"Are you out of your mind?" Braelyn demanded, staring at Lethallan in disbelief. "You can't bring me to Silvermoon!"

"I believe that I just did," the death kinght grinned smugly. "Really, I don't see what the problem is," he added, waving a hand nonchalantly.

"I'm a human! Silvermoon is full of Blood Elves!" Braelyn replied, rolling her eyes as Lethallan did not seem perturbed in the slightest. "Humans, blood elves... never the twain shall meet..."

"Stop being so melodramatic!" Lethallan commanded. "I have a house here, you'll love it. Plus, we will not be staying for too long at any given time. Alliance do-gooders to smite, remember?"

The rational part of Braelyn's mind told her that she was in no position to argue with her captor; she was trapped in an enemy stronghold with no weapons, no armor, and no money. Hell, she still didn't even have any shoes. There was nothing about her current situation that suggested a happy ending was in store for her, and that was even if she acted the way Lethallan wanted her to. Kicking up a fuss was only going to make things that much worse for her.

The rest of Braelyn, however, was done with being rational. After all that she had been through, the battle at Warsong Gulch, Bitsie's death, the time spent at Ebon Hold, and the long journey to Silvermoon, which involved a tense few minutes at Orgrimmar waiting for a Zepplin to the Eastern Kingdoms, followed by being harassed by the world's stinkiest Troll all the way to the Tirisfal Glades, it was a wonder she was not screaming like a crazy person.

She had seen the dusky twilight skies of Lordaeron and hoped that the death knight was taking her to the sanctuary of the Eastern Plaguelands and the Argent Crusade. But it was not the case; a Forsaken mage friend of Lethallan's had opened them a portal to the last place Braelyn had ever expected to go.

And she was not happy about it.

Folding her arms across her chest, Braelyn sat herself down on the white paved street, and stared defiantly at Lethallan. He looked confused. "I am not going anywhere with you," she said.

"Yes, you are," the death knight said. "What else are you going to do?"

I have no idea.

"Stay here until someone decides to kill me or something," Braelyn said with a casual shrug, although on the inside she was starting to panic. There were no soldiers or guardsmen here. Lethallan's friend had been very discreet, porting them into a quiet part of the city.

Lethallan laughed. "Stop being such a child," he said, holding out his hand for Braelyn to take. The human merely turned her head away, nose in the air. "Don't be foolish."

"Don't be such a bastard," Braelyn retorted, glaring at a few Blood Elves that were milling around looking scandalised. Why haven't they called the guards?

With that, Lethallan's remaining 'good' mood evaporated, and he reached down and roughly grabbed Braelyn's upper arm. He attempted to pull her upright, but she resisted with all the strength she had left. The death knight swore in Thalassian as she started to flail her arms and legs around. He let out a feral growl and slapped Braelyn across her cheek with a hand still encased in a plate gauntlet.

Braelyn cried out as Lethallan's blow sent her reeling backwards. Her hands collided with the pavement, and she felt the sting of skin breaking. Pain bloomed across her cheek, and she could feel a small trickle of blood making its way down her face. She was vaguely aware of the angry muttering of the small group of onlookers, but did not know whether they were angry at her or at Lethallan. She bit her lips as tears welled up in her eyes.

She stared at the footpath for a moment before turning her face towards her attacker. She cupped her cheek in her hand and winced, not just at the pain, but also at the furious look Lethallan was giving her. For this first time since her ordeal began, she could honestly say she was terrified of him. The temperature had dropped several degrees, and his eyes glowed with malicious fury. Braelyn let out an involuntary whimper and began to push herself backwards along the ground. She did not get far before Lethallan caught up with her. He reached down again, this time winding his fingers around her long pony tail.

"Don't touch me!" she yelled.

"You will learn to do as you are told," he hissed, and yanked her forward.

All Braelyn could do was scream as she was dragged by her hair through the streets of Silvermoon.

Halduron Brightwing sighed in relief as he made his way along the Walk of Elders. It was a beautiful day, and he was glad to finally be home after a trip to Pandaria to consult with Aethas Sunreaver about his work on the Isle of Thunder. He made the most of the weather and his remaining free time by stopping to talk to Silvermoon's resident shaman and druid trainers, Gez'li and Herene Plainwalker. He had just exchanged the usual pleasantries, when a woman's terrified scream rent the air.

"Guards!" Halduron called as he made his way towards Murder Row, where the sound had come from. He was startled when the scream faded, replaced with pleas for help... in Common.

A few seconds later, a Death Knight came arround the corner. His ghoul trotted alongside him, obviously agitated about something. The undead Blood Elf looked furious, lips twisted in a snarl, and with one hand he was dragging something along the ground...

"By the Earthmother, that's a Human!" Harene exclaimed, pointing at the hysterical woman doing her best to free herself from the death knight's hold. Halduron was furious; not just because the death knight had brought a potential enemy into their city, but also because of the state the human was in. The woman's face was twisted in fear, pain, and anger as she slapped and pulled at the fingers wrapped in her hair. There was a nasty looking wound on her cheek, and her bare feet, kicking against the pavement, were dirty and beginning to bleed. She was clad in what looked as if it had once been a pretty blue dress. It was stained and dirty, too, and only the thin linen cloak she wore over it protected the garment from disintegrating as the human girl was pulled along the ground.

"He's going to kill me!" She called out desperately.

"Halt!" Halduron called as he blocked the death knight's path. For a moment he thought that the death knight would attack him in his fury, but then he recognised who Halduron was and came to a stop.

"Ranger-General," Lethallan said by way of greeting, and moved as if to keep going. Halduron remained where he was.

"You bought a human into the city?" he asked.

"Just a slave I captured for myself in Darkshore," the death Knight replied. "I thought I'd bring her home and get her cleaned up, before heading back out into the world."

Halduron was disturbed by how quickly the elf went from enraged to calm and cool, although he did notice that the death knight maintained his tight grip on the young woman. "I don't think so," he said firmly. "We do not condone slavery, as well you know, so let the girl go, and then leave before I decide to arrest you for disturbing the peace."

"She is too valuable for me to just let go," Lethallan growled in warning, summoning a death gate. "And as a Knight of the Ebon Blade, I do not answer to your authority."

Halduron drew himself up to his full height and glared at the death knight. "While you are in our city, you follow our rules." He looked at the human, who was staring at the death gate as if it represented all her nightmares come to life. Despite her current state of distress, it was obvious to him that she was no civilian accidentally caught up in the war. He could see the trauma of the battlefield in her eyes, see that her build was that of a fighter, not a housewife or barmaid. If his suspicions were correct, then the young woman could prove more useful to him than to the death knight.

Besides, he was a sucker for a damsel in distress.

The death kinght did not seem at all intimidated by the Ranger-General. Instead he shrugged his shoulder, and turned towards the death gate. "Come along, Sweetheart, time to go," he said in Common. The woman started screaming again, kicking her legs furiously.

"Wait!" Halduron said. "How about we make some sort of deal?"

"And what could you possibly have to tempt me with?" scoffed Lethallan.

"Name your price."

The death knight laughed. "She is a very remarkable woman," he said. "It would take a lot to convince me to part with her."

"Name. Your. Price," Halduron repeated through clenched teeth, sorely tempted to just stab the other elf.

"Very well," Lethallan laughed, before raising a hand to his chin in mock thoughtfulness. "Hmmm, I couldn't possible let her go for any less than..."

People always assumed that because Braelyn was a hunter, she was not interested in academic pursuits. Because of this, most of her acquaintances were unaware that she was, in fact, fascinated with foreign languages. This fascination led to her becoming fluent in several of Azeroth's major languages, including Thalassian. This meant that when Lethallan was stopped by a rather impressive looking Blood Elf not long after she'd started to scream, she understood exactly what they were saying to each other.

At first, the realisation that she was being bartered over like a farmer's prize heifer merely knocked her out of her fear-induced haze. A small spark of indignation began to build in her heart as they discussed her 'value' but that was quickly extinguished when she heard Lethallan name his price.

It was obscene. So obscene she almost forgot how much she hated him. When the other Blood Elf actually agreed to pay it, her mouth fell open in shock. She quickly closed it, as she didn't think it was a good idea for them to know that she could understand them.

Tell him he's dreaming, she silently wished the blood elf, then started to feel really afraid about what he might want in return for such a price.

When the deal was struck, Lethallan turned to her, and grinned. "Well, time for us to part ways, Sweetheart," he said. He reached down and picked her up, kissing her on the cheek as he set her on her feet. "Maybe next time I'm in town, the Ranger-General will let me take you for a drink.'

"Bugger off," Braelyn said as firmly as she could. Lethallan merely laughed, and walked off, presumably to find the nearest bank. "Come along, Mangle."

The ghoul eyed Braelyn for a second then threw his arms around her. "'Bye, pretty Braelyn!" he growled. "Mangle miss you!" He then trotted off after Lethallan with a howl of ghoulish grief.

It was one of those times when Braelyn was unable to decide what to feel or how to act. She stared blankly at the bright beauty that was Silvermoon before glancing at the man who had just 'liberated' her. He was watching her intently, as were the three guards behind him. She opened her mouth to thank him, before closing it again without saying anything. What could she say? She reached up and nervously ran her hands through her hair, which was now flowing messily half-way down her back thanks to Lethallan's rage. She took one tentative little step to the side... and then took off running.

She wasn't thinking as she ran, she just moved. She heard a surprised shout from behind her and increased her pace, wincing as her feet throbbed in pain. Before she got very far, a nearby mage froze her lower legs to the ground. With a startled 'ooomph' she wobbled wildly as she tried to maintain her balance. She started falling forward, only to be stopped by an arm slung around her waist.

"Thank you, Tyren," a male voice said to the mage who froze her. The man Lethallan had called the Ranger-General was staring down at her with an amused smile. "Did you even know where you were going?" he asked in Common. Braelyn nodded her head. He raised an eyebrow at her.

Braelyn cleared her throat and spoke as calmly as she could. "I was going away. From you."

The guards muttered angrily to each other, but the Ranger-General let out a short burst of laughter. "I see. It was a valiant effort, but if you're done attempting the impossible, I need you to come with me." He placed a hand on her elbow and guided her towards a gateway. Braelyn held her head high, and went to meet her fate.

Braelyn hadn't expected to be taken to meet the Regent Lord of Quel'Thalas; she'd expected to find herself in jail, or, worse-case-scenario, the Ranger-General's bedroom. Nevertheless, she now stood in one of the most decadent rooms she'd ever seen as the Ranger-General was forced to explain why he was in possession of a bedraggled human woman. She battled to keep her face blank so that they would not realise she could understand what they were saying. 'They' being the Ranger-General, the Regent Lord, and a third Blood Elf male Braelyn did not recognise.

While the Regent-Lord had been surprised to see Braelyn, he did not seem overtly angry or hostile. The other man, however, was both, and to an alarming degree. He glared at her with an almost palpable distaste, and had spent most of the past half an hour encouraging the other two to 'get rid of it'. He had the brightly glowing green eyes common to his race and a mane of beautiful blue-black hair pulled back into a pony tail. Half of his face was hidden by a strange kind of cloth helm that matched his finely crafted red, black, and gold mage robes. An impressive staff completed his ensemble, and with a start, Braelyn, realised that this must be the Grand Magister of Quel'Thalas, though his name escaped her for the moment.

It was clear that he had problems with the entire human race, and, as he refused to refer to her as anything other than 'it', obviously thought that they were less worthy of respect than termites.

It never failed to hurt Braelyn that someone could hate her so much for no other reason than her race.

So far, Halduron, the Ranger-General, was encouraging his leader to use Braelyn as a bargaining chip - a tool to get concessions from the Alliance. He also suggested that it might be possible to exchange her for one, or more, of the Sunreavers taken captive during the purge of Dalaran. The angry mage snorted in contempt. "As if Proudmoore or Wrynn will swap anything for that," he said, jerking his head at Braelyn. She had taken to keeping her gaze fixed on the thick red carpet, face hidden by her tangled hair. It was the only way to hide her rising anger, and knowledge of their words.

The Regent-Lord walked over to her, and Braelyn could feel his gaze linger on her. "Are you sure she isn't a civilian, Halduron?" he asked. Braelyn liked his voice. It was cultured and calm, reminding her a little of Andorien.

"Look beneath the dirt and dress, Lor'themar. Doe's she look like a simple farm girl to you? Or some beloved housewife?"

Lor'themar thought for a while, before sighing. "No, I guess not," he said. A brief pause, and then the Regent-Lord switched over to Common. "Miss, why do you not look at me? At my advisors?" he inquired.

Braelyn raised her head, making eye contact briefly, before settling her gaze on elf's broad chest. "I'm sorry, my Lord," she said softly, voice hoarse after so much screaming, "but your guard dog looks like he'll kill me with fire if I so much as breathe on you."

"I'd like to," the Magister snapped after an angry pause. Halduron laughed loudly, and even the Regent-Lord smiled briefly.

"Is the Ranger-General correct, Miss?" Lor'themar asked, and this time Braelyn looked at him as he spoke. "Are you a solider of the Alliance?"

Braelyn shook her head. "I fought one battle for the Alliance, in Warsong Gulch about... six weeks ago, I think," she said, unsure about the passage of time. Grief flickered briefly in her eyes before she continued. "That was enough to convince me that I am not a soldier. I prefer to choose my own adventures."

"A hero then," Lor'themar stated. Braelyn shook her head. How could she be a hero when she'd let her friends and her beloved pets die? Sure, there was a slight chance that Growly, Andorien, and Odariah had survived, but it was a slim one. Too slim to support hope.

"I bet she's a healer," sniffed the Magister. "A priest; she's not bulky enough to be a paladin," he added with a sneer. Braelyn was tempted to stick her tongue out at him.

"No," she said. "My cousin's the healer of the family. I'm a hunter."

"A hunter!" Halduron exclaimed happily. "Good choice! But... where are you're pets?" He winced at the look that passed over Braelyn's face, a tortured mix of anger and grief.

"Dead," she bit out.

"That death knight?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry, I know how the loss of a pet feels," Halduron said gently. Braelyn only nodded in reply, desperately holding back her tears.

"I'm not sure if Varian Wrynn or Lady Proudmoore will be willing to trade a Sunreaver for an adventurer, but we'll make an attempt," the Regent-Lord said, waving his hand to silence the protests of the magister. "We'll need a name, however."

Braelyn had hoped they'd never ask who she was. Her mother was a mage, and well known and respected among the Kirin Tor, which meant she had met and befriended many of the Sunreavers before their expulsion from Dalaran, including Aethas Sunreaver himself. If the men before her didn't recognise her surname, and she was certain that the Magister at least would, it wouldn't take long for them to find out just how important her parents were. She didn't believe for a minute that the King or Lady Proudmoore would consider her worth negotiating with the Horde over, even taking her mother and father into consideration, and why put her family through the agony of knowing what was happening to her, if there was nothing they could do to help her? As angry as she was with them, Braelyn wanted to spare her parents that pain, even if it meant prolonging her own suffering. Or lead to her death.

"The death knight's ghoul called her Braelyn," Halduron said, "but did not supply her family name."

"It's just Braelyn," Braelyn blurted, a little too quickly. She noticed the Magister looking at her with scorn.

"I doubt that," he said. "Your kind always have last names."

"Fine," Braelyn snapped, before dipping down into a mocking curtsy. "Lady Braelyn Anonymous-Nobody, at your service. Trust me, the pleasure is all yours."

While the Regent-Lord and the Grand Magister looked nonplussed, Halduron laughed. "Oh, I like her!" he said in Thalassian. "She's worth every sovereign!"

"You're not helping yourself by doing this, Braelyn," Lor'themar said gently.

"I know," she replied, dropping the sarcasm. "But given that I am being held here against my will, why should I make things easy for you, my Lord?"

The Regent-Lord sighed in frustration. "Very well. Halduron, take our unexpected guest to the dungeons. She'll have to stay there until we can organize something with the Alliance."

"Yes, my Lord," the Ranger-General said, and took Braelyn by the elbow. As she was led aways, Braelyn looked back at the other two blood elves. The Regent-Lord had already moved on to other problems, but the Grand Magister was still staring at her with disdain radiating from his blazing green eyes.

Fourteen days. That's how long Braelyn had languished in the dungeons of Silvermoon City before being summoned by the Regent-Lord. For that excruciating fortnight, she'd been confined to a dank and dismal cage barely bigger than a double-sized bed, and subject to the jeers and vulgar catcalls of her fellow prisoners. She looked a mess, hair matted and filthy, dress almost in tatters, and the smell was positively foul. She had forgotten what it felt like to be clean, and to breathe fresh air. The only kindnesses she had been shown were a regular supply of food, a visit by a healer to mend the damage done by her fight with Lethallan, and the apathy of the guards. She had kept her sanity by thinking of her home, the cool green beauty of Elwynn Forest, and making escape plans. The plans got more and more outlandish as time went by.

She cried only during the extra dark hours of the night, believing that her tears were for her family and friends, and not for herself. After the first few days, she sleep as often as she could, the only escape she had. She got angry too, but it was a helpless rage, directed at nothing and everything.

Her heart broke at the thought of the Alliance treating their prisoners this way.

As soon as she saw Lor'themar Theron's face, Braelyn knew that no agreement had been reached with the King. Although she had guessed that this would happen, it still hurt, and as much as she'd been preparing for death, she was afraid. The Regent-Lord looked at her with pity, though he soon frowned when he saw Braelyn's wretched condition. They must be able to smell me all the way over in Northrend, she thought.

"I'm afraid that Lady Proudmoore is refusing to have anything to do with the Blood Elves," he said, "and King Varian says that he will not negotiate with the Horde while Hellscream remains as Warchief."

"I suspected as much," Braelyn said, her voice croaky with underuse. She coughed, clearing her throat. "What will happen to me now?"

"We kill you," the Grand Magister said bluntly. Braelyn gasped, looking at him with shocked eyes. How can he be so cold?

"We can't kill her!" Halduron protested.

"Why not? We kill Alliance all the time."

"Yes, soldiers on the battlefield, or heroes who raid our territories! Not unarmed women who are dragged here unwillingly!"

"And what do you propose, Brightwing?" snarled the Grand Magister. "Are you suggesting we turn her out of the front gates to find her way home like a stray puppy? She won't last a day out there."

"I'd rather die out there than here!" snapped Braelyn, tired of being talked about like she wasn't in the room. "Not that I wouldn't be able to take care of myself."

"Enough!" Lor'themar said. "We are not killing her, either by execution or exile." Braelyn was shocked, but felt somewhat smug at the look of anger on the Grand Magister's face. The mage was going to protest when the Regent Lord interrupted him. "She is not our enemy, Rommath. She was brought here against her will and through no fault of her own."

"My Lord, are you suggesting we send the girl home?"

"No, Halduron. I'm saying she will remain here."

"By the Light, why?" Rommath demanded.

"Because I am not convinced that she is of no use to us," the Regent-Lord said. "We do not know who this girl really is," he pointed out, "but it is clear she is not a peasant. Her education is evident in her speech, and I've never met a peasant who could afford to send their children off on adventures. Perhaps the King will change his attitude when a couple of distraught, and very wealthy, merchants come to him, pleading for him to find their daughter? She might even be a noble. It is not uncommon for nobility to send their younger offspring out into the world."

"I highly doubt that she's nobility," Rommath sniffed, and this time Braelyn did stick her tongue out at him, even thoughb she new it was childish. He rolled his eyes. "But I know better than to keep arguing with you, my Lord."

Lor'themar laughed. "A wise move."

"Are you sending me back to the dungeons? I would do anything to avoid being stuck there again," Braelyn asked, her tone implying that they'd have to catch her first.

"No, Braelyn, I will not send you there again. I have something else in mind, something that will put you to good use," the Regent-Lord said, with an almost mischievous look at his Grand Magister.

"No!" Rommath growled. "You are not foisting this girl off on me, Lor'themar! Give her to Halduron, he's the one who bought her!"

"Hey!" Braelyn protested, "Stop treating me like a piece of property!"

Halduron grinned. "But, Grand Magister, weren't you saying just last week that you needed an assistant? Someone to help free up your apprentices?"

"Yes, but not some human idiot who obviously doesn't know a thing about magic!"

"I've changed my mind," Braelyn said to the Regent-Lord. She knew that her temper was going to get her in trouble, but there was only so much crap she could take before breaking. "Take me back to the dungeons. I'd rather be molested by the guards than put up this racist fool."

"Me, racist?" Rommath snapped. "That's hypocritical coming from you, don't you think, human?"

"Unlike you, I do not judge people because of their race!" Braelyn retorted. "You don't hear me calling you Blood Elf all the time." It had been a long time since she had argued with someone like this; usually Braelyn tried to maintain her dignity and find a way to avoid confrontations, no matter how angry or upset she was. This arrogant Blood Elf, however, put her on edge, making her react without thinking things through.

"Ahem," Lor'themar interrupted. Braelyn and Rommath stopped yelling, but did not stop glaring at each other. "I've made up my mind, and there will be no more arguing. She will be your assistant until I say otherwise, and you will take care of her." The Grand Magister started to protest. "I mean it, Rommath. If anything happens to her, I will hold you accountable. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, my Lord," the Grand-Magister replied through clenched teeth.

"Good. I suggest taking her to your house now, to let her settle in."

"What?" Braelyn squeaked. "I have to live with him?" Lor'themar nodded. "No! Can't I sleep on the streets? In the sewers?" She began backing up, a familiar sense of panic grabbing at her heart. Before Lor'themar could respond, Braelyn had already turned and started running.

Halduron chuckled. "There she goes again," he said fondly. "You'll have to watch out for that, Rommath." The Grand Magister just snarled in reply as he encased Braelyn in a block of ice.

"Fool of a human!"

AN - Finally Rommath appears. Isn't he lovely?

Next chapter: Braelyn struggles to find a way out of Silvermoon City, as two unexpected arrivals threaten to reveal her parents' identity.