Hello to my favorite readers!

ALL of you that review are amazing. I smile at every review (even the negative ones. Usually :p) And I'm ecstatic when I'm favorited and read. So thanks to everyone for keeping me so motivated to finish this HUGE piece of work!

And clearly, EVERYONE that reads Rogue's Diary is Team Zen. I'm glad you all have fallen in love with Zen as much as Grace (and I!) have.

SO, without further ado :)

Book Eleven, Part One

Blood

The fight was closer than anyone (save maybe Fordring and the Lich King) could have thought. A full day had passed, and I had one final encounter with Gregor's teaching.

This time, Gregor walked into the tent with a pair of scissors and gauze. Scrunching up my face, I watched as the priest approached, his grin never fading. "Time to get those buggers out of your forehead," he enthused. My first thought was of the 'bugger' that really bothered me—the Lich King. But then my hand went to my forehead, and I remembered the stitches that sat there that I never had an interest in acknowledging.

"Oh. Now?"

"We could wait," Gregor explained, setting the items off to the side. "But if you ask me, it'd be better now. You wouldn't want to fight a battle with a forehead already sewn together."

"The battle is coming," I muttered. Gregor said nothing, but took a look at my forehead.

I didn't like seeing those scissors so close to my face as he snipped at the thread. And when Gregor pulled the stitches out of their embedding in my skin, I felt every tug. There wasn't pain, but the feeling was uncomfortable and made me shift in my position. After splashing a bit of ointment onto it, Gregor finished.

"It's healed enough," he acknowledged. "I would have given it another day or so, but given our predicament…"

I nodded as Gregor finally sat down in his usual place in front of me, eyes looking me over. Finally, he nodded. "I think you're ready."

"For?" I asked, one eyebrow raised in curiosity.

"You made a lot of progress on our last meeting. This is the time you will succeed in our exercise."

I shrugged. "I hope so. Time is dwindling."

"What you did last time was perfect. You're going to do it again now. You're going to prevent my mind control."

I didn't want to seem surprised, but my will couldn't stop my doubt from rising to the surface. "You think so?"

Gregor nodded. "Ready?"

Exhaling, I swung my boot-clad legs over my cot and let them dangle there. Without being asked, I shut my eyes and let my mind wander off like it had previously. It was so easy to go blank, to converge back into myself and think of nothing else; because the nothingness meant no hatred, no love; no anger or sorrow or guilt. No happiness, but no sadness, either…

Being withdrawn into myself made it easier to detect intruders. I could feel Gregor's entry into the depths of my mind, like a tingling sensation. It's hard to describe how to mentally keep something away. I pulled more into myself, imagining a wall between me and the intrusion.

I felt nothing. No more tingling—I grew nervous, thinking maybe I hadn't succeeded and he had already gained full access. I couldn't help but open my eyes; Gregor was looking at me, eyes wide; but a smile was creeping into the corners of his lips. "What?" I asked carefully.

"You did it." Gregor shrugged at his clothes, his sleeves slipping back over his wrists as if he rolled them up in preparation for his tough job. "I meant to move your legs."

"My legs?" I repeated. "You cheated!" I exclaimed playfully.

"I had to have some sort of advantage! But it doesn't matter. You succeeded, Grace. You're getting stronger."

I couldn't help but smile. "Finally."

"It's not the end. There's much more to do. The Lich King is much more capable. And there's always resisting once he gets inside…"

"Thanks Gregor. For helping. You didn't have to."

"I owed you. What I did," he seemed to wince at the unnamed thought, "was inappropriate and wrong. I can't explain how much I regretted-" The priest seemed to trip over his word choice as he paused "D-don't be mistaken, Grace, you're very...desirable! But you were right, Grace, a gracious priest doesn't…do that. I've repented. I've prayed for forgiveness. And again, I'm sorry." Gregor's hand went to my knee in a non-romantic gesture of affection. Finally the priest stood, readjusting his tunic. "Don't forget what you've learned. I should go check in with Fordring."

"Okay. Thanks, Father Gregor."

This time, Gregor smiled at the title before standing to leave. "That sounds nice." Silently, he left my humble abode.

At least things were looking up; at least, that is, until the battle. My mind exercises not only protected me from the Lich King; they also left me feeling more in control of my emotions, more understanding of my predicaments.

Yet again, I didn't want to ruin my nice attitude. But I hadn't eaten yet, and surely the supper wouldn't be available much longer. So grudgingly I made my way to the designated rations tent.

Until I was stopped by none other than Taellor and Zen, who were coming down the hill from Fordring's. They were actually addressing each other; no, I noted, now that they drew closer—they were bickering. The pair hadn't caught sight of me yet, and I took the opportunity to back into a corner where a tent's corner hid me.

"—and it's not safe," Zen finished.

"It's war, Human. Nothing is safe any longer. And Grace is talented and-"

"And that's all you care about! Another rogue at the front to fight!"

"And she's my friend," Taellor growled his correction in a low tone. "It's her choice."

"A friend," Zen spat. "Be serious, Elf. I've seen the way you gravitate toward her. Like she's the only one you see."

It was growing even colder, and the sentence escaped in a wisp of white smoke. I imagine if Taellor's face could redden, it would have. Instead, his fists clenched at his sides. My own fingers were digging into my pant legs as I fought the urge to break up the whole thing.

"Zen," Taellor actually used the other rogue's name as the argument spiraled into seriousness. "Grace is my friend. If you would pay attention to the rest of your surroundings, you would see how she looks at you. The longing in her eyes when you turn her away and-"

"Taellor," Zen warned, though his eyes were now downcast. "Watch your step, brother."

Suddenly, I didn't want to break it up. I didn't even want to listen or watch; the two hadn't noticed me yet, perhaps I could sneak around…

My heart was panging as Taellor spoke, and I didn't want to hear Zen's reaction. So why was I frozen there?

The pair were usually so calm, like ice on the surface of the water. But so much frustration and resentment had lurked just under the surface for both of them, and now that pretty sheet of ice was cracking and all of the emotions were slipping through a bit at a time.

If they didn't happen to be allies, they'd be at each other's throats. Metaphorically speaking. I hope.

"You see it," Taellor continued with strain. "You know she only wants you. But you're overlooking her. Let me tell you, you're not helping her by keeping her away, as much as you think you're protecting her. You're not helping. Then she runs to me for comfort, and I get hurt in the process. And if I were in your place-"

"Don't lecture me about what you would want, Night Elf."

My breath was coming out shaky, chills tickling the back of my neck. Blood rushed to my cheeks.

"I wouldn't pass up a girl like Grace," Taellor finished anyway.

"And you haven't, Taellor." Zen's tone was poisonous.

It was Taellor's turn to look away. "It was a dream. A fleeting dream."

"And how does she taste?"

I nearly gasped in shock. This time, my breathe wouldn't move-it stayed dormant in my lungs, unable to exhale. Had Zen found out about our kiss?

I didn't think I could hear any more-my lungs were beginning to hurt as I held my breath; somehow I managed to back up a few steps, then a few more, until I was out of earshot and my lungs could start working again.

It hurt to breathe.

Taellor had wanted me, as more than a friend—and here he was, side-stepping out of the way to let Zen through, and he even tried to convince Zen of the matter. And I did need Zen in my life, like a moth to a flame—it didn't matter if he intended on just being here, or being with me—I just wanted him near.

But Taellor. My heart wrenched for him. Being near him was damaging to him. I was hurting him.

And now I felt numb. A different numb—I didn't know what to think or feel.

I went the long way for my dinner. I got a roll and soup and ate in a nearby empty tent. When it was inevitable, I returned to my own tent. The sun had started to set, the cold beginning to settle into my bones. It was finally time to rest after my eventful day.

Taellor was on his cot, sitting up and looking thoughtfully at his hands. "Hey," I mentioned softly, taking my cloaks and boots off and dropping my daggers on the flimsy table that held the lantern. Taellor mumbled a hello as I hopped into my own cot. "Long day?" I asked.

"A bit. Everything seems to be just out of reach."

The battle, he was probably thinking. But I thought of his argument with Zen.

I pretended not to know about the earlier confrontation, but Taellor's exhaustion upset me even more as I linked everything together. After a moment of silence, I turned toward my tent mate. "Taellor."

"Hmm."

"Thanks," I began, curling into my warm blankets, "for always sticking up for me."

Even in the dark, I felt Taellor's eyes slide to me as his aura perked in interest. "Did you…earlier, were you…did you see Zen and I…?"

I tried my best to act surprised, and I begged my aura not to rat me out. You're a rogue, so keep a calm aura like one. "You and Zen?" I scoffed. "Did you chat about the weather over tea?"

Taellor grumbled inaudibly. "I wish."

"Did something happen?" When Taellor didn't answer, I slumped down a bit into my bed. "I know you two don't get along much, but I appreciate how you put up with him. You're my personal guardian," I giggled.

"Put up with," Taellor growled. "Hardly. It's more like an avoidance." Sleep began to take hold of my heavy eyelids.

"Well, I love having you as a friend, Taellor. I do love you. So thanks for looking out for me like a friend does."

His eyes looked over again, and I was glad my own eyes were casted up toward the canvas of the tent. "You were there, weren't you?" he asked suspiciously.

"I didn't say that," I said, yawning and snuggling into my dingy pillow. Taellor said no more; with a soft blow the lantern was extinguished and our conversation with it.

At first, my dream was peaceful. I was back under the massive tree in my mom's backyard, wearing my pretty dress and watching the boys with the sun in my hair. Luke managed to flip Dennis onto the grass as they wrestled. His eyes were brown back then, but glowing with life and happiness. Dennis, despite his disadvantage, was laughing infectiously and growling my brother's name.

I was smiling, so wide it would have hurt my cheeks. The laughter was uplifting and just for a moment I remembered what carefree felt like.

But then the sky quickly grew overcast as clouds took their reign under the sun, and thunder rumbled above. I couldn't pay attention to the boys any longer; my eyes had drifted upward in confusion.

And then the thunder grew louder—loud enough that I could decipher that the rumble was actually roars of screams and yelling. My eyes fell back to the ground, where the grass was now engulfed in orange flames and intimidating flashes of lightning acted as its background. The ground began to shake and rumble, my feet untrustworthy as my hands reached for anything to stabilize me.

Grace!

I wanted to scream. I wanted to wake up.

"Grace!"

My eyes snapped open, and momentarily I was relieved—I looked up, where Taellor was hovering over me, still trying to shake me awake.

The quake stopped as Taellor dropped his grip on my shoulders, but as he repeated my name and asked me something, I noticed that the screaming was still ringing in my ears, very much real just outside the tent. Deep voices hollered for help, and inhuman roars that answered.

Taellor's lantern was in my face, the flame hurting my eyes. I blinked, hard, and looked up. "What's wrong?"

The Night Elf tossed my daggers into my lap, and I noticed he was already geared up. "It's begun. The battle is here."

"Now?" Quickly I sat myself up, nearly toppling over myself in the haste to retrieve my boots.

Already my adrenaline was on the rise. My shoes and weapons were on, and then my cloak. It took only a few moments, but Taellor had waited for me anyway. We were outside in no time, the sun just beginning to glow on the horizon. Despite the calm arrival of dawn, a scene of chaos was unfolding before me. Every soldier was trying to prepare, arriving right inside our base's front gate. A few men had began their ascent to the titanic cannons above us on the towers.

I couldn't see any looming danger as of yet—except the feeling of darkness that now blanketed our base. My breathing was shallow, and for a moment everything was slowed down. Men ran back and forth, receiving their orders and commands. I saw Kae and Vii (it was hard not to see their figures), and I found myself wishing I had time to see them beforehand, and remembering that Vii's hearthstone was still tucked away in the tent…

It wasn't a dream any longer. My nightmare had sprung to life, but now my teeth chattered and my hands gripped my daggers so hard the muscles twinged in discomfort. I wasn't as scared for my own life; this war had taught me to accept that there were things I may not survive. I was, however, terrified of losing another friend of mine.

And Zen…Losing Zen, after meeting him and after he trained me. After I left him, and yet somehow reunited with him. After everything I had gone through with Zen…

My eyes scanned our army, hoping to find his lean figure. The chaos was difficult to sift through, but I knew where Zen would be. I pushed forward, getting jostled by the others in much heavier (and sharper) armor. Rogues belonged at the front—like poison at the tip of a dagger.

The screaming had calmed down, now that most were outside and setting up for war. My stomach, for once, was knotted in anticipation. I had been fighting for what felt like ages, but never a full scaled battle. Sure, there was Light's Hope. But that had ended abruptly, the fight ceasing before it could form into a massacre for either side.

This was bigger. And dare I mention, scarier.

Most soldiers were now outside the fort, lining up in rows and rows. Swords, shields, maces…

Daggers. A small line of rogues were stabilized near the front. I recognized nobody except Zen, who seemed to be giving his squad of rogues a talk. I wasn't listening—a black line was seeping out of the crevice of Scourgeholme. The black sea of bodies was advancing, sneaking closer to its prey.

I arrived to the right of Zen, who immediately snapped his head over to look at me. "Grace," he said, his low voice a mix of worry and surprise. "It isn't safe here for you."

My eyes remained straight ahead—I couldn't do this right now. Getting emotional over Zen would distract me and him. "Taellor's right. It's a war. There is no safe."

Zen was silent, long enough that the roar ahead of us could get louder. It got Zen's attention—we both looked onward as a familiar shadowy appeared above the enemy's lines, its giant wings webbed and billowing as the wyrm screeched its warning of destruction.

"Grace."

"I may not be able to be with you," I managed to say with a steady voice, "but at least let me fight alongside you."

More wyrms were visible the closer the line of Undead came. The only thing between our line of rogues and the Scourge was a barren earth and a small group of paladins.

Now, our lines of men were silent, and it was the shrieking battle cries of the Undead that met my ears as their pace quickened. They were close enough now that the inhuman, blue eyes were distinctive, even as the light of dawn began to follow their arrival.

The sound wasn't the worst as our army drew their weapons in haste, the boned structures of our adversaries hobbling toward us, crunching the crisp ground below their feet like they were meant to walk the earth. They were closer now, so close that a precise draw of an arrow could tear through one.

And it was so. A line of arrows zipped by, making me jump as they arched above our steadfast numbers and landed with deadly force into the Undead ranks. Some exploded into flames upon landing. Some shattered bones. Some missed a target completely but lit up the ground anyway.

It didn't startle the skeleton army. With a unison, feral shriek the enemies were running, weapons drawn above their shoulders. Something told me the Scourge was more adept with weapons this time.

"The wyrms can blast arcane magic faster than you can process. Stay away from their heads," Zen loudly warned his troop. His head didn't turn, but he did peer at me out of the corner of his eyes. "Stay near me, Grace." Zen had to nearly scream so I could hear. "Stay close."

I nodded. Words wouldn't process through my lips anymore as a mix of terror and adrenaline chilled my spine. I drew one more shaky breath and blinked as I focused on the battle at hand.

The paladins in front beckoned the Light, and together they called forth a floor of consecration. It lit up the ground with a terrible hiss, just as the first wave of darkness drew close enough to touch. The stench of burning Undeath plagued my nostrils, and with blinding strength the magic masked the beauty of dawn and I knew that in this nightmare, there was no waking up.

It was a few moments before the enemies broke through our first line of defense. My weapons had been drawn already, lingering at my waist as I crooned for my first strike. I wasn't waiting long—a pair of them was lunging for me, their lust for blood reflecting in their hollow eyes. An axe was now looming above my head, and a sword sweeping toward my stomach. With speed I slashed at the wielder of the sword, managing to stall his attack long enough I could land an elbow into the vulnerable ribcage of the axe-handler.

The axe was momentarily forgotten in the monster's hands as he staggered back and scowled. Before I could act offensively, the sword was swinging again—my daggers somehow trapping the blade mid-swipe. I had to turn my back on the axe and focus on the sword trapped in the jaws of my daggers. Using what leverage I had I flipped the sword out of the skeleton's hands, and it tumbled away, the unarmed monster emitting a growl that could only translate as rage.

My mind was already moving back to the Undead that I had left unsupervised at my back, but my current problem wasn't quite resolved—before I could react a cold, clawed hand had struck my cheek with such a force I was nearly knocked off my feet. I took one staggering step backward as the skeleton before me blurred and refocused a few times. My jaw immediately throbbed; tears fought to surface at the corner of my eyes.

The howl behind me had me quickly recovering. I turned in time to catch the heavy axe with my main dagger, but the force was too great—with a sting that ran from my arm to shoulder the dagger was dislodged and meeting the same fate as the other attacker's sword.

If I had time to curse, I would have. Losing my main dagger was like losing an entire arm.

Having two enemies to worry about was becoming a nuisance. I couldn't really turn my back on the sharp axe in front of me, so while he was winding up for another blow to my head, I landed a good kick straight into his chest. The space gave me enough time to glance behind me and plunge my only dagger into the weaponless enemy. The gush was audible as my blade hit the mark—his Undead heart. Brown liquid oozed down the ivory ribs as he finally fell to the earth the final time.

I exhaled. The heat of battle made my cheeks feel hot as exhaustion began to bite at my adrenaline. I stooped down, my hand clenching my offhand dagger and my eyes searching for my other weapon, when a low rumble of a growl alerted me that my opponent wasn't willing to wait.

"Fine." My dagger was somewhere buried in the snow along the corpse, but one would have to do for now. The off-hand blade slipped out of its victim with a slick tug, and without hesitation my enemy charged, axe drawing back for a killing blow.

I had to duck and evade a swing at my neck, and while I was still on the lower plane I slashed my dagger his way, missing the rib cage and cutting the stomach. The Undead was slightly surprised, his axe lowering long enough to give me another opportunity to thrust my blade into his heart. His screech ended mid-cry, weapon falling uselessly at his side as I pulled my dagger back and watched him collapse. "Smarter," I muttered about my enemies, "but still stupid."

For a moment I stood there, catching my breath and looking at my surroundings. Battles were all around me, the bodies lying mangled in the snow illustrating the destruction. Nothing looked familiar, and the wyrms circling us seemed so surreal as they blasted magic at the soldiers on the ground and in the cannons.

First things were first, I thought. I needed to find my dagger, and quickly. With a hop of a start I strode to the first body, my eyes scanning the ground as I walked, when I was hurled into the air, a huge boom echoing behind me as my body hit the snow. The landing felt like it crushed my ribs into my lungs, but worry had me rolling myself onto my back. Black, ashen snow was now smoking where I had been walking just moments before, and way above it was the wyrm responsible, his wings fully expanded and glowing eyes on me.

The massive mouth opened, and a feral roar ripped through the air and made my ears ring. I wanted to close my eyes so badly, to pretend the enormous Undead wyrm wasn't there. My eyes remained open instead: if it were to end this way, then let me watch.

I heard it inhale. I felt my own breath move with it. It was seconds away from destroying me when a fiery ball crashed into the wyrm's backside, causing it to spin and begin its descent into the ground.

That was close. I shook my head, trying to rid of the shock. My eyes caught the familiar glint of an object, and it took me a moment longer to realize it was my dagger, turned up out of the snow due to the explosion. On my hands and knees I made it successfully to the dagger, its hilt now cool as I gripped it in my leather gloves.

In little time I was back on my feet and looking for more danger. I found a few more enemies and took them by surprise—my third had his throat slashed; he never even saw my attack coming from behind him.

Then an Undead, clothed like Clad in raggedy robes that exposed parts of his bones, stood in my way. Though he spoke no words, a slither slipped through his jaw, beckoning me to try and fight him. I took one resolute step forward, my daggers ready to spill more blood.

A purple ball of magic formed at his hands, tinged by black as it grew over time. Before I could react, the warlock had launched it at me, the purple colors hurling toward me.

My arm moved to shield my eyes, but it did no good—I took a direct hit, the light exploding into pieces and buzzing my ears.

It was like his slithering was right next to my ear and a cold chill wrapped around my spine and anchored there as fear for the warlock multiplied by thousands. I trembled, and when the warlock raised his arms again to attack, I flinched, looking away and attempting to pedal backwards as much as I could. My legs gave out—the cold, wet snow sent a shock to my knees, and I watched as the warlock grinned and little black spiders crawled out of his mouth and eye sockets. Bile was beginning to burn up my throat, and I choked a whimper.

They're not real. They're not real.

The warlock stepped closer, his pace booming. A sallow, pointed finger rose to point at me, and then he was conjuring something in his hands.

I squeezed my eyes shut, but in the darkness of my mind I only saw my own body, mangled, torn, and bloody; my eyes blank. A squeak of disbelief formed at my throat and my eyes were open again. My arms had fallen out in front of me in the snow, and as I raised them to my eyesight, I saw they were bruised and torn in multiple places; the scarlet color of my own blood painted the white snow of my impending death.

Fear had me shaking, and I found myself looking up at the warlock for answers—or begging for a quick death.

His hands were glowing now, and this time, my fear was unbearable. No no no, I thought. It took me a moment to realize I was saying it out loud, my voice barely recognizable as I stayed rooted in place. "No, no, no…"

I blinked, and when my death didn't come, I looked for my assailant. An arrow was now embedded into his chest, a flash of white hurdling into the warlock's figure, his limb immediately severed off.

Blizz.

Even as the warlock grew motionless in the snow, it took me a handful of long moments to even stop shaking.

"Grace."

A pair of strong arms held me and lifted me back onto my feet. Kae's bulky form slid into my view, and I blinked in realization. His hand tapped my cheek lightly. "Grace, it's okay. Snap out of it."

I could feel my strength returning. "Kae," I whispered.

"It was a fear cast." The sound of the wyrms' arcane magic boomed over our heads, but Kae didn't falter. "It wasn't real. Are you okay?"

I nodded. "Thank you."

Kae patted my shoulder. "No problem. Just promise to stay away from the casters?"

I smiled. "Got it."

Kae and Blizz left to continue fighting. The numbers were dwindling for both sides, but especially the Undead. They had started out with many more than us, but we had proportionally lessened their numbers. We could win this.

It was almost over.

I took a second to refocus, and now I was concerned about the others. Out of everyone, I felt Zen's aura the strongest. He's alive.

I started my walk towards Zen, remembering his order to stay near him, only to be stopped by more Undead. Two more stood in my path—one with a sword and shield, the other with daggers.

The shield came at me first. He tried to distract me with it as the rogue slipped by and swung his dagger around.

I didn't move fast enough. The small blade cut at my upper arm, a horizontal slash immediately drawing warm blood. A hiss of pain died at my lips as I parried another slash at my throat with my own daggers. Learning from my previous two-on-one spar, I spun around so the other rogue was between me and the Undead wielding the shield. I slashed mercilessly, unrelenting until I finally made contact and nearly severed the rogue's off-hand completely off the bone. It dangled uselessly at his wrist.

I kicked his body, throttling it into his Undead friend. His shield had fallen below his waist as he staggered for balance. The rogue was still between us, but I had to seize my opportunity. With a rock solid fist I punched the rogue in the side of his forehead—the crack of fracturing skull accompanied his fall onto the ground.

My off hand was still recuperating from the hit; my main hand arched around the shield that should have protected the Undead warrior and my blade sliced into its neck just above the clavicle. More blood covered my blade, and a grotesque gargling noise was the only sound he could make. One of his knees hit the snow, the shield slipping out of his claws. When I picked up the gargantuan thing, adrenaline allowed me to disregard its weight and raise it over my head. I brought it down forcefully onto its owners head with a bone-jarring crunch.

My breathing wanted to wrench itself out of my lungs, my shoulders sore from inhaling. Gingerly I touched the burning slash on my arm, and drew my hand back with a hiss. Blood smudged across my fingers, and light-headedly I made a note to bandage it later.

The wyrms seemed to have disappeared, though some black masses on the battleground floor could very well have been their fallen bodies. The battle was dwindling now, so much that some Undead had already began a retreat.

"Zen." I saw him now, fighting off a pair of his own enemies. He took a good blow to his ribs, and blood was spattered all over his body—including a spray along his jaw line and down his neck. "Zen!"

Carefully I took a single step over the shield, nearly losing my footing as I hopped over it. For a moment I stood there, regaining my balance and focusing on my task at hand. I went to take another step when I was stopped mid-thought, my senses momentarily bidding me to focus. Before impact, I had heard it soaring, whirring through the air and finally landing with a thud.

The pain in my back was so fierce that my breath hitched and wouldn't release. I croaked, afraid to look behind me; but I could feel the little prongs tearing into my flesh and the warmth of the pooling blood, the metal teeth so sharp they felt engraved into my shoulder blade.

I looked back and shuddered. The first sight was the throwing disc, the size of my fist, embedded into my back as the color red bled through my armor and down my back. Then I looked over my shoulder, though it seared every muscle in my upper back, and saw the Undead rogue from moments ago, crouched and prepared to throw another disc my way.

Dazed, I slowly turned around toward my attacker. His back arched in warning like a feline, his only hand a flick away from dealing more damage. My blood drained from my face, and it felt like it had traveled down to bleed from my shoulder blade. The liquid was warm and sickening as acid climbed up my throat.

I had to force my lungs to inhale and exhale, and it took most of my strength to keep myself upright and watch the rogue before me. This was it. We were on an equal playing field now—ability wise, at least; of course, he did have the advantage of his throwing weapon—it glinted in the sunlight.

Grace.

I couldn't die here, I thought. And it only repeated in my head over and over because it could very well be my death the rogue had in his hand. One good throw to my heart and everything would end here.

Slowly my right hand unsheathed my dagger with a slick metallic sound I had grown accustomed to. The pain worsened no matter how I moved—every motion would tear a bit more into my muscles, wringing a bit more blood out of my system.

But it was life or death now, my dagger the hope of survival, as it had been for my entire rogue life.

We were both ready now. I felt eerily calm; Gregor's lessons had their advantages, especially when death was a whisper away.

The rogue's hand drew back, behind his head where I couldn't see. And then the throwing weapon was again whirring through the air, its teeth snarling towards me. I kept my eyes on its metal, stomach lurching as it neared. In a blink of an eye I raised my dagger, my back ripping in pain—but my move had paid off; the disc ricocheted off my dagger and spiraled off to brush the front of my shoulder. It managed to cut a good gash beneath my collar bone, but with relief I could assure myself that I had survived.

"Grace."

My footing felt shaky below me, though I hadn't moved my legs. I had no other option—with a gasp of pain I drew back my own dagger and hurled it toward my Undead counterpart. It landed nearly dead-center, the skeleton hissing; but he stayed on his feet, claws extended like he was ready to charge.

A shuddered breath escaped my lips, and my blood loss and shock had me fighting to keep my consciousness. I had one more chance. I tried to quickly unsheathe my last dagger, but my brain didn't seem to be communicating with my numbing fingers. Finally it was within my grasp; I looked up to throw my last dagger, but it was too late. The rogue was already slumping to the ground, a different dagger jutting out of his chest to accompany my own blade.

Relief was cut short as my injuries got the best of me: my off-hand dagger slipped from my grasp as I felt my body's awareness slip away.

I meant to turn around and search for Zen—that was what I was doing, I thought—but all I could manage was a shaky reach for my missing dagger I had flung. My knees made contact with the frozen ground once again. This time, I wasn't sure if I'd be getting back up.

"Grace."

Someone touched my back so gently it was nearly forgotten amongst my pain. Another hand was grabbing my right arm, gingerly shaking it in an attempt to stir me to alertness. "Zen," I choked.

"It's me. It's Zen. I'm here."

"I-" I'm glad you're here.

"Don't talk." There was a pause as Zen looked over my trembling body.

"You killed him, didn't you." I could hardly whisper, and tears were blurring my vision and streaking down my throbbing cheek. "You saved me."

"I thought I told you not to talk." Zen's voice wasn't harsh. It never was harsh when he was truly focused on worrying for my life. "I need to pull this out before it does any more damage." I knew immediately we were talking about the disc decorating my shoulder blade.

"No time," I mustered. "The Scourge…"

"It's over, Grace. Nearly over. Take a deep breath for me, okay?"

This was the most damage I had sustained in a battle by far, I noted, and the pain reflected it. My tolerance of the inflictions was getting thin as my whole body dealt with the loss of blood through shock. My skin was coated in perspiration, the gashes unrelentingly throbbing.

It couldn't be much worse. Trembling under Zen's touch, I gasped in a cool breath, and Zen yanked the teeth out in one short pull. I wrenched backward, my gored flesh oozing more blood as I cried out. My eyelids snapped shut, but even through closed eyes I saw the color scarlet.

I whimpered, even as Zen pulled me protectively into his chest. My teeth were chattering. "Grace." His voice was seared with concern. "Stay with me. Stay with me Grace, please…"

The pain had reached my point of tolerance and left me vulnerable. Quickly my consciousness faded as my head lolled into Zen's chest.

"Grace, you can't leave me again." Zen's voice was in my ear, his tone as brittle as my state.

"Don't leave me," I asked.

"I'm not leaving. I'm right here."

Everything faded to black. I remembered nothing more of the battle.

When I woke up, the first thing I realized was my grogginess. My head felt three times heavier, and my eyelids seemed sewn shut. My second realization was the wish that I hadn't woken up just yet. Everything ached, from my jaw to my feet. Even in my dreary state, the pain from my injuries was prominent.

First the pain, and then my recollections of how I got here arrived. A dull warmth throbbed at my arm, but I felt too stiff to move it into my line of sight. I was propped up on pillows so my back wasn't shearing against the bed, but I was itchy. Uncomfortable, I shrugged, and a piercing pain ripped up my shoulder.

Of course. The throwing discs.

I must have sucked in a breath as I winced. I felt more alert now, and I moved my arm to claw at the itchy bandages, but a warm hand was now on top of mine to stop me. "You're going to rip open your stitches if you do that."

I froze, all discomfort momentarily forgotten. "Zen," I croaked.

He smiled weakly. "Good evening." He half turned, reaching over to the end table and coming back around with a glass of liquid. "Here. You haven't had anything to eat or drink since you fainted."

I took the cup with careful but shaky hands. I wasn't feeling at all hungry, but my throat was so dry it felt scratched on the inside. "How long was I out?" The cup stayed steady in my lips, and I drank graciously…

"A day and a half."

…Until I sputtered, nose scrunching up in resentment of the bittersweet taste. "What is this?"

"It's one of Taellor's special teas. It'll keep you hydrated." Zen must have seen the alarm on my face. "Taellor is fine. He had a few arcane burns, but he was treated. He's been worried about you."

"Is everything okay? What about-"

"Everything is fine, Grace," Zen encouraged. I noticed his hand was still set on mine as he spoke. "We won. At least for now."

I sighed.

"That's one thing I never quite understood about you."

I tried to turn more on my side, but another shot of pain halted my attempt as I squeezed Zen's hand. "What's that?" I asked.

"You put everything else first." He leaned back, and somehow he still managed to maintain his mysteriousness after so much time. Maybe it was our separation, I thought bitterly. "In case you haven't noticed, you got pretty well banged up yourself."

"I'm alive because of you," I stated softly.

"Don't be stupid, Grace. You deflected the shot."

"But you killed him."

"I-" Zen looked down, his hand pulling away. "I bet you want to see Taellor. He's been waiting for you to wake up."

"Zen…" I meant to reach for his retreating hand, but the thought of pain had me hesitating. "Okay."

He disappeared, leaving me alone only a moment before Taellor arrived. "So the tables have turned," he commented with a grin.

"It has," I agreed. "Except this time, it's not your fault I'm like this. It's my own."

"Hey." Taellor warned as he effortlessly slinked into the chair beside me. In the minimal light, I saw the arcane burns Zen had mentioned—they splotched the left side of his neck and it spread down his shoulder, the lining a soft silver against his blue skin. "You look…tired."

"Tired," I snarled. "That's it? Tired?"

"I was being optimistic. You look like hell."

I smirked. "Like I've been through a war?"

"Precisely."

"You always know how to make me feel better," I mentioned, trying to pull myself upright without knocking my own breathe out of me.

"Don't get up," Taellor berated. "You need more rest. I just wanted to pop in and make sure you were okay."

"Well, I'm alive," I acknowledged. "'Okay' is a totally different plateau."

Taellor grimaced, though his eyes lit up as he looked me over. "You are okay, Grace. You look beautiful."

I snorted, minding how the force caused a tickle in my throat, and coughed. In one movement Taellor pushed my glass closer to my mouth. "Didn't you say I looked like hell a moment ago?" I inquired, wincing as I sipped at the tea.

"You can be both."

I huffed again. It was all I could do with my limited energy.

Taellor stood. "Drink that tea. Get some rest. I'm sure Zen wouldn't want to be away from you long."

"Why would that be."

"Believe it or not, he hasn't left your side since he found you." Rescued me, I wanted to correct him. I exhaled instead. The Night Elf patted my uninjured arm gently. "I'll be back." Silently I nodded. My eyes begged for sleep, but as long as the Lich King was around, I really couldn't rest.

And he was still alive. I felt it. He wouldn't show up at a meaningless battle, but I would continue to kill his minions until I reached him; I vowed it.

My head didn't want any more stress. Sleep sounded nice. I didn't even notice Zen's aura approach, I was so exhausted. "You're back," I whispered, cracking an eye open.

Zen held back a frown, though his eyebrows pinched in confusion. "Should I leave?"

"No." I closed my eyes to avoid his intense gaze. "I'm glad you're here." I hesitated, hoping Zen would speak so I wouldn't have to embarrass myself. "I'm glad you made it to Northrend."

"Well, the more you do for SI:7, the more you get in return." There was that stupid mantra again.

"What do you mean?"

"Grace." He seemed to chuckle my name. "I requested the transfer here."

My eyes slipped open, surprise getting the best of me. "You what?"

"SI:7 didn't hesitate in accepting my request. My recruitment skills were handy here."

"So that's how you got here so fast."

"That's hardly the only reason. Oh," Zen fidgeted into his jacket, "and there's this." Zen held out his fist, then opening it to reveal an SI:7 pin. My SI:7 pin. He must have caught how my heart skipped a beat, and confusion kept me from uttering a word. "SI:7 wanted you to have it… I thought you should have it."

My throat was scratchy still, but this time it wasn't the dehydration. "I can't," I whispered.

"Grace, you're part of the team."

"I left SI:7," I reminded the other rogue. "I left without permission and-"

"You don't want to be a part of the base that created you?" Zen asked, his voice cinching at his idea of an insult.

"No," I answered urgently. "I…I don't deserve to stay, Zen…I left…"

"It doesn't matter. I…I never reported your leave. Jared couldn't, either."

"You guys could get into serious trouble!" I growled.

Zen ignored my remark. "You need sleep, Grace." He nudged the pin into my forearm, and when I didn't take it, he placed it on the sheet of the bed near my chin. Zen leaned over my bed quietly, and my eyes fluttered closed as his lips touched my forehead gently. "Goodnight," he whispered. By the time I grew the courage to open my eyes, Zen was gone.

Sleep wasn't difficult. When I awoke, the pain was still there, but at least I felt more alert.

And it was dark. The wind whistled through the tent's fabric, and the only light supply was a lantern in the far corner on the table.

My muscles felt rigid and terribly worn, and I decided it was worth the shooting pains if I could pull myself up and stretch. I lifted my arm, trying to position my body to pull up, when I found my SI:7 pin I had somehow fallen asleep on. The badge's distinct form left a star-shaped imprint into my forearm, and grudgingly I picked up the stupid thing.

I wasn't in my bloody clothes from battle. Atop several layers of bandages and gauze, I was wearing a thick nightgown with long sleeves and a hem that fell to my ankles. From my compromising position on the bed, I spotted my clothes on a table near the curtain. Someone had washed the scarlet color out of the threads; although a faded pink still dyed my cotton sleeve that had been cut (it was also neatly sewn back together).

Now I was even more determined to get up. One hand gripped the bed sheet, the other clutching the wooden bed post, and I winced. Already I was fighting back watering eyes.

Numbly I counted to three. Then I cursed, unable to move out of fear. Rogues don't fear, I growled angrily at myself. This time, I counted to five, my arms straining, and I bit my lip and heaved my body upright.

I choked on a howl of pain, the taste of blood in my mouth as I bit my lip a tad too hard. For a moment I sat there, halfway off the bed, as the fire ripped through my shoulder blade and spread down my back. So help me, if I ripped out my stitches…

As of yet, I didn't feel any blood resurface from my wounds, so clumsily I pulled myself on my feet. I swayed a bit, hand moving out to steady my balance, and took three steps toward the table.

Now that I clutched my outfit in my hand, the challenge of actually changing into them prompted my mind to start churning. Sighing, I rummaged through the material and found my pants. Again I was staggering, reeling backwards to set myself back on the bed and toss my articles onto it beside me. My SI:7 pin shared the same fate, and with grim determination I held up my trousers.

It took five times as long to get them on, and seven times the discomfort, pain, and whimpers, but I got them on. I used my good arm to take the gown off, my right shoulder immobile, and threw it sourly across the room.

I successfully got the cotton blouse around my neck, and then my bad arm; by the time I finished my task I was panting and sweating in exhaustion.

It was then I realized I really didn't have any other plans after that. Judging by the silence and darkened sky, I could assume it was the middle of the night and everyone had expired to bed.

I intended to sidle back onto my bed and rest for a few moments to catch my breath, but I ended up falling asleep yet again, a half-wince on my face as I rested on my shoulder blade and clutched my SI:7 pin in my fingers.

[end]

I know, a strange place to stop, but I had to!