"Marcail," a voice called from the darkness. She stirred, and surprisingly, there was no pain in her body. She wondered if she were dead.
The mage opened her eyes, to see herself in Outland, in Shadowmoon Valley. The bold, striking colors of the red earth against the blackened sky reminded her of her intense anxiety every time she came into Shadowmoon Valley, as green Fel-lava flowed in deep crevices in the land. This land contained much evil and corrupted power. It immediately put her on edge as the demonic energy slammed through her.
"Marcail," the voice called again.
She turned around, to see the tall form of Prince Kael'Thas standing behind her. She shrieked and jumped back in terror.
"Marcail," he said again, but with a stern tone.
"I told you to stay out of my mind," she cried, desperately.
"Why are you frightened, cousin?" An evil grin formed on his face.
"You betrayed us all! You sold us out to the Burning Legion!" she squeaked out, her stance was still defensive, ready to cast a spell to protect herself.
"I did what was right," he growled, eyes narrowing, as he took another step closer. "I was the one who wasn't afraid to get my hands dirty after the destruction of the Sunwell. You all betrayed me."
"Don't come any closer," she put her hand up, as it glowed with a frosty blue aura.
"Silly girl, you think you even have a chance against me?" He chuckled darkly, and then shot a hand out and snatched her wrist. Marcail cried out in pain as she tried to get her hand back, as he drew her closer to him. "You are weak. We have the same potency in our blood, but you won't have the courage to do what it takes to be really great. You will always lose against someone like me."
"I'd rather die a thousand times over than turn to the demons! I'll never join the Burning Legion."
"I did it all for the likes of our people," he snarled, his grasp clutching tighter around her wrist. "How grateful you all have been, making your own prince a mark of shame in Silvermoon City. I still intend to restore what I want, and now the task falls to you."
"Me?" Her eyes widened in surprise, her fear still evident behind it.
"You haven't been meditating, Marcail. You've grown even weaker than before." He grinned. "It has been many years since our minds connected. You didn't fight me so hard last time. It's funny, even in death, I have contained the power that I gained in life." His tone changed to dominance, as he glowered at her. "But now, everything will fall into place. I have you, and you will go and do what I say."
The ground fell from under her, and Kael'Thas held her dangling by her wrist above a darkened pit. She felt the sting of angry tears and yelped, as she tried to grab on to a ledge with her free hand to save herself from the black hole she was about to be dropped in.
"You cannot deny the thirst, give into it," a wicked smile formed on his face and he released her wrist. Marcail let out a scream, as she fell down into the deep pit of blackness.
.
Marcail suddenly shot up from her bed in Ironforge. Feverish sweat covered her body, as she looked around in a daze around the room. She pushed the blankets off of her legs, and stood. Someone had come and changed her into white linen shift at some time during her slumber, but she didn't notice. She pushed the blankets off of her, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She rose, unwavering and as if she were never sick. Her bare feet started toward the door, as she began to smell a tantalizing aroma from above her. She opened the door and heard the loud voices from upstairs.
Her small feet made no sound as she effortlessly glided up the stairs. When she stood before the bar patrons, only a few noticed her, but most were drowned in their own liquor they didn't even pay her mind. That's when Marcail held her palms out to them all, and a wolfish grin tugged the corners of her mouth. She started chanting the words she vowed she would never again say, as a purple mist started to fill the room. The patrons all started to grow tired, but some of the warriors and rogues tried to come for her. The gnomes and dwarves were no match for her, as she siphoned their mana. A warrior took a swing towards her, but clumsily fell before her, as she sucked what little arcane energy he had from his body. Once she drained the entire bar of all of their mana, she grew angry.
"That is all you have to offer?" She demanded in a voice not like her own. "Pity."
She finished draining the arcane energy from a gnome warlock, before she dropped his lifeless body to the ground. She pushed the door to the city open, and with a loud squeaking noise, she was loose.
Marcail sniffed the air like an animal, and her attention immediately turned to the right, where the open arches to Tinkertown beckoned her. She floated ominously in the direction of the powerful mana energy, her feet not even touching the ground with her powerful magic. She floated into Tinkertown, as gnomes saw her figure and hesitantly watched her. The mage grinned wickedly, and unleashed her mana siphoning spell. The wind whirled faster than at the inn just a few minutes ago, as she drank in the energy.
Marcail threw her head back and closed her eyes, the terrified screams of her victims filled her veins and sent a new thrill throughout her body. The taste of fear was rapturous. The pleasure of arcane magic sent her into a state of such euphoria, she cursed herself for denying this pleasure for so long. She felt the power surging through her veins, and she could take on the world and avenge Prince Kael'Thas, and finally bring the Sunwell back to her people. They would be unstoppable.
.
Galen heard the distressed cries coming from the direction of the inn while he was walking back with more bloodthistle to give to Marcail. He felt his veins turn to ice, as he figured she had been discovered and was now being made a public demonstration of what the Alliance would do to any enemy in their city. He quickly mounted up and ran toward the sounds.
He prayed to Elune that it was just a minor explosion or fire, something that happened regularly in Tinkertown, with the many gnomish engineers. Since Tinkertown was very close to the inn, it seemed like a plausible excuse. Though deep down in his gut, he felt that something had gone terribly wrong. He dismounted when he got to the inn, and kicked the door open. He almost dropped his swords at the sight of all the dead dwarves and gnomes littered about the floor.
The screaming started again, but it was coming from outside of the inn. He raced towards the door, and looked to the arches of Tinkertown. A purple dust was coming from the area, and he couldn't see anything. He dashed through the arches, and fanned the thick air to try and see. Almost as soon as he began fanning, the smoke started to clear. He finally started to see figures, and then he felt the air being sucked in one direction. He looked to where it was coming from, and his eyes widened to see Marcail, suspended in air, as she inhaled the purple smoke.
He, himself, began to feel weak and he dropped to his knees. He realized that she was killing him by draining his mana. Every living being had some form of mana, and even the small amount that Galen had, the blood elf had tapped into it and was draining him dry.
"Marcail!" He called out, but she couldn't hear him. He used a sword to help him stand and forced himself to walk towards her. Once he was in her proximity, he grabbed her ankle, yanking her down. The air began to clear as she dropped to the ground in a lifeless heap. He watched as the rest of the purple mist started to go to back the bodies of gnomes around the area. He looked above his own head to see some of the mist pouring down into his body. He felt his strength returning, almost immediately.
Galen wanted to be anywhere but where he was in that moment. This was almost too much. He looked down at Marcail, who could very well be dead, and he crawled to her. He grabbed her arms to pull her up, and her head swiveled around, her hair in her face as she let out a pitiful moan. He pushed her hair back, to see her eyes heavily lidded, but the emerald glow of the fel-taint had returned to normal. She looked at him with confusion.
"Marcail, what the hell did you do?" He demanded, shaking her.
Her eyes grew wide, and she pulled herself away to empty her stomach away from Galen, on the cold iron floor below them. She clumsily tried to brush the back of her hand to her mouth, but seemed to miss. Instead, she kept awkwardly crashing her hand into her face. A familiar haze in her eyes proved to him what was wrong with her. Dear Elune, she's high. His glare seared into her, as he let her go. She collapsed in his lap, headfirst. She tried to pick herself up, and finally came face to face with him.
He shook with rage, she just siphoned the souls his countrymen! He couldn't even bring himself to look at her. This proved that blood elves really were evil. Who sacrifices lives so they could become more powerful? Only abominations could come from such magic. He wanted to hate her, but then he heard a whimper and a stifling sob. He reluctantly brought his gaze to her, and saw the tears running down her face.
"G-galen," she stammered, her head hung as she braced herself on his knees. "Words will never be able to express how sorry I am for this."
He bent his head lower to see if she were truly crying, for he had never heard anything like this from any member of the Horde. They were never sorry over the deaths of the Alliance. Suddenly, plated footsteps were heard on the iron floor, and Galen knew the guards were coming. The sensible thing to do was to stay there and allow Marcail to be sentenced to death or life in the Stormwind Stockade. That was the loyal thing to do for the Alliance. He should stay there, and allow her to pay for her crimes.
It was her tears that wouldn't stop flowing and how she expressed feelings just moments before that made him do what he did next. Galen removed his cloak, wrapped Marcail up tightly in it, and pulled the hood over her ears. He then gathered her up into his arms and left Tinkertown.
.
The mage had fallen asleep in his arms as he purchased tickets to Stormwind from Ironforge in the deeprun tram. He sat on a bench, with her still gathered up, waiting for the next train to take them out of Ironforge. He had already decided where he was taking her. He glanced down, the helm covering everything above her small, pert nose. Full lips were parted slightly as she breathed evenly in her sleep. She was so small he was able to cover her completely in his cloak.
He let out a long sigh, shifting his weight on the bench. He really got himself into some binds in the past, but this one was bordering treason. He wanted to demand of Marcail what exactly happened to the events leading up to the murder of a dozen dwarves and gnomes. What kind of excuse would be good enough? None.
Then, the gem touching his chest began to heat up. He dug down into his shirt and removed the necklace that Sarah had used to bind her magic with. How was the mage able to use her magic against everyone? The gem, being so close to Marcail, started to glow slightly, with the same glow of fel magic that the blood elves reflected in their eyes.
Marcail sighed in her sleep and burrowed her head deeper into Galen's arm. He looked to the ceiling, trying to get his mind off of the mage and his actions for a little while. Where was that damned tram?
.
The journey to Stormwind was longer than he wanted it to be, but luckily, Marcail had still been asleep for the whole thing. Galen wanted to rest in Stormwind, breathing in the night air, and looking to the sky above him and smiling, but he knew that they would be safer if they boarded the passage to Auberdine and rested on the boat.
He mounted his nightsaber, and pushed forward through Stormwind City. With all the bouncing, the mage started to stir awake. She could vaguely hear the footpads of the animal on the cobblestone. She heard the sounds of voices in the distance, but dismissed them, trying to close her eyes and let sleep elude her once more.
She must have drifted off to a nap, because a few minutes later, she felt that she was being hoisted in the air again, and the sound of a nightsaber, growling lowly, as the sound faded away. She heard heavy footsteps on wood. She listened to the rhythm of the footsteps, and then heard gentle voices as Galen exchanged something to another person. He then turned and took her down some stairs and deeper into another room. Her eyes fluttered as she allowed to see where she was.
"Marcail," he spoke, as he laid her down upon a soft bed. She listened to the sound of waves lapping at a shore, and the gentle rocking made her conclude they had recently boarded a ship.
"Marcail," Galen tried again. The mage blinked open her eyes, turning her head to him. The fel glow of her eyes were back to normal, though they seemed a bit darker and potent than the first day he saw her. Her vision was a little hazy, but she knew she had to speak to him. He just saved her life. Twice now.
"I'm sure you want an explanation for what happened," she gave a sigh, and struggled to sit up.
"Yes," the warrior went to close the door to the room, and he grabbed a chair and brought it next to the bed. "I think I deserve that much." He locked his eyes on her, reading her carefully. She used her delicate fingers to massage her temples and closed her eyes gently.
"You know what I am, and you know that because I'm a pureblood mage, my magic is more potent than the average blood elf."
"Yes, yes," he said angrily, waving a hand, "get to the part where you killed everyone at the inn." The color drained from the mage's face, as she clenched her fists.
"I don't know how many days I was sick for," she began, eying him as if he would tell her. When he didn't, she continued, "but it was long enough to affect my meditations. Instead of siphoning magic, I have learned to control my magical addiction through intense meditation. My parents taught me this method and kept me from hurting anyone." She explained, and then looked down to her hands, where she fingered the quilt on the bed.
"Go on," he ordered insensitively. She jumped a little, her misty eyes meeting his and he immediately wanted to take the words back.
"You have to understand, Galen. I fight this addiction every day. I have prided myself in how I don't need to siphon mana from creatures." Her voice at the end wavered a little, and she took a deep breath in. Then, she continued. "One time in my youth, my parents had just taught me the technique of deep meditation, I ran a fever for a few days and lost consciousness for a night. It was strange, it was like being in my body, but I couldn't control what I said or did. It was like being in the audience as everything played out before me."
She swallowed hard, this was clearly difficult for her to retell the tragic story. Galen almost didn't want her to relive whatever personal hell she dealt with, but he had to know what he was getting into by bringing her to Teldrassil.
"I got loose on the streets of Silvermoon. I ran rampant, and I went directly where I smelled the most mana. Like a beast, I followed the scent trail, and I found a few commoners who were just talking together. I remember crying when I saw them dying at my own hand. I remember trying to gain control, but nothing would work. As I watched myself kill my people, I thrashed around in my body, and I remember a voice calling out to me. It said, 'You can't fight your destiny.'"
Marcail stopped talking again. She had never shared this with anyone but her parents. Not even Hayden knew about the voice that spoke to her that day. It was so strange letting it all come out to the night elf, someone who could care less about her well-being.
"I've never wanted any of it," she looked him directly in the eye, her intense gaze searing into him with a strength he had never seen anyone else express. "I never would take a life for my own personal benefit." Galen breathed out, gently, as the intensity of her gaze filled him and strangely made him feel aroused. Her potency and respect for other life made him slightly respect her.
"I believe you," he answered, shifting his weight in the chair.
"Thank you," Marcail answered, dropping her gaze. "I was having a nightmare, just before I went on that... that..." She couldn't find the right words to describe what happened in Ironforge. So she just skipped over it, continuing her tale. "I was talking to Kael'Thas. He wanted me to do something for my people. He was angry with me because I wouldn't comply. Then, I woke up, and I was watching someone use me like a puppet once again." Galen's eyes hardened.
"This is serious," he said, "you clearly cannot be without meditation for too long. You also need restraints."
"I'll be fine for a couple of days, now." She shuddered, thinking of the stolen power flowing in her blood. "But don't worry," she pointed to his chest, where the gem dangled on the necklace, "I won't cast any magic. If you want you can have Sarah bind me until it fades away. I won't struggle."
The warrior felt primal heat stirring around him, as he thought of her saying those last words again in a slightly different context. Damn it! He cursed himself, this was no time for him to have these thoughts. But then again, was there ever a good time to have lustful intentions towards a blood elf?
"If you open a portal-" he began, but was interrupted.
"I can't do that." She shook her head, "I'm not at my full power. Not even close."
"Then why did you suggest to bind your magic again?" He asked.
"Well, in case you don't trust me," she shrugged, moving her eyes from him and then wrapped the cloak tighter around herself. "I also can cast a few spells, not enough to aid in an escape, but enough to be a pain." She shrugged again. Galen suddenly forgot all about their situation, and chuckled a little. He leaned back in the chair and turned a more playful gaze on her.
"And just how can you be a pain if you have as little magic as you say you do?"
"Well," a tiny grin plucked at the side of her mouth, but quickly dropped. He felt a little disappointed he couldn't see at least a small smile come from her. "I am a frost mage."
Suddenly, Galen felt his feet drop in temperature. He looked down to see a formation of ice crystals beginning to glue him to the wooden floor. He jumped with the reflexes of a warrior, shattering the ice before it could build further and turning over the chair he was sitting would have taken that action as hostile, had she not giggled a little.
"See?" She said, with a slight flirtatious smile. "I can annoy, but that's about it." Galen's brows furrowed, but he couldn't help but return the smile. She had never smiled at him before, but with good reason.
"Well, good. Then I won't have to bind you," he returned a flirtatious glance her way, before he quickly shot himself down. What the hell are you doing? He demanded of himself.
She looked up at him, in slight bewilderment, and got the feeling that he didn't mean to be provocative.
"How long is the boat ride going to be?" She asked, changing the subject, and pushing past her bruised pride. This wasn't the time for her to care about being attractive to her captor. Come to think of it, there wasn't any proper time for that.
"At least two days, and that's if the weather is clear." He answered.
"Can I know where we're going?" She asked, haphazardly. There was a silence for a while, as he debated.
"Darnassus," he finally answered. Suddenly, the female's look changed to panic.
"Darnassus? Are you kidding? I can't go there!" She sat up fully, but instantly regretted it, as she felt pain aching at her head. She forced herself from the bed and went to him, the ends of his long cloak dragging behind her. She clasped her hands together and brought them to her chest. "Galen, please, I'm begging you, don't take me there."
"It's the only place where I can keep an eye on you all the time," his body went rigid with her proximity.
His eyes drifted to her quivering lips, and he wondered what it would feel like to kiss someone like Marcail. Those primal urges came up again, as he contemplated kissing her, maybe even taking her up against the wall or the bed. He had seen those long, luscious legs. He fantasized those legs wrapping around his waist, her ankles locked as he drove into her over and over.
"Galen?" The soft voice called to him, as he was brought back to reality.
"Yes?" He could only reply.
"I can't go to Darnassus."
"Why not," his brows furrowed. "You will be watched constantly, so you won't hurt anyone."
"That's not enough," she shook her head, as pretty locks of deep golden hair flowed around her. "I can still hurt someone. With a population like Darnassus, I could drain everyone in the city. What if I slip under his control and you can't stop me? I won't have more death on my hands. I simply won't! What if I kill you? What if I kill your friends? " She began to sound a little hysterical.
"Marcail," he took her shoulders holding her steady, "relax." She looked up at him with misty eyes. "You are safe where you are going, I promise you. We will be able to restrain you." He assured her, and the mage seemed to calm down.
In his grasp, she felt something different from the first time he grabbed her. Instead of anger and control that led him to grab her, this one was more grounding, and much more gentle. When had that happened? She wondered. She felt the color rising in her cheeks, and something in Galen's yellow eyes changed, as they grew a little darker, a little harder to read.
What was he thinking in that moment? If only she could use her magic to read emotions. His gaze dropped, as he scanned her body, still in the thin white shift. The cloak she was wearing had parted enough to see the outline of her nipples. The idea to take her ran through his mind again.
"Galen?" She spoke, sounding confused.
He was brought out of his lustful haze to see her confused look. He cursed himself, knowing he hadn't given her a reason to really trust him yet, she was probably uneasy as to why he was still touching her. He dropped his arms, letting her go.
"I suggest you avoid leaving the room," he said, clearing his throat. "I'm sorry I haven't found you anything decent to wear, but getting you away from Alliance guards was more important."
Marcail blushed, her face falling to the floor, as she remembered she had woken up to a different shift from the one Sarah gave her. For all she knew, Galen dressed her. She thought of her unconscious in his arms, completely naked as he slowly undressed her. She blushed harder and turned away, trying to hide the deep crimson color her face had turned.
"I-I, um," she stammered, as she clasped her hands and fumbled with her fingers. "D-did you..." She trailed off, too embarrassed to ask him.
"If you think that I dressed you, you need not worry." He shook his head. "A dwarven priestess brought you the shift and dressed you." He explained.
She swallowed and nodded, keeping her back turned. He was glad she did when he noticed her deep flush, as the corners of his mouth jerked upward. Her bashful nature was slightly cute. He was suddenly reminded of when she was stark naked, grinding against him during her first night in Ironforge. He was tempted to bring it up, but he was already toeing the line with his primal energy.
"I will return," he spoke up. "I must check with the captain to see when we will actually arrive at Darkshore, and make sure you will be safe on this ship." He gave her a nod, as she looked over her shoulder at him, as she acknowledged it. He spun around and left. After the door closed, Marcail let out a long sigh.
The tension in the room had caused her to hold her breath without even realizing it. She removed Galen's cloak from her shoulders, and folded it up on the chair he was sitting in. She looked around the room, hoping there was something to take her mind off of the night elf. The room was very plain, just a small brazier for warmth on cold nights in a corner, and opposite from the brazier was a small desk. She wished she had some books, because if she were to be stuck in the tiny room for two whole days just to sit there and stare out of a porthole, she was going to be sick with boredom.
Climbing on the bed, she knelt on the quilt to peer out of the porthole. The Alliance harbor was dead empty, workers had long gone to bed. Not even travelers were seen on the land. She looked up to the dark night sky, glittering with stars. She was suddenly filled with an urgency to go out on deck, and drink in the smell of the sea.
She traced a digit over the cool glass of the porthole, her sad reflection staring back at her. How was she ever going to get home? Galen was taking her to Teldrassil, a secluded island far away from any Horde outpost. She might never get home. Perhaps he wouldn't be reasonable with his ransom, and keep upping the price for her freedom. She frowned at that thought.
What if he just sold her into slavery? Her name was not unknown, for she had been in Northrend a long time, and definitely made some enemies. They would probably pay a hefty fee to keep her as a slave, or worse. Even as a blood elf, she would go for some good gold, knowing her race was well liked, even among the Alliance community.
Her eyes fell to the quilt, and she sat back on her heels. If her ransom was paid, she would have to return home. A fate of living as a slave in Galen's house might not be so bad, after all. As long as she dodged his temper, she could stay away from Nellan. She wrinkled her nose and cringed at the thought. What made slavery more tempting than going home? She would be a slave either way, but if she were home, at least Nellan seemed to be a gentleman, unlike the brutish warrior.
No, going home would be nice. She could just live in Silvermoon, bare the children they wanted, and still be free to roam around her home city. She could even sneak off and save some more Wretcheds. She could bring them back home, to their families and loved ones. What life would she have in Darnassus? None. The barbaric warrior would never let her free without what he wanted, that much was pretty clear.
She reflected on the past few hours of her life. Galen hadn't seemed so brutish when he cradled her on the way to Ironforge. Then again, it was partially his fault that she had gotten so sick. But his eyes had looked so worried. She had seen that look in his eyes a few times during the span she knew him. Once, when she tripped on her dress and fell into his arms. A second time, when she awoke from her meditation to find she had fallen off of Darrick's horse. A third time, when she faded in and out of her haze after the incident in Ironforge.
He also could have left her to die at the hands of the guards. He could have killed her himself, out of revenge for his fellow soldiers. He had every right to, in her mind. But he didn't do it. Perhaps he was just doing so for his own personal gain, but it felt like there was something else driving his actions. Time would tell if she were wrong. Sighing out of boredom, she sat down on her bottom and tried to think of things to say to Nellan if she ever saw him again.