the time to stay with him.
I just want to get home, and I'm determined to make it. I've been ten times more uncomfortable than I am now, and I did just fine. I'm not going to complain out loud. That'll do nothing but make me feel worse. It's all about the attitude.
I force myself to think about something else. That 'something' ends up being the alien walking a few steps in front of me. I can't resist it; he's easily the most interesting thing around me. He's built like a runner, or a climber, or a swimmer, maybe. Narrow hips, broad shoulders, and a loose, relaxed stride. He's so tall, all his limbs are elongated and smoothly tapered at the joints. I can tell he's muscular. Extremely muscular, really, but because his arms and legs and torso are so long, his muscles are pulled longer too, and they don't look so beefy or stocky. If I don't look at his head, where his ears pull to a point almost a foot long behind him, he looks like a freakishly-massive human. His clothes are dark furs and fitted leathers, and he's got knives as big as my forearms strapped to his belt and the upper thigh of his left leg. I wonder if he's left-handed; the way he's got his weapons situated and the way he holds his pack over his shoulder suggest that he is.
He has some sort of leather armor on his forearms and shins, and on one shoulder that's sculpted snugly to his frame. He has tied his vivid purple hair back into what's basically a messy bun. I don't think it was intentional; it looks more like he tried to make a ponytail and gave up when part of it got stuck in the tie he used. This strikes me funny; even aliens are doing the man-bun. It humanizes him enough to help me relax some, and I can't resist the smirk that tugs at my mouth.
I guess he realizes I'm staring at him, because while he's walking, he glances back my way and makes split-second eye contact, and then jerks his eyes away just as fast, glancing past me into the forest and then turning forward again. I tilt a curious eyebrow, but say nothing.
About two hundred steps pass, and he does it again. Again, our eyes meet, and again, he tries to save face by looking somewhere else. Like eye contact is some sort of crime. He's the one with the unsettling glowing eyes, not me. If anything, I should be more uncomfortable than him.
He keeps walking, and then I hear his voice. He doesn't turn around, just talks.
"You've been astonishingly quiet."
It jolts me all over again, hearing him speak and understanding him. Walking all this way in silence made me feel like maybe it was some sort of dream, and I'd been lulled into a quiet security. But then he talked, and it forced me to wake up again.
"You're serving your purpose," I say stoically, my voice keeping an even tone. "Why would I talk to you?"
"There are many reasons to talk to me," he counters. "For one, you could've asked for dry clothing two hours ago and I'd have given it to you."
From where I'm walking to his rear right side, I think I see a dimple form on his cheek, and I grit my teeth in annoyance. Holy shit, the alien is messing with me. I try to ignore him for a few seconds, but I can't help but respond.
"You told me I had to shut my trap," I blurt.
"Well, yes," he turns his head to the side to look at me, and I see his weirdly playful expression smirking at me, "but-"
"-So you can't place blame on me for doing what you requested."
I hear him exhale through his nose humorously as he keeps walking. His tone is one of teasing. "Would you like dry apparel?"
"No," I snap, frustrated. I immediately get more pissed at myself for turning him down. I'm more frustrated than I want to be. I'm tired and wet and sore, and it's making me grumpy. It's been a grumpy night for me, overall. Plus, he's being a shit head.
"Now, Ava," he starts, patronizingly, "you shouldn't-"
"-How much longer do we have?" I interrupt him on purpose.
He waits a couple seconds. "We've got a long way to get where you're going, Princess."
"How many more hours?"
"You should be thinking more in terms of days."
"Days?!" I stop in my tracks, horrified. "We'll be walking for days? I can't do that! I don't know if you're some sort of robot who doesn't need sleep or rest, but I do!"
"We're not walking for days," he counters, but then he doesn't say anything else.
He hasn't stopped walking, so I shout at him again. "Hey!"
He stops, turns, and looks back at me. "What?"
"I need rest," I finally give, and my voice quiets considerably as my eyes dart toward my feet, "And...dry clothes, if those really are on the table." I glance back up at him.
I can't tell what he's thinking; the look on his face is unreadable. Not a bad one. Thoughtful? Amused, maybe? Is it just sympathy? He waits there a moment longer, staring me down intensely, before smirking at me with one corner of his mouth. In my mind, I'm wondering where this sudden change in his attitude came from. Back in that town, he'd been a lot less chipper.
"You could've said that two hours ago, too, Princess," he says as he advances toward me, swinging the backpack off of his shoulder.
"Don't call me that," I grumble under my breath, so he can't hear.
"You prefer Badger, then?" he asks.
I gawk at him. He was at least fifteen feet away from me, way too far away to hear what I said. Is it the massive ears, I wonder?
"D-don't call me that, either," I stutter.
"We'll set camp this way," he walks past me, off the path, and into the trees. "I saw a fallen tree a way back that'll supply firewood."
I follow behind him, keeping my mouth closed. I'm just relieved to be getting a break. I don't want to fuck my luck.
'Fear' tosses his crappy, old backpack on the ground in a small clearing, and points at it. "Stay right there with my bag. I'll be right back."
Then he wanders off into the trees, so far I can barely see or hear him. Without him there, suddenly the forest feels a thousand times bigger. Scarier. Darker, looming, ominous. The trees around me cast shadows from moonlight above them. I hear insects and small rodents scurrying through the forest floor. The more time that passes, the smaller I feel and the further I pull into myself until I've hugged my good arm around my sling and am sitting beside his backpack with my head buried. I know this is probably an unhealthy position for my broken arm to be in, but that medicine he gave me has kept the pain away entirely, and I can't feel the limb at all. So at this point, I don't give a crap. I won't, until I reach a proper hospital.
Finally, 'Fear' reappears. It's probably only been about ten minutes, but it felt like ages. He has his arms full of twigs and branches, and two good-sized logs. He throws them on the ground haphazardly, then kneels and positions them into a proper campfire pyramid, with the kindling deep underneath the rest.
With what looks like a shard of flint, he strikes a rough stone in his hand over and over until he lights the tinder, and slowly he feeds the small flame with larger and larger pieces of wood. As he blows on the fire, it illuminates his face, and I sit there staring at him. In my tired, loopy state, I gradually see less and less of an alien and more of a man; just a man, like any other. He has a straight, regal nose that tapers at a soft point; a narrow chin with trimmed stubble; full, upturned lips; and deep-set, large eyes with soft lids. His skin is youthful and smooth, and his cheekbones lay high on his face. He's a good-looking guy, all things considered. If he were someone that I met back at home, I'd probably swoon.
Hell, I need sleep. I'm drooling over a purple alien.
I watch as he keeps adding wood until he's finally lit the largest log. Now he has a hot fire roaring with sparks crackling and popping into the air. I've never seen someone start a fire from scratch so quickly and fluidly. I wonder how many times he's done that before.
Then, he reaches behind him and grabs the remainder of what he'd retrieved, which is a stack of green, pliable twigs and leaves, not good for burning. But he tosses them in as well, and they start smoking excessively. He brushes his palms off.
"That'll keep the bugs at bay," he announces. He sits back on his heels, leans his palms against his legs, and turns his head toward me. I'm still beyond exhausted and haven't gotten over how attractive he actually is, so I don't process what he says until a few seconds after he says it. "First order of business is to get you out of those clothes."
I feel my cheeks flush hot before I can possibly hope to control my reaction, and I blink excessively. "R-right," I sputter, and for some reason I keep talking. "Because I'm wet."
I cringe at my word choice at the same time as he half-smiles at it. I know he sees how red I am. And I know, by that little hint of a smirk he just gave, that he knows why. Now, I start to guess that he has had that reaction a lot from a lot of women here. I bet all the other aliens think he's hot shit.
Keeping eye contact, he leans toward me, and I freeze. I don't even breathe when he stretches forward and his arm almost touches me. But then his hand closes around the burlap of his backpack beside my leg, and he pulls it to him and sits down, digging into it with a knowing smile teasing his lips. I exhale the breath I've been holding, feeling like an idiot.
'Fear' pulls out a large, weather-worn shirt and a pair of ragged pants and throws them to me. I catch them, lifting them to look at them. The shirt is more than half as tall as I am, and I can already tell that the pants, if I hold them up while I'm standing, will reach from the ground, nearly up to my chest. Everything he gave me to wear is massive. But they're dry, and I'm desperate.
He pats the ground next to the fire. "You can put your wet clothing here. The heat will dry them for the morning."
"Thank you," I mumble quietly.
He nods, watching me expectantly. A few seconds pass. "Well?" he tilts his head, crossing his arms.
"Right here?"
"Do you want to change your clothing out in the open forest instead?" he argues.
"Turn around," I grumble.
"Nothing I haven't seen, Princess," he shrugs, but he does turn his head away.
With some difficulty removing the sling from my arm, I manage to strip my shirt off, and then my bra. Ridding myself of the damp clothing is one of the best possible feelings I've ever felt. The warmth of the fire hits my cold skin, and I shudder pleasantly, feeling goosebumps emerge. I yank the large tunic over my head. It swallows me whole. Then I remove my boots, socks, and pants, setting them out by the rest of my clothing to dry. I keep my underwear on, and I try to ignore the way the firelight hits my legs and makes the various dimples in my thick thighs seem so much more prominent. No time to be self-conscious; it's just me and an arguably-hot alien, and he's not even looking at me.
When I'm standing, the shirttails reach comfortably halfway down my thighs. I decide I don't want to wear the gigantic pants; my legs won't fit in them correctly, and I'm not cold anymore. This shirt is like a gown and covers everything I need it to and more. It has leather patches in the elbows, and it's been stitched more than a doll in a horror movie, but it'll work great. And it's warm.
I turn to look at 'Fear', and I'm thankful he's still looking off into the forest. At least he's sort of a gentleman, when it counts.
"I'm not going to wear the pants," I tell him, handing them back toward him after folding them. "Thank you, though."
"I'll wager most men you've said that to have leapt for joy," he teases and turns his eyes toward me. I notice the way his gaze lingers just a half second longer on my bare legs and then travels up my body wrapped in his gigantic shirt. He inhales, then takes the pants and stuffs them back into his bag. Without speaking, he kneels down next to me and re-applies the sling on my arm, and helps me roll up the long sleeves so that my hands aren't covered anymore. I'd prefer not to sleep with a sling on my arm, but he knows more than me it seems.
"By the way, I don't have an extra bedroll," he announces. "It does get quite cold in the small hours before dawn in this forest. I can see how large I can make the roll, and we can share. Otherwise, the forest floor isn't actually that bad. Just cold."
No offer of letting me use the bedroll for myself. Drat. No way I'm ever sharing a bed with an alien.
I snort. "I'll take the ground."
"Suit yourself," he shakes his head, and unrolls a giant blanket onto the ground. It's basically a sleeping bag, minus the bag part. He folds it a couple times until it's the right size for just him to sleep on, and lies down face-up.
I situate myself a few feet away, curled so that I can feel warmth from the fire all along my side. I can see 'Fear' staring up into the canopy of the trees, his glowing eyes casting light up into the air. It has the same effect of a smartphone screen in the dark, and it's fascinating to me that he's producing that light through his own eyes.
Almost a minute passes as I try to make myself sleep, but I keep opening my eyes and looking at him, and he's still staring upward. Finally, I have to ask questions, so I sit up and massage the arches of my feet as I talk to him.
"So, what are you, exactly?" I ask him. He seems startled at the sound of my voice, but only for an instant, and he doesn't look my way.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, I'm human. You aren't. I've never seen something, er... someone, like you. Why do your eyes glow?"
"You've never seen an elf before? Seriously?" He lifts himself onto one elbow so that he can look at me with surprise written in his features.
"Wait, you really are an elf? You weren't just kidding about that?" I'm surprised.
"I'm a night elf."
"And your name is 'Fear'?"
"Yes."
"How do you spell that?"
He spells it out. I arch my eyebrows. "F-y-r? That's so strange."
"It's a diminutive of 'Aerefyr'."
"Interesting," I murmur. "Fyr it is, then."
He smirks and leans harder on his elbow, relaxing more as he watches me. I catch the way that, again, his eyes flick over my bare legs illuminated by the firelight. My olive brown skin is accented nicely by the warm glow now, the shadows less harsh, and something about it keeps drawing his gaze. I'll admit, I don't hate the way he looks at me. If anything, it's an ego boost.
I look around me at the woods. "And what is this place?"
"We're still in Feralas."
"That's what this world is called?"
He gives me the strangest look, like he's legitimately worried for the first time. "...That's what this forest is called."
"So what...world am I on?"
"World?" he looks more alarmed. "Azeroth." He studies me intensely. "Ava, I'm worried you may have hit your head harder than we thought; this is some painfully-basic knowledge for you to not-"
"-Nevermind," I sigh quietly, relaxing back down onto the ground. Just because he knows about my world and I don't know about his, it doesn't mean my concussion is the cause. "It doesn't matter. I'll be home soon enough."
"Right," he purses his lips, still staring at me. I lie down and roll over, so he can't see my face. I'm fine, seriously. I didn't hit my head that hard. He's just being weird. Why is he even worried about me in the first place? I'm not his responsibility.
I hear him shift and get comfortable again. A couple minutes pass as I stare at the fire. I think he's fallen asleep by now, so I glance back at him. He's facing away from me, so I can't tell for sure, but his breathing has become rhythmic.
I roll toward the fire again and close my eyes, drifting away into the sound of the crackling flames.
I'm usually able to recognize when I'm dreaming, and right now I do.
I see a child whom I think I don't know or recognize. He looks normal in my mind. I don't notice that he's a night elf with purple skin and glowing silver eyes. All I notice is that he's young, maybe age ten or eleven, and he's upset. I'm following behind him with no attempt to do so. He's obviously the focus of this dream.
He runs in the door of a cabin-like house at full speed, and I'm right behind him. I see an older human couple standing in a huddle at the corner of the kitchen, and they look terrified. Not of the boy, but of a fourth figure whose face I can't see. He's in shadow, and he's intruding in this home. I know the people here are in danger.
"Not them!" the boy shouts pleadingly at the dark figure. "Please!"
The figure ignores him and advances out of the shadow toward the couple, withdrawing a pair of knives.
"Aerefyr," the woman breathes fearfully to the child, "run."
The boy does run, but not away. He bolts toward the intruder and tackles him into the wall, but he's thrown off only a second later. He's shoved across the room and hits a chair, buckling into it.
I see the figure advance on the couple, and within seconds, he strikes them down with a flurry of attacks. They can't even hope to defend themselves. I want to scream. It's so violent and horrifying and bloody. I've never had a nightmare like this. I have no idea how I've created this in my own mind.
The couple is dying on the floor as the boy screams in shock and tries to reach them. The dark figure drags the child by the shoulders out of the building. I can feel the panic and rage and horror he's feeling. I hear him screaming names. Gertrude and Halvard. I know somehow that those are the people who just died.
I begin to melt into terror, unable to handle the intensity of the feelings inside me.
"AVA!" a booming voice shatters my consciousness.
Suddenly, I awake in a cold sweat to the sound of a bloodcurdling shriek. It's high pitched and sounds inhuman, and it jolts me nearly out of my own skin. My eyes whip open, and the first thing I see is glowing silver eyes about two feet away from mine. I feel pressure around my free wrist, and I realize that Fyr has a giant hand clasped around my unbroken forearm and is looking at me with an intense concern. I feel exhausted and terrified at what I've just seen, and I'm shaking all over, still hysterical.
Then I realize that the shrieking sound is coming from me.
I quiet immediately and stop fighting. I sit there gasping for breath, trying to get a grip and relaxing my arms. I feel like an idiot, and I don't want him to see this weakness. I've never had a nightmare or a terror like this; if anything, sleep is always my source of peace, and I don't know where this came from.
Fyr lets go of my wrist and leans back on his heels, staring at me and panting. It's barely light out, and I'm freezing cold, shivering from head to toe not only from the temperature but from whatever I just saw in my head.
That was Fyr. In my dream. I just now understand that I've had a dream about him as a child, and it has me spooked.
"Wh-wh-who is Gertrude?" I gasp.
His features transform, but they flatten again before I can process his expression. "What did you say?"
"Gertrude a-and Halvard, who are they?"
I see the muscles in his jaw jump outward, and his nostrils flare. "Where did you hear those names?"
"I don't know. I just s-saw..."
"What did you see?"
"It was a nightmare," I shiver, staring at him. "Who-"
"Nobody, just a nightmare," he says before I can finish. He looks wary, and he's watching me closely. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. My arm hurts."
He stands and grabs his bag, and tosses me another one of those red cordials. "Here."
I catch it with my free hand and open it with my teeth, and drink it. Immediately I start to feel better. Not only physically, but emotionally. This stuff is amazing.
"Thanks," I mumble. Fyr is still staring at me out of the corners of his eyes as he rolls up his blanket, watching my every move. I'm trying to ignore him. I have no idea what has just happened, and I don't know how to act right now.
"You may want to put some pants on," he says blandly, tossing me my clothing. Just then I realize I'm still only wearing his shirt, and I turn white when I realize that I'm sitting here cross-legged. Thank goodness I'm wearing underwear. He can probably see far more than I'd let most people see.
One embarrassment after the next. At least this last one can be easily remedied. Screaming one's head off while one is sleeping isn't as easy to dismiss as being half naked. I think.
I quickly yank my clothing on, which is all dry. I feel better immediately as my limbs warm up and stop shivering. Fyr finishes packing everything including the shirt I borrowed and tosses his bag over his shoulder, then looks at me.
"Ready?"
I nod silently. He turns and leads me out of the woods, back to the path. We both stay quiet. There's an uncomfortable tension between us over the way I woke up screaming. Obviously he knew those names, and I'm still super freaked out that I had some dream about his past that's even remotely accurate. And knowing something specific as names? That's hard to ignore. I also feel bad for waking him up by screaming. That wasn't very nice of me.
But, neither of us want to bring it up. So we both progress in silence. I try to convince myself it's not as weird as it really is. I've never really believed in visions or supernatural happenings. But I've also never believed in elves or aliens or other worlds, yet here I am. I'm going to need some serious therapy when I get home.
We walk for hours again.
My stomach is growling and twisting itself painfully, and I realize the only thing I've eaten since I've gotten here has been that medicine he gave me. But I don't feel comfortable enough to break the silence yet, and he hasn't eaten either, which makes me wonder if there is any food to eat in the first place. I'll eat when he does. I can handle that.
My stomach growls again, and I wince. I'm pretty sure that the sound of the forest keeps it from being audible, but I can feel it.
Up ahead, Fyr keeps walking, but I see him digging in the side pocket of his backpack. A second later, he pulls something out. I can't see what it is, because he's in front of me, but then he turns and reaches a hand out toward me, offering me something. It looks like a strip of bark from a tree, but I take it.
"Eat it," he grunts, and I see him put a strip between his teeth and tear a chunk off and chew it.
Those ears of his really can hear everything.
I sniff the bark and realize it's smoked jerky, smothered in pepper and salt. I devour it as fast as one can devour jerky. It's dry, but it's food, and I'm thankful.
Even this snack gives me energy, and I feel so much better. I still haven't said a word to him. I don't really want to. I don't want to freak him out more.
I mean, It's not that I give a shit about what my alien traveling partner thinks of me, but...
Actually, I do care about what he thinks of me. That's stupid, but it's true. He's a person and has thoughts, just like me. And so far, he's been pretty cool about everything that's happened.
I just want this trip to be over already.
Instead of me breaking the silence, though, he does.
"I've a question," he says slowly.
"Okay," I say hesitantly.
"Have you had any magical training?"
"Magical training?" I repeat with confusion.
"Yes. Arcane, if we're being specific."
"I don't know what that is."
"But you reek of arcane. You have, ever since I found you. It was initially very off-putting, if I'm being honest."
I wonder to myself what the hell that means. Do I stink? I make a face of confusion at him, but don't say anything.
He turns and catches my facial expression, and then he barely smirks. "Let me guess, you don't know what that is, either?"
"No."
"You really were raised under a bloody rock. Possessing such a potent amount of dangerous magic and not even knowing about it is..." he breathes out through his lips in what is basically a whistle, "It's preposterous."
I grimace. "No, I was raised in a different world, where magic and elves and healing cordials don't exist."
"Whatever you say," he dismisses me. I have a feeling he thinks I'm batshit crazy, considering the way he reacts to the things I say. Just because I hit my head really, really hard when we met doesn't mean everything I say can be dismissed. And to think he called me intolerant...
We walk around a curve in the road, and I see something that makes my hopes leap. A town, decently-sized, appears in the forest. It's unreal how excited I feel at seeing civilization, a chance to rest my legs and nurse my feet. The thick woods around it swallow it, but I can tell that it's larger than it looks.
Soon enough, we enter the settlement, and Fyr clearly knows where he's going, because he bee-lines across town. We near an open shelter that looks like stables, but I don't see any animals. There's a guy standing next to it, and apparently he's our target.
Fyr walks right up to him, but before he can say anything, the man holds his hand up to stop him.
"All out at the moment, friend," the man says. His voice reminds me of my uncle's. My uncle was a smoker, if that tells anything.
"Nothing at all?" Fyr sounds discouraged. "Every gryphon is in use?" I don't know what that means, and I hang back and watch.
The man shrugs. "None returning until this evening, unless we receive a stray incoming flight. Come back in an hour or two and you may have more luck."
Fyr grumbles something under his breath and turns around, heading the same direction we came from, and I follow behind.
"What was that all about?" I ask, having to jog to keep up with him.
"We need to take a flight to Theramore," he says. "But there are no available taxis. So we'll have to wait."
Taxis? I think to myself, picturing a flying yellow cab. I have no idea what to expect in this place. For all I know, that could be a legitimate thing.
"O-kay," I say slowly. "Where will we wait?"
"Follow me," he grunts.
I do. He leads me through town, and then turns down a thinner road, into a darker, more wooded part of the settlement. We reach a large, two-story building and walk inside.
It smells like smoke and alcohol, like a low-class bar. It looks like one, too. The patrons are scattered around, and I do see a bar near one wall.
Fyr walks to the bar and sits on a stool. I follow his lead and sit down beside him, leaning on my elbow. I'm sort of afraid I'll get a splinter through my shirt, given how rough the bar is, but I'm not worried enough to not lean against it.
Fyr looks at me. "Fancy an ale?"
"I can't pay."
"I'll add it to your bill," he shrugs, and to my surprise, he winks at me.
The wink starts a weird, unintentional tingle through my spine. I like it, but I don't really want to admit that. I've interacted with him enough to know that no matter how different our backgrounds, he's still a surprisingly normal guy. An aesthetically-appealing normal guy, in many aspects of the word. All his actions and even speech patterns and humor are as normal as those of anyone else I know, and the more I look at him, the prettier he is. Even with his wing-like eyebrows and lavender skin and pointed ears, he's still attractive. They make him seem all the more unusual. And to think I'd hoped that getting a good night's sleep would've cleared my head of him. Yikes.
I realize I've just been staring at him for too long, and with that realization, I inhale sharply and accidentally choke on my own spit. I cough uncontrollably, and my eyes water with the irritation in my throat. God, I sabotage myself at least once an hour.
"I'll take that as a yes," he gives me a funny look, and he signals the bartender and orders two pints.
I recover and keep my eyes down at the bar, embarrassed and annoyed. Suddenly a heavy mug hits the surface right in front of me, and I grab it immediately in relief and lift it to my lips. The first drink I take, I nearly spit it out, but I muscle past the initial shock. This is some strong booze. I've never tasted anything like it. It burns my throat, but it's also smooth enough to swallow. I take another drink, and another. It's really good, and I'm really thirsty, and I'm never one to turn down a good drink when it's offered.
I keep drinking until I'm satisfied, and then I set the mug on the counter. I glance at Fyr, and then do a double-take. He's staring at me with his lips parted and his eyebrows arched sharply. I can tell he is amused.
"What?" I say reluctantly, looking back down at my mug. I realize I've chugged over half of it.
"I can't say I expected that," he gives me a grin with no warning, and my stomach does a flip-flop at not only his white, dazzling smile, but also at the terrifying size of his canines. He has fangs. Literal fangs.
And, I think, maybe his smile is nice, too. Why couldn't he have done that to me last night when I was injured and angry? Could've fixed everything. Could've done a lot more...
"Oh for fuck's sake," I mumble to myself, forcing myself to look away from him. I need to stop thinking like this. It hasn't been that long since I've been with a man. I shouldn't be reacting to this guy like I am. Out of all the people I might feel attraction for, an alien elf is not allowed to be one of them. This is reaching those weird kinky levels of sci-fi, like the movies my brother Isaac would watch with his friends when they were teenagers. I know he only watched them for the well-endowed, scantily-dressed ladies and poorly-costumed aliens, but my point is still valid.
I want to smash my brain with a hammer. Maybe inebriating myself isn't the best idea; I always talk twice as much when I'm drinking, and I don't want to creep Fyr out. That would make for one awkward remainder of our trip, and I know I'm not thinking straight right now anyway. I'm out of my element, and nearly everything I'm experiencing here is new, and it's messing with my judgment. Obviously.
"We should check that arm of yours while we are here," Fyr says as he lifts his own drink to his mouth. My eyes travel to his stubble-covered, muscular neck as he lifts his chin, and I watch his low adam's apple bob up and down when he swallows. Even that is somehow attractive. I squirm in my seat and force my eyes away from him. The first other person I look at is our bartender, and I get a knowing look from the guy. He has seen straight through the looks I've been giving this elf, and he's judging the shit out of me.
Yikes. Bartender caught me. I need to calm down. I'm going crazy here.
My cheeks heat up at the look the bartender gave me, and to save myself some embarrassment I chug my own drink until it's gone. That'll give me an excuse to look flushed. As soon as I set down the mug, it's refilled. I hope refills are free. I know they aren't.
"Yeah, sure," I answer Fyr's suggestion. "It doesn't hurt right now." I try to unwrap the sling from my shoulder, but he scoots closer.
"I'll get it," he orders, and bats my hand aside with two fingers, and then he unloops the sling from around my head and sets the arm free. My arm is basically useless, and it just kind of sits there.
"Remove your jacket."
"Yes, sir," I giggle dumbly and take it off. I don't realize, right then, that this is the first time I've actually laughed here. Fyr seems to like it, because a one-sided smirk forces its way onto his lips despite him seeming to resist it.
My shirt is long-sleeved, so that does no good, because my skin's covered. But Fyr takes both of my arms gently and holds them out to compare. My broken one is swollen near the elbow, stretching the sleeve out.
"Fuck," I hear him swear in a whisper. I think it's the first swear I've heard come from him, if I remember right. Maybe not. I don't know. That's not what I should focus on, but it is hot.
"Bad?" I ask him.
"Bad," he nods. "I think we'll have to find a healer." A few seconds pass, and he frowns. "Fuck," he says again under his breath. I feel a shiver when he says it. "Who knows what that's going to cost..."
"Well, sorry for inconveniencing you with my literal broken body," I roll my eyes. "Just leave me here, and I'll drink myself into oblivion. You can take your flying taxi to the other side of the world for all I care." I grab my mug and chug it again. I know I'm getting drunk, drinking this much this fast.
The look he gives me is sarcastic. "And here I'd hoped you'd be in higher spirits when intoxicated."
"You get what you see, Fyr," I hold my arms out, and I see him cringe at the way I use my broken one. I can't feel any pain, I don't care. "Take me or leave me."
He says nothing.
"Preferably take me first, passionately, and then leave me," I say under my breath, and I laugh at my own joke. Then I finish off the remainder of my second pint. It's only been about fifteen minutes since we got here. I'm on a roll.
Fyr finally breaks his serious stare with what can barely even be called a flicker of a smile, but I see it. I feel triumphant. But he keeps looking at me with a piercing expression, and I can't tell if he's studying or judging. If it's the latter, I feel the need to defend myself.
So I do, against my own better (sober) judgment.
"You can't judge me for that," I laugh, pointing at him even though he's right next to me. My words aren't slurred; I'm not that far gone, just tipsy. And buzzed. And maybe sort of drunk. But I'm not trashed, not even close. "You know you're hot, with your attitude and your face and your stupid shoulders and your hair and your little 'winks'. I don't care if you're a purple alien, you're attractive, in your own weird way. And I am entitled to think that. So, leave me alone."
I look at him again. His amused eyes are pinning me to my seat, and I swear to god the look on his face right now could make a nun strip. I shiver pleasantly, adjusting my posture in an attempt to resist the feelings that trickle through me under his gaze.
Then I groan to myself. "I need to slow down."
"Yes, you do," he grins that sideways grin again. "For your sake, not for mine. This is wildly entertaining to watch."
I grimace and tug at my sleeves. "It's hot in here."
"Correction: you're merely drunk and overheating, Princess."
"I'm not drunk," I grunt, while in the process trying to strip off my shirt.
Fyr reaches out and holds the hem of my shirt down at my waist with one hand, keeping me from pulling it off, and I become frustrated.
"Stop!" I complain, pulling my torso away from him.
"As much fun as this would be, I don't want us to attract the wrong kind of attention," Fyr laughs. "This isn't Goldshire."
"Oh, now you're being a fucking gentleman. But not when I broke your teapot, oh no, not then," I grumble, giving up on the shirt.
"Are you finished?" he asks. I don't like his attitude, and I furrow my eyebrows at him.
"Not quite. You know, it's not fair that I have to repay you for that glassware or whatever. It was just as much an accident that I broke your teapot that it was that you made me break my damn arm."
"The only thing I did wrong was mind my own business," Fyr argues, finishing his first pint only now. He doesn't even look buzzed.
"And the only thing I did wrong was get struck by a bolt of fucking lightning," I retort.
"Wow. You spew expletives nearly every time you open your mouth." He ignores the lightning part entirely. Probably just chalking it up to me being crazy.
"No I fucking don't," I say without thinking, and I bite my tongue.
Fyr gives me an 'I told you so' look. "I bet you don't make friends very well, do you?"
"Easier than you do. I have friends." I take a few sips of pint number three.
"Oh, yeah? And do you terrorize them with your motorbike?" His expression is smug.
To be honest, I want to hit that smug look off his handsome face. I do, really. But, as I stare back at him, I also sort of just want to touch his face in general. I want to know if his skin feels like human skin. For some reason, it looks like it'd be softer. This is getting increasingly frustrating and increasingly harder to contain, the drunker I get. I need to get home and be around humans, stat.
"Are you finished?" I cock my head, repeating his words from earlier. I have to consciously keep myself from drinking more right now. It is hitting me hard. I have never drank anything this fast or felt so suddenly drunk. I feel blissful and happy. I have absolutely no worries. It feels good, compared to how worried I've been for the past sixteen hours.
Fyr isn't able to hide his smile, and I know that he notices the way my eyes fixate on it.
"I'm finished," he shrugs. "Are you finished?"
"Christ. Don't smile like that; it's distracting," I grimace.
"Then, don't sit like that," he retorts.
"Huh?" I ask dumbly, sitting up straight.
"You're propped on that bar stool with your legs crossed and your-" he waves two fingers toward my messy black hair that's probably stringy and gross from the rainwater, "-hair like that, and it's also distracting." He nurses his mug, hiding everything but his teasing eyes and brows from me.
"Well, then, don't look at me," I reply, though in my mind, I'm dancing at the thought that he's attracted to me, too, despite how terrible I probably look right now. I can practically feel the bags under my eyes, and I have no makeup on.
"Ditto," he looks away.
I can't look away from him, though. I feel a surge of confidence, thanks to the ale, and speak up, "Can I touch your face?"
He turns to me and sends me a funny look. "Why?"
"I want to."
"And if I say no?"
"Then I won't."
"Ah," he laughs, "I think it's past time to call quits on the ale. It'd be best if you were near sober before we fly tonight, else I'll have to strap you in to keep you upright."
"I agree. I do. But I still want to touch your face."
He stares at me, and eventually he sighs. "Do what you will."
I grin and place my fingers onto the side of his face. It feels like...skin. Just regular, warm, smooth skin, with facial stubble tickling my hand. I run the backs of my knuckles along his defined jawline. He looks like he's trying to form an opinion on this entire situation, but I really don't care what he thinks right now. I'm just marveling at the fact that I'm running my hand along an alien's face, and he's letting me. And we're bonding with alcohol, in a bar, probably billions of miles away from my planet. I'm so drunk that the idea of this actually makes me feel excited.
I trace his lower lip with the tip of my pointer finger. His mouth is soft and velvety, and as I touch it, his lips part just a tiny amount. Because of my inebriation, I don't register how intimate this moment actually is, the way he's stilled and almost holding his breath as I trace his features. The corners of his full lips curve upward naturally rather than sagging downward in a frown. I know I'm only making this comparison because I've been drinking, but his features on the bottom half of his face remind me of Ryan Reynolds's features. That is, if Ryan Reynolds were an Avatar, or something.
But his eyes don't look like any eyes I've ever seen, and not just because they're glowing. They're unique, large, intense, thick-lashed and angled attractively. He really is beautiful, I swear. I'm not just saying this because I've had a weird day and am trying to find normalcy in everything I see.
I lean in closer to inspect him. I don't realize our faces are only inches apart, because I'm too focused on his features. I move toward his mouth, my hand gliding along his cheek. His pretty eyes are locked on mine, but I'm too absorbed.
Then I tug on his upper lip so that I can see his fangs again. They look incredibly sharp, not at all dulled from time.
"Wow," I gush, letting my hand fall and sitting back in my seat once I've gotten a good enough look. "How do you not cut your tongue with those canines?"
To prove a point, he runs his tongue over his sharp teeth. I stare at the action.
"Callused, probably," he says. "Perhaps I have a tough tongue."
I don't say anything, but I do tilt my head sideways and meet his eyes. A few slow, long seconds tick by.
"Can I ask you something I've been thinking about all day?" I request.
He nods.
"Why did I have a dream about something that happened to you as a child? Is that, like, a thing here? Some sort of supernatural side effect?"
"I do not know," is all he says, after a long pause. He's become completely serious again.
"Do you want to know what I dreamt?" I ask quietly.
A few seconds pass.
"I would like to know the extent of what you witnessed, but not right now. And not here."
I nod.
Silence falls for a few seconds, but he doesn't let it last much longer than that. He looks away, produces coins from his pocket and gives them to the bartender, and leaves his seat.
"Where are you going?" I ask, leaving my chair as well.
"Fresh air."
"Can I come?"
"Yep." He doesn't look back as he walks away.
I start to move, but I feel a hand tap my arm, and I look back and realize it's the bartender. He looks wary.
"Better watch yourself around that one," he says ultra-quietly about Fyr, speaking so softly I have to lean in and take a second to actually process what he said. It doesn't help that he looks about eighty, and his voice is crackly.
"Fyr? Why?" I try to be quiet, but I know I'm not. I look at Fyr, but he's just now walking out of the door.
"Seen him passin' through here for thirty years now, and never was he up to any real good. Always mercenary or bounty hunter work. He's smart, like elves are. Smart, secretive, and dangerous. He uses people 'til they're all used up, and he don't care about none but himself, ye' understand? Keep yer boundaries tight around that one."
"He's escorting me home so I can pay him for breaking my arm, so that all makes sense," I wave my hand dismissively, thinking only on the surface. My inebriation makes it hard for me to concentrate deeply at all. "I can handle myself. But, thank you for your concern." I start to walk away.
"Watch yerself around him," the man calls out to me. "Them elves like him are dangerous."
"Uh, alright!" I shout without looking back, wrinkling my nose at the thought. Racist old bartender doesn't like elves, apparently.
That was weird.
I follow after Fyr. As soon as I start walking, my head spins, and I have to make a conscious effort to put one foot in front of the other because I'm drunker than I thought I was. I make it out of the building and see that Fyr, on the other hand, is just fine, walking with his hands shoved in his pockets. He takes long strides down the road, probably about thirty yards ahead of me. I attempt to jog but immediately stop due to dizziness, and I resort to fast-walking to catch up with him.
I meet him just when we reach a small bridge that crosses a creek. Down beside the water, I see four children fishing with crude poles and chattering among each other. Fyr leans on the wooden rail that overlooks the water, observing the young fishermen. A little girl with blonde curls shouts something as she's nearly yanked into the water by her pole, and her friends help her reel in a large trout. They all begin shouting excitedly, and I hear Fyr exhale through his nose in an amused laugh.
I look at him. "How old are you?" He looks anywhere between twenty-five and thirty, but the bartender said he'd seen Fyr for, like, thirty years, and I'm guessing Fyr wasn't born here.
"Four hundred and sixteen," he hums, leaning further over the edge to peer into the clear, trickling water. Some of his loose hair falls down beside his face when he does it, and sunlight that peeks through the trees reflects off the water beneath and highlights those strands, making them glow purple. The wind is picking up around us, which plays with his hair.
"Ha, ha," I say sarcastically. "I'm serious."
"As am I."
"You're not four hundred years old. You look thirty."
He looks at me sideways. "You know I'm an elf, right?" he asks slowly, patronizing as ever.
I squint my eyes at him. "And therefore you're immortal?" I mock as I lean my good arm on the bridge.
I mean my question to be sarcastic, but he shrugs.
"Not quite. For your kind, though, yes."
I'm taken aback. Immortal elves? That sounds like it was picked straight out of Tolkien's works.
"Woah," I exhale swiftly. Just then, overhead, I hear a subtle, quiet rumble. It's thunder. I look up and see that the sky, although still bright, has become overcast, and there's a dark shadow slowly closing in. Great! More lightning.
Fyr scratches his head, standing up straight. "We're going to want to beat that. Let's check the taxi status."
He starts off with no question as to whether or not I am following him, so I stumble after him. I'm still focusing really hard on walking in a straight line.
I stay a good three or four yards behind Fyr on the road, and I see his arm bump that of a human woman who's walking the opposite way. I see something fall from a fancy, colorful bag looped over her shoulder and hit the dirt road. Fyr barely notices her and doesn't acknowledge her, and she is the same. They both keep walking like nothing happened.
But I'm curious about what she dropped, so I investigate. I crouch down and pick it up, and it shines pure gold. It's a coin, printed with the seal of a lion and a bunch of lettering. It's got to be worth a lot, if it's actual gold.
My selfish and sober side would have pocketed it in a heartbeat and added it to what I owe Fyr. But my drunk, affectionate self gawks, stands up, and shouts out to the woman who dropped her coin. I see Fyr turn my way at the sudden sound of my voice, and at the other side of the road I see the woman turn and look at me disapprovingly.
I hold the coin up so she can see it, and I approach her. "You dropped this."
She gives me an entire body-check, eyes going from head-to-toe, then back up. She gives me a funny look, a pathetic upside-down smile, and wrinkles her nose. "Keep it. Get some real clothes and a bath. You need it more than I do."
With that she turns around and keeps walking.
I'm stunned. I stare at the back of her head for a good five seconds as she walks away, as I feel anger boil up. Without thinking, I reel my hand to throw the coin at her, fuming. The rumbling in the sky overhead well describes what's going on in my head.
But, as soon as I pull back, the coin is plucked from my fingers.
"One down," I hear Fyr's smug voice, "Seventeen to go. And did I hear mention of a bath? That sounds wonderful. Maybe I'll put that on my to-do list."
I ball my hands into fists, still glaring at the woman. "Oh yeah? You'd better keep walking, you... You..." I flounder for a comeback. She's probably too far away to hear anything I'm saying by now, anyways, so I just trail off and hope no one heard me.
"Ouch, that must've gotten her good," Fyr's voice is still right there behind me, and I whip around toward him, still mad at what's-her-face.
"You know what? If she had any idea the bullshit I've been through in the last day, maybe she wouldn't be such a raging, judgmental cunt-"
"-Shhhh," Fyr basically clamps his gigantic hand over my mouth, and I see the look on his face. He seems about half a second from busting into laughter. "She owns over half of this town," he explains. "I suggest you swallow that ire. And get a grip on your magic, woman."
"For the last time, I don't have any magic," I grumble.
"Yes, you do. You're practically dripping with it."
I scoff and ignore him.
He turns me in the right direction by coaxing my shoulders, and then we start walking, now side-by-side. I can't quite tell if it's the incoming heat storm or my own anger, but the air around us feels crackly and full of energy. Volatile, almost. I want to punch miss high-and-mighty in the gut, but I can't do anything about it right now anyways. And we're headed to get a flying taxi, so that's exciting. I'll focus on that.
We round a corner in the street. We've gone a different way through town than the way we came, and I don't realize we're at the stables again until they're right there next to me. Fyr walks up to the owner again, and I hang back.
The energy in the air right now is palpable, and I'm becoming more and more antsy to get indoors. When I move my arms, I can practically feel static electricity crackling in my clothes. Something weird is happening.
My concern is interrupted by a sudden shadow above us all and a 'whoosh' of air like that of a descending helicopter. Without thinking and without looking upward, I run forward and grab Fyr by the leather on his upper arm, unashamed to admit that I'm using him as a shield against whatever just appeared out of nowhere in the sky. Fyr startles when I grab him, and he shouts something down at me, but I don't hear him.
I don't hear him, because I look up and panic when I see one of the freakiest animals I've ever seen in my life.
It's massive. It's got a tail and legs like a lion, but it's also an eagle in the face, with a pair of ginormous wings that beat so strongly as it descends that I think I'll be flattened just by the air. It blocks out the sky, and I see it peer down at Fyr and me like we're its next meal.
That's it. I have handled everything I've seen in this place, up until now, until giant animals show up wanting to eat me. I release a yelp of shock and grip Fyr's armor tightly, ducking down against him.
I feel the electricity in the air become agitated, and I hear it start to crackle. I feel my own body energized more than it's ever been before, and my adrenaline surges into my blood. I'll either be eaten by this monster, or I'll get struck by lightning again. I'm so paranoid about the lightning at this point, it's almost scarier than the eagle lion.
I just want to get out of here. I want to save myself. I don't want Fyr to get eaten either, so I guess I want him to not die, too.
The electricity around me crackles uncontrollably, and it shocks my arms.
"What are you doing?!" Fyr shouts at me as I clutch him in terror.
I'm about to scream out a violent warning of the animal above him, but then the monster lets out an earsplitting screech, and I snap. I scream too, scrunching my eyes shut and clinging to Fyr, feeling the electricity around me practically explode. I feel a nauseating yank in the depths of my stomach, a whoosh of air, and I hear a crack like thunder.
And then, nothing.
Complete, still silence. Darkness. There's no wind, no beating wings, no storm. The only thing I can sense is an intense coldness in my feet and legs, up to my waist, and my hand is still gripping Fyr's armor.
"What the hell did you just do, Ava?" Fyr explodes after a moment of stunned silence, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I can't see a thing. I can't see his face, and I can't really move. But we're both alive.
I think we're alive, that is.
"I didn't do anything! I don't know!" I say shakily.
"Where did you port us?" he demands.
I still haven't let go of him. I feel him wiggling around, trying to break free of whatever it is we're stuck in. Then I put my hands down in it, and yank them away. It's freezing. It didn't feel as cold through my clothes, but it's freezing. And...snowy, I realize, as I feel it again.
It's snow. We're in a snow bank.
"I didn't do anything!" I retort. "I think we almost got struck by lightning. I don't know where we are." Part of me is dreadfully hoping that somehow I'm back home, on Earth.
"Lightning? That wasn't lightning! You teleported us both into the middle of-..." A pause, as he looks around. "Of..."
My eyes are beginning to adjust to the darkness, and I am thankful that there's star and moonlight. The only thing I see for sure is Fyr's eyes, which actually shine pretty well in the dark.
I see him tromp his way out of the drift, and I struggle to do the same, but my legs are nowhere near as long as his, and I fail. He notices, and he grabs me by the waist and easily lifts me out of the drift. I slip as he sets me down and trip on the ground, and then stand up quickly, wishing I were even remotely more graceful than a seal.
In the faint moonlight, I see Fyr put both of his hands to his head in concern as he turns and looks every which way. I look around too, and off in the distance, I see a faint, yellow glow.
"Wait, what's that?" I point toward it. Fyr looks where I'm pointing, and he sighs in relief.
"A road."
I work hard to keep up with him, stepping in his deep tracks to make things easier on myself. We pass through sparse evergreens before reaching the lantern by the road, where we stop. The road under my feet feels hard. It's covered in snow as well, but the snow is nowhere as deep as it was beside it.
"You wouldn't happen to have a GPS, would you?" I attempt a joke, but it falls flat when Fyr gives me a weird look.
"A what?"
"Nevermind."
He looks far down the road one way, and then down the other. "I think I know where we are."
My hopes for being home are dashed, but my hopes for not dying in the wilderness are soaring.
Fyr points at a fifty degree angle upward, and I follow the direction with my eyes. I see a very faint reddish flicker up on what I think is a mountainside.
"We're just outside Ironforge," Fyr says with disbelief in his voice. "Whatever you did, you may have cut our trip time in half."
He sets off at a quick pace, and I scramble on after him, still trying to shake the alcohol from my head and trying to understand what just happened.
Author's Note:
Thanks everyone for your support in reading and reviewing!