Ganked V 2.0

Chapter 14 Love and Honor

The third day was spent quickly for Sol. Only Bill knew of the man's duel, as requested, he kept it an absolute secret. Once again he offered his services as a second, to ensure that the proper rules of engagement were observed. And once again, Sol gave him a small, sly smile and told him would not be necessary.

Then he paused, as though considering a possibility.

"Perhaps if you leave here half an hour after the fight is scheduled to begin, then that should be enough time."

"Time for what, sir?" Bill asked, curiously.

"For you to heal me if I were to lose," Sol wryly explained.

"Sir, I doubt..."

"...that I'll lose? But I've already told you. I don't think this will be a proper duel." He smiled before continuing. "This is the first honorable duel I've had since the war days. I suppose I am turning into a real Knight after all, eh, Bill?"

That night, Sol woke up an hour before the scheduled meeting and carefully rose from his bed roll. He crept out of bed, only in a nightshirt and cloth pants, and gave his group one last glance before sneaking out of the inn. He quietly entered the stables and searched the straw covered ground for a hidden bag. He found the bag and removed the armor within. He carefully donned it, sure to clasp it carefully. The darkness made it difficult, even with his sharp elf eyes.

The horse reared his head up and sniffed anxiously. It could sense Sol's tense anticipation. Sol decided not to put on its livery, as it would make too much noise.

"Be patient Bloodfang, I you will get your fight soon enough," the elf said with a wink.

Neiana was in the Tuurem ruins, seated comfortably against one of the thick leather walls of the snug lavender tents that littered the once small village of Lost Ones. A small fire kept her warm as the chill wind descended up on Terokkar Forest. Although she was hoping for company, she didn't exactly expect it. After all, no one in her group approved of her actions. Cyrus told her point blank that she was wasting her time. Denevell observed that revenge only leads to violence. Skinflint was concerned over her sanity. And Wigget the gnome ignored her all together.

As she sat in the darkness, gazing at the dancing crimson flames, she concluded that if things didn't go as planned, she would die. Even with her new attire, even with her fierce determination, she was going to die. What could a mage do against a Paladin, of all classes? Even if he came by himself, she was not going to win.

The forest hushed as the hour approached. She could feel her heart palpitate quickly. What was with this excitement? Was death the only thing that mattered to her? Death approached, but so did one who drew her to it. As her eyes became drawn to the flame, she shuddered, thinking of the fire she'd felt in Nagrand. But there was nothing to do but wait, and she would wait for him and fight.

The fire died down in the tent, and Neiana judged that it was time for the duel. She slowly got up and opened the door to the tent. There, by the bridge on the other side of the stream, was Sol, standing beside Bloodfang, looking a lot more ordinary now without his livery.

They stood apart, gazing at each other silently for a few minutes. To him, it seemed that she was older somehow. Although her robes where not the original, they were expertly replicated. He noted the quality stitch and rich cloth that formed it. The beautiful layered skirt augmented her figure. It must have cost a fortune. Her hair was neatly tied up, and although she did not have a new staff, she held her wizard's staff with pride. She was regal and refined.

"Sol," she said at long last, and bowed. "I am glad you have accepted my challenge. Please prepare yourself."

"Shall we have quarter?" he asked.

"I don't believe it is possible between our factions," she replied.

Unlike duels within faction, where one fought until one winner was determined, between factions, it was always to the death.

"Perhaps we can make an exception," he said. "Judging from the quality of your new garments, it is clear to me that you are loved."

She shook her head."I cannot allow it. We must fight to the death, or else my word has no honor."

They bowed to each other, as was customary for an official duel. Then he backed up ten paces. She understood that he was inviting her to cross the bridge before the start, so they would fight on even grounds. She did so, and then they both turned parallel to the stream, standing about ten paces away from each other. He unsheathed his sword, and she prepared her first spell.

He prepared to bauble. No sooner had he opened his mouth that four things happened at once. First, his speech became a muddle of curses and demonic grunts. Then a young, auburn haired man, a warrior, charged from the shadows, placing himself between the two and cast upon him such a blow that Sol became stunned and could not move.

The giant claws of a panther, raked his back so deeply tore flesh from his bone. Skinflint nearly cut Sol in half with the swing of his axe, and Sol felt all of his mana sucked away. No doubt a warlock was hidden in the shadows. He could not heal.

The last blow was dealt by Cyrus, who stabbed the near unconscious elf through the chest and Sol collapsed to his knees before falling to his face.

Wigget, being a Warlock, enjoyed the carnage.

"Quick! Check his side packs! There should be some healing potions!"

Denevell gathered the packs with his great maw and pulled them. He resumed his elven form and looked down at him with contempt. Cyrus and Skinflint used Sol's tunic to clean their blades as Wigget watched callously from atop her Voidwalker, LubLub.

"Well, don't you want the last blow?" Cyrus asked.

"I don't think he needs it," Neiana replied, stunned.

She had not planned this at all.

"You robbed me of my duel!" she cried with indignation.

"Can it sister, he betrayed you and now you've done the same. You're even," Wigget declared. "We aren't Knights. We're mercs!"

After the kill, and the body was robbed of its loot, a small argument erupted over what to do next.

Cyrus wanted to stay and kill the rest of his group, if and when they arrived. Skinflint wanted to leave. Denevell and Wigget were equally divided. The elf wanted to go back to Shattrath and rest for the trip to Azeroth the next day, while Wigget wanted to kill more people.

"I canno' believe I'm agreein' wi' th' elf!" Skinflint declared.

"Cyrus, you must see reason. There is no motive to fight now that Neiana's target has been neutralized. It was a dishonorable fight..." Denevell explained.

"Spindles and bricks! You liked killing him! I could tell! Why not take the others as well?" Wigget piped up.

"Shet yer trap ya crazy gnome! We 'ave enough time wi' ye dancin' around all 'ver Shat and causin' all sorts a' trouble wi'out ye deprivin' me o' sleep as well!"

"Ah! Who needs sleep? I don't!" Wigget said with a huff.

"The reason I think we should take care of the rest is simply this: they will seek revenge," Cyrus explained.

Neiana did not pay attention to the banter. Instead, she kept her eyes on the body. Luckily, no one noticed her or the corpse. So any discoveries made, like Sol actually being alive, would go unregistered.

Suddenly, Neiana felt it necessary to participate.

"Let's go back. It's late and we prepare for the journey tomorrow. Besides, we don't have quarrel with them."

Cyrus, despite his previous protests, immediately conceded.

The Alliance group were only just outside of Tuurem when the trip was abruptly stopped with Neiana's gasp.

"Wha' is it now?" Skinflint asked.

It took them long enough to decide to leave. He did not want something else to interrupt his way to bed.

"I forgot something! I need to go back!"

Cyrus sighed. "I will go with you in case..."

"No need. Let me go alone. I will meet you in Shattrath shortly," she interrupted.

She gave him a meaningful glance, and he understood at once. Sol wasn't dead. It was only right that she should go back to save his life, as he had done in Winterspring. He nodded to Neiana, communicating his agreement.

"Let's just let her go," Wigget said. "I'm getting hungry."

"Fine, we will meet at the Inn," he said evenly before turning to Wigget. "Hungry? Do you have any idea of how late it is?"

She began to turn when Denevell gave her one parting command.

"Don't stay too long. Be careful."

Neiana, gave him a swift glance and replied with a grin. "Please. It's impossible to die twice."

She turned back and spurred her horse on, wanting to appear as nonchalant as possible while hurrying as quickly as she could. Sol's ganking had been savage and cruel. It left her with little satisfaction. There was something very unfair about the incident, something very bloodthirsty that she didn't like. And she felt robbed of her duel. She had hoped to prove her strength to him, and to the others. Instead, they had saved her once again, making her feel small.

As she continued on, she began to hurry her pace. Sol was left alone and she doubted he told anyone where he was going. He was much too proud for that. The window of resuscitation, for any class, was six minutes. After six minutes, a corpse could no longer be restored to life no matter how powerful a Priest, Paladin, Druid, or Shaman he may be. If he died, she was now a murderer.

When she arrived, she jumped down from Chesse and rushed to his fallen body. Neiana grasped her side. There, in her side pack, she carried bandages and healing potions. She prayed it wasn't too late. She checked his vitals and was satisfied. Although irregular and very shallow, a heartbeat was present.

She removed a bottle from her side pack and uncorked it.

She flipped him over gently, careful not to bend his spinal cord, least he become even more injured and die. With a steady hand, she tipped the bottle, touching its edge with his lips. They were now bloody and ugly with gore.

Red liquid, which glowed even in the darkness, slowly poured into his mouth from the crystal flask. She closed his mouth, hoping that his swallowing instinct was intact. A moment later, his more serious wounds began to glow and the healing process began. The deep gashes against his lungs and liver, the most serious wounds, closed. She could feel his back muscles magically restore, close over the bones, and even grow skin.

He gasped, as though taking his first breath.

She gathered his now tattered cloak, bundled it up, and placed it on the ground. It would be his pillow. Although healed enough now that he would survive the night, he was still very weak. He had lost a great deal of blood. There was no question, however, that he would be found. She removed her cloak. It would serve as his blanket, but she did not cover him yet. Instead, removed his plate armor, carefully as she could, and cut off his bloodied shirt and discarded it, leaving his torso bare. She patched up the rest of his wounds, the ones that the potion did not close, with bandages and cleaned off his face, chest, and arms with a moist bandage.

Before leaving she stroked his hair gently, something she had wanted to do when they first met in Hillsbrad Foothills.

"I'm sorry about this. You betrayed me, ganked me, but left me alive. I guess now we're even."

She rose to leave.

"Nina."

His voice was quiet and distant, and yet the name, rang clear. Neiana froze in place, her hands shaking. She turned back and assailed the fallen elf. His eyes were closed. He was unconscious. Why had he spoken her name? It was a name she hadn't used in years. The only Blood Elf...

She looked at him carefully, and imagined his hair longer, and his pale skin tanned. And then his features, so familiar, became the elf who saved her those years ago. It was unbelievable! They couldn't be the same elf! But she had never told him her childhood name. How could he have known?

Then her eyes widened in horror as a sudden realization began to sink in.

"No!"

She covered her mouth with her hands.

"It can't be! It can't!"

And yet she could not ignore how close they looked to each other, or how he knew her name. Could it be the reason that she had been drawn to him in the first place was because he reminded her of that man? But they all looked the same to her! Still, there was something unique in his manner that set him apart from other Blood Elves. Was it his arrogance? No, they were all arrogant. His vanity? No, they were all vain as well.

Neiana sighed as she gazed at his unconscious form, her view blurred with tears. What did it matter? He was who he was. What a strange thing it was that the elf she hated for so long and the elf she loved were the same one!

"I guess I misjudged you. You were neither a hero nor a villain. What you are is a very selfish elf who does things when they are convenient to him. It wasn't convenient to kill me, so you did not."

From her herbal pouch she removed a bundle of Dreamfoil. It had taken months to gather, as they were rare and coveted. They still glowed, even after all that time, and she laid them at his side. Perhaps he remembered the Peacebloom she offered and this will bring her to mind.

"If you take this Dreamfoil, and mix it with Elemental Fire, you can make a protection potion. Perhaps not a simple as the others, but you may still manage it."

Again she rose to leave and began to walk away, but this time, what stopped her was a tug on her hemline.

She glanced behind and saw the man she almost killed, shirtless, smirking, and very much alive.

"As I told you back in Hillsbrad, I am not an Alchemist," he teased.

"What?" she asked, confused. "But you were unconscious."

"I healed myself a little after your group left. I was conscious enough when you returned."

She glared at him.

"What?!"

He shrugged before replying.

"I am a Paladin. Healing is what we do."

"WHAT?! You made me say all those things! You could hear me the whole time!? You let me bandage you and take off your mail and your shirt and use my healing potion?! You fiend! "

He laughed at her, but it wasn't malicious. It was a happy laugh, one filled with glee and mischief.

"Why, yes. It was quite sweet you know...hold on..." he extended his hand and a faint, golden light appeared, enveloping his body briefly, before fading away. "There now, all finished."

He stood to meet her, quite easily. She merely stared at him, indignant.

"That was quite good, you know. That's one of the best gankings that's happened to me in a long time," he mused.

"But...we were going to duel! I wanted...wait! So you called my name on purpose? How long have you known?" she stammered.

He hushed her with a finger to his lips.

"One question at a time. I only remembered after you gave me the Malachite Pendant, and I went to the Inn and thought of it for a bit. Yes, I whispered your true name so that you would figure it out. And I knew we weren't going to duel. You are entirely too spoiled," he replied with a smile. "I took a little gamble. I figured you'd be back to save me. And here you are. I guess I won that bet."

Then his smile faded a little, she noticed. His eyes communicated regret and a little jealously. She couldn't understand what that meant.

"As I said, you are very much loved. They would not let you die, especially if it meant getting a Horde elf in the process."

"What if they hadn't come? What if your gamble had lost?"

Sol shrugged a bit as he seethed his sword. "Well, I would have dueled you, but I wouldn't have killed you. And, I don't think you would have killed me. Don't be so quick to underestimate yourself, Nina, you're not weak."

"Sol," she began. "You told me in the woods that your name was Autumn. Is that your name?"

"My name is Soliandrus Autumn Lightbringer," he replied.

Then he alarmed her by approaching her with an earnest and hungry look that made the pit of her stomach turn. He was shirtless; his taunt chest was covered only by meager bandages. She remembered the way he kissed her in Nagrand and blushed.

"That's a nice name," she said nervously, backing away and looking at the ground shyly.

"Are you sure? Aren't you going to call me a fiend and cur?" he teased as he inched forward.

She moved back and then, to her alarm, felt the cool, smooth surface of a leather wall right behind her. There was nowhere else to go, and he continued to approach until he was only inches away, his right hand resting on a beam right above her shoulder. He leaned forward, ever so slightly.

"You are a fiend and cur. And I hate you," she whispered with a faltering voice.

"Of course you do," he agreed with a smirk.

He then lifted her head with his left hand, yet her eyes remained downcast. Her long brown lashes veiled them, touching her smooth cheeks. Once again, he felt the fires that had so inflamed him Nagrand. But he needed to see her eyes.

"Look at me, Nina," he softly commanded

She lifted her eyes. Those beautiful deep blue eyes communicated exactly what he had hoped to see. They were lustrous and welcoming. He could wait no longer, and bent to kiss her.

AN: I hope this is a satisfactory chapter. Thanks for the favorites and reviews.