Warning, Warning, this chapter contains almost 5 pages of TxJ. SHIELD YOUR EYES!
On the Subject of Family
Silithus
Jaina looked out across the sands, to the great gates of Ahn'Qiraj. Tonight, they did not seem so foreboding. Instead they seemed broken, defeated, breached. C'Thun was dead. The Emperors had been toppled. No more did the desert threaten Alliance or Horde. Perhaps now those mighty factions could turn their eyes to more dangerous threats, like Outland or Northrend.
On impulse, Jaina suddenly looked upward, and beheld the beautiful sky spilling out above her. Ten thousand, a hundred thousand, a million stars winked down at her, and a beautiful milky spiral of distant star clusters tumbled from horizon to horizon.
"Admiring the desert night?" The sorceress smiled as Thrall's heavy footsteps came up behind her, so close that she could feel his breath stirring her hair. She leaned backwards into him and he took the cue and wrapped his arms around her, holding her securely against his chest.
"It is a beautiful view," she admitted, draping her arms over his and absently stroking the back of his hand.
"One of many I have seen this night," he murmured dotingly, shifting one of his arms to tug away her purple hood. Her golden hair shone like pale wheat under the moonlight, and he lowered his head to place a few tender kisses in the blond waves.
"Indeed," the Lady Proudmoore agreed, tilting her head to the side and half closing her eyes in appreciation. "But I think that this one view stands out from the many others I have witnessed this day."
"Oh?" he inquired as he bathed his senses in the scent of lilacs and old paper.
"Yes," she decided. "Yes, you see this, scene doesn't have some of the other characteristics I've been enjoying. There are no beautiful blue eyes, no mane of rich black hair. And come to think of it, the stars have no posterior which I might admire."
"You were admiring? That is good," the orc said solemnly. "I had been wondering if my new armor made me look fat." His human companion broke out laughing almost immediately, and he could not help but follow several seconds later.
"I see," Jaina said when her laughter had subsided. She turned in his arms that she might look up to him, with a grin stretched broadly over her features. "And what do you make of my rear?"
He tapped his chin and made a show of looking her over to examine her frame. "It hasn't changed," he observed at last, a great smile slowly creeping over his features. "Your posterior has always been obscenely large."
"Lies!" she cried, half scowling half laughing. "My bottom is no larger than any other lady's bottom!"
"Mental note: All human nobles have generously proportioned daughters."
"And all orcs are nasty, pig-faced thugs!" she accused fondly, wrapping her arms quickly around his neck and planting a kiss full upon his mouth. His lips parted and he returned the kiss full force, nuzzling against her cheek and tracing the sides of his tusks lightly over the lines of her mouth. For a long moment, his gestures were extremely tender and sensual, moving in tandem with hers. Then he shifted focus and began to kiss along the lines of her chin, jaw, and throat.
Jaina closed her eyes and just enjoyed the sensation for a moment before she returned to kissing gently over his face. She kissed his cheek, around his eyes, over his nose and forehead and hairline, and finally she moved to his ear so that she might match the sensual attentions he was now administering to her collarbone.
The orc Warchief shuddered as he felt her focus on his left ear. She carefully pushed his black hair away, strand by strand, tickling his scalp and causing him to twitch. When she'd cleared his hair away she began to caress the tip, back, and surrounding hairline of the ear, first with her fingers and then with her kisses. He lifted a foot and set it down again, trying to work out the jitters that shot through him, and he had to pause in his own affections to deal with hers.
How or why his ears (Of all things, ears! What was he, an elf?) were so sensitive to this treatment, Thrall figured he would never know. The one thing he did finally understand was why Snowsong liked having her ears scratched so much. He took in a slow, deep breath, and then reached up to close his tent's door flap. In retrospect, he should have closed it earlier. Sometimes he wondered how he and Jaina had managed to hide their affection for so long-
The sorceress in question took in a breath and blew softly over his hairline, just behind his ear. Immediately the whole world exploded into nonsense, and rational thought up and hopped away. Thrall shivered terrifically, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. He took a moment to steady himself, and then looked up at her from her shoulder, his dark blue eyes unreadable. She grinned back at him a little triumphantly, perhaps enjoying the fact that she could have such a profound effect on him. Her eyes were the bright cyan of tropical waters, her hair a waterfall of brilliant amber, and her lips were red and mischievous. There was something about her expression, her scent, her every attribute, something fascinating and wonderful. His arms tightened around her and he pressed his face into her neck and hair for a moment, his eyes closing.
You are so beautiful.
The Lady Proudmoore smiled, and rested her chin on his shoulder. "I love you, greenskin," she said affectionately. He grunted, and pulled his face back.
"And I you, human," he murmured, and he went back to kissing along her collarbone, and then her shoulder and arm. His fingers he ran tenderly over her underarm and side, a sensitive touch that produced shudders on her part, now. As always, his gentleness amazed the human sorceress. No kiss, embrace, or touch was forceful to any extent of the word. He was a model of refinement and self control, paying utmost attention to make sure that not one of his gestures left behind the tiniest bruise or scratch.
Jaina kissed his ear and throat, kneading her palms soothingly into the muscles of his shoulder, and slowly began pulling his buckskin tunic aside. Thrall's quarters were divided into two sections- one for mission briefings and one for personal use. After a moment, the Warchief lifted her up and carried her gently to the latter. The sorceress blinked and laughed.
"I can walk, you know."
"I don't believe you," he answered affectionately, kissing her all over the face, over her eye, temple, cheek, nose, lips, and chin. "You could break. I can't risk it."
"Oh please," she said laughingly, giving his shoulder a shove that teemed lightly with earthen energy. "Put me down, you oaf."
"I don't know…"
The sorceress rolled her eyes and then vanished with a Blink Teleportation spell, reappearing at the division between the rooms of the tent. "Honestly," she complained, "how is it you can be so very clean? Look at this! Not a fur out of place, your boots all lined up with your armor composed on a rack, your pillows fluffed- its wrong, I tell you! Wrong on so many levels! It should be gritty, and messy, with bloodstains everywhere, and dirt, and maybe food swept under a rug!"
He grinned and came up beside her. "I am the one who rides through battles decked in fur and metal and riding a wolf, swinging a giant mallet in the air. And yet… it's in your rooms that we find food under rugs…"
"It was only once! And a slice of cheese at that! How was I to find a thin slice of cheese under a rug?"
"Most people pick up their rugs to clean them, Miss Proudmoore," he lectured teasingly.
"What kind of warlord darns his own clothing? You are the worst barbarian in the history of barbarians!" she said with mock exasperation, waving her arms in the air.
He tossed back his head and gave a great laugh, and then threw his arms around her and held her almost crushingly close. "And you are the worst noblewoman in the history of noblewomen," he growled affectionately, and she leaned contently into his chest, feeling the bristles of his ragged beard scraping lightly over the edge of her ear. "Tell me, what have you done with our child, that you are so willing to stay here and spend time with me?"
"I asked Daelin to take care of her for a few days," she answered matter-of-factly. The orc perked up and eyed her and the sorceress snorted at his expression. "You know as well as I do that he won't harm a hair on her head. I've been casting divination spells on them every hour or so. He took her out on his boat, told her stories, and taught her to fish. And he was smiling. Do you know how little that man smiles?"
Thrall took in a slow breath and nodded. "I trust you Jaina," he said after a moment, and he rubbed firmly over her back. "That time, when Kallah was nearly trampled by those kodos…"
"It's alright Thrall, it's in the past. I know you didn't mean for it to end up like that."
He shook his head and smiled weakly. "I threw up afterwards."
The sorceress blinked and her eyes widened. Thrall smiled a little more, and sat down at the edge of his great bed, pulling her down into his lap.
"I have known various degrees of fear, concern, and worry. But never have I been so utterly terrified, as I was that day. I was convinced for a moment that she was going to die. That I would end up carrying her broken body back to you." The great orc shuddered. "I am not accustomed to feeling so helpless or vulnerable. I am not even comfortable with talking about it. But I suppose some of my worry stems from that, from a lingering paranoia, a fear that I have left her in danger by doing nothing."
Jaina nodded understandingly and gently rubbed her hand over his cheek and through his hair. "You are a perfectly good father, Thrall. But I think we may be protecting Kallah too well. She had to ask Daelin what orcs and humans were."
He lifted a brow and smiled lightly. "But on the other hand," the Warchief observed, "is it so terrible that she does not see a difference between them?"
"No," Jaina admitted. "But one day she will have to live in the real world."
"Ah. That terrible place." He smiled and began kissing gently over the base of her neck and along her shoulder. "In that case, I suppose having allies and mentors like Daelin Proudmoore will help her. But then I should get to introduce her to Drek'Thar."
Jaina smirked and reached down to pull off her boots. "Fair trade," she agreed. "Maybe if Kallah can control lightning, we won't have to worry about her if she goes out on anyone's rooftop anymore…"
Thrall chuckled and carefully began working the ties of her blouse. "True, true. She could end up blowing herself up with elemental energy, however…"
"Thrall, I'm a mage. Blowing oneself up with elemental energy is an occupational hazard I'm intimately familiar with. I'll understand."
"You'd kill me," he said with a toothy grin, blue eyes merry.
"I would," she amended without the slightest hesitance, and she moved her mouth passionately to his.
Behind their tent and as silent as the darkness, Nathanos found this conversation quite fascinating. It was occupying him while he waited for dawn; waited for the teleportation spell that would send him home. It was occupying him, that is, until Jaina dropped a powerful silence spell on the inside of the tent.
Rather than being irritated at the loss of his entertainment (he had been required to sneak past a bothersome amount of guards to get there), Nathanos grinned, for he realized exactly why the sorceress would need to cast such a spell. Deprived of his leisure activity, but filled with interesting and slightly lewd things to ponder, Nathanos just headed back to his temporary residence. He wondered briefly if he should provoke one of Thrall's advisors to charge headlong into the warchief's tent, but then dismissed the thought.
After all Jaina was the only one who could get him back to the Undercity.
Naxxramas
Ketala breathed in deep and closed her eyes, trying to get her body to recover. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, trying to get her sense of balance back, and almost falling over a few times. Her arms flexed, bringing her blades slowly through the air.
Come on. Come on. He's just a clear run away. He needs me now. I have to move.
She took one step forward, and then another. In her exhaustion, she did not notice that a necromancer had come within range of her, blue energy whirling around his hands. All her limited energy was focused on the poor electrocuted creature in the back of the room. She did not feel the rush of cold as a massive ice spell rocketed towards her, intent on banishing her aura and freezing her solid. Instead she just took another step forward, moving straight into the spell's trajectory…
As she moved, her foot caught upon the edge of a stone in the cobbled floor. With her mind on par with that of a raving drunk's, she lacked the coordination necessary to remain upright, and so tripped and pitched forward onto her face. As she fell, the magical bolt rocketed forward, passing within an inch of her back, freezing strands of her black hair as it went. Ketala landed on the ground with a grunt. The icy spell continued onward, and smashed straight into one of the wraiths. It gave a muffled "Eep!" before thick walls of ice splashed around it, sealing it in a crystalline prison.
Somewhere in the vast chamber, the blind mage Cheshire began to howl with laughter. Necromancer Grygus Blackbone, who had thrown the icy spell at Ketala, stared at her first in disbelief and then in irritation. He growled and pushed up his sleeves further, and began the incantation for another spell.
Ketala groaned and tried to push herself off the floor. When this failed she just gazed in confusion at the angry necromancer. She saw the spell forming in his hands, and recognized that she was failing in her self-appointed mission. Get up, her brain coaxed. Do something! Ketala tried; her body did not respond.
"Tick tock, tick tock," came the silky voice of the Lich King's malicious specter. Ketala closed her eyes tightly, tried to get up, to roll away, to throw her sword, to do anything!
GET UP!
She couldn't. There, in that terrible place, Ketala acknowledged that she had failed. In trying to protect the poor electrocuted being at the end of the room, she had given too much of herself. Now she had not only failed him, but herself as well. She would be brought back to Ner'zhul in chains. And there she'd be broken, and this poor creature would descend into madness, and there was nothing, nothing, she could do. She closed her eyes.
"Get up," came a sharp voice, putrid and rotting in her mind's eye.
I can't, she thought back feebly, too dazed to even wonder who was talking to her or why.
"No. But you will. You are the paladin daughter of a lich. Your soul was purified by the touch of corruption. You were infused with the heartless fury of the elements and yet became the angel of compassion. You are the messiah of the damned. Against all odds, against any foolish notions you have of fate, you must somehow find a way! GET. UP." The mental voice slammed into her, a rush of chaotic whirls and dark pain.
Ketala cried out, lurching weakly to her hands and knees. She lifted her head, and her eyes went wide as she saw a massive ice spell flying straight towards her. The undead woman jerked backwards, bringing up her hands defensively in front of her face, and screamed out in instinctive supplication, "LIGHT!"
As it always had, the Light answered. There was a burst of holy energy as a Divine Shield rippled comfortingly over Ketala, a golden sanctuary through which nothing could pass. The necromancer's frost spell slammed head on into the protective shield, and was absorbed into the holy radiance without producing so much as an icicle. At that point, Necromancer Grygus Blackbone began cursing, and Cheshire the blind mage nearly died (and probably would have, had he not already been dead) of laughter, because nothing in the world was more aggravating then a near-dead paladin utilizing the infamous holy "bubble."
Ketala shuddered and sat back unsteadily on her heels, her golden shield wrapped tightly around her. Quite suddenly her head was clearer and her senses sharpened. When she willed her limbs to move, they obeyed. She did have a throbbing headache, and still felt a little winded, but for the most part her Divine Shield had cleansed her of whatever sickness she had been suffering.
Her fragmented memories of the last few minutes began to coalesce. She took stock of the furious necromancer, the frozen wight, the unfrozen wight, a strange but familiar laughing echoing through the room, and, of course, the screams of the thing she fought to save.
The screams… It occurred to her that he was giving a pathetic wail of, "NOOO!" For a moment, it must have looked like she was going to be frozen in place by that ice spell. Ice spell.
Ketala's eyes riveted on the necromancer, and she slowly rose to her feet. This time, they agreed to support her weight. She shifted for a moment, letting her sense of balance reorient herself, her baleful glare concentrated on the angry spellcaster in front of her. "Your experiment," she said slowly, "doesn't seem to like you…"
Grygus Blackbone's eyes narrowed and another spell began to form in his hands. Still feeling himself at the advantage, and wanting to dishearten the undead paladin with his gloating, Gygus taunted, "You are lucky he is still undisciplined, Paladin, or you would already be kneeling at the Lich King's feet.
Ketala smiled strangely. "You just admitted he's yours."
Grygus blinked. Ketala launched towards him, sprinting full speed for his position. Her scimitars scraped together, producing a dreadfully uncomfortable screeching noise. Elemental energy coursed through her, cold and unyielding instead of fiery and enraged. Her aura of flame vanished all together.
The necromancer snorted at her seemingly fool-hardy charge. A final blast of cold magic shot forward from his hands. There was no way she could dodge in time, and her Divine Shield was spent. It was over. He'd won. She-
The icy blast reached Ketala and twined gently up her arms, called inward to the center of her being like a magnet. The energy dissolved into her, became one with her, and then ricocheted away with a burst of blue light. The icy bolt spiraled madly through the air before impacting with the second wight. The undead creature managed to let out a strangled howl before it too was frozen solid.
Grygus had only a few seconds to comprehend his folly, but he did so quite admirably. It occurred to the necromancer that he had erred. Ketala had seen the nature of his last two spells, and had guessed that he would again use something composed of ice. She had brought herself in tune with that element, and had channeled the bolt through her, as surely as an entity composed entirely of frost would have. Had Grygus cast any other spell, be it a curse, a bolt of fire, or a polluted shadow, he would have been able to keep her at bay.
But he hadn't.
Ketala's scimitars cut like scissors through his midsection. As he fell backwards to the ground, his vision beginning to cloud, he was treated to the sight of his disembodied legs still standing up straight and rigid, several feet away. Then the world went black.
Ketala lifted a hand and called out again to the Light. It felt good to channel the holy energy, and she felt many broken and injured parts of her spirit start to mend. For a moment she simply held the holy energy close, letting it seep into her every pore. Then she clenched her hand into a fist, and holy flame smashed down onto the necromancer's body. And it came down again and again, burning away at him until no part of his corpse could ever be recovered. He was no Grobbulus, no massive titan of flesh and power. He was just a man, and he burned quickly.
A heartrending cry for help jerked her back to the present, and she turned her head towards the far end of the room. There stood the target of her rescue attempt, a being she saw clearly for the first time. At the sight of him she stood a little straight in surprise, and stared. Then the urgency of the situation came back to her, spurring her towards him at a run.
He was huge. From the soles of his feet to the top of his head, he measured some ridiculous height- perhaps thirty feet. Six or seven men would have had to stand vertically on each others' shoulders for the top one to look him in the eye. He bore the stitches of an undead construct- an abomination- but there was little resemblance between him and the grotesque beasts lumbering around the rest of the wing.
Abominations were mismatched things- collections of body parts crudely thrown together and bombed with necromantic energy. Their flesh sagged from their bones and their organs spilled out through the cracks. Their heads were grossly misshapen, their bulk was unsightly, their legs short and stubby, and they typically sported three or more arms. Rather than walk, they waddled after their prey, their unsightly bulk tumbling all over the place.
The tormented creature before Ketala was nothing at all like a normal abomination. He was an elegant and streamlined thing, built after the fashion of a sturdy human. There was no fatty gut bloated with vile gasses and fluids. Abdominal muscles were solid and compact; he was slender, even. The bulk of his weight was instead carried in abnormally large shoulders and within a deep and powerful chest. Furthermore, his legs were solid and strong, made not for shuffling but for taking long, powerful strides..
No, this thing was no simple abomination, no meat shield created for the sole purpose of soaking damage. He was sculpted like brawler or even a warrior. Here was a creature meant to stand at the right hand of a general, and lead an army in a mighty charge, the earth quaking under him with every step-
But now came the matter of freeing this unusual being…
The room Ketala found herself in was fairly simple in structure. There was a short flat area that ended in a lake of green slime. Two staircases led out over the slime and ended in raised platforms that flanked the sides of the room. Across the lake and between the platforms was a sort of island. Standing against a mighty pillar in the center of the island was her target. Chains were wrapped generously around his body, and thick metal plates held him securely in place. Four inverted pillars hung down from the ceiling and ended some distance above the raised platforms. All four were tipped with strange metal nodes from which lightning would emit and slam brutally into the undead creature's helpless form.
Judging by the breadth of the light bolts and the thundering booms they generated, he was more than a little resistant to electricity.
Ketala eyed the upper platforms and then blinked as she noticed a hulking metal contraption atop one. She flit quickly up the corresponding staircase, and skidded to a halt as she reached the strange machine. It was covered from top to bottom in all kinds of levers and buttons. On one of its panels was an array of at least one hundred switches and sliders, all of which were uniform gray. There were a good twenty dials, all with respective gauges, and none of which sported any numbers or words. A closer look revealed that the right-most gauge remained at a constant level. Every time a lightning bolt struck, the other gauges would fly up to the same position as the first, and then settle back down again.
Ketala blinked and pondered hard, looking between the lightning generators and the machine. Lightning generators. Machine. Electric bolts. Gauges. After a moment, the undead paladin nodded. Having come to a decision about her course of action, Ketala backed up a safe distance from the machine. She then used her scimitars to conjure a giant flaming rock with which she began to beat the machine over and over again. With explosions. And magma.
The machine buzzed and beeped, and gave what any science fiction fan would have to call a "powering down" noise- a long slide from high, buzzing tones to deep, repressed ones. Above her the lightning nodes sputtered and crackled, and finally went still, changing from a bright blue color to somber ebony.
Down on the island, the creature went absolutely berserk. He screamed and began to thrash and toss about wildly, causing his chains to clink and the metal bands to groan. For a moment, Ketala was worried she had had made some kind of horrible mistake. Muscles kept helpless by electrical shocks began to bulge and strain. Metal whined, moaned, and then split open as one arm ripped free of its restraints. There were more snaps as first his chest, and then the rest of his body followed, and he staggered haphazardly away from his prison, the ground rumbling with his awesome weight.
It didn't look as though he had walked on his own for a long time. He lifted a foot and set it down improperly, and went sprawling to the ground with a mighty thud. Overwhelmed and still shaking from the electric strikes, he could do little more than crawl forward a few steps, desperate to be away from the confining pillars.
Having established the basic ground rules for dealing with rebellious computers, Ketala gauged the distance to the island and then jumped. She landed with a considerably less impressive thud. The undead paladin straightened herself and then looked over at the poor creature. He'd given up crawling and was now huddling in one spot, pulling his limbs inward and hugging low to the ground like a sorely frightened child.
She tilted her head to the side and frowned in thought, uncertain what to do with him now that he was safe and all sense of urgency had passed. Judging by how he panted and whimpered, he needed a moment or two to recover, and so she took some time to better examine the strange being she had saved.
Where his ribs protruded slightly through his sides, she could see that the bone had been replaced by bars of metal. Upon his feet were thick, metal boots that appeared to be anchored to his knees by giant bolts. On both his arms he wore strange gloves that stretched halfway up his forearm and bore sharp, protective plates along their length. Thick leather bands were wrapped around his waist and legs, most likely used to help support his weight before his construction had been completed, but which also served to keep him decently clothed.
After a moment, the paladin took in a deep breath and then carefully walked up to his side. Still lost in his own little world, he shifted his weight, lost his balance, and slipped slightly towards her. The movement was completely innocuous, but it nearly resulted in him falling on her, an event which would have likely been fatal. Ketala stumbled quickly back from him, and looked at where his gauntlets had accidentally torn large chunks out of the stone floor when he'd caught himself from falling any further.
She looked back up at him, suddenly very respectful of his immense strength and weight. Ordinarily, Ketala would have immediately bounded up to an undead monster and smothered it in a hug, but this situation would require a gentler approach. If this giant was startled by her and tried to "push" her away, she'd probably go flying headlong into the nearest wall.
Ketala approached him again, but this time from a wider angle, so that he might see her coming. He was kneeling on all fours with his head lowered, his forehead almost touching the ground. His face, or what she could see of it, was very humanoid. Only two features strayed from the fairly human norm. The first was that someone had thought to make him more intimidating by giving him a thick, metal lower jaw. The second was that a broad scar was plastered over the side of his head where someone had drilled through his skull.
Unfortunately, her attempts to let him see her coming were nullified by the fact that his eyes were squeezed tightly closed. Aside from throwing a rock at him, she couldn't really rectify this, so she simply walked up in front of his face, removed her helmet and tethered it to her side, and paused a moment to collect her thoughts.
"Hello," she said at last.
He jerked his head up immediately and looked straight at her, brilliant green eyes meeting hers. Surprised by her proximity, and uncertain of her intentions, he jerked back a few inches. Ketala lifted a brow and smiled slightly.
"Hello," she said again.
He fidgeted hesitantly, and then mumbled a small, "Hello." He had the slightest lisp due to his rigid lower jaw, and his voice rumbled like a blast furnace. The timidity in his voice sounded absolutely bizarre coming from his enormous mouth.
"Come now," she said a little laughingly. "I go through all that to set you free, and now you're afraid of me, too?"
His eyes widened a bit and he quivered, not knowing how to respond. The memory of his agony was still fresh in his mind, and it was blurring out other thoughts, confusing him and causing him to breathe faster and faster.
"Oh, no, no, no," Ketala murmured quickly, lifting her hands just a bit, and keeping them close to her so as not to frighten him. "It's okay… It's okay… You aren't doing anything wrong. It's okay… Shhh…"
He swallowed hard, his breathing settling a bit but still coming faster than normal. "You-" he began timidly, "you were in my head… I… I heard…"
She nodded considerably, so that he would be certain of the admission. "I told you I would find you," she said gently. "I told you I'd come to you. I'm just sorry I took so long." A calming smile spread over her face again. "My name is Ketala. Who are you?"
Somewhat emboldened, and recalling more of what had happened within the last hour, he answered, "Called… Thaddius."
"Thaddius," the paladin repeated thoughtfully. "That's a handsome name. And it suits you. May I come closer, Thaddius?"
"You- you won't… hurt…?"
"I won't," she promised. "I will be very, very nice."
Those green eyes looked at her a moment in wonder, and then he gave a meek little "Okay." Ketala nodded and took slow, short, even steps in his direction. As she approached his face, his eyes tried to follow her and ended up crossing when she came too close. Thaddius blinked rapidly to dispel the uncomfortable sensation, and then turned his head slightly to the side to view her with just one eye. Ketala gave a silent giggle, and set a hand cautiously upon his metal jaw. The surface was smooth and well polished, without the slightest bit of rust. The undead woman let her hand linger against the jaw for a moment, and when Thaddius didn't pull away she rested her palm against his cheek instead.
His skin had the texture of rigid leather, and was warm as if heated by some internal furnace. Ketala blinked, to some extent surprised by his temperature, but she attributed it to the lightning strikes he had so recently received. She paused a moment to see if he would give some negative response to her touch, and when none was forthcoming she stroked over the breadth of his cheek. He looked in confusion at her for a long moment, before his eyelids drooped like those of a cat getting its chin scratched.
"Nice," he mumbled appreciatively.
Ketala nodded and gently traced over the side of his face. When she finished her examination, she smiled and patted his cheek. "I do not know how anyone could hurt you; you are so pretty with your handsome face and your big green eyes," she said, and she stood on her toes and placed a kiss on his brow.
Much to her surprise, Thaddius blushed innocently at the praise, his cheeks turning a dull maroon color. The paladin had around three seconds to contemplate how a person without a pulse could blush. Then the titanic abomination suddenly lunged forward to throw his arms around her in a massive hug. Time seemed to slow. Realizing she was about to become a thoroughly mashed pancake, Ketala jerked backwards, lifted her arms defensively around her, and in desperation shouted, "Thaddius, STOP, NO!"
His arms changed trajectory and his fingers tore huge grooves into the stonework as twenty-four tons of exuberant undead came skidding to a halt. The vibrations from him hitting the ground in such a way caused Ketala to stumble and fall to her rear. He blinked down at her, confused and hurt, and he backed up a pace, wondering what it was that he had done wrong.
Realizing that she had not been crushed to death by a very well-meaning but horrifically strong abomination, Ketala dropped her hands and let out the breath she had been holding. "Okay," she said slowly. "It's okay. I know you were trying to hug me, but you can't do it like that."
"Wh-why?" he asked, and he sounded like he might cry.
"Let me explain," she said slowly, and she pushed herself to her feet and dusted off her pants. "Do you see where your hands hit the ground? Do you see how you ripped large chunks out of the stone?" He turned his eyes to his fingers and lifted one hand. The scores he had left behind were clearly visible, and his gloved palm was slightly dusty. "Think about this. What if you'd actually hugged me, instead of just stopping yourself with that stone? I'd be dead."
Horrified by this revelation, he pushed himself backwards another pace.
"Wait, wait," she commanded gently, lifting her hands in a reassuring manner. "Just listen. I'm not yelling at you. Just be calm, and listen; this is something you need to understand. I am very, very, very small. It is extremely easy for you to hurt me without meaning to. So when you're near me, you have to be careful, and do things a certain way."
"Don't want to hurt-!"
"You won't," she assured him. "We just have to teach you to be gentle when you're moving. You would like that, wouldn't you? To be able to hug someone without hurting them, right?"
He hesitated, and then nodded slowly.
"Alright then. Get up on your knees, like this," she said, and she demonstrated by kneeling in the proper position. He took a close look at her, and then slowly shifted, paying close attention to each and every one of his limbs. When he was satisfied, he looked back to her for further instruction. "Good. Now, the next movement you have to do slowly, and you have to make sure you don't whack me in the process. Take one of your hands, and hold it out close to the ground in front of you, palm up, like this," and she showed him. He looked worriedly at one of his hands, and then carefully, painstakingly, tediously, he moved his hand forward, his fingers slightly curled and his palm facing up.
Ketala smiled a bit at his snail's pace, but she supposed it was better than being flattened. "Good, now just stay there for a second and let me do this part," she instructed, and she stood up and came over to his hand, and pulled herself up between his fingers and into his palm. He blinked in surprise and concern and his fingers twitched lightly, subconsciously trying to help her up. The paladin got her knees back under her, and looked back up at him. "Okay. Now bring the side of your hand up to your chest, like this. Make sure the palm stays facing up. Good," she praised as he began to do so. "Alright, now this is the hardest step. Lift your other hand and move it to sort of wrap around me and hold me against you like you would in a hug. Just be careful! Make sure you sort of keep your hand cupped, don't flatten it out or anything."
Had he still possessed a lower lip, he surely would have bitten it. There was a look of profound concentration on his face as he stretched his limited fine motor skills to their breaking points. Thaddius lifted his other hand beside the first, and held it parallel with her body. Then he carefully inched it closer to her, under the gloved material was touching her. These little movements were difficult for him, and so ended up coarse and unintentionally forceful. His fingers cupped carefully around her, and he pressed her as gently as he possibly could against him.
Ketala breathed an audible sigh of relief, and moved to hug him back. As she did so she felt against her cheek and body a very peculiar sound, deep like a bass drum, and low enough to be physically detectable.
Heartbeat. He had a heartbeat. At that moment, his fit of hyperventilation, his blushing, his warmth, everything made far more sense. Thaddius was not actually undead. She looked up at his face in bafflement, and tilted her head to the side. You're alive? she wondered mentally. But how? You are very obviously a newly created abomination. How can you be alive?
Unaware of her train of thoughts, Thaddius looked at her quietly a long moment before finally remembering something he'd been wanting to say. "Thank you," he murmured.
Ketala docked her head to the side. "For what?" she inquired.
"For saving me," he elaborated slowly. "No one… …no one has ever helped me before…" The paladin's expression turned from curiosity to a soft hybrid of sympathy and warmth.
"This is a nice hug," she reflected. "A nice, non-Ketala-flattening, pleasant hug. You should be proud to be the giver of hugs like this." This seemed to cheer him up, and he pulled her back from his chest so that he might better look at her. Something seemed to be puzzling him, and he at last put it to words.
"Are you my mother?" he asked.
Ketala blinked and laughed. Despite the fact that she was usually content with undead calling her "mother," she felt that this particular situation deserved some distinction from the norm. "No, I don't think I'm your mother," she reflected, "but I could be your sister."
"Sister…" he said, tasting the words and trying to call up its definition from fragmented memories of a life long gone. He smiled lightly and suddenly lifted her up to his face. In an amazing display of tactical maneuvering, he managed to kiss her on the top of the head without biting any of her extremities off or knocking her over with his ridiculous metal jaw. Ketala blinked, and looked at him in surprise. A rush of tingling warmth spread through her, and she found that a smile had overtaken the whole of her face.
A crash in the distance brought her suddenly ended the moment. Ketala looked back to the great doors that led out of the chamber and frowned as she heard the bellows of abominations getting closer and closer. Kel'Thuzad's minions were still coming for her. All of Naxxramas was converging on her position, armed and ready to recapture her. She was still on a mission to destroy as much of his followers as possible; a mission that would likely culminate in her defeat. Her position was as desperate now as it was an hour past, when she had last spoke to Mograine.
Ketala looked back up at Thaddius whose green eyes watched her so trustingly. She took in a slow breath. "Brother, I've a lot to tell you in a very short span of time," she said in a solemn voice, "so I need you to listen. We're both in great danger."
The Northern Shore of Dustwallow Marsh
" Worms!"
Daelin eyed Kallah with a flash of amusement and nodded. "Yes," he agreed. " Worms."
"What do you have worms for?" she asked in bewilderment.
"These fish like to eat worms," he explained as he set the bucket of fish bait down. He reached inside and selected a worm, pulling it gently from the dark brown earth. Then he laid his fishing pole against his thigh and showed her the hook. "You catch a fish by convincing the creature to bite down on this sharp hook. If the fish bites down hard enough, it will become trapped on the hook, and you will be able to pull it out of the water. In order to get the fish to bite down, you have to put fish food on the end of the hook. In this case, the fish food we're using is worms."
Daelin baited the hook and almost broke out laughing at Kallah's gasp of horror. "Then you drop the hook in the water and wait. And while you're waiting you talk to someone, or think about things." He tossed the hook into the water and sat back on his dock. "And that's how you catch a fish." Kallah came up to him and peered over the water, looking down at where the line disappeared into the murky depths. After a moment, she looked back to her grandfather and frowned.
"Grandpa? Do you have a fishing pole for me, too?"
The Admiral blinked and looked at her in surprise, as if having totally forgotten that she didn't own a pole. He pondered for a moment, and then offered his own pole to her. "Hold this for a minute. I'll see what I have."
Kallah looked at the beautiful fishing pole in surprise and took it with exquisite care. It was a lovely thing, carved, painted, varnished; personalized and tended to in every way a fishing pole could be. A sense of pride welled up in her that she had been entrusted with such an artifact, and she gripped it a little tighter and sat down beside the edge, staring intently at where the line disappeared in the water. Daelin smiled and went back to where their sloop was docked to look through his spare hooks and fishing wire. "And Kallah?" he called back to her. The little girl turned in her seat to look at him. "Don't drop it if you feel something-"
Just then, "something" tugged down hard on the end of the pole. Kallah eeped and released the pole in surprise. It landed with a splash, and disappeared into the murky water as the weight of its mechanical reel tugged it downward.
Daelin closed his eyes and sighed, but figured that he should have expected something like that to happen. Jaina had lost one of his fishing poles in the same exact fashion when she was a little girl.
Kallah winced at her grandfather's sigh. She looked down regretfully at the brackish water. Truly she had not meant to let go of the pole. The tug had surprised her! Although now that she thought about it, she realized that a fish had probably caused the tug. A blush crept over her face at her ineptitude. And her grandpa! Oh she'd ruined that too! He had been acting really nice lately, and now he'd be all grumpy again.
Kallah gave a crestfallen sigh at all the repercussions of her negligence, and she stared down at her feet. Grandpa is probably so mad. Then, quite suddenly, an ingenious idea came to her, and she sat a little straighter. The fishing pole had been heavy, and had probably sunk right to the bottom. Surely it was not that far down… all she had to do was reach in and find it!
Inspired, the little girl uncrossed her legs and leaned over the water, reaching down into its depths. She felt around and was disappointed to find she couldn't feel the bottom. But then, the water was probably deeper than her koi pond back home. She'd just have to reach a little farther.
Daelin was in the progress of putting together a makeshift fishing pole for himself when he heard another "eep", and another small but much more foreboding splash. His head jerked up and he quickly looked behind him.
No Kallah.
Nor did he hear any more splashes.
He was already up and bolting for the side of the dock before his brain consciously registered that Kallah couldn't swim.
When he reached the edge of the dock, he didn't bother slowing down or jumping in feet first. He knew these waters well- had fished in them for the last few years. He had supported his dock between two large rocks, but the water between them, where Kallah had fallen, was a good hundred feet deep. When Daelin reached the end of the dock, he dove straight down into the water, and disappeared with a splash.
Then the dockside was quiet save for the buzzing of insects and the faint croak of distant bullfrogs. Tress rustled gently in an ocean breeze. Trickles of steam rose up from the water in the dim light of the morning. Somewhere in the distance a Murk Thresher bellowed.
A black fly landed upon the very edge of the dock, and began to dine upon the swamp scum that lingered there.
Quiet and still.
The surface ruptured explosively, water splashing in great arcs. A humanoid hand slapped down on the wood of the dock with a wet thud, the nails curling in and digging ruts out of the slimy material. Simultaneously, a very wet and scum-covered Daelin Proudmoore heaved himself out of the water, dragging a small child after him, hauling her out of the water and getting her on top of the dock as quickly as possible.
She was limp, and sprawled in a messy heap when he received her. Operating on pure instinct and adrenaline, Daelin covered her nose, took in a breath of air, leaned over, and without hesitance tried to force the life-giving oxygen into her lungs.
Beneath his hands, she stirred, squirmed, and then convulsed. He released her and she jerked to her side and began choking and retching up water, her whole body shaking violently as it did so. When she finished she collapsed in a heap, whimpering softly, her eyes closed tightly.
The Admiral Proudmoore let out a long, relieved sigh. A smile twisted on his face, and that smile slowly developed into a soft chuckle. Kallah blinked and opened her eyes, looking blearily over at her Grandfather. The undead man just marveled at her, shaking his head back and forward with a warm smile on his face. "Didn't expect it to be that deep, did you?"
Kallah winced, and blushed. Daelin chuckled and reached over, gently pulling some of the muck out of her hair. "It's alright. There, it's alright," he smiled and gently picked her up and set her on her feet. "I'm not mad. Well, not with you, anyway. I am going to have to have a long talk with your mother about not teaching you to swim…"
"I'm sorry, Grandpa," she mumbled. "I just wanted to get your fishing pole back…"
"Yes, well, I have other fishing poles. But I only have one granddaughter. So if you find yourself overcome with the urge to jump back in the water, please resist," he said in amusement, wiping mud from her face with a handkerchief. Daelin's own clothes were in a much better state due to Jaina's protective magic. Not only was he dry, but he was still quite clean. The little girl shivered in the light breeze, but her face brightened a bit. "There you go. Now, these soaked clothes won't do at all. Come, let's see if I have an extra shirt or something on the sloop," he continued gently, and he stood and took her hand and carefully led her back to the boat.
Kallah was overwhelmed by this very gentle and un-grumbly attention, and looked up at her grandfather in bafflement. "Grandpa?" she asked. "Why aren't your clothes dirty or wet?"
"Because your mother cast protective magic on them."
"Oh. Grandpa? Why didn't your hat come off?"
Daelin looked at her and laughed, reaching up to tip the hat. "It's enchanted. It won't come off unless the wearer takes it off."
"You enchanted your hat to keep it from falling off?" she asked in bewilderment.
"Some things are too important to leave to chance, Kallah," he answered solemnly. "A hat is a terrible thing to waste."
"Oh. I think your hat is the best hat I have ever seen," she offered experimentally.
"… I see." He thought for a moment, and then pulled the hat off and plopped it down on her head. Kallah blinked and looked up at him in surprise. "There. Now you have also been gifted by the blessing of the Great Hat. I'll warn you though. You lost my fishing pole; if you lose my hat, I shall have to kill you." She blinked, and then a smile worked its way slowly over her face.
"But it's enchanted to stay on! How could I lose it?"
"Kallah, I've the notion you could lose your own shadow if left unsupervised long enough."
"Grandpa!"
P.S. YAARRRGG! Review or I'll kill off your favorite characters! WITH AN AXE!