If only she knew how to sew. She rolled up onto her feet, and pushed the tent's flap open. There, the warrior and the rogue were already ready. Marcail felt anger rising in her blood. Weren't night elves supposed to like the night? She picked up her skirts, but not well enough, as she tripped again over the hem. She fell right into the warrior, who was surprisingly agile, as he caught her from falling. Immediately, the warmth of his skin seeped into her arms, sending a shiver through her body. She looked up at him, noting he wasn't in his plate armor yet. She could feel his strong arms flexing as they held her upright. She locked eyes with him for a second, but she was distracted from the teardrop emerald resting on his chest on a small chain. He righted her, and turned his back to her. She sniffed, trying to regain her composure, as she turned away from them to go sit in the grass away from everyone.

Galen watched her starting to fall, and couldn't help but catch her. Yet, he saw when she looked up, her eyes went strait to the gem around his neck. It got under his skin a little bit, and he didn't know why he was so irked by it. He flexed his hands, trying to rid the feeling of her soft touch on his hands and arms. Instead of dwelling on it, he started kicking down the sticks that held all the tents up. His friends all let out groans and yelps as their tents consumed them. They all struggled around in the thick white fabric.

Marcail observed this behavior, as she scoffed. She kept her voice quiet enough so he wouldn't overhear her annoyance. His actions were actually nicer than how the few Blood Knights who slept in were treated. She saw the crossed line scars on some of her paladin friend's backs. She rubbed the areas on her arms he had just touched her with his bare hands. He processed such sheer power in those arms, it was almost incredulous to feel how gentle they could be.

"Why are you just sitting there, Marcail?" A thundering voice demanded. She glanced over her shoulder.

"What would you have me do?" She tried to filter the annoyance out of her voice as best as she could.

"Come help them," he ordered. The mage rolled her eyes and picked up her skirts to help fish out the people stuck in the tents. As she walked past Galen, he gave a small cuff to the side of her head. She spun around, eyes flashing in anger as if to say 'what was that for?'. She was met with a bored gaze from the warrior.

"Lose the attitude," he stated, and waved her off.

He watched her leave, still carrying those skirts, and she stooped down to help peel back the tent off of Darrick. Since binding her magic, her addiction to arcane magic didn't seem to bother her, yet. Even though it had only been a few hours, she was a blood elf, and she was bred for pure arcane magic. Galen felt there was too much of a temptation of power that came with it, which made him glad he was a warrior. There was a reason why his people shied away from it. Unlike the blood elves, who selfishly used it with the Sunwell to gain massive power. He snorted. What good that did for them. Destroying the Sunwell, succumbing to addiction, and their own leader following Illidan the Betrayer and Lady Vashj.

Thinking away from her race and more on his own matters, he felt pride in that he had Marcail in his captivity. How worried Nellan must be right now. He should be figuring out who led the kidnapping assault soon. Then, Nellan would have to beg to get her back. The paladin was probably now a public spectacle, with word of his failure spreading all over Silvermoon. Perhaps the whole Horde knew of his embarrassment. He couldn't suppress the chuckle that grew in his chest. This girl was his revenge on Nellan. She was of high aristocracy in her culture, so to really shame her, he figured he should put her to work as a housemaid. She was very pretty, he wouldn't mind seeing her working around his house until Nellan came begging to get his little bride back.

"Galen," Darrick growled. "I hate you." The paladin started rolling up his tent when he looked over to see the dwarves were finally untangled from their tents. Marcail was currently trying to coax the warlock out of the tent. Apparently the warlock had just gone right back to sleep.

The warrior marched over to the tent, as he took out his axe, ready to prod the warlock with the hilt to jolt her awake. Upon seeing him come over, Marcail's eyes grew wide and her shaking grew more desperate as she tried to stir the warlock away. Finally, a head of nut brown hair poked out from the tent.

"I'm up! I'm up!" She shouted angrily. The warrior gave a suspicious look to the mage, who simply rose from her crouched position toward the path, nonchalantly. She was protecting Sarah? He sheathed his axe, as he stared after the girl.

"Jeez, why did that wench shake me so hard?" Sarah hissed, as she rolled up tent.

"To save you from me waking you up," the warrior said calmly. The warlock stared after the mage in confusion.

.

The party started to mount up, and Marcail stood dumbly as they all sat on their mounts and looked down at her.

"Get on," Darrick said in common, as he extended his arm to her. She wanted to recoil from him, but she didn't wish to anger her captors any further. She accepted his hand as he swung her on the back of his horse, seating her behind him.

"Ugh, not even a moment to clean up," she uttered in Orcish, wishing she could have at least washed her face and cleaned her teeth.

Darrick looked over his shoulder and gave her an inquisitive glance, but dismissed it. To keep from wrapping her arms around his waist, or even touch him at all, she grasped the back of the saddle tightly and locked her elbows. She heard the warrior say something in common, and then the group started to move as a cluster.

As they moved out of Southshore, Marcail inwardly sighed. Barely 24 hours ago, she was at home in Silvermoon, ready to be married. Now, she was being dragged to whoever knows where by a ragtag Alliance caravan. The group was certainly strange, they all seemed to earnestly respect the warrior, even if it wasn't what they wanted to do. Like waking up early, for example.

The warrior still hadn't mention what they wanted from her. They clearly wanted her alive, but for what purpose? The warrior knew so many facts about her, it was disturbing. She was still shaken from his knowledge of her. Perhaps he wanted a ransom from her parents, but then why just take her? There were plenty more aristocratic and worthy people to take from her wedding.

Then, her veins went icy as a thought flashed in her mind. Is it because of my blood? That was the only thing that made her worthy of kidnapping. Her parents were too powerful to capture, and her brother was always very hard to track down. That logic seemed a little shaky, but why else would he want her? He must know her secret. He already knew so much about her. She stared at the night elf warrior suspiciously, her eyes narrowed as she dug her nails into the saddle.

She observed him from behind as he rode in front of the party. He held the reins of his nightsaber in a firm grip, as he sat as strait as a staff, as unmoving as the mountains. His plated armor glinted with the early sun, but he hadn't put on a helm that morning. His loose indigo hair gathered around his back. She frowned, thinking on how strange night elves looked compared to her race. Blood elves didn't have the odd hair or skin pigments the night elves had, and their ears were almost a ridiculous length.

Blood elves were not nearly as tall as he was. Galen had to be a little under seven feet tall. Comparing him to her knowledge of previous night elves, he was of average height in his culture, and he was a little leaner. Lean was strange for a warrior. He still had a much stronger muscle tone than blood elf males, but it was not as bulky as night elf males she had seen. When she had looked into his eyes when he caught her at camp, she thought she saw some emotion reflected in them. Perhaps even directed to her. The gaze made her feel a little sad, but everything vanished once he had righted her.

"Get over yourself, Marcail," she murmured, rolling her eyes at herself. She was probably just wishing it was there. As she looked down at the ground below her, she felt the human shift in his saddle, and she felt eyes on her. Looking up, the human gave her a concerned stare.

"You probably think I'm crazy for talking to myself," she said a half smile tugging at her lips. He returned it, but one of his deep brown eyebrows gently arched. He mumbled something back to her in common and turned back to the road. She felt her anxiety and dislike for the human sink a little. He had yet to make an aggressive action against her. At least over the others in the group, who all had ill intention at some point in the capture. Other than the rogue of course, but she felt that the female night elf wouldn't take too much from a smile, especially from her kind.

She wondered why she was even being decent to these people. She should be fighting the whole way, beaten or not. That's what a true blood elf would do, never give up. Going on the logic that they weren't going to kill her, she could be more resistant. However, the cuffs from the warrior seemed like he was holding back the true power of them, and she didn't want to tempt them any harder. She should still keep a close watch on him, especially observing how brutish he was that morning to his own party.

Marcail peered ahead toward the upcoming wall of Arathi Highlands. Where in Azeroth are they taking me? She wondered. Ironforge was the closest city, and it was highly guarded along with it's strong walls. Not exactly the best place for her to be. She shuddered at the thought of staying in the tombed city, locked away from the warmth of the sun. She also heard that it was located permafrost land, and iron encased the entire city. That did not seem appealing to her at all.

Her thought process was interrupted by the sound of her stomach growling. The human apparently heard it to as he looked over his shoulder at her. He gave a knowing smile as he reached into his pack and pulled out some bread. He handed it to her, and she gave him a smile of gratitude as she took it from him. She nibbled at the darkened crust, testing the flavor.

Surprisingly, it wasn't too bad. She leaned forward for balance as she took both hands from the saddle to rip the crust off and get it in her starving belly. Once she had finished the crust, she popped the soft part in her mouth. Still chewing, she leaned towards the side to see where the warrior was. Surprisingly, he had glanced back at the same time, as they caught each other's gaze. Marcail's eyes grew wide as she quickly hid behind the larger figure of the human.

Galen felt himself smile a bit. The girl was curious about him. He had seen her quickly hide behind Darrick when she knew he was looking at her, and those long honey locks of hair following her head. It was the last part of her that disappeared behind him. She had looked so surprised to find him looking back at her. Part of him expected her to be curious and ask a lot of questions about how he knew her, and what they intended to do with her. Yet, she surprised him by not demanding more answers that morning.

Most of his captives demanded more information in the first few days in his custody. They all usually stopped after the first few days passed, especially if they were isolated. He inwardly sighed, disappointed in his own harshness and brutality. He knew that he had grown desensitized to the war with the Horde, and even war in general. He was a fierce protector, but the Alliance had other plans for his career. Instead of being a protector, he was placed on the offensive fields. In Alterac Valley, a battle constantly fought with the Horde, his orders were meant to charge in. When he expressed discontent with his officers, they always pulled rank and insisted he stick to his duties.

In Wintergrasp, the captured Horde enemies were spread all over Alliance Northrend camps. They would either be locked up, or did the grunt work the Alliance didn't wish to do. He was placed as an overseer, keeping them in line and in broken spirits. He sometimes felt like Elune had abandoned him, and his only path was that of misery and destruction.

He gritted his teeth and shoved those feelings aside. Anger clouded over him as he gripped the reins tighter. Thoughts like this would throw him off of his goal. He had already come so far, he had to see it through.

.

The afternoon sun in Arathi Highlands warmed the group to an uncomfortable temperature. Sarah wiped at her brow as she looked to the sky, and then at her leader. He and Darrick were in full plate armor, they had to be feeling the heat.

"Galen!" She called, but the warrior didn't acknowledge her. She rode her demonic horse up beside him, and spoke his name again. He seemed to wake from a daze in his response.

"What is it?" He asked, not really registering her.

"Galen, I'm baking in all my armor, and I'm in cloth. Everyone else must be worse," she explained. When the warrior went silent, she tried again.

"Do you think we could stop at the bridge between Wetlands and Arathi? We're almost there, we could break for a midday meal."

"Fine," he nodded, still looking ahead at the road. The warlock pulled back into formation, as the mountains ahead of them grew taller.

The mage looked up at the mountains, it had been a long time since she had been to this area. Soon, they would be going into Wetlands, Alliance territory. She had never really stopped in Wetlands, she was never really fond of cloudy and dark weather. The path grew narrower, and a bridge came into view. The caravan marched over the stone bridge, and much to her relief, they all pulled off to the side of the road for a break.

They all began to dismount, and gathered their horses and sabers a nearby tree. Marcail hitched up her skirts and walked along side the paladin, as he untied a pack from his horse and walked to where the group was sitting. They all sat in a sort of circle, as they started chowing down on their provisions they brought. The mage sat down beside the paladin, with the warlock on her other side. Directly across from her, the warrior sat eating his own food.

Marcail fluffed her gown so it wouldn't cling to her legs. She almost never sat in the dirt since she became of age. She usually had beautiful tailored mage robes that she wanted to keep clean, but her gown was now ruined anyway. The corset pinched at her hips, and she shifted her weight back and forth to try and settle. She looked down at the corset, and grew sad upon observing the silver beads again. Her mother and father must be worried sick about her. Would Hayden come home because of this? Would he come looking for her? If Hayden would come for her, would Nellan?

A loaf of bread suddenly appeared before her, as she looked to the owner of the extended hand. The paladin, gave her a nod, as she accepted another loaf of his bread.

"Thank you," she said in Thalassian. Even if he couldn't understand what she was saying, it was still polite to say it. He seemed to understand, as he smiled at her. She nudged him to get his attention, and she pointed a finger to herself. "Marr-kay-el," she lengthened her words to try and make him understand her name. He nodded and pointed to himself.

"Darrick," he said, with a warming smile. Then he pointed to the rogue, "Keina," looked across the way and pointed, "Galen," and pointed to the twins, "Gorrim and Thorim," and lastly he pointed to the warlock. "Sarah," he said, looking back at her. Marcail nodded and gave him a small smile as her eyes wandered to the male night elf. So the warrior's name was Galen. He had never told her his name when he was barking orders at her the previous night. It seemed the paladin was the only one willing to talk to her, and he didn't even speak her language.

She bit down on his bread he graciously gave to her. She felt a little guilty, but then she realized they must have brought enough food to share with her, considering they were doing the kidnapping and were going to have to travel with her. Not to mention she really didn't have much time to gather her things on the way out, after the warrior had knocked her unconscious. She giggled a little.

"What's so funny?" A male voice in Thalassian demanded. She looked up to see the warrior, his expression dark, but his eyes expressed interest. She wondered if he was searching to pick a fight with her. Carefully, and with a hint of fear, she raised an eyebrow and said,

"I was thinking I would be better equipped to travel, had I been allowed upstairs to gather my things." The warrior didn't smile, but nor did he seem upset by her sarcastic comment. She decided to test the grounds a little more. "Where are you taking me?" She asked.

"Don't worry about it, you'll find out when we get there." He answered.

She glowered at him. He wasn't going to tell her anything. She tried shrugging him off as she looked to her lap and ate her bread in silence. His evasive answers were just so annoying, but getting angry wasn't going to solve the problem. If she stopped asking, she might keep from becoming upset. But, if they were headed into Dun Morogh, she would most likely freeze to death, they had to know that much.

She shuddered with the thought of the ice and snow in Northrend. She had to buy lots of blankets to keep herself warm. Even her cloth armor was lined with fur. As a frost mage, she knew how to keep warm with her clothes. In her wedding gown, she wouldn't last very long.

As soon as the mid-day rest began, it was over and the party packed up their things and started to mount up. Marcail felt a tugging sensation in the back of her mind as she thought of the last chance she had to meditate. Right before the wedding, she was able to squeeze a few moments in. Since then, she had been too worried with her captors to take her eyes off of them. And that warrior might want her to be in misery for the extent of their travels. She followed the paladin, as he helped her up to his horse. She might be able to get some moments of meditation in while riding.

She sat behind the paladin and tried to close her eyes. Breathing in deeply, she imagined herself in beautiful Nagrand, among the waterfalls and bright green grass. She focused on creating the waterfall in her mind, the crystal waters cascading down into the clear blue ponds. The sound of the wind, gently bristling through the tall trees, and the sound of the gentle clefthoof baying in the distance. She inhaled deeply again as she focused inward.

Reaching deep down into her soul, she tried to find a source of arcane magic. Searching in the dark, she looked thoroughly. If she could find a sliver of magic, she could last for days. Finally, in the darkness she found what she was looking for, a green mana fissure drifted lazily deep within herself. She grasped it, and pulled it up into her mind, giving her the small arcane fix she needed.

Her unorthodox way of handling her magical addiction surprised most other blood elves, for they could never handle such a thing. In a way, she mana tapped herself, refusing to feed off of innocent people and drinking demon blood. She had her meditation down to an artistic practice. She could meditate for days on end if she needed to. Her parents also practiced this meditation, and they were the ones who taught it to her.

The magical meditation was funny though, ironically. Even though she tried her best every day to keep her addiction under control, she still had the nagging sensation to drain the magic from creatures, and even people.

When her parents first started teaching her the meditation practice, they started weening her off of the mana wyrms. However, she fell into a catatonic-like state for a few days, with spiking fevers and coming in and out of consciousness. She remembered having a nightmare, when someone took control of her body and she watched as she freed herself from her room, scouring the city in search of magic. In her arcane thirst, she killed a few commoners and almost killed her father when he tried to stop her.

The the next thing she remembered was waking up in her room, her mother crying at her bed. She tried, tearfully, to tell them of the nightmare she had, of the voice that spoke to her and took control. Her parents both went pale and insisted on her meditating to control the addiction. Then, she grew a new emotion. Strength. She fought tooth and nail everyday since then to further mana tapping her own blood.

Strangely, something interrupted her. She felt someone tugging at her, as if they were trying to tear her from her internal peace. She tried to fight it, but without access to her true powers, she was useless to fight it. She slowly became aware of the world around her. She was laying in something cold and wet, as splashes of water trickled on her face. She felt as if she were laying against something hard and equally cold as everything around her.

"Mmpgh," she murmured, trying to communicate.

"Dear Light," Darrick held the mage in his arms. He felt her fall off his horse when they were riding through the swamps. He called out to stop the party, as he quickly dismounted. When he reached to her, she wasn't breathing, she hadn't even registered falling. Galen was the first person by his side, digging for a potion in his pack to try and stir her awake. Gorrim dismounted and knelt by her side, observing for himself.

"Och, t'lass looks t'be dead," he finally answered, standing.

"She's breathing," Galen answered, as he removed a small red vial from his bag. "Let me see her," he told Darrick.

The warrior walked to the other side of the blood elf, and while Darrick held her up, Galen jammed a thumb into her jaw to he force open her mouth. He removed the cork with his teeth and gently tipped the vial. He let the red liquid slowly spill on her tongue, and it trickled down her throat. Suddenly, she started coughing, and she struggled to sit up.

Marcail's vision slowly returned to her, as gray moving figures soon became figures of the Alliance party that had captured her the day before. A face leaned over closer, it seemed she was being held by someone. Her eyes adjusted to the proximity, as she made out features. Furrowed deep indigo brows, a clean shaven jaw with strong, full lips. Everything about the face said male, masculine, and strong. Her eyes focused on his lips, fascinated, almost in a trance as she nibbled the corner of her mouth. For a second, she almost reached out to touch them.

"Marcail," the lips moved, a voice she recognized spoke to her.

The world now started coming back into focus. Reality started to sink it's strong talons into her flesh, as she suddenly looked around to see everyone gathered around her. Rain was falling down on them all, and they were all wearing long cloaks to ward off the moisture. She looked back to the warrior, whose hood was currently pulled back to get a better look at her. A few locks of his damp navy hair drifted in his face as droplets fell ran down his locks. He looked concerned, but also his authoritative affect surrounded her. They sat there for a moment, eyes locked on one another, as Galen kept her upright. Until they remembered they were not alone when Keina cleared her throat.

She started to sit up on her own, when she felt the pain in her shoulder and hip. She gritted her teeth, ignoring the pain. She should have known she would fall off, but she was so desperate to meditate.

"You fainted," Galen explained.

"No," she shook her head gently, "I was meditating. I just slipped."

She bit back a shiver, partially from being cold and the other part being touched by the warrior. She started to stand up, and as she shifted her weight, she discovered she had landed in a mud puddle of the swamp. She cursed as the heavy substance weighed down her dress. The gown clung to her, as she felt mud and cold water running down her back and legs.

They started to mount up, except for Galen and Darrick. She heard them speaking in hushed tones next to her. She turned around to look at them to judge their expressions. Judging by Galen's stance, he was miffed by something, and the paladin was trying to defend himself.

"How could you not notice her slipping?" The warrior demanded, quietly to not let the others hear.

"I don't know! I didn't even know she was sleeping," he explained. "She didn't even wake up when she hit the ground, and when I went to her, she wasn't breathing. It was strange."

"She said she was meditating." The corner of the warrior's mouth twitched as he looked over at Marcail, completely soaked from head to toe, covered in mud and old blood from the day before. He had felt her shiver in his arms just a moment ago. The remembrance of that feeling gave a deep squeeze in his chest. She had looked up at him with a stare like she was so captivated in his embrace. Like she was confused, but also interested in him.

She also felt chilled to the touch. He wished they had thought to bring extra clothes, especially since the dress had become sheer, and clinging to a very nice pair of long legs. It was difficult not to grab her and push her skirts up, to feel her thighs right then and there. Horde or not.

"We can't take her into Dun Morogh like this," Darrick pointed out.

"It's the same distance from here to Menethil Harbor than it is from here to Ironforge. The longer we stay out in the wilderness, the greater our chances of getting caught. She is a Dawnfire. Her family is probably already out searching for us." Galen knew capturing the blood elf would be the easy part, and traveling with her would be more difficult. "We can wrap her in some blankets to ward off the cold, but we must push forward."

With that, he started toward his mount and fished out a large fur blanket from his pack. He turned to Marcail and fixed his eyes on her. She looked completely miserable, with water dripping down her face and her soaked hair. Her deep rose colored lips were misted with the rain, and her delicate, upturned nose had turned pink in the chill. She glanced at him in slight fear and curiosity as to what he was going to her, but turned away. He walked up to her, their eyes catching once more. The warrior's gaze fierce and protective, while the mage stared back, soft and unsure. He draped the black fur blanket over her shoulders. She wanted to refuse, but once the heat started trapping under it and surrounding her body, she wrapped it tighter around herself.

"Are we going to stop for the night?" Marcail asked as he led her to his mount.

"No," he replied, gesturing for her to get on his saber. "Get on," he ordered.

She gave him an uneasy stare, as she took a step back from him. The paladin recognized this as he rode his horse up beside them, extending an arm to help her get on. Marcail glanced between the two, before she accepted Darrick's hand. Galen shrugged it off as he mounted up. He wasn't going to turn this into an argument in front of his expedition, even if he was a little irked by her preference to Darrick. He turned his saber toward the south exit, and called for everyone to move out.