Author's Notes:

Warcraft and all applicable trademarks belong to Blizzard.

I know I said last chapter that I had a lot to do with K'dzok, but somehow he didn't make it into this chapter. So for those of you who were looking for him - sorry - I'll have more next chapter, promise.

Oh, mild smut warning. Okay, maybe it's not so mild. Getting CLOSER to the sex, I promise.

Err, just not there yet.

Anyway, without further ado!

Act I, Scene VI

A Sky Full of Hawks

Nathiel woke slowly. The morning sun was coming in through the window behind the couch, spilling across the floor through a narrow gap between blue-gray curtains that weren't fully drawn, radiance shimmering softly over Ambryn's tumble of honey curls, his head pillowed on Nathiel's purple chest.

The weight of him there felt good, felt right. Nathiel didn't need to touch him, didn't need to wake him. He was content to lie where he was and simply savor the intimacy of this moment. He'd woken alone with his partner gone and the other side of the bed cooled more times than he cared to recall. At the moment he didn't care to recall any of those times. He closed his eyes once more, not sleeping, just drifting.

Morning roused his body to wakefulness and stirred one part of him in particular, reminding him that he hadn't had sex in what was, for him, an unusually long time, and that there was an attractive prospective mate in close, intimate contact with him right this very moment. Blood rushed to his groin and he suppressed a groan of unadulterated desire. Resisting the urge to run his hands through those amber curls and bring his mouth to Ambryn's was suddenly much more difficult.

His body ignored his attempts to tell it that right this moment really wasn't a good time for this. He could feel his manhood stiffening, swelling, nerves becoming sensitized. In less than a minute he could see the dark purple head of his erection curving up over Ambryn's pajama-clad backside. It twitched, semi-involuntarily, and Nathiel's breathing sped up as the motion brought it into close contact with Ambryn's bottom. He felt the soft fabric give beneath the weight of his shaft, and let out a strained expulsion of air as he felt Ambryn's cleft beneath it.

Nathiel was losing the battle. He was about to reach up and run his fingers along the back of Ambryn's neck when the human stirred.

"Mmm." His voice was a pleasurable vibration against Nathiel's skin, breath blowing over his nipple, making it harden. "Good morning."

"Morning," Nathiel rasped. He couldn't hold back anymore. One hand curled around Ambryn's neck, and the human scooted up, meeting Nathiel's lips with his own, opening, allowing the kal'dorei's tongue to slip inside and plunder. Nathiel couldn't help himself. His other hand came up, squeezing a soft, pillowy buttock before sliding over, dragging roughly down the cloth, middle finger tracing Ambryn's valley underneath. Ambryn broke the kiss with a wanton sigh, sliding back down, forcing another slow exhalation as Nathiel fought hopelessly to control himself, the human's lips pressing kisses against his chin, his throat, his chest.

Ambryn's rump came once more into contact with Nathiel's now fully erect penis, buttocks soft and warm, and Nathiel let out another soundless exhalation, because the growl of lust that wanted to erupt from deep in his chest definitely would have frightened the human off.

Ambryn glanced over his shoulder. His tone was thoughtful, but also slightly apprehensive. "How big are you?"

Nathiel hesitated. "Ten inches," he lied, mentally crossing his fingers behind his back. Then he grinned devilishly. "Wanna go for a ride?"

Ambryn turned to look him in the eye once more, surprised expression enough to make Nathiel a little surprised himself.

"What, now?" he asked, brow furrowed, pale face slightly flushed.

"Well . . . yeah," Nathiel replied awkwardly, slightly embarrassed but still horny and willing.

Ambryn looked at him quizzically for a moment longer, and then, to Nathiel's surprise, smiled brightly at him and got up. "Let me go get dressed," he called over his shoulder.

The bedroom door closed behind him. Nathiel brought the heel of his palm to his forehead and swore quietly under his breath.

It only took a few strokes to get off as aroused as he was, and he flushed Ambryn's toilet and pulled on his gear from yesterday. It didn't smell any better, but at least it was dry. He wasn't satisfied, not by a long shot, but he also didn't want to go back to Ambryn and explain just what he'd meant.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath before he opened the door.

Ambryn's brown and green robes were divided for riding, the collar lined with gray fur, and Nathiel caught sight of polished black leather boots and patches of thick brown fabric on the inside of the knees and thighs of his trousers, obviously to protect his legs from chafing.

Ambryn smiled brightly at him again, long riding gloves in one hand, but there was something in his eyes that didn't seem quite as warm as usual. Still, his look turned appreciative enough when Nathiel curved an arm around his waist and escorted him to the door.

Nathiel's irritation had worn off for the most part by the time they'd reached the stable, and he continued to keep a hand on Ambryn's waist as they waited for one of the grooms to bring out Ambryn's horse.

The moment the palomino caught sight of him it pulled its reins peremptorily from the startled groom's hands and trotted quickly over, nosing at Ambryn's pockets and completely ignoring Nathiel and the groom both.

Ambryn laughed, the sound genuine, and Nathiel relaxed, thinking ruefully that while it wasn't exactly what he'd been planning, it apparently wasn't a disaster. A sedate little ride a little way into the Crystalsong forest wouldn't hurt anything. He grinned as Ambryn fed his headstrong mount an apple the horse had clearly been expecting.

There was no reason they couldn't still have a good time tonight.

They walked their mounts to the portal down to the forest, left the outpost, and Nathiel lifted Ambryn easily into the saddle, once again relishing the weight of him in his arms. Their was a definite glow in Ambryn's eyes now as he looked down at Nathiel.

"Thanks," he said quietly. "I guess this was exactly what I needed."

"You're welcome." Nathiel returned the smile, taking Ambryn's hand in his own for a moment. The palomino turned its head and snorted at him, clearly not in the mood for tender lovers' moments.

Nathiel turned to his sabre mount and swung easily up into the saddle, the big cat shifting its weight underneath him. If the palomino was at all troubled by the big cat or its scent, it didn't show. The horse pawed impatiently at the snow.

"Ready?" Ambryn asked cheerfully, light still in his eyes.

Nathiel nodded, a broad grin stretching across his features as he took in the sight of Ambryn, noting absently just how well he held himself in the saddle, like a well-trained . . .

Ambryn clicked his tongue, and the rest of Nathiel's thoughts vanished as horse and mage sped off like a shot, his heart rising to his throat as they vanished into the trees at a gallop, kicking up snow, Ambryn's laughter tinkling in the crystal trees behind them.

Nathiel's mount waited a moment for an identical command from its startled master, and then took the initiative and took off after them.

Nathiel quickly overcame his shock and leaned into his sabre to create less wind resistance, grin returning even fiercer than before, silver eyes alight. It was something he wouldn't have expected of Ambryn, not his sweet, sheltered little human mage, suddenly revealed to be a wild horseman. He let his sabre worry about holding the trail and gave him his head, letting out a hunting call as he pursued Ambryn into the forest.

A good hunt indeed he thought ruefully, recalling his words to Reiyad.

That was when the song caught his ears, full and rich and wild, the voice unmistakably Ambryn's, only it seemed to be coming from everywhere. It took Nathiel a moment to realize the trees were carrying it, reverberating with each wordless tone as the melody rose and fell, soaring over high notes before skipping low again.

It was as if Nathiel passed into a whole other world, woven by the snow and the song and the trees, spun by the strange, fey creature he pursued, revealed beneath the quiet shell of a small, innocent, honey-haired mage that had concealed it.

It felt, he thought suddenly, like home.

He could sense his sabre running full out beneath him, straining in determined pursuit, and Nathiel wondered for an otherworldly moment if catching their prey was even possible. He leaned in lower until he was flat against the sabre's back, murmuring encouragement, willing his mount to go faster, his own heart thundering in his chest with the thrill of it.

The trail wove between trees, the hoofmarks and flung snow clear to Nathiel's eyes, and all at once the song gave out, reverberations dying, silence sweeping around him as the echoes fled beyond the range of his suddenly straining ears.

Nathiel felt a sickening moment of fear.

The sabre darted around a narrow twist, through a tight thicket, a crystal branch breaking off against Nathiel's right pauldron with a mournful tinkle, around another tight bend, and broke into a clearing.

Nathiel lifted his head, eyes searching, but his mount was already turning, springing sideways as big, furry pads slid in the snow, towards the north end of the clearing.

Ambryn was down one one knee, leaning over something - someone Nathiel realized.

His sabre skidded to a halt next to the palomino, breathing hard.

The palomino just whickered.

"Nathiel." Ambryn's gaze came up.

Nathiel moved toward him, got a better look at who he was leaning over and what he was doing, and his vision went red.

Nathiel ripped Ambryn's wrist away from sin'dorei's mouth, the blue light between the elf's lips dying, bones creaking as Nathiel's booted foot came down on his chest. The point of his spear rested in a growing bead of blood on the blood elf's throat.

Ambryn had both hands on the spear haft. It took Nathiel a moment to realize he was speaking.

"Please, please, please don't do this." The words were pleading, the jade eyes wide.

"He was fucking feeding on you!" Nathiel roared. He almost reached for Ambryn, but stopped, hand outstretched, quivering, because if he touched the human now, he wasn't sure what he'd do. He took a long, slow, deep breath, and looked back down at the sin'dorei.

The eyes, glowing with sickly green fel light, weren't looking at him. They were fixed on Ambryn, and there was a faint, tired smile on the ghostly pale features.

"It's okay, lovely angel," he said in common, voice a broken croak. "You've already rescued me. I can die now."

"Look at me," Nathiel snarled. "Look at me you filthy life-sucking wretch!"

"Just do it. I'll take the sight of something beautiful with me when I die." The sin'dorei didn't so much as glance at him, eyes still fixed on Ambryn's face.

"Nathiel please, please don't do this in cold blood!" Ambryn's tone was pleading, eyes wide.

"Cold blood?" Nathiel couldn't control the snarl that contorted his face. "My blood is boiling right now, Ambryn! You were letting this sick fuck feed on you like a goddamn leech!"

"He can't help it! He's starving! I didn't have any mana potions! There was no other way!" There were tears in Ambryn's eyes now, and they were like claws in Nathiel's heart, only intensifying the rage that roiled in him.

"It's okay angel. Just let it go." The sin'dorei's smile turned rueful. "Turn away though," he rasped. "I don't want you to have to see this."

Nathiel tipped up his spear, slammed the butt into the ground, knelt, and grabbed the dark red-haired sin'dorei by the front of his torn leather hauberk. He cast one furious look over his shoulder.

"Stay here," he snarled. "I'm going to give you something else to look at," Nathiel whispered into the sin'dorei's ear as he pulled him up and lifted him into the air, powerful muscles in his arm bunching. "It's not going to be nearly as pretty."

The faint smile didn't wane, the green-glowing eyes still looking over Nathiel's shoulder as he was carried deeper into the trees.

"You're a fool," the sin'dorei rasped after a few moments. "You're killing him inside. It's all there in his eyes." He closed his eyes. "If there's a next life, maybe I'll get a chance at what you're throwing away."

Nathiel let the words roll off him, heart turning to a dull black stone in his chest.

And then suddenly fingers were scrabbling at his hand, his wrist, the sin'dorei writhing with a desperate energy Nathiel couldn't believe.

"You've got to save him!" The sin'dorei rasped, eyes wide and staring, fixed once more over Nathiel's shoulder. "Turn around you stupid fuck! There's someone else coming! Turn around, Light damn you!"

The palomino let out a long, carrying whinny, and Nathiel felt icy fear form a crack through his hardened heart as he whirled. He dropped the sin'dorei and started sprinting.

Wolves broke from the trees, plunging through the snow, kicking it up in a white wake. The Orcish riders slowed and came to a halt in a semi-circle around Ambryn a respectful distance away, probably waiting for a spell.

"I am Ambryn Dellani, son of Ambassador Tybalt Dellani of the Kirin Tor." Nathiel was too afraid for Ambryn's safety to be proud of the fact that the human mage's voice didn't waver in the slightest.

One of the orcs glanced at the others, and tapped his wolf's ribs, edging forward. "I am Moktorb, Sub-Captain of the Crimson Axe and leader of this expedition. We have come to consult with the Kirin Tor." His Common wasn't great, but it was passable. Nathiel heard weapons drawn from sheaths as he emerged from the trees.

"Your escort, Ambryn Dellani?" Moktorb asked with a raised eyebrow, hand on the haft of his own axe.

"Yes." Ambryn nodded. "We were out for a ride, and came upon a blood elf male in extremely weak condition. We heard the sound of your approach and were uncertain of your . . . intentions, so I instructed my bodyguard to remove him from sight."

Moktorb conferred briefly with an orc on his left whose graying black hair was pulled back in braids, a dull bronze circlet on his brow hung with feathers and beads. "As a sign of good will, please allow us to escort you back to Dalaran," he called.

"If I might presume upon you further, would you see the blood elf to the Sun Reaver sanctuary?" Ambryn asked. "He suffers from the symptoms of what appears to be mana withdrawal, and we do not have the means to treat it."

Moktorb nodded after a moment. "We will be honored to assist you in this, Ambryn Dellani."

The ride back to Dalaran was, for Nathiel at least, a quiet one. Moktorb rode next to Ambryn on the opposite side of Nathiel, the orc with the bronze circlet on his left. The rest of the orcs rode a little ways behind, the blood elf carried in the arms of one female rider who didn't seem to mind the task in the slightest, giving him small sips from a vial of glowing blue mana and making cooing noises.

"I am surprised that you travel with so small an escort." Moktorb's eyes flicked to Nathiel and then back to Ambryn. "Your guardian must be remarkably capable."

"Extremely capable," Ambryn replied without a hitch in his voice, eyes facing forward.

"Nevertheless, I would say it is fortunate that we encountered each other," Moktorb continued.

"Indeed." Ambryn's lips quirked in a smile. "It would not do for guests of the Kirin Tor to wander lost about the Forest."

The orc on Moktorb's left let out a hooting laugh at that, Moktorb himself flushing a darker shade of green.

"It would not be thought so difficult to find a city that floats in the sky," he muttered. "We were on the right trail. Almost." He raised an eyebrow in Ambryn's direction as they neared the Violet Outpost. "You are pleasant company, for a human. I would not object to a meeting in the future."

Ambryn smiled graciously. "Nor would I, Sub-Captain Moktorb."

They parted from the orcs. Nathiel kept waiting for Ambryn to speak, to look at him, to give some sign of what he was thinking or feeling. The rage he'd felt in the forest had worn off, leaving regret stuck in his craw.

He unsaddled his mount, put away his tack, groomed the sabre's fur, paid the handlers for extra meat, and emerged to find Ambryn waiting for him outside.

The human's arms were folded across his chest, gaze distant, expression difficult to read. He looked up as Nathiel approached, and suddenly he was in Nathiel's arms.

"Please don't leave me," he whispered.

Nathiel's embrace tightened around him. "I should be the one begging you not to go," he murmured. "I was so . . . so furious. The thought of it still makes me angry, him feeding on you like a vampire, I-"

"I'm sorry," Ambryn whispered, interrupting Nathiel's words, drowning out the memory of rage, looking up at him with tears in his jade eyes.

"Stop saying all the things I'm supposed to say," Nathiel complained, a rueful smile curving his lips. He lifted Ambryn's wrist to his lips, the one the sin'dorei had been sucking on, and kissed it, eyes squeezing shut. He looked down into Ambryn's jade eyes. "Forgive me, because I still can't forgive him."

"There's nothing you've done that needs forgiveness, Nathiel Highfury," Ambryn said, stretching up on his tiptoes.

Nathiel bent his head, kissed Ambryn long and hard and deep, drank him in like a drowning man drawing in air, needing him with every atom of his being. It was so hard, so impossibly hard, not to drag him into that stable and bed him right there in an empty stall. And yet, he couldn't do it. He couldn't make their first time like that, just make-up sex in the form of a lust-driven roll in the hay. He wanted it to be a glorious beginning, heralding what would come after as even greater. He let Ambryn's mouth go.

"Let me take you to dinner tonight," he murmured into Ambryn's ear. "Let me make up for today."

Ambryn sighed. "I have Circle Work tonight," he said softly, leaning his head against Nathiel's breastplate. "Four nights this week. The last night is going to be six circles. We're reweaving part of one of the main axial enchantments. I'll be utterly useless the day after."

"How many mages are in a circle?" Nathiel asked, not really curious, but doing what he could to selfishly prolong the moment and keep Ambryn in his arms.

"A full circle?" Ambryn toyed with the edge of Nathiel's breastplate, running his finger along it. "Twenty-one. It's always in multiples of seven." He closed his eyes. "Ask me another question. I don't want to go."

"Alright." Nathiel felt a smile curve his lips. "Why seven?"

"It's a symbol as well as a number - it signifies fullness, completion, fulfillment."

Nathiel didn't ask any more questions, just leaned back against the wall and held on, bitterly resenting the time that they had to be apart even though it hadn't yet come. He looked up at the sky. It was barely yet noon, and already it felt as though the day was drawing to a close, a lonely night looming before him. He lowered his mouth back to Ambryn's for another desperate kiss, felt the human melt into him.

"Hello Nathiel." Belauq's rich voice was mildly amused.

Nathiel fought down the glare he wanted to shoot the other night elf with an effort, mentally damning him for interrupting. "Hello Belauq."

"Well?" Belauq folded his arms, dressed in a pale green, short-sleeved robe, left open to bare his slim, chiseled torso, long toned legs draped in black, loose leather trousers. Even in climate-controlled Dalaran the outfit was a little chilly for the current temperature. "Aren't you going to introduce me like you promised?"

Nathiel could see the curiosity on Ambryn's features, and his mouth tightened. "Ambryn, this is Belauq."

"We're old friends," Belauq interjected smoothly with a grin and a wink. "It's a pleasure to meet you Ambryn." He held out a hand.

Ambryn pulled off his glove a little awkwardly, still wrapped firmly in Nathiel's embrace, and shook his hand, smile shy. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Let me buy you lunch." Belauq's brief glance at Nathiel was faintly mischievous.

"Belauq." Nathiel's tone was barely better than a growl.

"You promised, remember?" Belauq arched an eyebrow. "I just want to chat."

Nathiel complied with ill grace as Belauq led them to a street café not too far away. He took a seat and promptly pulled Ambryn into his lap, giving the druid a warning look over the human's shoulder.

Belauq just smiled easily, drawing out the silence until a waiter had appeared and departed with their drink orders. "You've got Vir Aegeae all astir with speculation," he said at last. "Nath's been playing it very close to the vest – he's been quite secretive about the whole thing." He chuckled. "I get to be the first to meet you. I must say it's more of an honor than I was expecting."

"Thank you." Ambryn shifted in Nathiel's lap. The breath caught in Nathiel's throat as that soft rump slid over his crotch, stimulating something that really didn't need stimulation right now. He wasn't even in Ambryn's apartment this time. The side of Ambryn's neck suddenly looked mouthwatering.

"Reiyad will be jealous that I got to meet you first, though he'd never admit it. He and Nathiel are like brothers." If he noticed the way Nathiel's lips closed on Ambryn's neck or the way the human's eyelids fluttered, it didn't show. "You know, you really should meet the rest of the guild."

His words penetrated to Nathiel's desire-sodden brain. "What?"

"I said you should stop being selfishly rude and introduce him, Nath." Belauq's tone was still warm, but Nathiel knew him well enough to read the tiniest hint of irritation in his eyes. "I won't say anything until you're ready to of course, but it's really not fair to keep us all in the dark for so long."

The seating arrangement had been a bad idea, Nathiel reflected. He was too distracted by the sensation of Ambryn's luscious bottom right there above his cock, less than a quarter of an inch of fabric separating their flesh. His body agreed with him, shaft swelling further, burrowing down his pant leg.

"Right," he said absently, more interested in just how perfectly Ambryn fit in his lap, like he'd been designed with Nathiel's proportions in mind. "I'll get around to it." It'd be an even better fit without any clothes in the way. He knew humans worshiped the Light, but Elune surely must have had a hand somewhere in the making of this one.

"Wonderful!" Belauq smiled brightly, attention turning to Ambryn. "What's your schedule like in two days? Most of the guild should be here in Dalaran, and we've all been dying of curiosity to finally meet Nath's mysterious beauty."

Alarm bells rang dimly through Nathiel's mind, competing fiercely with the urge to slip a hand up Ambryn's shirt and tease a nipple. He struggled to force his attention back to the conversation, necessity just barely winning out over his desire to grind his hips slowly and gently against that sweet bottom. "Ambryn can't this week. He works in the Circles at night." Fevered fantasies of slipping into one of the towers, kidnapping Ambryn from the midst of robed figures, and carrying him off for lovemaking that would last all night were weaving themselves through Nathiel's brain.

"I do," Ambryn admitted, blushing.

Nathiel stared as the color drifted up from Ambryn's collar, admiring the rosy color.

"Well, how about next week?" Belauq persisted.

"I'm free for a couple of nights."

"I'm taking you out for dinner the first night after you've recovered from Circle work," Nathiel said quickly, staking his claim. "It'll have to be the following afternoon. Maybe . . ." He was having trouble focusing, because Ambryn had turned his head, and those soft, rose-colored lips were irresistible. He kissed them, slipped his tongue in past them, didn't see the waiter shoot them a scandalized glance.

"Maybe," he said as he broke the kiss, staring into Ambryn's dreamy jade eyes "the day after that."

"That sounds . . . awfully indefinite," Belauq drawled. "Mattran wants to see you," he added in Darnassian. "Today."

"Of course," Nathiel replied absently. He glanced around. "Did the waiter come back yet?"

"He said he'd be back with salads after you've had time to decide what you want off the menu." Belauq tapped the cafe's menu in silent emphasis, obviously well aware that Nathiel was looking at an entirely different menu and thinking about ordering the whole thing.

They somehow made it through the meal. Nathiel sucked the skin of each grape Ambryn put into his mouth before he pierced it with his teeth, in one instance quickly sucking a finger into his mouth as well. He was harder than granite, hotter than the Barrens at highsun, and he barely remembered Belauq was even there, making only desultory conversation.

Belauq paid the bill with good grace, as good as his word not to cause any trouble, and Nathiel was too busy keeping his hands on Ambryn as they got up to pay attention to the blatant evidence of his own arousal.

It wasn't until he saw Ambryn to his own door and they were walking down the street that he started to come to his senses. He almost turned around and went right back in.

"Nath." Belauq's tone was patient, and slightly amused as he grabbed the kal'dorei warrior by the arm. "Judging by the way he was staring at you and letting you fondle him, I don't think he'd object to you coming back, but I'd rather not have the city fall out from under us because you wore him out."

"Yeah." Nathiel finally glanced down at himself.

Belauq pulled him into an alley and knelt in front of him.

"Belauq!" Nathiel protested, grabbing the other kal'dorei's hands.

"I know you want him, and so do you. If it'll make you feel better, you can pretend it's him." Belauq looked up at him and jerked his chin at the thick bar in Nathiel's pants. "Do you really want to walk in with that thing announcing to everyone that you're hornier than a spring hare?"

"No, but-"

"Nath." Belauq's tone remained reasonable. "You aren't promised to each other yet, and you'll be doing him a favor if you don't rip him open out of crazed lust. Let me blow you. You get off, I get to say goodbye to the big guy – everybody wins."

Nathiel looked down at him, at a loss for words. Belauq didn't wait for a reply, fingers working Nathiel's fly, shoving down his pants and closing around his freed cock with practiced expertise. His mouth closed around the head of Nathiel's iron-hard penis, warm, wet, hot, and familiar.

Nathiel almost came right then and there.

And yet, it was the trip back from Valgarde all over again.

He could do this. It would be so easy.

He didn't want to.

Nathiel pulled his cock out of Belauq's mouth, shoved it back into his trousers, knelt, and kissed Belauq gently on the forehead.

"I'm sorry," he murmured in Darnassian.

The golden eyes closed, the illusion of unconcern in Belauq's expression shattering. "You're in love with him. You're already in love with him, Nath." The words were hopeless.

"Bel, you don't mean any less to me." Nathiel let his forehead rest against the other kal'dorei's. "But I don't want this with anyone but him. I'm sorry, but it's true. I think of this, and it . . . it feels . . ."

"Cheap. Easy. Like drinking a beer." Belauq pulled back and wiped the tears out of his eyes.

"No." Nathiel shook his head, fingers curving around the back of Belauq's neck. "It doesn't feel fair. I could do this, but I wouldn't want Ambryn any less, and it wouldn't change anything between us. It's not fair to him. But it's also not fair to you."

"Why haven't you made love to him yet?" Belauq asked, point-blank.

Nathiel didn't flinch from the question. He smiled ruefully. "I almost did this morning. Then I opened my stupid mouth and asked him if he wanted to go for a ride. I was too embarrassed to tell him that the ride I was talking about didn't involve leaving his couch. So we ended up riding through Crystalsong, saving a mana-starved sin'dorei that he stopped me from killing, and showing a group of orc emissaries the way to Dalaran."

Belauq's eyebrows rose, a smile curving his lips. "You cock-blocked yourself."

"Yes." Nathiel glanced up at the sky. "I'll be regretting it for a week now."

"Well," Belauq sighed in common, eyes dropping. "At least the big guy has gone back to sleep."

Nathiel glanced down and saw that Belauq was right. He smirked sourly. "Let's go see Mattran."

As usual, Mattran had foregone the chair behind his massive desk in favor of the desk itself. The gnome priest lay on top of the polished mahogany, heels in the air, studying reports through his spectacles, a frown on his features, utterly unmindful of his dignity. His jet-black hair stood straight up in jagged spikes and he had a pen in one ink-splotched hand.

He glanced up as the door to his office opened, giving a brief two-finger salute as the two night elves entered before returning his attention to the papers spread out in front of him.

"The whole guild is just buzzing over the fact that you seem to have found yourself a mate finally," he said bluntly. "When's the wedding?"

"Haven't picked a date yet; gotta ask him first," Nathiel said easily, accustomed to Mattran's informal approach to tackling anything that came his way.

"Haven't bedded him yet either, apparently," Mattran commented. "Don't tell me you've decided on this one to finally wait until you've got the ring on his hand either - you reek of lust. He must be some cocktease."

"It was my fault actually," Nathiel admitted bluntly. He knew Mattran would only dig deeper if he deflected the question.

The gnome grunted. "Orcs came to Dalaran today. They're making an inquiry with the Kirin Tor. Probably about whatever's been raping the shit out of their Warsong outpost in Ashenvale. Lots of dead Horde. They got good reason to be scared if what I've heard about the casualty lists is true. According to Tyrande, the Night Elves are supposedly uninvolved, and some of them are even blaming the orcs for unleashing whatever it is on themselves. The Horde isn't in much of a position to do anything about it either apparently."

Nathiel dismissed the news. Anything that was killing off the loggers in the ancient forest was a good thing in his opinion. "What about the vrykul we encountered?"

"Haven't figured that one out yet," Mattran said, rubbing his chin, oblivious to the ink he was getting on his face. "Might be related to the disappearance of a few caravans in the area."

"You think the vrykul have stepped up their raiding?" Reiyad asked as he entered, tossing a quick nod in Nathiel's direction.

"The sudden upsurge in presence is too sudden, and their raiding bands are smaller. I'd say they got stung too and they're hunting the perp." Mattran signed the bottom of whatever he was looking at and stamped it before setting it aside, picking up the next document. He squinted. "Some of the caravan survivors were blaming undead. Whether it was Forsaken or Scourge I don't know, but Icecrown Citadel has been quiet lately. Makes me think it's more likely the former than the latter."

"We have a job?" Reiyad asked without preamble.

"We're going to sit tight," Mattran replied. "Keep running the usual Alliance escorts unless we get a job offer from the Kirin Tor. We don't get paid to be proactive." He turned his head, regarding Nathiel over his spectacles. "That reminds me. I've had a few inquiries about you, people asking specifically for your services."

"I'm not-"

"I fed them the usual about the guild allocating resources appropriately in proportion to the request." Mattran cut Nathiel off with a wave. "If there's one thing you're not, it's charming enough to get a repeat customer to ask for you specifically, which means I need to find out what's going on." He stamped the report, signed it, and set it aside. "I don't want your ass riding line anyway until you've squared away your balls. Fuck him and put a ring on it. I'm moving you out of the short list." He sat up and grinned. "Come shake my hand, sport. It's about damn time."

"He's going to come meet us a week from today," Belauq said as Nathiel shook hands with the gnome, the two of them grinning broadly. "I think you'll be very pleasantly surprised."

"Snaggled him into it did ya?" Mattran said, reaching for a cigar from the box on one side of his desk, legs dangling several feet above the carpet. "Smooth." He offered another cigar to Nathiel who shook his head. Mattran shrugged. "You're smoking a stogie with me at the wedding then," he ordered. "And I'm officiating."

"Only if you can do it without swearing," Nathiel retorted without missing a beat.

"Fuck, get one of your priestesses then," Mattran muttered as he lit the end of the cigar. "Me, I'm going to celebrate you finally getting your shit squared away."

Nathiel smirked at his diminutive employer. "I'll make sure there's plenty of bourbon."

Ж

Ambryn let out a sigh as the door closed behind him, leaning back against it, because in spite of everything that had happened that day, he wanted more than anything else for Nathiel to come walking back through that door, kiss him senseless, and finish what they'd started this morning.

He wasn't afraid of that anymore. Fear had away ebbed last night, there in Nathiel's arms, and safe, warm, and secure, he'd woken in them still, found Nathiel waiting for him, warm and so gloriously hard. No, he wasn't afraid of that.

He smiled helplessly, staring up at the ceiling. The outburst of violence there in the forest should have appalled him, and in a way, it had. Yet despite that towering rage, Nathiel hadn't lifted a finger to him, hadn't hurt him, the rage itself evoked by his fear for Ambryn's safety.

Ambryn had fallen deeper at the realization.

His gaze went to the couch where it sat in front of the window, the noonday sun no longer shining inward, and he felt the memory of delicious heat pool between his legs once more. He walked slowly over and laid his head down on the cushions, the lingering scent of Nathiel's presence only worsening the ache that filled him.

Why in the name of all that was holy had he had to pick that particular moment to suggest going for a ride in the snow?

Ambryn let out another sigh, lips pursing in irritation.

Granted, he'd perversely enjoyed seeing the stunned expression on Nathiel's handsome, normally flawlessly composed features when Maywind had responded eagerly to Ambryn's signal, and it had been a while since he'd been out. It had been glorious to feel the wind in his hair again, feel a song bursting from his heart, but then . . .

Ambryn had never thought he'd be grateful for orcs, but their arrival had been nothing less than perfectly timed, as unintentional as it had been. Still, he would have forgiven Nathiel eventually, he knew, even after that. Deep inside, he couldn't have held out. The night elf was already too deep in him.

No, it wasn't coming together that frightened Ambryn anymore.

It was the bone-deep realization that he couldn't be apart from Nathiel when he could still count their meetings on both hands that truly terrified him now.

Ж

A lonely troll in ill-fitting garb slogged through the snow, muttering under his breath.

Once again cold, aching, and tired, K'dzok was bitterly regretting ever coming to Northrend. Sure, the pay was better, and there were plenty of humans to debauch, but it was frigid, dangerous, and getting ahold of the aforementioned humans would be damned near impossible now that he was an acknowledged criminal in Dalaran.

The fucking continent had also brought about the end of his career, and with no job, there was no money. It wasn't that there weren't other ways to get money, and it wasn't as though he hadn't left a few bodies in the ditch in his time, but living life staying one step ahead of the law was tiring, dangerous, and it damned sure wasn't his preference.

K'dzok needed to get off this frozen rock.

At least until he could come back and burn it from one coast to the other.

Before he could do either though, he needed to figure out where exactly Hieronymus had sent him. He rounded a cliff, searching the horizon, and his breath nearly froze in his throat.

Icecrown Citadel loomed in the distance, cold-gleaming spires reaching towards the clouds like spears aimed at the belly of heaven, forbidding and deathly.

The Lich King had been quiet lately, the Scourge seemingly dormant for the moment, but that didn't stop cold fear from sinking into K'dzok's gut like a knife of ice. He needed to head south, and he needed to be fast.

Of course, he also needed to figure out which way was south. K'dzok studied the horizon, looked up at the sun, shielding his eyes with one clawed, pale green hand, and cursed violently in Zul'Amani, because the Citadel lay directly across his path to the Dragonsblight. It would take a miracle for him to make it past without being spotted and promptly mauled by something with frozen blood as dead as the snowy waste around him.

Ж

It had become semi-customary for Annatta to meet Ambryn at his apartment, and they'd walk to Periont's Tower together. It was a little out of Annatta's way, but only a little, and she needed to keep close tabs on Ambryn anyway. He was the key to her ambitions after all.

Of course, it didn't hurt that she'd come to genuinely enjoy his company, the quiet, easy talks as they walked through Dalaran's darkening streets in the evening, their arms linked, no pressure between them.

She could tell the instant he opened the door that something was wrong. He looked distracted, and not in the faintly dreamy way that thoughts of Nathiel brought. That dreamy expression was one she'd come to know well, talking about Nathiel with him, and a small part of her basked vicariously in the reflected warmth of his affection for the night elf. She'd caught herself wishing he would think of her that way, and banished the thought instantly. He wasn't even the type of muscley, brawny male she had idolized as a young girl and then as a young woman, wasn't overly graceful or lithely handsome like the males of her own kind.

But he was soft, and warm, and welcoming, and kind, and good to the core of his soul.

Annatta shook her own thoughts off, smiling gently at him, and after a moment he smiled back at her.

It wasn't hard to draw conclusions. Nathiel was supposed to return today. Had something gone wrong? Was he delayed? Annatta bit back the questions. She didn't want to rush. It wouldn't appear natural. She waited until they were alone in the lift.

Ambryn looked at her, his heart in his eyes, only it wasn't the brilliant glow from before, the first blush of attraction that had made him shine like a star.

Annatta listened, brow furrowing, let him collect his thoughts in silence as they walked through the lobby and out into the street, and listened to the rest.

Her first urge was to hunt Nathiel down and hit him. Not the cool, stiff reprimand of a palm-to-cheek slap either. She wanted to back-hand him, knock him down, sit on his chest, and shake him until he saw sense, curse him for wasting all of her careful efforts to remind Ambryn of him at just the right moments, build him up ever so subtly in the human's eyes, make sure that Ambryn's eagerness still burned high.

The dumb bastard was threatening to ruin her carefully laid plans.

And then Ambryn made an admission that stopped her there in the street.

"I love him," Ambryn said softly, despairingly, and then he'd cried into her shoulder like they were lifelong best friends instead of acquaintances who'd only relatively recently become more. On the one hand it meant her plan was working, almost too well in fact. On the other, a slightly guilty part of her was reminding her harshly that this was at least partly her fault.

Because she'd seen it in his face. It wasn't a puppy-dog infatuation. It wasn't something that would pass. It was real, and it scared her out of her wits. So she held him, and patted him on the back, and somehow, miraculously, that was enough on her part to enable him to pull herself back together.

"Well," she said, half to herself. "There's no turning back now."

Ambryn just looked at her for a moment, a half-sad, half-brilliant, slightly delirious smile on his features. "No," he said, wiping his eyes with a handkerchief she'd happened to have handy. "I suppose there isn't."

The guilt redoubled. Annatta kneed it in the belly, pulled its cloak over its head, delivered a stiff right hook to the disoriented bundle, and shoved it into a closet with a thick door and a strong lock. She was doing this for both their sakes, she reminded it haughtily from outside its imprisonment, and for the sake of quel'dorei everywhere. If necessary, and worse had come to worse, she even would have sided with the kal'dorei warrior. After all, these sin'dorei, as they styled themselves, were corrupt by their own admission.

Her guilt tried to fight its way out of the closet. She didn't yield, and eventually it subsided, exhausted by its futile struggles to be free.

Ambryn's glow was present once more as the Circle wove its spells over Dalaran, not bright and bubbly like before, though a part of that vivacity remained, but a deeper, steadier inner radiance.

Somehow, sensing it, knowing what it signified, it made Annatta want to cry.

Ж

Mop and broom stand together in the corner

Their worn heads lean against each other

Sometimes one or the other will be whisked away

They will do business in another part of the house

But always they return

Sunrises, sunsets, they fall on them together

Always together

Mop and broom stand together in the corner

Inseparable.

Hector let the book fall closed, staring up at the ceiling as he waited in the lobby of Ambryn's apartment building. The leather binding, lovingly maintained, the crisp paper that still smelled of the flower petals tucked between their pages - they were as familiar to him as his own hands despite the years since he'd touched them last.

He'd seen them together, seen Ambryn wrapped in the night elf's arm. The thought made his blood boil. Worse still had been the way that Ambryn looked up at him, eyes for no one else, not even Hector, standing five feet away on a street corner, blue eyes burning.

Hector knew Ambryn, knew that the moment he wiped away that innocence, cleaved that love with his blade, he would lose Ambryn forever. It didn't matter. He'd held the memory of Ambryn in his heart for seven long years, waiting for the day when Tybalt Dellani's long shadow would lose its potency at last. That time was now. Ambryn was ripe, more lovely and more desirable than ever.

Hector would persevere. The love in his heart would not wane.

He wasn't planning anything dramatic. He'd simply say that he couldn't sleep, which was true enough, leave Ambryn with the book, a brief touch on the arm, and then a quick departure. He was playing for the highest stakes, and he was determined not to lose. His most potent weapon was a flimsy, fragile thing of paper and leather and ink. Hector knew as well as he knew the inside of Ambryn's soul that it would be a potent weapon indeed.

His smile was cool and calculating.

Ж

A ship set sail on the evening tide in distant Auberdine, manned by night elves, its sleek lines and pale gray wood vanishing into the deepening dusk.

Ж

Unearthly red-glowing eyes shone in the darkness like demon lanterns glimpsed out of the Nether. Her tattered dress flapped around her legs, cold gray flesh gleaming beneath the moon as she stood on a slim, wavering pine bough that threatened to give at any moment beneath her weight, trembling in the wind.

Campfires spat ash into that wind, dotting the hillsides like stars fallen to earth, sullen and temperamental at their loss of stature, snapping at the massive figures that huddled around them.

Nabniath twirled, laughing wildly, her precarious perch threatening at any moment to send her tumbling to the ground far below. It was a beautiful night, the stars that yet remained in heaven twinkling in their haughteur. They drew close about the moon like children crowding at the skirts of their mother, their glow seeming to dim as her wild joy rode the chill wind across the hills.

The song was distant now, but Nabniath would find it. She would seek it out, twist it into darkly glorious perfection. She would find the singing troll, and his madness would ring in her ears for all eternity. She would complete him, make him whole. She would save him.

But first, she would save others.

Dead flesh moved, shifted, frozen limbs stiff and hoary with frost. Brush snapped. Dead, glazed, lifeless eyes stared forward into the night, into nothingness from out of nothingness, towards the fallen stars that burned in the hills and the poor heart-ridden, blood-enslaved beasts that trembled uneasily around them.

Nabniath's lips drew back from her teeth in a fierce smile, a smile that split the broad, bloodstained mouth of the magnataur at the head of her apostles, her missionaries.

She had brought war to heaven.

Ж

Author's Post-script Notes:

For those of you who have read all the way to the bottom and plan on reading more, thanks.

To those of you who have posted reviews (all three of you) greater thanks, and I appreciate you taking the time.

I find it remarkably interesting that a story that totaled over one thousand hits last month alone has only 9 reviews.

9.

Go figure.

Oh, and I know my summary blows. Suggestions would be much appreciated.