The content of this isn't explicit, nothing I wouldn't show my teenage friends, hence it retaining a T rating. A wonderful lesson in why we don't drink, though.

Poor Kal.

The journey to the city of Orgrimmar was, for the most part, completely uneventful. If one wasn't riding the zepplin, at least. Those who were riding the goblin-run transport were treated to the amusements brought on by a frantic Kalthor and a horrifically plastered Triadae. Kalthor had never before traveled with his friend outside of meager horses and trans-location orbs, and he was more than a little surprised to find out that Triadae had the ability to look as beautiful sober as she did a delicate shade of green, half her lithe body held out over the edge of the zepplin, surprising people below them with the contents of her stomach.

Most of which happened to be incredibly strong alcohol. It had only taken her until the first night to join in on the drinking with the others who had boarded outside Undercity, desperate to stop the feeling of being sick. Instead, she had replaced it with completely drowning herself in rum and brandy, doing everything short of stripping herself bare under the influence. Not that it took much. By the third shot of rum, she was already drunkenly smiling at others. By the time the first bottle had gone, she was leaning on strangers as if they were long lost friends.

It was amusing, in some small way, for Kalthor to watch this. Her smiles at this point were not the same that he captured in his mind and remembered at all times, but they were still notable. He was certain that a woman who had spent most of her time attempting to be one of the boys would have become immune to the effects of the drink, but it seemed that this was just one of many things that she had never indulged herself in. Two, and then three, weeks passed in the air, and his worry changed from her being able to eat anything from her constant sickness to her being able to survive pickling her innards with how much she consumed. No matter what, neither option kept her away from the railing of the zepplin.

There was more than just her air-sickness that kept her there in the early days. More than once, Kalthor had woken to find her hammock empty and had made his way to the deck of the zepplin only to see here at the prow, her hand wrapped around one of the rigging lines while her eyes stared out at the moons that rose over the land, and then the sea. He had seen that look before, years ago. It worried him, to see her like he was now seeing her. Whatever the liquid sludge had stirred in her mind, it had brought back demons that he was so sure that she had vanquished long ago.

For a time, he considered sending word to Tiroth. He knew that doing such a thing would only make Triadae angry at him beyond words if she were to catch him, but it was these moments where he was willing to risk her wrath. It was Tiroth himself who had sent Triadae into her first spiraling depression, after all. Granted, he had never been able to pull her from it, but that didn't stop the warlock from believing that maybe, the Blood Knight could be the one to break their friend from the cage she seemed to have locked herself in.

These moments, where he felt utterly powerless, were the ones he hated most. The moments where his friend seemed caught in the past, and her distant eyes were unseeing to the pain right in front of her. Numerous times, countless by now, he had touched her shoulder and guided her hungover body back to her hammock, where he had watched her until they both drifted into fitful sleep. Sometimes, he would hear her speak in her sleep. Names, whimpered under her breath as she moved as if being tortured, and by the candlelight that they had their cabin room lit by, he could see the trails of tears.

Never did he mention these things to her. When she woke, she would seek out the nearest drink once more, and he would simply hope that everything would be alright. A foolish thought, he knew. Nothing had ever been right since the Prince had fallen, and since he had come home to a woman he barely recognized. There was nothing he regretted more than leaving her as he had. He should have stayed, should have stubbornly stood by his words of love, and even if she would not be with him, should have prevented the events that would leave her like this.

Kalthor knew that there was no use in blaming himself for what had happened. Truly, he could not blame Tiroth, either. The noble Blood Knight had fallen under the worst of spells, caught in the web of one who was used to getting what she wanted more than anything. No, the one who had started everything, had ruined everything, and who had left nothing but pain behind, was dead. Even that event, Kalthor could not understand.

The world had seemed to forget Miralai, as easily as if she had never existed. No, that was not completely true. To those affected, Miralai was alive, and it was her who lingered around the once proud Triadae. Kalthor knew, deep down, that no matter how his rejection at the hands of Tria hurt, no matter how he longed to be hers in all aspects, it was nothing compared to the pain that his friend felt and had to remember. How much it had hurt him, to see her weep after seeing the little girl named after her sister. The little girl that should have been hers, with Tiroth.

So he let her stare into the horizon, hoping that maybe, what she saw there would help her heal. So he let her drink, hoping that maybe, the nightmares that she had could be sweated from her like the liquor she consumed. So he let her go, hoping that maybe, she'd come back to him and open her heart as he so desperately wanted her to. So he let her live, knowing that it would bring nothing but hurt and pain down on his head.

That was, he thought, the purpose of being a friend. To stand by the ones you cared about through the thick and the thin. Those who knew the altercations between them would think that she was a selfish woman, to constantly rely on her friend and give nothing at all in return. Perhaps it was Kalthor who seemed the strongest, but he knew that he was just as weak. Triadae sated his thistle addiction without question, and turned the other way when that simply wasn't enough, and he had to drain demons or lose his mind.

She had cared for him when he was sick, when his withdrawals from the arcane were nearly too much to bear. Triadae had been the one he pulled magic from when he needed it, in those brief moments before Kael'thas had opened them to the demons. Months that seemed like long years to him, when he remembered the pain. When he remembered how close he had come to being the very thing that he and Triadae had been forced to kill so many, many times. She had never spoken a word of ill as they had scoured Outland, putting to death those who had fallen too far. Had never rubbed his nose in the fact that they were killing what he had narrowly become. She knew it could have been her. Just as easily, it could have been her.

Another week passed, a storm blowing them off of their course, and Triadae spent the time in bed with a fever that had appeared at random while the goblins argued and threatened explosions on each other until a well-meaning orc found that holding the Captain over the railing was a damned fair way of getting something done on the zepplin. They docked in the middle of the night, and Kalthor had the luck of a passing shaman taking pity on him while he fumbled with all of their things, and the semi-unconscious form of his friend, escorting him to an inn where he could get Triadae into a proper bed.

That had lasted all of three days, when he came back to find her working on a lovely tab with a new group of shady individuals. The resulting argument cost him most of the gold that he still had on his person, having utterly demolished the collection of spirits, six tables, and thirteen chairs. Unwelcome in the Valley of Strength, they had moved to the inn located in the Valley of Honor, where the trouble only seemed to compound itself. Triadae was prone to challenging people well past her own skill in drunken battles, and it was in the middle of one of these that Kalthor finally snapped.

He ignored her angry yelling when he grabbed her arm, twisting it until she dropped her sword, and hauled her off and into their room. By the time they reached it, they already had a crowd forming, most of the spectators amused to see how such a tame looking man could handle what was little more than a spitting hellcat as if she was a mere doll. Her slightly tipsy opponent was given enough time to hand over her discarded weapon before the door slammed in his face, and the only sound was Kalthor's heavy breathing, and the dark sound that was akin to a growl that was rumbling through Tria's body.

"I'm not going to watch this anymore, Triadae." His hands were braced on the door frame, his forehead pressed against the thick wood as he caught his breath. "You can drink all you want, but nothing is going to change what has happened and is happening. How long do you think I'm going to be here, standing by while you bring about an early death? How long am I supposed to watch you do this to yourself?" The sound of his head striking the wood, just once, sounded before he sighed, one hand lifting up to grip in his blonde mane.

"I want you to open up to me, but all it seems like you want to do is just shut down. Am I not enough for you anymore, Tria? All those times we used to confide in one another, do they mean nothing to you now?" He heard her moving, but he dared not turn to view her, afraid that if he did, he'd lose control and be little more than a monster. "I left you for power, and because I was a coward. I came back to find you a step away from something incredibly stupid, and now you're making me watch it all over again."

"Miralai is dead, Tria." The floodgates had opened, and he was unable to stop the words he spoke. "She took everything from you, gained all that you wanted, but she's dead now. She's dead and she isn't going to come back. I want you to stop the drinking, to stop staring off like you're seeing something else, and to look at what you're doing to Tiroth and Hana. What you're doing to me. Why can't you do that, instead of acting like the world will be saved if you have just one more drink? Nothing is going to fall back into place!" His fists crashed against the door frame, his eyes closing as he fought to regain some measure of calm.

"Look at me..."

He heard her voice, quiet and almost soothing, and felt her hand reach to touch him on the shoulder. So he looked, heaving a sigh and turning around slowly only to wish he hadn't, barely able to keep his jaw from slamming to the floor. "Tria..." His heart lurched as she moved closer, pulling the bed sheet tighter around her so that it hugged her in all the right places, and he found himself with his back against the door.

"Am I pretty? Do you think I am, even looking like this?"

Her hand lifted, brushing against his lips, and it took everything he had not to kiss the pads of her fingers as they skated over his skin. Light help him, she had unbound her hair, and a quick glance told him that there was nothing beneath that sheet, all of her armor piled next to her bed, glinting in the firelight. Summoning every last speck of willpower he owned, his hand gripped her own, taking it away from his face. "That's a silly question. That's like asking if the sky is blu – mmph!"

Kalthor blinked in surprise, his eyes crossed and looking down at his friend who had moved with far more speed than he believed she owned when intoxicated as she was. Her own eyes had closed, and her lips had pressed to his own in what could have been considered a chaste kiss between friends. Lips closed, distance between their bodies, and even that was melting away as her fingers untangled from his hand and lifted to slip behind his neck.

Every bone in his body screamed for him to push her away. She was drunk, and this was taking advantage... but he had waited so long. So long to have her this close, this bare, this wanting. Anyone could have forgiven him for his lapse, for deepening the kiss when her lips parted, for sliding his hands up her sides and runching the fabric that kept her skin from his own, and finally breaking down, seizing her hips and backing her towards the bed until she was forced to fall back, her hands going to either side of her head, curling in the crimson locks.

Something screamed at him to take his time, but he was far too gone for that. Oh, he had seen her nude before when she bathed, when she teased him with what he couldn't have... but now he could. A finger hooked under the sheet, tugging it until he could peel one side away, so half her body was exposed to him. Like a starved man, he drank in the sight, running fingers from one shapely thigh, all the way up her side, and teasingly drifting over the single breast as she shivered under his touch. Oh, how she shivered.

He watched her lay there, a hazy sort of uncertainty in her eyes. She was watching him, almost seeming to dare him to stop right now, and knowing he had no intentions of doing so. No, he knew that if he stopped right now, she'd torment him with tastes once more, never letting him have all of what he wanted. His hand slid between her breasts, amused at how so simple a motion made her arch under his touch, and he flicked away the other half of the sheet, baring her completely.

He allowed her the moment to gain a modest blush across her cheeks, a finger caught between her teeth in a shy display that he had never seen from her, and was doing far more to him than anything else, before he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her neck, parting them enough to nip at the tender flesh while his hands roamed and touched, gently groping her breasts and kneading the supple flesh just to hear her gasp and coo beneath him.

Somewhere, his shirt seemed to have come off of him, and he was making more than quick work of removing his pants while slowly kissing his way down her neck, along her collar, and finally to her breasts. He toyed with the sensitive area, relishing her whimpers as his teeth nipped the unmarred skin and lips surrounded the erect nipples to lathe his tongue over them. He adored the way her shyness melted from her, feeling her fingers tangle in his hair as he situated himself just so, barely restraining himself from simply engaging the act and satisfying every last desire he had.

So he waited. He teased and tempted, made her go through every noise from a low purr to a loud moan and back again before he even dared touch his skin against hers. "Tria..." His voice was rough with something that could have been called emotion, the gaze he leveled on her filled with love far more than the heady lust that was now apparent between them. Kalthor groaned as he let his manhood rest against her mons, leaning over her just enough to steal another kiss, scorching and filled with all the passion he could have possibly mustered at that moment. "I love you, my beautiful Triadae."

She arched under him, her lips pulled in a sweetly simple smile as one leg curled up and over his own, almost seeming to pull him closer and clearly wanting with how her hips moved. He bathed in that smile, waited for her response, and his heart flew as she spoke. "I love you, as well..." Something flickered in her eyes, and she drew him close for another kiss, brief and yet so very loving, and he listened closely as she breathed her words on his lips. "Be gentle with me, my beloved Tiroth..."

The fire died and left him cold, his heart pounding as if wanting to escape his chest and flee to the darkest corners of the Twisting Nether. No amount of cold water could have turned him as small as he now felt, and he bravely managed a smile as he nuzzled his nose with hers, suddenly feeling more dirty than ever before. "I'll be very gentle..." He scrambled for something that would make this right, even as he knew she waited for him – No... she waited for someone else. "... I just need to get something that will make this easier for you. Wait for me, Triadae."

Slowly, he pulled himself away from her, grabbing a robe he had thrown carelessly over the back of a chair and putting it on before making his way to the door. He had expected some sort of resistance, something that made it feel like she really had just made a mistake, but when he looked back, he was more than a little hurt to see that she had fallen asleep in those scant few moments, her bare chest rising and falling evenly with her slumbering breaths. Kalthor shook his head, making his way out of the room and shutting the door quietly behind him.

The barkeep was a little more than surprised to see him come to him, but was even more surprised when the warlock ordered the hardest drink in the house. The blonde stayed in the main hall of the inn the entire night, working a bottle of rum that had knocked down bulls three times his size. When the sun finally rose, not even the innkeeper questioned his request of a different room, and Kalthor vanished to sleep with the bottle of rum, nursing a heavy headache and a broken heart.