The ride through the tunnels seemed tolerable to Marcail. Large braziers lit the path through the stone tunnels, and it actually kept the tunnels warm. She had never been in these tunnels to Dun Morogh, before. She discovered that they were quite majestic. How much time and power must have been required to make such wonders. After about the fourth tunnel, it elevated at an angle slightly, and the braziers no longer gave off superior warmth that would fight the chill that crept up her feet. She was still in the wet and mud-caked slippers. Her legs were exposed to the elements, as her still damp dress sucked the frosty air of the tunnel. She pulled the fur blanket Galen gave her up over her head and gripped it tight.

Then, she saw the white wilderness at the end of the tunnel over Darrick's shoulder. Looking up further to the sky, she saw it was already dusk. How much longer would it be until they reached Ironforge? The party came thundering by the highlander dwarves who guarded the entrance to Dun Morogh. She glanced back at them, who were all gathered around a campfire. She wished she were there for a split second, but then remembered who she was.

The frosty air shot daggers into her tiny feet. She could feel the freezing temperature biting at her face. Looking over to see if anyone else was bothered by the cold, she saw everyone was still wearing their cloaks, almost unfazed by the temperature drop. She closed her eyes and imagined warmth. Warmth from the fireplace in her regular room in Dalaran to ward off the chill of Northrend. She tried to imagine hot teas, soups and stews, or the scalding heat from a hot bath. Anything else but the pain of the arctic freeze.

True she was a frost mage, but her attacks never chilled her as much as it did her targets. She also would have her fur-laced armor on. Not a tattered, sheer and soaking dress she had on at the moment. A violent shiver wrecked throughout her body, as she flexed her muscles to try and get warm. The constant, gentle shivering picked up, as her teeth chattered. She dug her nails into the fur and started to sit a little closer to the paladin. Only to stabilize herself, because his plate had turned frigid and was not very pleasant to the touch. Moving a leg, she discovered that parts of the dress was beginning to freeze to her skin.

As they passed more snow covered hills and capped pine trees, her shivering became more violent. She had felt jittery when they first entered Dun Morogh, but now she began to feel lethargic, as if she were falling asleep. Looking at her hands, she saw she could barely keep them still. Darrick kept glancing back at her more often. At first she had given him nods and eye contact to assure him she was fine, but now she just huddled against the plate, feeling drained of energy. It felt as if her limbs and joints weren't there, for they didn't listen to her commands.

The ride just seemed to go on forever, and time seemed to crawl. She felt heavy. Her eyes felt heavy, holding her body up felt heavy, even blinking felt like a chore. She felt herself slipping in the saddle and was now too exhausted to stop it.

This time, Darrick noticed her slipping and tried to catch her, but once again she came falling, down into the snow. Marcail couldn't even try and pick herself up as she stared into the snowbank she fell in, snow coating her hands and face. She heard voices, but couldn't hear anything other than incoherent mumbling. The only thing she could hear loudly was her slow and catatonic-like heartbeat.

She felt hands on her as they turned her over on her back. Then, she felt someone lifting her from the snow. She didn't even bother to lift her head to see who it was or fight back. She could only let her head dangle as she stared to the sky, now a complete black blanket, with speckles of stars scattered all over the night's canvas.

"By Elune, her lips are a complete blue!" Shock swept over Galen as he looked at her face. She didn't even look at him, she stared strait into the sky. "We have to get her inside," he determined, as the howl of the wind swept his cloak around his strong, plated body.

"Look, her feet are blue, too," Keina pointed out in awe. Galen looked over, and sure enough, her slippers had fallen off and her small feet were changing color. Her entire body color had turned gray. Her damp hair had frozen from being exposed to the elements too long. Even her eyelashes had ice crystals glittering over her cheeks.

"How much further to Ironforge?" Galen asked the twins as he mounted up, still carrying Marcail in his arms, bridal-style.

"Canna be too far from 'ere," Gorrim judged, scanning the landscape.

"Keep moving!" The warrior called out, as he kicked his heels to urge his mount to run at full speed.

The party behind him even had trouble keeping up with him. Keina took notice to this, and she had seen the fear wash over his face as he noticed how dire the situation really was. She bit her lip and held on tighter to her frostsaber.

.

Entering the gates of Ironforge in a hurry, Galen quickly dismounted his nightsaber and rushed into the closest inn. He didn't even have time to explain as the innkeeper shot him an apprehensive stare. Only when the warrior started the intense threatening and bellowing to give him a room, did the innkeeper do as he asked. His friends tried to follow him, but he immediately shrugged them off, telling them to find a healer, and fast.

Once deep underground in his room of stone, Galen brought Marcail's freezing body to warm near the blazing fire. Her eyes fluttered as she kept drifting in and out of consciousness. She was so small, so fragile. He should have known better than to push her this hard. He laid her body down on the animal fur rug, so he could go get more blankets to cover her with. With his back turned, Marcail lazily rose into a seated position.

He turned to face her, blankets in hand, and her staring at the wall in a blank daze. Slowly, she started shrugging the fur blanket from her shoulders. She almost looked drunk with the haze in her eyes. Then, she reached around to her back and started untying the ribbon from her corset. The warrior blinked, unsure of what she was doing. When she started wiggling out of her dress*, in an instant he fell to his knees at her side, trying to keep her from whatever she was trying to do.

"Marcail, no, don't do that," he felt like he was scolding a child, as she fought him.

"Mmph, 'lemme 'lone," she murmured, as she forced one of her arms out of the sleeves.

She kept squirming, trying to shed the damp material from her body, and he kept trying to keep her clothes on. She finally got another arm free, though she elbowed Galen in the jaw and he grunted.

"Marcail! Stop!" He ordered.

At this point he stopped fighting her with the dress and just tried to cover her frigid body with the fur blankets he brought to her. He wrapped his arms around her chest in a bear hug to keep her from pulling the blankets down any further. Part of him was mentally kicking himself for all of this. If she wanted to undress in his presence, he shouldn't be stopping her. He would actually enjoy seeing her disrobe.

Another part of him knew that it wasn't right to just let her strip. He hissed in common as she wiggled against him, those luscious hips grinding into his loins. He partially cursed himself for keeping his plate on, but also thanked Elune he couldn't feel her softness nestling there. Mostly, he felt his loins cry out in demanding and an unrelenting force, as he held her against him. He kept on with this internal war with himself, as she still tried to fight him and his arms holding the blankets up. A knock on the door made him freeze where he was and he felt his heart stop.

The door opened anyway, and two figures stood at the doorway. Galen was already on his feet, near the door to meet her when he met the dwarven priestess that came to his aid. She was short and had a larger-than-life smile on her face, with her long flaming red hair braided behind her.

"Ya called fer me?" She smiled at the warrior, and he heard a gasp behind the dwarf.

Looking further, he saw Keina, wide eyes and blushing furiously, staring at something behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, but he had to do a double take at the image he saw. Marcail had shed her dress and blankets and was sitting in all her naked glory before the fire.

Galen couldn't stop his gaze from raking across her bare, slender back. Her chest rose and fell, and small pink nipples had gone hard in the cold. Firelight and shadows danced over her creamy skin. For a moment, it seemed like time had stopped, and his chest tightened and he felt like he had swallowed his own heart. She was gorgeous.

"Och, t' lassie 'as a case o' the cold crazies," the priest observed knowingly, as she went to the blood elf and wrapped her with the blankets that had fallen to her waist.

Galen glanced back at the door, but the female rogue was gone. He shut the door, and went back to help the priest who was fighting with Marcail to keep the blankets on.

"Easy, lass, I'm noe going t' hurt ye," she said gently, as she kept pushing the small hands of the blood elf away.

"What is she doing?" Galen asked, slightly shaken.

"Take thae gloves off, laddie," the priest ordered, "ef yer gonna help."

He hesitated at first, but when he saw that Marcail wasn't giving up and started howling a variety of Thalassian curses, he decided his help was needed. She started thrashing, trying to get the two off of her, and finally Galen outmatched her enough that he rolled her up in the blankets, trapping her arms and making it impossible for her to squirm. The priest touched her forehead and started chanting some words. Finally, the blood elf seemed to calm down and her eyes fluttered closed as she went limp.

"What in hellfire was that?" Galen grunted, breathing out a deep sigh to gain control over his body, still pulsing with primal lust.

"Lassie's mind was taken." She explained, as she opened her palms over the mage's body. "Puir sowels who canna take t' cold, they canna help themselves. Thay go a bit daft."

"You're saying the cold did this to her?"

"Aye. I put 'er t' sleep. Lassie might not remember on t' morrow. I do, 'owever, think ye should clothe her better afore she goes in th' snow again. She coulda died." The priest gave him a skeptical look as the night elf walked over to the bed to sit down. Galen closed his eyes and sighed.

"Thank you for coming," he replied, as she nodded in acceptance and walked to the door.

"Mind that one. Lass is steel gonna be a bit of a 'andful ef she wakes up. I'll be back t' check on 'er in the morn." Then the flame haired dwarf left the room, closing the door behind her.

.

Galen stared pensively at the sleeping blood elf's figure wrapped in blankets of fur and cloth beside the fire. He rubbed his face with his hands, sighing deeply. He could hardly believe himself, how he gave the orders to keep going on to Dun Morogh. The girl was soaking wet, in tattered clothes and unfit to travel. He should have stopped at Menethril Harbor, allowed her to dry and gotten her something more practical to wear. Instead, he pushed her to her limit, and almost killed her.

He knew that he shouldn't feel bad about a Horde casualty, he killed many like her before. But this time, he was supposed to be protecting her, keeping her alive until he got what he wanted. He was a stern leader, but that was with his soldiers, those who followed him. Marcail wasn't a part of that life, clearly. He felt a pang of guilt, for treating her so poorly. Even with his attitude, she hadn't struggled and fought the way hostages usually did. She did counterspell Sarah, but she was only trying to defend herself, and he couldn't hold that against her. Marcail apparently knew the dangerous spell, and the risks.

Finally, he rose from his seat at the bed and knelt down to the girl. Her breathing was deep and slow, and her nose and ears were pink with the warmth of the room. He looked closer, letting his eyes roam and take in her beauty with no interruptions. Her mouth was of normal size, with a complimenting pair of full, rosy lips. She had stared at him with such intensity in Wetlands, he wished he could read minds. Her eyes had focused on his lips with such a hunger. Did she want me to kiss her? His eyes grew wide and brows lowered incredulously. He felt his innards twist and flop as he lowered his face to hers.

She was still wrapped up in the blankets, but there was still a nice view of her slender neck and clavicle. Her complexion almost dared him to look farther. He started to reach for her, but then hesitantly pulled his hand back. Then he reached for her again, this time he picked her up and carried her to the bed, where he rested her on the soft feather bed. She stirred a little in her sleep when he released her, but she didn't wake up. He wished she were awake so he could talk to her. You idiot. What would you say? He stood up, ready to leave and go to the tavern. Gorrim and Thorim were bound to be there, and a little ale would be welcome right about now. He snatched up his plated gloves and started to the stairs.

.

"Oi! Thare be t' man o'the hour," Gorrim bellowed happily, as he raised his full mug to his friend entering the tavern. Galen finished the few steps up to join the dwarves at their table.

"I ordered ye a pint," Thorim winked, "maybe two."

"Thanks," Galen nodded his head, but forced out a smile as he sat down with them. He really could use the distraction, and he was not one to turn down free booze. "Anyone else coming tonight?"

"Aye, th' fair lass Sarah said she'd meet us here. So did th' paladin." Gorrim answered, and quickly guzzled down his mug and ordered another.

He let out an obnoxious belch, and guffawed loudly as his brother slapped him on the back and met him with the same amusement. The night elf wanted to cover his forehead in annoyance of the dwarves, but he held it back. These were some of his most trusted companions. Just because he was sexually frustrated and confused, didn't mean he had to take his anger out on them.

"Hey guys," a familiar female voice called from the door. "Don't party too hard without me!" Galen relaxed as Sarah and Darrick made their way through the crowd of dwarves and gnomes to sit by their friends. Sarah immediately plopped herself in a seat next to Galen. She leaned in and lowered her voice.

"How is she doing?" She asked.

"Good, I guess. She started warming up and the healer said she'll be checking in tomorrow. She's asleep, now," he shrugged, accepting his mug from a bar maiden. Sarah stared at him for a few seconds and shook her brunette hair.

"I don't mean the blood elf, I mean Keina." Sarah asked, "She left Ironforge on the tram about an hour ago, and she seemed rather depressed."

"What?" The warrior frowned, "why? Did she tell you why?" The warlock shook her head again.

"She just told me she wanted to get away from this place. Did you see her at any time in between when we entered the gates and when she left?"

"Yeah," he took a drink from his mug, "she was the one who found the healer." The warlock raised an eyebrow.

"Then why would she leave?"

"I have no idea," Galen shrugged. Then, it hit him as if he were standing in front of the oncoming tram. His eyes grew wider, "Wait. She saw Marcail in a state of madness."

"What do you mean?" Sarah tilted her head in confusion. Galen sighed deeply and folded his hands together.

"Marcail started taking her clothes off as soon as I got her inside. It was like she was a completely different person. I had to fight her tooth and nail to keep herself covered up. In the end, when I went to get the door, she had completely disrobed." Galen explained, as the human looked at him doubtfully. "Fine, don't believe me." He turned away from her, when she grabbed his arm.

"That's not it, it's just a very-" Sarah searched for the right word, trying not to piss off her commander, "ambivalent situation." The warrior shrugged it off as he downed more ale.

"Doesn't matter. We've completed phase one of the plan, and now I need to move quickly to get into the next stage."

"It's late though, Galen," the warlock pointed out, "and we should probably-"

"Sarah, stop acting like one of my damned sisters and just drink. For a few hours, I don't want to have a care in the world," his yellow eyes glared with annoyance. He started following his own advice by ordering a round for his comrades, who gleefully cheered him on. The warlock sighed, but reluctantly accepted her mug.

.

The drinking continued until early that morning, when Galen entered the room he left Marcail in, drunkenly stumbling around in the dim light as the fire had died down to embers. He righted a small table that he knocked over, hoping that the sleeping mage didn't hear. Galen picked up some logs and threw them into the fireplace. After a few minutes of playing with the position of the logs, and burning a few fingers, the fireplace was crackling to life again. He crept over to her bedside, and peeled back some of the fur blankets, checking on how she was fairing.

Her soft expression told him she was still asleep, and her exposed creamy shoulder also told him she hadn't gotten up to put clothes on. He snorted, it wasn't like she had anything else to wear. It didn't matter, he'd find her something decent when the shops opened. He got down on a knee and swayed a little bit as he steadied himself. Her breathing was just as soft and calm as it had been when he left. The firelight danced over her features.

She looked so different from females in his race, it was hard to believe their races were cousins. She was much more slender, dainty, and just smaller all around. Even her facial features and ears were different. While most night elven faces and ears were strong and had character, hers were more provocative and radiant. After his eyes devouring her naked body earlier before, he began to understand why blood elves were sold into slavery for sex. The thought brought a feeling of disgust into his chest, and he turned his head away from her. It shamed him to think of that, especially since he had just failed her. She was in his care until he completed his mission, and he couldn't fail her again.

Galen couldn't help but glance back at her sleeping form. Watching her sleep peacefully made his features relax. Her being in a weakened condition played upon his desire to protect, feeding his innermost nature. It was something that he hadn't felt since joining ranks with the war in Altrec Valley. In his inebriated state, he took his glove off, and reached out to her with a large hand. He touched her hair, fanned out on the pillow. It reminded him of human hair colors. These colors were strange to him, since all night elven hair reflected the colors found in the forest in Teldrassil. He didn't think her caramel hair color was found in Eversong Woods.

However, her hair was different from most other human colors. This blood elf possessed hair of a deep gold ore, before it was stripped down to pure metal. He found himself gently weaving his fingers in it's silkiness. Again, he was surprised. Night elven hair was not nearly this fine or as soft. Her hair was like the softness of a rabbit's underbelly.

Marcail stirred in her sleep, turning over to her side, facing him. Galen's veins snapped to ice, as he stood as still as an animal gauging it's safety against a passerby in the woods. She purred a few words as the warrior debated what to do. She breathed in deeply and yawned, but never opened her eyes. She murmured again, the corners of her mouth twitching, but this time he could make out one of the words.

"Galen."

He felt the blood drain from his face. He held his breath, waiting for her to react, probably in anger with him being so close. But she didn't. She never even woke up. It was like she whispered his name in her sleep. He stood up, still unnerved. She was dreaming of him. He stepped back, gently and quietly, until he came up against the door. He reached for the door handle, and quickly opened the door and spun out on the other side of the door before closing it shut. Elune's blood, he cursed, running a hand through his deep blue hair.

* = I felt it only necessary to explain the scene in medical terms to my readers, since advanced symptoms of hypothermia are not generally well known. The scene where Marcail removes her clothing is called Paradoxical Undressing, where the victim's blood vessels have given up on trying to keep the body warm and release from exhaustion, causing the victim to feel hot. They will then begin to remove their clothes and other coverings to try and cool down. But, the victim's core temperature is already below average, and thus Paradoxical Undressers succumb even faster to hypothermia. Google it, I think there is even an episode of "1000 Ways To Die" about it.