Everything felt…wrong, hollow somehow. Gylledra was in bed, daylight shone through the window and there were the murmuring voices of Nasorya, Varok, and one she thought might be Pava, coming from the main room. Weakness weighed heavily on every part of her and there were only bits and pieces of memory from the storm. Though, mixed in were the memories leading up to it. She pushed herself up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and sat for a moment, gathering the gumption to go further.

The weakness was disconcerting, but finally, Gylledra got to her feet. She was wearing only a linen shirt that hung mid-thigh as she slowly moved toward the doorway, which she gripped, taking another moment to breathe. It was then she realized her pendant was missing, and she gasped, almost falling. Looking toward the bed in a panic, she saw it on the bedside table, the stone was dark and she could only stare. It had been the only thing allowing her to be away from the Nightwell, it had fed the dependence she'd developed on its power, the dependence all Nightborne had developed. Without a potent source of arcane, she would begin to wither.

Pushing herself, Gylledra moved into the main room of the cabin. Nasorya and Pava appeared to be intently bickering over a map and Varok was unimpressed. Seeing movement out the corner of his eye, he did a doubletake.

"Gylledra…" He moved quickly as she stepped into the room, her knees nearly buckling. He caught her, and she leaned against him, shirt riding up somewhat. Pava and Nasorya whirled around, eyes wide.

"What happened?" Gylledra demanded, holding up the inert necklace.

"You're not wearing pants." Nasorya declared.

"So? Everyone here's seen me naked." Gylledra rolled her eyes.

"Um, I have not, and do not wish to." Pava shook her head then frowned. "Wait, what?"

"Then I apologize in advance, pants seem beyond my current capabilities." She replied. "What happened to my pendant? Why is it dark?!"

"I think it was drained…" Nasorya fidgeted, looking anxious. Varok helped Gylledra into a chair and she stiffened a little.

"What's the matter?" He frowned.

"The chair is cold, and, as Nasorya helpfully pointed out, I'm not wearing pants." She arched a brow at him and he turned away before anyone could catch the brief smirk.

"You summoned Etzanel." Nasorya told her at last.

"I did what?"

"He wasn't pleased about it, you were invoking, he did whatever you commanded but…I imagine whatever he did in retaliation…"

"Damn it." Gylledra sighed and rubbed her face, already feeling exhausted.

"What does that mean, though?" Varok asked. She shook her head and looked up at him.

"That I will likely die." There was no jest in her voice and he stared for a moment.

"Is there nothing that can be done?"

"Not on a ship in the middle of the sea where there is no source of arcane." She couldn't fathom why she'd have thought it a good idea to summon Etzanel. He was a vicious Void Revenant who loathed her with an incredible intensity. Drinking had obviously been a terrible idea, one which seemed likely to cost Gylledra her life.

"Do you remember nothing of what happened that night?" Varok asked. Meeting his eyes again, she wondered if he meant the storm or what came before it.

"I remember everything but the storm, of which there are only fragments and flashes." She told him. He nodded. Yes, what happened between them was still vivid in her memory. She added more quietly: "At least it was a good night until the storm. I wouldn't change that."

"If the outcome is your death, then I would change it." He growled.

"Were I even well-versed in chronomancy I still wouldn't be able to go back considering that I cannot even feel the arcane, let alone wield it, presently." She grumbled in return. "That bastard will no doubt get what he wants." Her face twisted in a grimace of pain and anger as she tried to come to terms with what was happening.

"Are you so eager for death?" The old orc grew angry and she gave him a level look.

"I am much older than most things on this world, Varok. I find it difficult to believe that you have never been ready to embrace death." She did feel somewhat bitter that only the beginning of what might have been an adventure as well as a war would be all she would experience. "If I cannot find a restorative source of power, then I gave my life ensuring all of yours, there is no dishonor in that." He made a frustrated noise and stormed off, slamming the door behind him. Gylledra wilted upon his departure, she had not wanted him to see just how weak she was.

"You cannot be serious that you might die." Nasorya said at once, the anxiousness ringing clear in her voice.

"I cannot say for certain what will happen, if it will take my life or reduce me to arcane-starved madness."

"Whether you live or die, you have earned a place of honor with the orcs." Pava said quietly, her fist over her heart. "I am glad I was wrong about you. We would be dead otherwise."

"Hopefully it isn't all for naught when the Legion comes." Gylledra was angry with herself for having chosen to solve the maelstrom problem so foolishly. She had likely sealed her own fate and it figured, she thought, as soon as she had met someone she might feel fondly toward, she was to die not knowing what it meant to truly experience that. "How long have I been unconscious?"

"Two days." Nasorya replied, her voice quiet. She seemed altogether diminished and Pava, seeing what was happening, quietly slipped out, leaving them alone. "What am I supposed to do without you? What am I supposed to do right now? Watch you waste away?" Gylledra looked down at herself and saw indeed she looked thinner.

"There seems little else to do. I cannot manipulate the arcane or the void, everything feels empty. The absence of my abilities physically pains me. And I have no one to blame but myself…"

"Perhaps Saurfang. What happened that night? Did he ply you with drink? Refilling your cup again and again?" Nasorya snapped. "And then what? Take advantage of you when you were inebriated?!"

"That is not what happened, Nasorya." In her current state, Gylledra still had enough strength to aggressively roll her eyes at her friend. "I refilled my own cup, and though the offer was there, Varok would not slake his lust with someone who was drunk."

"Really?" The revelation seemed to shock Nasorya. "I wasn't sure he was even capable of lust, to be honest…"

"Not as you know it." Gylledra scoffed. "It doesn't matter."

"Well, whether it was his fault or not, that stubborn orc certainly blames himself, he thinks your blood is on his hands…"

"It isn't." It was time for a change of topic, she thought. "I saw you looking at a map, how far out do they think we are from the shore of Kalimdor?"

"We have no real way of telling. About half the ships are missing, not all of them came as close to the Maelstrom as we all did. No one knows who is yet alive, food and water is diminishing…hopefully we get somewhere soon…" Though Nasorya was trying not to look hopeless, her efforts were failing.

"Then I saved them all to die of starvation instead."

It was dark, and though Gylledra had been sleeping, Varok's familiar scent brought her to consciousness again. She kept her eyes closed though, listening to the silence, the quiet sound of his breathing. The pitching of the ship was stronger than before and she suspected they were coming to another storm, if it was like before, she could not save them again.

"I can hear you wallowing in self-blame from here, Varok." She said at last, looking over at him. He was sitting in a chair beside the bed and said nothing, watching her. "Why are you here?" She asked quietly. "You're a venerated orc warrior, a leader…hardened by wars some of these orcs have only ever heard stories about." Varok looked down for a moment. "I am no one, a stranger you found in the woods a few weeks ago. I cannot see why you should hold any concern for me."

"You risked your life for my people." He replied.

"That does not obligate you to sit here and watch me die as you needlessly place the responsibility for that upon your own shoulders. You can be much more useful elsewhere. They need you, especially if Thrall doesn't make it to Kalimdor." Gylledra told him, but she let out a long breath, shaking her head. "I would not have you see me this way. I would rather have pitched overboard and drown in the sea than to be seen like this."

"Are you sure there isn't the spirit of an orc in there?" He asked, almost smiling.

"Oh, I'm all elf." She smirked then. "Just stubborn and too proud, is all."

"I hope that perhaps you are too stubborn to die, that we do find Thrall and there is something he can do, he is a shaman." His amber eyes met hers again. "I think we owe it to you to try."

"I don't want to be owed anything." She huffed and looked away from him.

"I don't want you to die." Varok snarled in reply and she turned toward him, surprised. He got to his feet, pacing the small cabin.

"I always envisioned dying in battle." Gylledra murmured. "But I also never saw myself traveling across the sea with orcs, so I suppose anything is possible."

"I don't believe you will die."

"Wishing will not make it so." She scoffed and he turned toward her. "I was foolish and I'm paying for that. You would be better off forgetting all about me."

"You will not be forgotten." His voice rumbled. She watched his face, trying to commit everything about him to memory. When it got bad, as she knew it would, she wanted a memory to focus on, and she was choosing the memory of him. "You will fight alongside us."

"I don't want to die." She breathed and Varok said nothing as he sat on the edge of the bed, and took her hand.

"I will do whatever I must to keep you alive." He whispered finally.

.

Gylledra's name was whispered and spoken often amongst the orcs on the ship. Where there had once been suspicion and even outright dislike for the strange elf, there was now respect and honor. She had saved their lives likely at the cost of her own. None of them, not even Saurfang had expected she would put all of them before herself, but that was what she'd done.

Her sacrifice meant something to him, and it was with some discomfort that he realized their close quarters on the ship no longer accounted for the fondness he felt, though he'd continue to deny it of course, to himself and anyone who might be stupid enough to bring it up. He was an orc and she was an elf. It had been unwise to react to her deliberate provocation that night, but he'd been far drunker than he'd let on. That reminder was even more unpleasant, after all, the brew had been his idea, without it, Gylledra's life would not be in danger.

Some had taken notice of the fact that Saurfang didn't hate being in Gylledra's company. He knew there were whispers and was careful not to mention her, lest they come to conclusions that were likely correct. However different she was from him, beneath the surface, beyond their different worlds and different people…they were the same, he thought. When they talked of war and tragedy, what each spoke mirrored what was in the heart and mind of the other.

Saurfang had never been deeply spiritual by any means, though he always revered the shamans amongst the orcs. He had first laid eyes on Gylledra as she bathed in the mountain creek, the water rippling gently around her as though it accepted her. And now, they traversed the sea together, it had allowed her to save the ships. He knew water to be a powerful force, though once upon a time he would have fancied himself to be like fire, and perhaps he once was, but he was older now and had learned much since his intemperate youth.

Water had brought them together for reasons unknown to him and though she would undoubtedly be a thorn in his side and a pain in his ass…she too brought to him a sense of calm and belonging. He knew his crimes, the things he believed he deserved to suffer for, and she too was haunted by mistakes she had made, and it brought between them an unexpected solidarity.

Silently, as he stood on deck, the ship lurching and pitching in the increasingly violent sea, he begged the Spirit of Water to let her live, to let him get her well again, because he was sure there was something important that they were both meant to be part of.

The second storm had thrown many of the ships against the rocks of the unforgiving shore of Kalimdor. They shattered and the orcs swam for their lives. Saurfang's ship ran aground and began quickly to break apart. In darkness, the water roared with the thunder and the wind as they fought to get to safety. Gylledra had clung weakly to a piece of wood until he managed to tie her to it in a fashion, keeping her head above water while Nasorya dragged the apparatus toward shore.

There was debris all up and down the beach and Saurfang sat in wet sand as dawn broke, the storm dissipating as the sun rose over the horizon. Behind him, he had caught a glimpse of a rough, craggy land that would not make their travels any easier. He didn't know what had happened to all the other ships, there were parts of perhaps two others besides theirs that he could see any fragments of. Undoubtedly, they were spread along the endless miles of coastline.

Arguing and commotion behind him pulled Saurfang's attention from the sunrise. His body was tired from the difficult swim, but he turned and saw Gylledra unsteadily get to her feet and shove Nasorya back as she declared her independence. They were both sopping wet and bedraggled, covered in sand and seaweed. She was still weak, but a furious flame burned in her eyes. He hoped that determination gave her enough strength to carry on until they could find someone or something that would make her well again.

There was no doubt, of course, that if she caught him behaving at all protectively of her, he could expect to be verbally eviscerated, just as Nasorya presently was. At her full strength, the last person who required protecting was Gylledra which Saurfang guessed had been the case for the thousands of years of her life. In her current state she was understandably angry and frustrated. Finally, though, she chose to sit down and simply rest as everyone else was doing.

It took days before the orcs regrouped and were joined by Thrall, who also had with him a large number of trolls. Many orcs were reunited with those they weren't certain they would see again, some learned of the deaths of others. Thrall, Eitrigg, and Broxigar, Saurfang's older brother finally met up with him. They surveyed the damage, counted who was still alive and took stock of what few supplies they had.

"I keep hearing versions of the same tale, Saurfang, what happened at the Maelstrom?" Thrall asked. "The ships were on the edge, set to nearly be cast into it and something…moved your ships? Many are speculating the elf was involved, others are singing her praises, it is all very…unclear."

"Yes…the storm nearly blew us into that gaping maw in the sea…it was Gylledra that saved all the ships she could see from being destroyed. She summoned a being…but it hurt her very badly…" Saurfang explained, somewhat vaguely. He left out some details, such as how she did it whilst still incredibly drunk.

"Does she live?" Thrall glanced around, as though expecting her to appear at their side.

"She lives, but the creature, it drained her somehow, and the pendant that was keeping her alive. She is very weak and likely to die if we cannot give or find aid. I promised her I would do what I could to keep her alive…" Saurfang explained.

"Has your heart softened for an elf, brother?" Broxigar laughed, but Saurfang was not amused.

"She singlehandedly saved the lives of half the orcs here at least, we owe her our lives." He growled in reply.

"I will see what I can do, but we must move inland soon." Thrall moved past them, heading toward where Gylledra and Nasorya were sitting.

.

The beach full of orcs and trolls was chaotic, and somehow all the commotion seemed to feel as though it was draining Gylledra's strength even more. She felt weaker even than she had when they first dragged themselves onto the storm-ravaged shore and it was getting worse.

"Here comes Saurfang and Thrall." Nasorya warned. Gylledra pushed herself into a sitting position and looked up, freezing immediately as her eyes fell on one of the other two orcs walking that way.

"By all that anyone has ever held holy or dear…Nas…that orc is the one I knew in Suramar!" She hissed in Shalassian, knowing no one nearby would catch what she had said.

"WHAT?"

"Shh! That is him, that is Broxigar…the first orc I ever met…but that was ten thousand years ago!" Gylledra went on.

"Well shut up, I imagine you're going to have to pretend as though that never happened, all things considered, since I'm guessing he has not yet gone to Suramar." Nasorya replied.

"Gylledra." Thrall approached as the others followed him a few steps back. "I heard what happened at the Maelstrom, and you must know how appreciative everyone is for what you have done."

"I could not stand idly by…"

"She was tanked when she did it, too." Nasorya interjected. Gylledra saw Varok almost wince but the comment went ignored.

"And now you are unwell?"

"Yes, there is not much time until I become nightfallen, and then withered. The latter is irreversible." She admitted. "Is…is there anything you can do even temporarily?" He crouched down in front of her, reaching out and putting his hands on her shoulders. She could feel the power of the elements stir in him and it made her long to feel the comfort of her own magic once again.

"Your wounds are not physical." Thrall told her quietly. "And they are severe…I can bolster you somewhat, perhaps give you a few days of strength, but it will not heal the wounds…or the hunger."

"I accept whatever help you can give." She told him. At that, he took her face between his large hands, his eyes still closed, and she could feel the strength of the elements pour into her. After a moment, he released her and stood up.

"How do you feel?" He asked. Gylledra rose, feeling firm on her feet for the first time since before she was drinking that fateful night.

"Well enough, thank you. I can at least stand and walk I think." She smiled and looked over at Varok who still appeared concerned.

"How long will it last?" He asked.

"A few days, perhaps." She told him.

"I think the elf's heart is soft for you as well, brother." Broxigar nudged Varok with his elbow and Gylledra did her best not to react. Brother? Nasorya let out a shocked, Shalassian expletive at the revelation.

"Gylledra this is my older brother, Broxigar." Varok told her.

"Good to meet you, Broxigar." She replied. The orc regarded her for a long moment, looking from her to his brother and back again. He gave a grunt and nudged Varok again.

"Alright then." He nodded. "I see it." With that, he turned and walked away.

"So, you're the brains in the family, then?" Gylledra said very quietly so only Varok could hear. He gave a snort of laughter, which drew the surprised attention of Thrall and Eitrigg. He wasn't one to spend too much time laughing, at least she hadn't seen him behaving in a particularly jovial manner amongst his own in her presence, but with her, he had seemed pleasant enough when it was just the two of them.

No sooner had the orcs and trolls moved inland when battle erupted. Gylledra was near the back, having been deemed unfit to fight. Though it enraged her, she was in no position to argue with Varok and the sea of orcs that had decided to "keep her safe". They'd determined she had risked sacrificing herself for them, they were going to keep her alive.

Finally seeing what the orcs were fighting, Gylledra stared in horror at the hideous half horse half…humanoid creatures. She had seen Cenarius once when the Legion invaded the first time, she knew of the dryads, who were his daughters…but these things looked like twisted malformations of those revered beings.

"What are those?" She breathed.

"Ugly." Nasorya replied, disgust on her face as well. They tried to make their way forward to see what was happening but were both suddenly plucked from the foray and tucked beneath the arms of the orc called Eitrigg.

"What are you doing?!" Gylledra shrieked, struggling futilely against his immovable grip.

"Following orders." He grumbled, seeming as pleased about it as she was. Nasorya began laughing then, saying something unintelligible through the giggling.

"Stop laughing! Get me out of this!" Gylledra demanded.

"Absolutely not!" Nasorya cackled, still finding the predicament hilarious. "I will never forget this, oh…oh your face, Gyll!"

"I hope both of you realize that I will never forget this either!" She hissed in reply. Fury thrummed through her like war drums as she envisioned pulling off the orc's arm and beating him about the head with it.

Eitrigg dropped them none too gently once far from the fighting, his scowl daring Gylledra to defy him. She got to her feet intending to do just that when he planted his feet, pointing at her, his index finger nearly in her face.

"No!" He snarled. She blinked at him, taken aback, and he went on. "Saurfang made a promise, did he not?" She spluttered, words failing her. "He did, because he told me." The old warrior spat. "He promised to keep you alive, that is no small thing, elf, a thing I think you do not understand. You would make it that much more difficult for him to uphold his word?" She hadn't thought of that; naturally, she'd been thinking of her own curiosity, behaving as though she was not at as great a risk as she very much was. "Would you wish for him to believe your blood is on his hands because you did something stupid?" Her jaw dropped open as her face burned hot. She stood, stunned and chastised. Finally, he turned and left them there at the back. Nasorya giggled behind her hand, shoulders shaking with it.

"Stop it." Gylledra snapped, folding her arms.

"He scolded you!" She grinned manically.

"Shut up, Nasorya."

"When is the last time you were scolded? How many thousands of years has it been?" Nasorya calmed some, but still chuckled and pulled a brooding, frustrated Gylledra to a large stone to sit. In truth, she was feeling tired but was not about to admit it.

Finally, the battle seemed to have ended, the shouting and clash of weapons having died down. Gylledra wasn't stopped as she made her way forward, Nasorya on her heels. She stopped though, seeing Thrall speaking with a towering individual and several others just like him.

"Is that an upright cow?" Nasorya asked.

"They are Tauren…" Gylledra murmured.

"How were they fighting? Are their hands hooves too?"

"No…Nasorya…" She sighed, shaking her head. Varok appeared, making his way through some shuffling orcs, a gash across his right eye oozing dark, almost black blood. Otherwise he seemed fine, the rest of the blood on him wasn't his.

"I see you survived." He commented.

"Likewise." She gestured to his wound. "Eitrigg did haul us off once, of course, which was not at all humiliating or infuriating." She narrowed her eyes at him, but he shrugged, unbothered by her ire.

"You're welcome." He looked ahead to where Thrall was speaking with the Tauren.

"What the hell were those things you were fighting?" She was more curious than angry, fortunately.

"The Tauren called them centaurs, they have been attacking and causing problems for them for…as long as they can remember." He explained.

"Centaurs?" She repeated, grimacing. Could those vile creatures actually have something to do with Cenarius? Varok was about to reply but there was shouting, and Thrall ordered the orcs to move out, to protect the Tauren and prepare for more fighting. "You'd better go." She told Varok. "I'll…keep out of the way."

"You will?" He arched his bloodied brow at her, not expecting acquiescence.

"Yes, I will. Go, warrior, do what you do." Gylledra gave a small smile, and waved toward the front. Varok looked at her for a long moment before he turned and headed away. She watched him, hoping that it wouldn't be the last time she saw him alive.

It had been no wandering pace they marched at to follow the tauren to their camp. Small groups of centaurs attacked before finally their army waging a full battle upon reaching it. The centaurs were defeated for the time being, and night had fallen. The orcs were resting around their fires, tending to wounds, eating, and of course, rehashing the battle.

Varok was at a fire with Broxigar, Eitrigg, and a number of other Blackrock orcs and Gylledra kept her distance, trying to conserve her strength as she sat beside a smaller fire with Nasorya and Pava, who were, just as all the others, discussing the battle. Silently, Gylledra wove long strands of grass together with no real purpose in mind other than occupying her fidgety hands. She still felt somewhat ashamed from the incident with Eitrigg, he'd been right, she was being stupid and selfish, pushing the limits of the shaky patching-up Thrall had done to at least allow her the strength to walk around.

She looked over to where Varok sat, intent on his conversations. He commanded the attention of everyone around him by simply being present. She'd caught glimpses of him fighting and it was unlike anything she had seen before. The power with which he struck at his enemies was astonishing and while obviously she had resigned herself to the fact that she was drawn to him and enjoyed looking at him and talking with him…she admired him that much more having seen him in action.

Varok's gaze shifted, his eyes catching hers before she could turn away. He seemed to hold her there somehow, and she wished he was seated beside her instead of so far away. Her initial reaction to him had been to resist and deny that her admiration was growing. It was difficult to admit that in speaking with him, and even being in close quarters in silence, brought her a sense of comfort and warmth she was unfamiliar with.

Gylledra's head swam then, it was as though she was a vessel, and someone had poured out everything inside her, her strength, her will to go on…everything left her, and she blinked slowly, almost finding the effort to draw breath too much. Varok's brow furrowed, watching it happen, whatever it was. Shadows appeared around her field of vision and she watched him rise to his feet, then she saw nothing at all.