Author's Notes:
Warcraft and all applicable trademarks belong to Blizzard.
Thanks goes to Laughingcat312 for the formatting suggestion on Scene IV. I was initially a little hesitant because I was trying to use the Ж symbol for PoV changes only, but it honestly just looks better and is easier to read.
Please remember folks, I hate typos, but unfortunately they do show up. If you see any, let me know. I did a little bit of housecleaning on prior chapters, so hopefully I got them all, but please tell me if I missed any.
That being said, sit back and enjoy!
Act I, Scene V
Light Along The Edge Of Two Worlds
Tandira opened her eyes with a start, heart thundering in her chest, a gasp escaping her lips. The night elf moon priestess rose from her bed. The symbol from the moonwell had hung before her in her dreams, spinning until she couldn't tell one side from the other, colors whirling, stopping with heart-stopping suddenness at an angle, shadows changing its edges, muting some, contrast emboldening others.
And she'd realized that there were a pair of eyes there in its depths, framed by its curves and corners, not silver like her own, but green as the heart of the forest. She trembled in mingled awe and fear, because there had been love in those eyes, but a love of terrible weight, a love that brought ruin as well as happiness, overthrowing all things before it, unstoppable, insurmountable.
It would not be ruled, she knew instinctively, would not be held back. She rose, slipped on a dusk-colored sleeping robe, belted it around her waist, and went out, deeply troubled by what she'd seen.
Her other two sisters already stood by the pool, faces raised to the moonlight that poured into the temple. Their faces were discomfiting reflections of her own troubled expression, hands held up in supplication to the silent goddess who guided them.
She went to join them, prayed in her heart for wisdom, for the strength to do what must be done. A small, shadowed, desperate part of her prayed that this would pass the kal'dorei by, though she knew such prayers were in vain.
Vaelomi was the first to lower her face, golden eyes coming to rest on Tandira and Mishai.
"You have seen it as well."
It was not a question.
Tandira nodded slowly, and after a moment's hesitation, Mishai followed suit.
"These eyes belong not to the kal'dorei," Vaelomi continued after a moment. "They are not eyes of light."
"But whose?" Mishai whispered. "Not those of the demon-slaved."
Vaelomi shook her head, but her gaze went to Tandira.
She was just as afraid as they were, Tandira realized with a start. She swallowed, and gathered her composure, trying to make her voice as convincing as possible, not just for her sisters, but for her own sake.
"They did not burn with the light of the fel," she said, a bit too firmly. Her voice reverberated around the chamber.
"A human then." Mishai's tone was relieved.
"Pale of skin, with hair like rich, thick honey." Hooves clopped quietly on the stone, and all three priestesses whirled as a Keeper of the Grove entered the chamber. Golden eyes blazed at them. The Keeper opened a hand, and a wisp danced over it, flaring into brilliance.
Tandira stared at the image the spirit conjured. Somehow it felt . . . wrong. The eyes were wells of darkness, shadowed and threatening beneath the golden brown curls.
"That is not what I saw," she said before she thought better of it.
"No," Vaelomi said, but her tone was thoughtful. "No, it was not what I saw either."
The Keeper dismissed the wisp with an impatient wave. "He is human, is he not? Did not those words come from your own lips a heartbeat ago?"
"His eyes were full of love," Mishai said softly. "Terrible love. Unreasoning and unbiddable."
"We must search," Vaelomi announced, raising her golden eyes to the Keeper's. "Will you aid us, Lord Cenorisen?"
The Keeper nodded, tail flicking, one hoof scraping against the dark marble of the floor. "There is something else you should know, priestesses. Something has awakened in Ashenvale. Something ancient, and dark."
Tandira felt goosebumps prickle across her skin. "Does it threaten us?"
"No. It hunts the orcs. For now." Cenorisen turned his gaze to Tandira. "But I can only wonder how long that will last."
"Then we had best hurry," Mishai said, staring at the waters of the moonwell.
Tandira glanced down in time to see a shadow dance over the surface of the pool, and shivered.
It wasn't until she lay in bed later that she wondered if what she and her sisters had seen and what Cenorisen had showed them had been, like the symbol, two sides of the same coin. She couldn't help but wonder which side of the future this human represented was the worse.
Ж
Ambryn bent to look down on the next shelf. He could have sworn the last time he'd been here they'd had black peppercorns, but all he saw at the moment was the stuff already ground. For a city chock full of wonders, black peppercorns were startlingly difficult to find.
Of course, that might have something to do with the city's abrupt change in location two years ago to support the two-way, sometimes three-way front with the threat posed by the Lich King and the Blue Dragon flight, and occasionally the forces of the Horde.
In Ambryn's opinion it was just as well that Malygos' deathblow had been struck by an angry one-eyed orc named Buster McBrown after the death of his adoptive human parents at the claws of one of the dragon's kin. It meant the blue dragons were, more or less, inclined to hate the Alliance at least that much less than they detested the Horde.
And besides, there was just something about an orc named Buster McBrown that you couldn't help but admire, especially when he brought down a colossal, frost-breathing, magic-wielding death machine with nothing but a rusty axe hastily enspelled by a high elf mage and a human priestess. The fact that he'd died after performing his heroic act in Malygos' belly just made it a better story really.
He stood with a sigh. Maybe the peppercorns simply weren't in season and there wasn't enough to bring in through the portals from continental Azeroth.
"Like honey somebody spilled on top of half-melted ice cream."
Ambryn froze, the old familiar line from the poem coming back to him, spoken in the same fond tone in the same low baritone. He turned after a long moment.
Hector, Sir Hector now, he reminded himself, had only grown more handsome in the years they'd been apart, blond hair still cropped short, blue eyes full of laughter in his handsome, square-jawed face, skin kissed lightly by the sun. He was taller, broader of shoulder, lean teenager's body filled out to a muscular man's girth.
It wasn't that Ambryn didn't recall his father's visit. The words were the first thing to rush to the front of his brain. But old feelings were rising again as well, days spent in the bay window in his room, reading poetry, eating grapes and strawberries, rides out by Sansere Lake, picnics in the grass.
A wet, sopping ride in a rainstorm, sharing a horse.
A deep, passionate kiss in the barn.
"I was . . . looking for black peppercorns." Ambryn swallowed, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, he could see trepidation on Hector's handsome face. He asked the question anyway.
"Did my father send you?"
Hector blinked, last traces of his smile vanishing. "Amber, the last time I saw your father was when I was seventeen and he teleported me out of your bedroom into a cold, driving rainstorm with nothing but my boxers on." His brow furrowed, voice becoming a drawl. "He sent my horse home the next day with all my clothes and gear and a laundry list of my transgressions."
Ambryn nodded. "I'm sorry. I should have known you wouldn't have let him use you willingly, but . . . people change, Hector." He looked down.
"It's been seven years, Ambryn." The pet name was gone. Ambryn was surprised how much that hurt. A finger came to rest against his chin, lifted his face so that he met those blue eyes once more, darkened now. Hector's voice was sad. "Tell me what's happened to you."
Ambryn forced a smile to his lips. "Let's . . . talk elsewhere."
Hector's smile made a slight reappearance. "There's a cafe around the corner."
It was amazing, Ambryn thought as he talked, how quickly one fell into old modes, even ones that hadn't been used for seven years. He felt relaxed, and yet oddly watchful, as though he were yet engaged in something his father wouldn't approve of instead of sitting out in broad daylight having a simple conversation over a meal.
"I'm sorry for your loss. Tybalt . . ." Hector shook his head. "It must have been bad." He reached across the table, enfolded one of Ambryn's hands in his callused, slightly larger one. His blue eyes were sincere. "But I'm here now, and . . . I know we can't pick up where we left off, but I'd like to see if we can't get back to that place." He smiled warmly.
Ambryn felt an ache in his chest, throbbing and awful. He pulled away from Hector's hand, saw the hurt in those blue eyes, felt like his heart was tearing itself in two.
"I'm seeing someone," he said quietly. "It's the reason I thought my father had sent you. He's a night elf mercenary."
"Naturally, Tybalt doesn't approve." Hector's voice turned dry. "At least I know it's not me." He shrugged, gaze dropping to Ambryn's hand. "You're not wearing a ring yet."
Ambryn gave him a wary look. "Hector, I-"
"Amber." The name was like a tether, binding them close once more, strengthened by the power of memory. Ambryn froze as those blue eyes bored into his own and that hand closed around his once more.
Hector's smile was rueful, but some of the darkness had returned to his eyes. "If you had turned away from me in that store, told me that there was nothing between us anymore, Light help me, I would have believed it. But the way I felt before, it's all coming back, and I can't put it away again. I'm right back where I was, under your spell." The callused hand squeezed. Hector's smile faded. "You aren't married yet, sweetheart - it doesn't even sound like you're sure he's your boyfriend." He paused. "And I'd say I deserve a second chance."
He stood, looking down at Ambryn. "I'll make you smile for me if it's the last thing I ever do," he said quietly as he left coin to cover the cost of the meal. His blue eyes were intent. "I'll see you again."
Ж
Nathiel's mouth felt like it was twisted into a permanent scowl. Belauq hadn't spoken a single word to him over the course of the day they'd spent in Valgarde. He really wasn't taking this well.
Nathiel resisted the urge to look over his shoulder and give the druid a searching look as they made their way back toward the Grizzly Hills and eventually Dalaran.
Reprovisioning was cheaper than hiring a mage to teleport them and their gear and mounts back to Dalaran, and it'd be faster and much less dangerous without any inexperienced travelers underfoot, not that they hadn't tried to find a fare back out of simple expediency. After all, any trip made without pay was an unprofitable one, but it was less unprofitable than waiting around in Valgarde spending their pay.
Besides, he really wanted to get back to Ambryn. The corners of Nathiel's mouth lightened at last at the thought, and he actually felt cheerful, up until he heard Belauq's rich, familiar chuckle anyway as he laughed at something Kuma had said.
It wasn't like Belauq at all. The druid liked the north for the most part, but Nathiel knew full well that Dalaran rubbed him entirely the wrong way, and the Crystalsong forest was equally bad, either one a "creepy, unnatural abomination" in Belauq's own words.
Nathiel shook his head. The druid was up to something, and it probably wasn't going to be pretty.
He could feel Reiyad's eyes on him, the hunter's gaze concerned.
"Yeah?" Nathiel's voice came out as a surly growl. He grimaced at the sound.
"He's waiting for you to talk to him." Reiyad waited as the silence slipped by. "He might turn around and go back if . . ."
Nathiel ignored him, kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead, trying to keep his brow from creasing, deliberately relaxing his jaw instead of grinding his teeth. "If he wants to come along, then that's his right," he said coolly. "He's guild."
The concern in Reiyad's expression only deepened, but he said nothing more.
Thankfully none of the others were nosy or foolish enough to attempt to get him to reconcile the situation with Belauq. They simply talked around any gaps in conversation.
Nathiel knew the game. Belauq was just waiting for Nathiel's baser instincts to take their course and drive him into Belauq's arms and his body. It had worked successfully on previous occasions when the two of them were having a disagreement. In truth, Nathiel himself was surprised at how the sight of Belauq's lithe form and pretty, pale blue face only made him long all the more for Ambryn.
He could do it, he knew, bed Belauq and not feel a hint of shame afterwards. The druid wouldn't say a thing, wouldn't act smug after, just roll over, let him in, and enjoy it. The trouble was, Nathiel didn't want to, and in truth that realization was somewhat unsettling for him.
He could still bed Belauq as easily and casually as drinking a beer.
Only he had an inexplicable craving for a sweet wine in the form of rosy lips with a faint bouquet of mint, and nothing else would satisfy.
"I had Delia cast abolish magic on you," Belauq said the third night as Nathiel was laying out his bedroll, breaking the silence at last, apparently realizing his usual tactics weren't going to work. "While you were in Valgarde."
Nathiel didn't look back at him. "So your dryad friend thought I was bewitched too?"
"No." Belauq's tone remained casual. "She said it was pheromones, plain and simple, but she cast it anyway just to be sure."
Nathiel hung his head. "I didn't mean to hurt you," he said quietly.
"Oh, I don't blame you. If there's one thing I know about, it's nature."
Nathiel straightened and turned.
He could read the pain in those golden eyes, not entirely masked, and it stung. "So he's special." Belauq's tone was prodding.
Nathiel shook his head, almost reached out to him, only he wasn't sure the gesture wouldn't be misunderstood, hand falling back to his side. He looked at Belauq sadly. "You don't have to do this."
"Please." Belauq's mouth trembled slightly.
"When I'm with him I feel . . . invincible. Alive. I feel . . ." Nathiel grimaced because the next word sounded trite even as his lips shaped it, and yet there was no other way he could think of to describe it. "Whole." He ran his hands through his hair, frustrated. "When I'm there with him, it's like the rest of the world doesn't matter any more. There's him, and there's me, and that's all we need. When I touch him, I feel so . . . connected. I can still feel his skin on mine whenever I think about him, I can still taste his lips, and when I kiss him it's . . ." He dropped his head, because the words failed him. "It's just . . . it's perfect. I don't know how else to describe it."
He looked up. Tears were streaming from Belauq's golden eyes, and yet there was a faint, sad smile on the night elf druid's features.
"I'm sorry," Nathiel said helplessly.
"No." Belauq shook his head, swallowing, reaching up to wipe his smooth, pretty, pale blue face with his thumb. "If you'd waxed eloquent like some sort of bard, spouting lines from Illnia and Rolan or some other play, then I would have known for sure it was bullshit." He let out a long, wavering breath. "I . . . well, I guess I can't really compete with the truth." His expression firmed. "But I want to meet him."
"Belauq-" Nathiel's tone was a warning.
"I won't cause trouble." Belauq looked him in the eye. "I just want to meet him."
Nathiel nodded hesitantly after a moment, still not completely buying Belauq's behavior, but he did owe the druid.
They encountered vrykul the next morning, or almost did anyway. Reiyad was scouting ahead, and his sabre mount came bounding back around a bend, sprinting towards the rest of the group.
"Vrykul, he said quickly, glancing back over his shoulder as the massive tiger came to a sliding halt in the dust of the road. "A lot of them. They're camped across the road and to either side."
"How many is a lot?" Kuma asked with an arched eyebrow.
"I stopped counting at sixty." Reiyad shook his head. "This isn't like them."
"Well, that explains the tracks you found this morning." Kuma's expression turned pensive. The draenei shamaness glanced around at her guildmate subordinates. "Any ideas? We should probably turn around and head back to Valgarde, but I'm wondering if a group this size might not be screening troop movements. If the vrykul are taking military action, the Alliance needs to be warned."
Nathiel nodded. "Reiyad and I-"
"And me," Belauq interjected with a glance at Nathiel.
"And Belauq," Nathiel added with a sideways glance at the druid "will all scout the other side of the road to Dalaran. We'll send word back to Valgarde with a mage, either Sillesto or Brahnke. One of them should be back from Outland by now."
"I keep telling Mattran we need to recruit more mages." Kuma shook her head. "All right. Scout out as much of the enemy position as you can without getting caught and look for any other vrykul detachments that might be moving on Dalaran. The latter should be your first priority. Move quickly and don't get caught."
"Yes Mom," Reiyad said with a crooked grin.
"Good boy," Kuma fired back without batting an eyelash. "We'll see you in three days."
She turned her elekk, Bandrin and his ram on her heels, and they headed back the way they'd come. Belauq dismounted, shape flowing and melting into dark green shadow that stretched and twisted, eventually settling into the form of a great cat not all that different from his mount.
Reiyad took the lead, Belauq pacing him to his left, and Nathiel fell in slightly behind and to the right as they left the road.
In truth, Nathiel wasn't terribly concerned about the ability of the Kirin Tor to defend themselves or their city in a head-to-head confrontation even if the vrykul were able to field a much larger, stronger force than they'd projected thus far. The wizards had acquitted themselves well against the maddened blue dragonflight – no small feat when their enemy had been practicing their craft millenia before them.
The vrykul could, however, wreak havoc on already tenuous routes between the ports of Northrend and the floating city. Magical travel was accessible, but it definitely wasn't as cheap.
Nathiel shook his head to clear it. None of it mattered. What he needed to do now was to make sure the vrykul weren't up to anything sneaky and get back to Ambryn. His gaze went to Belauq, and his mouth tightened.
"Freeze!" Reiyad's voice was a hiss.
Nathiel didn't question, just stopped right where he was in the shadows beneath the trees and let his heart beat, felt the blood flow through his veins, breathing slow and deep. The world stilled as the shadows embraced him and his mount.
He saw them after a moment, and thought a quiet prayer of thanks to Elune for Reiyad's keen eyes.
The four trolls were on foot, leading raptors behind them, and Nathiel counted five orcs and three goblins following close in their wake, also dismounted. Clearly the night elves weren't the only ones trying to circle around the vrykul.
Their wary gazes slid right past Nathiel, Reiyad, and Belauq.
It was a long time before Reiyad moved again, the shadows releasing him, gesturing for Nathiel and Belauq to follow silently.
Three sets of giant, padded paws moved soundlessly over the earth as they stalked the members of the Horde.
Reiyad turned after about ten minutes, redirecting them to a lateral course at an angle to the route the others had taken.
"Five," he murmured. "Four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . ."
A vrykul horn went up from somewhere off to their left and Reiyad tapped his heels to his sabre mount's ribs. They took off at a sprint, and Nathiel heard the sound of an explosion, then another. More horns were blowing. Evidently the Horde fighters had walked right into the vrykul.
They crested a rise, and Nathiel caught a glimpse of three of the massive giants running east towards the sound of the horns through the trees, luckily not noticing them. He added another prayer of thanks to Elune, this one for unfortunate Horde members, as he followed Reiyad down the slope. The big cats ran north.
They'd been running for nearly five minutes when Nathiel heard it.
"Help! Somebody! Help! HEEEELP!"
Nathiel turned his head, glancing over his left shoulder, and gritted his teeth as a goblin on a raptor appeared behind them through a screen of brush, mount running full out, the goblin's oversized robes flapping around him.
More horns sounded, close.
The goblin was angling towards them, clearly more willing to take his chances with night elves than with the vrykul. Reiyad turned in the saddle, bow drawn, released the arrow in his fingers, and it whipped past Nathiel's face. The arrow took the goblin in one shoulder and knocked him off of his raptor to the ground, drastically reducing his options in the matter.
Vrykul appeared, javelins and axes in their huge hands, faces inscrutable behind their helms at this angle, slowing as they caught up with the wounded, wailing goblin.
The kal'dorei pounded over another rise, and then the vrykul were lost from sight.
"Nice shot, hitting that goblin," Nathiel said late that night as they rested in the boughs of a tree.
Reiyad winked. "I figured he really wanted to be reunited with his friends. They can all enjoy the hospitality of the vrykul together."
Belauq said nothing, staring up at the stars through the tree boughs, golden eyes distant.
Nathiel's brow furrowed slightly as he glanced at the druid, but his eyes went to the south. "Think we're likely to meet more?"
"I hope not. I didn't see any tracks like this morning." Reiyad shook his head. "It's not out of the question though."
A cold, freezing drizzle set in during the early hours before dawn. By noon, Nathiel was soaked to the bone despite his cloak, hunched over his sabre mount's back. They had no choice but to light a fire that night and set up a tent. Reiyad didn't find any more vrykul tracks along their route. Belauq continued to hold his silence, shapeshifting into a great tree, branches spread over the fire and his companions.
It wasn't like before, when he'd been waiting for Nathiel to come to him. It was a different silence, and somewhat troubling. He'd ask him in the morning. They weren't lovers anymore, but that didn't mean he'd stopped caring about the druid entirely.
The freezing drizzle continued to dog them even beyond the borders of the Crystalsong forest. His attempts to ascertain the source of Belauq's new silence were in vain.
The druid just shrugged. "I'm cold and tired. I'm not used to being away from my bed for so long. I'll feel better in Dalaran."
Nathiel knew Belauq well enough to realize it wasn't the whole truth, but he didn't pursue it. Ambryn was close.
It was late afternoon and getting on towards evening when they were able to escape the icy mist at last through the portal to Dalaran where it floated high above the clouds. Nathiel knew he should go back to his own apartment, get cleaned up, report to Mattran about the unusual vrykul activity. His thoughts, however, were of a pale, smiling face beneath honey-spun hair, a face he hadn't seen in eleven days, a mouth he hadn't been able to kiss in as long. At the very least he should clean up before he went to visit Ambryn, get some fresh clothes.
His eyes went to Reiyad, who just shook his head, a faint smile crossing his features. "I'll tell Mattran you'll be by tomorrow," the hunter said dryly. "Come on Bells."
The nickname got a scowl from Belauq, who glanced around the square, golden eyes searching.
"He's not here," Nathiel said coolly.
Belauq's golden eyes met his, and the kal'dorei druid nodded after a moment. "Don't forget your promise," he said quietly.
Nathiel just snorted and headed for Ambryn's apartment building at a jog.
Ж
Ambryn's head came up at the sound of a knock on the door and he glanced at the soup on the stove, still simmering, not quite ready yet. The rolls were still in the oven. The only thing ready was the cream broulet that Annatta had helped him make for dessert. He looked down at his plain, clay-colored shirt and loose pants. He'd planned to dress up a little bit more too.
He drew in a deep breath and went to answer the door.
Nathiel's silver eyes glowed in his handsome face as he stood there in the hallway, soaking wet, still wearing his night-blue armor and cloak, spear across his back. He didn't speak immediately.
Ambryn couldn't seem to make his voice work. Nathiel must have come straight to his apartment the moment he arrived in the city. The realization made Ambryn's heart beat harder, warmth blooming in his chest, and he could feel heat entering his cheeks even as a smile crossed his lips. He took one of Nathiel's big, callused hands in both of his, and tugged gently.
For a moment, as the door opened, Nathiel couldn't breathe. He drank in the sight of Ambryn's face, the face that had shone in his dreams, jade eyes like the unspoiled forests of Ashenvale, the full, rosy lips that begged to be kissed, the honey-spun curls in glorious, glimmering disarray. It was like a vision of the Light.
Ambryn reached for him, tugging gently, and Nathiel forgot that he was cold to the bone and soaking wet, chilled in every part of his body, muscles aching. He stepped inside, captured both of Ambryn's smaller hands in his, and brought the human's fingers to his lips, kissing them, utterly content in this moment in where he was, who he was with.
"Can I buy you dinner?"
Ambryn bit his bottom lip. "I actually cooked . . . for you."
Nathiel blinked, startled, and then smiled warmly. He glanced down at his wet gear, expression turning rueful. "I um . . . sorry I didn't . . ."
"No." Ambryn shook his head. "You came straight here, and I . . ." Ambryn hesitated, the blush in his cheeks deepening, the color tantalizing to Nathiel's eyes.
". . . I wanted to see you," Ambryn finished awkwardly, voice soft. "Dinner's not quite ready yet, and you look soaked to the bone. Would you like to take a bath and warm up a little?" He studied every line of the square-jawed, chiseled face, admiring it, basking in the glow of the silver eyes that met his gaze.
Nathiel nodded. "Thank you."
Ambryn leaned against the counter in his small kitchen and tried not to think of big, sexy Nathiel utterly naked in his bathroom, his broad shoulders, powerful chest, tight abdomen, lean waist, long, powerful legs . . . and between those legs . . . he shook his head and checked on the rolls, face burning from more than just the heat of the oven.
It wasn't until Nathiel finished showering, fantasizing vaguely of Ambryn entering in nothing more than a sheer robe and joining him in the big brass tub, that he noticed the mouthwatering scent that pervaded the apartment.
He glanced briefly at his wet, dirty gear, took a deep breath, and emerged from the bathroom with one of Ambryn's towels around his waist. It was provocative, but then, that was what he was hoping for.
Ambryn glanced up from setting the table as Nathiel entered, and his heart stopped at the sight of all that muscle, not an ounce of fat anywhere, a faint dusting of dark hair across the night elf's broad, chiseled chest narrowing to a slim line down his rippling abdomen before disappearing beneath the towel around his waist. Desire flashed hot through Ambryn's body, heat pooling between his legs.
Nathiel smiled as he saw Ambryn's gaze settle on him, glide over him. "The food," he said honestly, "smells delicious."
"It's chicken noodle soup." Ambryn blushed all over again. He couldn't seem to stop. "I . . . I'm glad you're back."
Nathiel's smile gentled, the warmth in those jade eyes stirring up fire in his heart as well as his body.
The soup really was excellent. Nathiel had no qualms about taking a second helping, savoring the noodles, the broth, the chicken, the vegetables. Combined with the company it warmed him right to his soul, made him forget the cold, the long days and nights, the vrykul, everything, and he relished the simple pleasure of sitting across from Ambryn, just the two of them here, sharing a home-cooked meal and a bottle of sweet white wine. It was something he'd never seen himself doing, and its discovery made him determined to repeat the experience.
"Annatta helped me make dessert." Ambryn didn't mention that Annatta was a high elf as he got up from the table, tearing his gaze away from Nathiel only with difficulty. He couldn't see how bringing that up at this point would help anything, and he didn't want to disturb the warm, relaxed atmosphere. "I'll be right back."
He turned around, the broulet in his hands, and met that mesmerizing chest, following the throat up to the chin, to the handsome face and silver eyes as Nathiel looked down at him. Long, powerful arms on either side of Ambryn supported the night elf's weight as he leaned against the counter.
They ate the broulet with a single spoon, washed it down with more white wine, and ended up on Ambryn's couch. Nathiel lay on his back, head cushioned on one arm, his fingers twining with Ambryn's curls, the human lying atop him, a soft, comforting weight.
"I don't want this to end," he said softly, looking into Ambryn's beautiful jade eyes.
Ambryn smiled at him. "It doesn't have to," he murmured back.
Nathiel kissed him long and slow, gradually deepening the kiss. He wasn't sure how long they just laid there making out, or when exhaustion finally claimed him, but he slept deeply and contentedly with Ambryn there in his arms, holding him close, wrapped up in a perfect world.
Ambryn looked into Nathiel's handsome, sleeping face, a big hand still curved around the back of his neck, fingers tangled gently with his curls, the body beneath him not exactly soft, but at least not any harder than granite, and felt content. Here in this moment, he didn't have to worry about his father or Hector. He could lie here in Nathiel's arms, safe and secure – none of the rest of it mattered.
Ambryn closed his eyes and followed Nathiel into the world of dreams.
Ж
Sir Hector Evansley had faced many foes in his career as a knight, both in battle and in arenas more personal and political.
He knew the night elf mercenary instantly on sight, felt a hot spark in his chest that threatened to burst into genuine rage as he saw the tall, lean, armored figure brush past robed mages without so much as a glance at any of them, stepping confidently up onto the porch of Ambryn's apartment building. If he was there to see anyone but Ambryn, Hector would strangle himself with his own sword.
He knew Ambryn. A confrontation would only make the mage regard him in a less forgiving light, and the first one he'd turn to would be the night elf. So Hector watched, impotent and furious, as his adversary vanished inside, and turned away, stalking towards a different place in the city.
Ж
It wasn't unusual for Tybalt Dellani to work late. The opposite was actually the exception. Going home only reminded him of what he'd lost. It only reminded him of Marianne . . . and now Ambryn.
He read over correspondence, always correspondence, from his eyes and ears back in the hinterlands surround Dalaran, from his spies in Stormwind Keep, from his few agents in Shattrath City in the Outlands.
But tonight he was reading a letter that didn't come from one of his agents.
The parchment smelled of the thick, lush greenery of the forest, the silky envelope a dark, rich purple, the broken seal now in halves embossed with a crescent moon surrounded by a crown. Ambassador Tybalt Dellani of the Kirin Tor sat in his office and brooded over the missive.
"Yours sincerely, scribe Aulundir Mashalath," read the closing.
There wasn't much to the letter, empty pleasantries, a few well-wishes, a sprinkle of pomp, and a single paragraph, four lines, that said little, but conveyed a great deal. Tybalt regarded the letter over steepled fingers as though half-expecting it to turn into an adder at any moment, wheels spinning in his mind, cogs ticking along in precise silence as he thought.
There were possibilities.
Those possibilities could be perilous in nature.
They could yield a considerable reward.
The letter had vanished before the handle on his office door had finished turning, his fingers resting lightly on the braided grip of the silver wand in the top-right drawer of his desk.
He arched an eyebrow as a face he hadn't expected to see quite so soon appeared from behind the door as it swung open. He didn't release his grip on the wand.
"Sir Hector Evansley." Tybalt kept his tone completely neutral.
"In the flesh." Hector smiled coldly. "Hello Tybalt."
Tybalt's hand tightened on the wand. "Is there something I can assist you with?"
"Actually, according to Ambryn I think I'm supposed to be helping you," Hector replied easily, shutting the door behind him and sitting in one of the comfortable chairs on the other side of the desk. He was wearing a suit, Tybalt noted absently, mind already ratcheting through calculations and quickly arriving at a conclusion. "You really bungled that by the way."
"Then you're jeopardizing both our efforts by being here." Tybalt released the wand at last. "Ambryn will not take kindly to your meeting with me."
"He's occupied by a certain night elf mercenary at the moment. He got to the apartment before I could." Hector's cold smile widened slightly as Tybalt's jaw tightened. "Obviously we're both agreed that I'm a better alternative."
"Obviously," Tybalt managed after a moment, folding his hands on top of his desk, willing himself back towards calmness. "You will be compensated."
Hector snorted. "We can discuss that later, if it isn't already too late. Ambryn is what I want."
Tybalt nodded. "I will offer what assistance I can."
"You're already making a move on the mercenary?"
"Eanté is scouring public records for anything we can use, and we plan to see if we can't get him out of the city on assignment in the meantime," Tybalt replied bluntly.
Hector nodded. "I'll have to rely on you for that. I also need a book. Sandra Dayren's Irrationally Everyday Poetry."
Tybalt's jaw tightened. He knew the book well. It had been Marianne's favorite. It was also the book he'd found in Ambryn's room after he'd ejected Hector from his home. "I'll look for it."
"Make it quick," Hector said, rising. "The elf has stolen a march on us. It's going to be hard enough overtaking him. I'll need every weapon you can give me."
"I will see that you are . . . suitably armed." Tybalt arched an eyebrow. "Anything else?"
"Not really." Hector turned and headed for the door. "I still think you're a dick."
Tybalt resisted the urge to reach for the wand once more as the door slammed shut behind the knight.
Ж
Author's Post Script Notes:
Just a couple of items on this chapter – I tried to be a little bit more sneaky about teaser hooks for upcoming events in later chapters, especially since moving K'dzok along in the previous chapter felt a little bit ham-fisted to me, but there's just so much that needs doing there to get everything into place.
I think everyone can take what happened last chapter and this chapter and figure out what the vrykul are up to, but let me know if you think I should include a plot device to elucidate or if it's just not a loose end that warrants further wrapping up. I'm thinking about doing it next chapter if it needs it.
As always, critiques on stylistics, flow, and plotting are appreciated. Help me be a better writer and I'll give you better stuff to read!