Sleep had not come easily the past week, leaving her tired and irritable at best, and surly at worst. It was worse now than it had been before, as she made her way along the cliffs that bordered the western side of the Highlands. A week of plotting and planning had left her with little more than the knowledge that there was no way to do what needed to be done without the loss of some life, and though the others had been careful about approaching her with new ideas and options only to be refused, Kalthor had been one stubborn thorn in her side that refused to quit borrowing into an already raw psyche. It occurred to her that she could have chosen anyone else to accompany her, and yet he had been her first choice despite their tense arrangement.
So she endured his prodding and the arguments, endured his snide comments and pleas to her better nature, and even endured his scathing ideals that she was simply doing this to get even. He never had an answer when she asked what it was that she was supposed to be getting even for, but she had hardly expected him to. She knew, in the depths of her soul, that he simply could not take the massive loss of life that loomed in their faces, and he could hardly believe that she would be so very callous to it. Truthfully, she wondered if he had forgotten what she was, and how much she had given up in getting as far as they were right then.
"No," she thought as she kicked a stone out of her path, the ringing of plate sounding harshly on both of their ears, "he would never forget what I have lost, no more than I would ever forget what he has lost himself." Her attention turned to their surroundings as mist began to thicken the air, blocking out the sight of mountains and coast. There was something about the stone pillars that unsettled her to a degree that she could not name, and her fingers closed on the hilt of her sword for the comfort that it gave her. A shallow comfort, but one that she could not deny when such was so rare as it had commonly been as of late. Behind her, kicking stones of his own, Kalthor continued to rant at her back.
He missed the sign for him to quiet until it was almost in his face, her gauntlet no more than an inch from his nose. As blessed as the silence was, he knew that she was not one to request him to shut up without good reason. Though his words bit at his tongue and begged to be released, he silenced himself and looked around as she herself did. His fingers twitched, long ears moving as her own did to catch what felt so wrong. Minutes passed, and finally he shook his head, and she looked back at him to nod. "Must have been a rat, or something. You were saying?"
She let him go back into his tirade as they walked, nodding when she could as his tone peaked into questions that she paid no attention to. Despite her claims of having mistaken the sounds for simple rats scuttling about, she was sure that she heard something else. Not scratching, but breathing. So intent on finding the source as they picked their way through the thickening fog, she didn't realize she was being called until Kalthor reached out and grabbed her braid, tugging it roughly.
"Tsk," she glowered at him, rubbing her scalp. "You're lucky I didn't just try to use you as a new sheath." Her eyes narrowed at him a moment, realizing just how old her friend seemed to have become in their last few months. When had white begun to streak through his hair? She frowned, and shook her head again, a slender ear twitching.
"Ever since you were captured, you changed. Ever since you made me do the things I did, there's been a wall erected between us. You hide it behind a loose veneer of indifference, but we're... not the same. I want to be the same." Kalthor let the words hang lamely, his tired gaze set on her. "I want it to be the way it was. I know I was angry, and I've done some foolish things, but we're friends. We've always been there, and now I need you. I need you to listen to me, not just about this deathtrap you'd have us walk into, but more than that."
Triadae was struck dumb with the painful honesty of his words, realizing that he had been saying more and she had callously been ignoring it. What more had he said? She could not ask him to repeat it, and instead stood dumbly, slack-jawed and clearly searching for the proper response, whatever that might have been. No matter how she grasped for them, the right words would not come, and she saw his face fall as she remained silent. Was this really how it had become?
His tone became one filled with hurt and anger, hands moving in gestures to punctuate inflections. "Everything has always been about you, for so long that I've forgotten how to think about me without you being in the picture. Do you have any idea what it's like to do everything for someone, and forget how to live for yourself? Do you have any idea how much it hurts to be there, constantly, without fail, and be turned away over and over? I was there!" His voice raised, and shattered the air around them, echoing through the spires. "I wanted one thing. Just one."
"Kal -" Her words cut short, even the name knotting itself in her throat. The sense of foreboding wouldn't leave her, and though she knew that it was best to listen to him now, her training told her that there were better times. Better places. "We can't do this here. We can't do this now."
"We can. We can and we will. How long did I have to follow you before you would pay attention? I almost had you, had you for myself just one night. Do you know how that felt, to have you so close and have you thinking of another? So close, Tria..." His expression was pained, a hand rubbing at his face. "I just wanted you as mine, but you were always his. I kept hoping, and then you pushed me away. You pushed me away hard, and I didn't understand why. I still don't.
This is wrong, Tria. You have to know how wrong it is. I know that there's always a loss of life involved with plans like these, and I know that you've had to find your own way of coping with that, but have you really become so cold as to simply discard all of those lives? They aren't playthings or toys. They aren't..."
"Kal, I know." She faced him, a small amount of hurt slipping into her words. He had never been the type to live on the front lines. At his heart, he was a scholar and a lover. A lover who had followed her into the darkest recesses of hell, because he knew she'd lose herself if left alone. "Do you think I don't know? I remember the names of those I lost against the Prince. Those I lost against the Lich King. Those I lost from my sister... they don't just fade. They're in my bed, in my kitchen. They're chasing me down, and waiting for the moment my back is turned. More names than I ever care to admit to, all of those men and women who have put their faith and trust in me.
I know. They talk to me when my guard is down. Some of them hate me. Some of them are thankful. I see the empty eyes more than I see them laugh. I'm half mad with the grief of losing each of them, and it will only get worse. They're putting their lives out there for us, so we can live. I'd take their place if I could, but one person can't change a world. One person can't stand alone. I can only stand next to them, and silently promise that when it happens, it won't be drawn out. It'll be quick, and they won't suffer." The words flooded from her, trying to show him that she still grasped some of the humanity, still understood.
"You weren't made for this. You never should have come, never should have been here to see how far I've fallen. Even so, you are here, because you're always here. Everything else falls apart, but you're standing right there with that stubborn grin on your lips and your damned imp ready to block what I throw at you. Go home, Kal. Take Leybright, and go home. Far from me, and far from whatever I bring down on my head. I've watched so many die..."
They stood quietly, neither daring to say the words that hung over them like a curse. It was he who ceased the silence, his voice quiet and thoughtful as he spoke. "I knew it the first day I met you by the lake. You were reading something big, some book that you'd probably stolen from the libraries and had no intention of returning. Sunset had turned your hair into a halo of fire around your face. I'd never seen hair like that. Blonde, sure. I'd seen that plenty, and a few with silver. But yours..."
"You fell in the lake. Completely soaked the book, and I was livid."
"You were. You were dressed like a girl, but you talked like a boy. I was smitten from the second you insulted my intelligence. Even when you dragged me to your parents and acted like I was some dog who had followed you home, I couldn't stop grinning. You don't know how happy I was when I saw you again in the Bazaar, with your father. We were kids, Tria. Kids, and I knew what I wanted from you. Knew it for years..."
The silence fell again, and she saw hope turn to pain as she turned away from him and looked up at the smoke-filled sky. She was turning back to him when something hit her, and she heard a shout through the blood that thundered in her ears. The shout came again, but it was dim compared to the shriek that made her blood run cold. Ears still ringing, she turned her head and caught the sight of black wings fading into the mist, the shape barely visible as it turned around for another strike.
Kalthor was yelling at her, she knew. She felt hands grasp around her arm and pull, bringing a yelp of pain from her as she tried to go with the movement, tried to stand with his help. Breathing as hard, so very hard. A furtive glance told her that her armor was crushed, her satchel torn away from her and the contents spread everywhere. Her sword...
It dropped far from her, and they both ducked behind a pillar as the dragon sliced through the air towards them. It banked away, leaving her sword as if taunting her. She could get it. She could run for it, and she might make it before the beast got to her first. Or she might not, and it would all be for nothing. Kalthor seemed to read her mind, his hand gripping her shoulder. "It's not worth it. It's just a sword, let it go."
But they both knew that she wouldn't let it go, and so he didn't try to hold her when she made a dash for the discarded blade, already bent half over when she neared it. Her ears rang with the shrill scream of the dragon as it sped towards her only to veer away at the last moment. She saw it, a cry of triumph rising in her throat to be choked away as she saw the second dragon burst through the mist towards her.
She was used to the cold dread when a life was in the balance. She was used to the world slowing, used to the heartbeat thundering out a warning, used to counting every breath as it became the only sound. She saw every tooth, every fang, every claw on the great drake as it reached for her, a massive swipe that would finish the job of her armor and cleave through the plate and into her very body. She saw it all, and for a moment, embraced it utterly.
Her breath left her in a cry, expelled as she was knocked aside and hit the floor hard. For a moment, she considered the possibility that the drakes had gotten their lines crossed, that one had knocked her free of the other, but time had not yet returned to its normal flow, and her eyes focused instead on the dragon that swung upwards and away from the spires of rock, screeching victory. The earth shook, the first landing not far off, half hidden in the mist, but her eyes were riveted to where she had been standing not moments before.
His eyes watched her, dull and yet glittering with pain and unshed tears. There was no disbelief, no surprise, simply a look that screamed of so much more than words could ever allow. She heard herself call him as he began to fall, as his body swayed and his eyes left her to drop to the gash across his stomach that spilled blood down his front. His lips stained quickly, and she heard herself scream his name, heard the rocks on her armor grate as she lunged to her feet in a vain attempt to catch him before he hit ground. His body hit hers hard, his only attention on his hands, trying to keep his body in one piece.
She tried to help him, holding one hand over his stomach and the other around his head, pulling his forehead to her lips. She tasted blood, sweat, tears, and knew that at least one was more hers than his. The dragon shrieked, and her eyes opened to see the beast advancing slowly, not only because of the way that time had caught them in that moment, but because it was enjoying this. It was relishing it. It knew that there was nothing she could do to help her friend, or escape it. A shadow fell over her, and she knew the second was lurking as well. Knew it, accepted it, and refused to cater to it.
Items had scattered after the first attack, potions and elixirs lay broken on the stone, but her hand went instead to her neck, pulling out the silver chain that had been gifted to her by her friend. The pendant was warm in her hand, and it shattered under her grasp as easily as if she had just crushed glass, and she felt the tug of arcane. The Highlands vanished from around her, leaving the screams of angered dragonkin in her ears and replacing it with utter silence and near darkness.
"Let him go, child." Triadae looked up at a touch on her shoulder, saw the silver-blue gaze of the same draenei that had rescued her from the Twilight camp, and listened. Eaxoa moved swiftly, gathering up the warlock and taking him to a platform of stone that sat in the middle of the small, dimly lit room. She did not move until the woman returned to her, helped her up and guided her outside the room before vanishing back inside.
Tria felt as if she were alone for ages, staring at the walls and floor, staring at anything except herself. Anything but her hands, stained with the blood of her friend. When Brinella walked into the room and saw her, there was a moment of timelessness, where the elf was confused as to why the worgen walked in her human shape, and the worgen was confused as to why the elf was even present, and Tria's hands lifted. Brinella spotted the blood, and Tria's lips formed words that did not come when the worgen rushed into the room where Kalthor lay.
She was aware of voices, of Eaxoa's never-failing calm and of Brinella's sharper one, but she would remember nothing so much as the moment the druid staggered out of the room as pale as death, blood staining her gown and her hands. She would remember the way that the girl tried to form the words, would remember the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes no matter how hard she tried to remain brave in front of the warrior. She would remember the way that the druid rushed to her as her legs lost the ability to stand, and the warmth from the woman's breast as it muffled her screams of anguish and denial.
Brinella could do nothing more than hold her, understanding the pain the woman felt keenly. She could not bear to tell the warrior that her friend had given up even as they had worked in tandem to try to knit his body together. She could not explain that she would have driven herself into death if it had meant being able to hear his laughter just one more time, nor that she had been pulled away from the body by Eaxoa when the threads had failed to knit, and when his spirit no longer answered. She could do nothing more than hold her.
So she did.