The Stones That Build A Well Chapter 9: Act I Scene VIII: The Words That Break, a warcraft fanfic

Author's Notes:

Folks, I could blame the lateness of this next update on writer's block, or say my internet broke, or my computer was eaten by wild wolves, but I figure – why bother? The truth is that the reason this one took an extra week is a combination of laziness and the fact that I really struggled with the content of this chapter. It serves to advance the plot and lays in some important threads and so is necessary, but in my own humble opinion it is not as good as its predecessors.

Also, it's all dialogue with no action sequences, so you may well be bored out of your minds. Sorry.

Anyway, away we go!

(Edit Note 11/02 - Went through and cleaned up the most glaring typos so I wouldn't look at this and want to tear my own eyeballs out. Sorry if anyone was trying to read it and wasn't able to because I was fixing it.)

Act I Scene VIII

The Words That Break

They flowed into the glade like another part of the night, graceful, utterly silent, materializing in the gloom like somehow-lovely wraiths, forms tall and lithe. Tandira lowered her bow, and after a moment reached up to lower her hood as well, huntresses and warriors fanning out across mossy earth still marked with the scars of battle.

She gave only a passing glance to the thick, yellowing, splintered bones that lay scattered in the moonlight, grisly remainders of a horrific feast that chilled her despite the fact that she could tell at a glance that not a one of them belonged to her own people. Some of them were half-sunk into the earth, as though it had begun to devour them, a hunger awakened in it that made her step lightly for even one of her own kind.

She could feel Mishai close by, the smaller priestess' arrow yet nocked on her bowstring, ready to let fly. She was tense, face tight, unease written clearly on her features despite the fact that nothing stirred around them, crickets singing in the night, an owl calling through the boughs. All seemed as it should but for the remnants of the slaughter that had taken place here.

Cenorisen stepped confidently into the clearing, golden eyes seeking, head held high, antlers a dark tracery against the star-filled sky. Behind him, Vaelomi drifted over the earth, clad not in hunting leathers but in a pale dress that glimmered beneath the darkness of her cloak, disdaining any weapon. She drew the eye like the moon above in the sky, her pale, luminous, faintly blue skin seeming to glow. Tandira wasn't sure whether to feel admiration or chagrin at the other priestess' display of unconcern for the threat of an orcish raid.

Then again, she thought as she stepped over a femur as thick as her waist, perhaps she had good reason not to fear that the green-skinned brutes would return any time in the near future.

And then Tandira felt it, as if a bud had unfurled in her mind. Vaelomi's head snapped sideways and she froze.

"Tandira." Mishai's voice was a whisper.

Vaelomi turned, walking quickly, Tandira and Mishai trailing in her wake.

The obelisk was shattered, rune-carved face scattered into fragments strewn across the earth.

"Be careful, priestess." Cenorisen's deep voice was cautionary.

"The divinations were correct. This is the place." Vaelomi seemed to take no heed of the Keeper's words, lifting the hems of her skirt as she crouched before the remnants of the obelisk, her long, rich azure hair flowing over her shoulders. Slender, deft fingers plucked a single, round white stone from the midst of smashed jet-black shards of granite. "Lady Tyrande was correct. The Orcs have broken one of the ancient seals." She stood, closing her fingers around the white stone, and turned, clasping it to her breast. Her golden eyes were distant. "We must discover what it is they have unleashed."

Annatta blinked, because the pillow under her head and the fabrics wrapped around her body were unfamiliar. Even the ceiling looked . . . strange. She turned her head, ignoring the way her marrow still seemed to resonate with the powerful magic she had helped to wield just a few hours ago.

There were dark circles around Ambryn's eyes, his eyelids a faintly purple color, deep physical exhaustion leaving its visible mark on his wan features, the sun coming through the window gilding his golden curls with luminous brilliance.

She remembered it now, the rich, thrumming strength of the magic, a voice greater than any mortal's, like the voice of a god, woven through mortal souls into a tapestry intricate and unutterably grand, a chorus, a hymn of power. She remembered him, there beside her, sharing so much unadulterated magic. Her fingers curled, because she could still remember it tingling over her skin and she smiled secretly, knowing that this, at least, was something he shared with her, something he would never share with the kal'dorei male.

She lay there in his bed and watched him sleep, treasuring the quiet, fleeting moments until the door opened.

Hector, if she remembered his name correctly, leaned in through the door, blue eyes darkening as they settled on Ambryn and then rose to meet her stare. He'd been there at the carriage when it stopped at Ambryn's apartment building, blond hair back-lit by the lights from the windows and she'd watched, strengthless, as he'd lifted Ambryn in his arms.

He'd looked at her, probably seeing more of her in that moment than she wished to reveal to anyone, and perhaps it was the pity she could see in those blue eyes that had made him jerk his chin. She'd leaned heavily against him on the way into the building but he hadn't complained. She was pretty much certain he'd have liked to take her place in the bed. She could see it in his gaze now as he met her stare.

She struggled upright with an effort, wobbled to the door, and followed him into the main room, tottering over to the couch as he went into the kitchen and came back with two cups of dark coffee. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, leaving a good portion of his strapping, slightly hairy chest visible, shirttails untucked, and he was barefoot.

She imagined she probably looked worse, her hair disheveled and unbound, still wrapped in her robe from last night.

"You wish I'd been on the couch instead," she said bluntly as he sat down and handed her a mug.

He nodded, with a faint smile for her candor. "Unequivocally," he said just as honestly. "I want him. I would have given anything to have slept with him in my arms and gotten to see him smile when he woke up at the sight of me."

"Why didn't you?"

Hector smiled faintly. "It's part of my strategy. I look like the good guy if I don't take advantage of him – and right now, that's exactly what he'd think. I'd look desperate, presumptuous, and unscrupulous. I wouldn't have gotten my smile. I definitely wouldn't have gotten sex."

Annatta had a spare moment to wish that she had spent the night on the couch, since that would have solved her problems neatly.

Hector's smile widened, became a faintly sardonic smirk, clearly following the direction of her thoughts. "I don't need to tell you you aren't competition. You're smart enough to figure that out."

"No. I'm not." She watched his expression, saw the lack of surprise at the implications of those two small words.

"The mercenary." Hector's smile vanished.

"He's a good man." Annatta sipped from her coffee mug. "Ambryn is in love with him."

"He said that, did he?" Hector glanced down at his coffee mug. When those blue eyes came back, they were dark again. "I wouldn't have expected you to side with a night elf."

"Nathiel makes him happy." Annatta shrugged.

"I could make him happy. I did once." Hector sipped his coffee. "I think I'd be a better choice for him."

Annatta lifted one eyebrow. "Oh?"

Hector smirked at her. "My credentials are pretty good. I produce them upon request."

Annatta furrowed her brow, studying him for a minute. He wasn't cocky, but he was very confident, and she had by this point established that he was obviously the same former love interest who'd dropped off the book of poetry and the flower. She wondered if he'd already noted the latter's absence and had a chance to go looking for the former. Her mouth tightened. He was intelligent, not stupid or pretentious. This was going to make things difficult.

"I think at this point it's safe to say that you really aren't competition either." She let a hint of coolness slip into her tone.

Hector just smirked at her, reached down, and cupped the generously proportioned package between his legs with one large hand. "I like my chances a lot better than yours, sweetheart." He leaned in close enough that she could feel his breath warm on her ear. "What I'd like to know is, what do you get out of this if the night elf gets Ambryn?"

"I like the "if" you tossed in there," Annatta said quickly, stalling for time, scrabbling for a moment to think. "That's a nice touch."

She turned her face away, but she was watching him out of the corner of her eye, and the look in those damnably intelligent blue eyes was calculating. She had to get him off-balance. "I don't honestly think you love him as much as the kal'dorei, or you'd still have him. I think the one here with an ulterior motive is you." She watched his face, and knew by the way his body went rigid and his eyes flared with cobalt fire that she'd struck home, perhaps deeper than she'd meant to.

Most worrisome of all, he calmed down, sat back on the couch, and smiled, but his eyes were as hard as diamonds. "I've waited seven years. He's the only thing I want." His smile twisted. "That's how I know you're playing for different stakes."

Annatta realized two things in that moment: the first, that Hector was playing for keeps, and the second, that she'd grossly underestimated him, and might have just made things significantly worse by tipping her hand. Doubt whispered seductively to her, teased her, tormented her with dark murmurs that told her she couldn't succeed. She shoved it aside. She had to succeed. Hector was just one more obstacle in her path, and she would do whatever was necessary to accomplish her goal.

Whatever was necessary.

The look in his blue eyes told her that he was thinking exactly the same thing. That mutual understanding made verbal acknowledgment superfluous.

Hector got up without another word. A few minutes later she could hear him making breakfast. Annatta wrapped her fingers around her coffee mug, and tried to figure out how she was not only going to unravel the mess she'd made, but how she was going to keep Hector from doing any more damage at what was a very critical juncture.

Above all, what she had to do was keep him from realizing he might just have gotten to Ambryn with the book and the flower. Her eyes went to the drawer in the small table where she'd seen Ambryn put the volume away just four days ago, nesting like a coiled viper, waiting to sink venomous fangs into the heart of her plans. It was a weapon in Hector's hand.

She set down her mug on the coffee table and got up.

It would only take a moment.

She took a step towards the table, gaze resting on the smooth brass handle.

The window could be opened.

She took another step.

By the time it hit the ground it would be charred ashes, beyond recovery.

Annatta took another step, and then another. Her hand trembled as she reached for the drawer handle, pulled it slowly open. The smell and sizzle of bacon emanated from the kitchen where Hector was preparing breakfast.

The leather binding was worn smooth, like one of her father's, the golden lettering on the front faded with age. It was soft in her fingers, and her nose caught the faintest hint of scent. Her eyes lingered on Sandra Dayren's Irrationally Everyday Poetry, the 'e' in the last word almost faded from view, the 'S' at the beginning nearly as far gone. This book had been loved, her fingers told her, opened many times, read many times. A hint of scent caught her nose.

She stopped, and something in her compelled her to open the first page. Lilac petals scattered, their faded, subtle perfume wafting up from the page.

To Marianne Dellani, the inscription read On the first anniversary of our wedding. I can't imagine you without this book nearby. I'll try not to leave this one out in the rain.

Annatta felt her heart stop in her chest at the realization of just whose book this was, felt tears prick her eyes, and for a moment her guilt found new life, battering at the walls of its prison, and she stood, frozen, unable to believe what she'd been about to destroy.

She turned the page, and the words, strangely compelling despite the fact that they were about everyday things like ladles and bowls and fireplaces, enveloped her, filled her with gentle, tender warmth. She smiled at the Secret of Spoons, turned the page, and murmured the words of The Bucket and the Brush under her breath as she read them.

She didn't hear the door opening, didn't even realize Ambryn was there until he softly called her name. She looked up at him, startled, utterly forgetting herself for a moment. His jade eyes were still shaded with weariness as he leaned there against the wood of the door frame.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Ambryn smiled at her. It was pale, but it was real. "It's okay," he said quietly.

She almost told him then, almost told him everything, how she was maneuvering him into Nathiel's arms, how she was plotting to use both of them for her own ends, how she'd been about to destroy the volume in her hands that he no doubt treasured more than almost every other possession. Her guilt shattered the door to its closet and erupted from the splintered remnants, more powerful than ever.

"I think she would have liked for you to read it," he continued, stopping her in her tracks. His eyes dropped to the book. "When I read it, it's almost as though she's still here."

A tear slid down Annatta's cheek, and she gently gathered up the scattered flower petals that had fallen while she was reading, lilac petals, rose petals, chrysanthemums, tucking them back into the pages. She set the book gently back in its drawer. For a moment, she thought wonderingly, his words still echoing in her ears, it was as though she'd been touched by the soul of his mother, a distant echo of that same, gentle warmth he seemed to exude.

When she looked up, Ambryn wasn't looking at her anymore. He was gazing across the room, but making no move towards Hector, who stood in the doorway to the kitchen looking back at him with blazing blue eyes.

"I made breakfast," Hector said quietly. Annatta looked at him, and she bound her guilt once more, this time in chains of titanium.

"Thank you," Ambryn said quietly back.

Annatta could feel the tension thickening on the air. She could have cut it with a knife. Ambryn took an unsteady step forward, swayed on the second, and despite the face that Hector was on the other side of the room from them, he somehow made it there first, gathering the mage up into his arms and carrying him into the bedroom.

They all had breakfast in bed.

Well, sort of.

Ambryn ate, leaning back against the headboard, covers up to his waist, and Hector took most of the foot of the bed, Annatta off to the side on Ambryn's left.

There wasn't much talk. Ambryn was still obviously exhausted, and Annatta was tired, and definitely not interested in further conversation with Hector. Ambryn started to nod off, and Annatta had to bite her tongue when the tall blond shifted to sit next to Ambryn, cradling him against his broad chest. She took the dishes into the kitchen, and then made use of Ambryn's shower. Feeling somewhat refreshed, but still weary, she returned to the bedroom to find that Hector had discarded his shirt at some point, and he was laying down now, Ambryn's head cradled in the crook of his broad shoulder.

She ignored Hector's gaze as she stripped down to her shift and climbed under the covers on Ambryn's other side, nestling up to him. If Hector did try something, he'd hesitate at the very least with her right beside them.

Ambryn woke to find himself in an awkward, somewhat compromising position he only vaguely recalled getting into. His head was cradled in the crook of Hector's broad, bare shoulder, the knight's left nipple in his direct line of sight, a strong arm wrapped across his back, a big hand curved over his hip. His knee was propped up on Hector's left thigh, and his right hand rested on a hard, warm, rippling, faintly hairy abdomen.

There was another warm body against his back, and Ambryn craned his head around to see Annatta sleeping peacefully on his other side. Her much more slender arm was the one he felt resting over his ribs, and she looked to be dressed in nothing more than a shift.

Ambryn let out a small sigh, got up, cheeks glowing faintly with embarrassment, and ignored the murmurs of his other two bedmates as he untangled himself and crawled out of bed, intent on a shower. His stomach growled, and he reflected ruefully that he'd best attend to that next.

There was simply no hope of salvaging his dignity, so he just wrote that item off for the rest of the day.

The hot water in the shower helped tremendously, washing away some of the weary aches in his tired body. He still felt worn afterward, but also refreshed, and he strolled slowly back into his bedroom, leaving the shower to Annatta. Outside, the sun had already mostly set.

He and Annatta had already done the shopping for dinner in anticipation – it was simple store-bought spaghetti with red meat sauce, and there was even enough for Hector. Ambryn left his guests to their ablutions went into the kitchen to start dinner.

"So I was thinking we could catch a show tomorrow," Hector said as he sat next to Ambryn and scooped spaghetti and sauce onto his plate. His hair was wet from the shower, but he was wearing his same trousers, unbuttoned at the top, nothing more, baring his muscular torso. His broad shoulders, chiseled chest, and tight-muscled belly lightly were dusted with fine blond hair. "There's a dramatic comedy playing at the Veil and Rose theater – I understand it's supposed to be quite good."

Ambryn froze, and then his mouth tightened. There wasn't an easy way to do it.

"I'm actually meeting Nathiel tomorrow," he said point-blank, looking up to meet Hector's gaze.

The tall blond knight blinked, jaw tightening for a moment before he managed to relax his lips into a faint smile, but there was a storm brewing in his blue eyes. "I see. And the day after?"

"He's introducing me to his guildmates." Ambryn continued to meet Hector's gaze, not flinching away.

Hector nodded, looking down at his plate after a moment. "I can see I'll need to get my bids on your time in early."

Ambryn parted his lips to tell Hector that Nathiel would still have first claim, but let the words die without being spoken. It would be cruel to say, he told himself, and unnecessary, ignoring the nagging little voice that said maybe he wasn't being fair to Hector by not giving him an opportunity, that he wasn't being fair to himself by the same turn. Ambryn dismissed it with a slight shake of his head and served himself.

He was so much more than just your friend, it whispered as it departed, a final parting shot. Doesn't he deserve better?

The rest of the meal was quiet.

Part of Ambryn was dreading an argument with Hector to get him to leave, but to his relief, Hector seemed to realize that an argument would be the inevitable result, and made a graceful departure, Annatta leaving as well after a few minutes more.

Ambryn simply stood staring at the door for a moment. He'd gotten the distinct impression that neither of his two visitors much cared for the other, though neither had been overtly offensive, simply somewhat cool.

He could still feel Hector's warm body next to his, his head resting on the knight's chest, that strong arm wrapped around him . . . Ambryn put his fingers to his temples, and summoned the image of Nathiel, deliberately recalling the vivid sensation of rubbing against the night elf in blatant sexual invitation. His mouth turned down at the corners as he recalled Nathiel's abrupt and inexplicable desire to go for a frolic in the snow. It would have been so much nicer just to stay on the couch . . .

Ambryn crossed his arms. Tomorrow night, he promised himself, he'd have Nathiel all to himself, and if he so much as hinted that he'd like to go for a ride . . . well, Ambryn wasn't sure what he was going to do, but he was sure he could come up with something.

Well, he needed his beauty rest if he was going to seduce his incredibly handsome night elf suitor like he was planning. Ambryn glanced around the room once more, and then headed for bed.

It took Nathiel a few moments of drowsy pleasure to realize the lips against his own weren't a dream, and he blinked in the darkness, looking down at the face of the figure he'd just rolled over on top of, hand already between a pair of spread legs, his cock at full attention.

The visage that resolved out of the darkness confirmed what he could already feel against his naked skin. Belauq looked up at him with golden eyes that betrayed just a hint of nervousness.

"What are you doing here?" Nathiel asked softly in Darnassian, not shifting, his weight pinning the kal'dorei druid to the bed.

Belauq winked, a grin curving his lips. "Your landlady let me-"

"That's not what I meant, Bel." Nathiel didn't return the smile.

Belauq's expression grew somber as well, eyes searching Nathiel's face. "I honestly don't think you really know what you're getting into with this one, Nath."

Nathiel frowned, eyes narrowing slightly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Belauq shook his head. "I saw the way he looks at you. He's not in this for a few one night stands. He doesn't want just a brief, fun fling. He's in it for the long term. He's going to expect you to feel the same."

"And you think I don't." Nathiel was well aware that his voice had dropped dangerously low, and he made no effort to change his tone.

"I know you," Belauq whispered softly, reaching up to stroke the sides of Nathiel's face.

Nathiel grabbed his wrists and forced them back into the pillow. "Then you know how much you're pissing me off."

"Because I'm right?" The nervousness in Belauq's golden eyes was ebbing underneath anger of his own. "Who are you fooling with this pretense of chivalry? Not me, though you might be fooling him, or even yourself. I've known you for centuries. He's known you for a handful of weeks, no more."

He pushed against Nathiel's restraining hands, unable to budge more than a hairsbreadth beneath the much greater power of the warrior's arms. "I actually bought it the other day, the whole business about being fair to him and me." The druid's golden eyes blazed. "But that's just shit, isn't it? Just a line you're feeding everyone. I've known you for centuries, Nathiel Highfury, and I don't think this one truly means any more to you than all the others. I'm just in the way, keeping you from your latest conquest, the next notch on your bedpost!"

Nathiel saw Belauq grimace, and realized his hands had tightened on the druid's wrists, bone grinding in his grip. He loosened up slightly, fighting to control the rage that was rising in him. "Maybe," he snarled back, "I've gotten tired of waking with the other side of the bed empty. Maybe I'm sick of different faces every night, none of them memorable. Maybe I'm fed up with someone who sneaks out of my bed and into someone else's, and thinks nothing of it!" Nathiel realized he was shouting. He forced his voice down, but it still came out as a growl. "I used to think that was all there was, just passing partners, moving from one to the next, because you'd only ever grow tired of them anyway in our immortal life. That's how I lived, like everyone else. But he doesn't believe that."

"How do you know that?" Belauq asked entirely too reasonably.

Nathiel almost hit him, almost drove his fist into the pretty mouth he'd kissed and ravished and groaned into more than once, because he didn't have a retort, his very breath stolen away by the blow he hadn't seen coming.

"You don't, do you?" Belauq's words were like ice-cold knives, digging under Nathiel's skin. "It wasn't him you were in love with that day, was it? It's the idea that maybe you've found this dream made flesh, preserved for you, and you alone. You're chasing after an illusion Nath, and you'll hate him and yourself both when you find out he isn't real."

The words cut deep, the worst part of the injury they inflicted edged with jagged-toothed logic that drove into something vital in Nathiel's chest, and the agony made him furious, filling him with an instinctive need to kill its source. His vision went red at the edges.

He stopped himself before his fingers could finish closing around Belauq's throat, darkly gleaming blood seeping from a cut in the druid's lip Nathiel didn't even remember giving him, the only other testimony the faint sting in the knuckles of his right hand. Sickened but still fighting the fury that roiled within him like a building storm cloud, threatening to shatter everything in its path, Nathiel rolled off the druid and went to the window, opening it to admit a blast of frigid air that hardly helped to cool the heat in his blood.

He focused on Ambryn's pale face, his sweet, soft smile, his eyes like the living forest, running through every memory he could conjure, and deep inside him, something cried out in dismay, because he realized he was turning them over, looking for any sign that Belauq might be right, that Ambryn was nothing more than a dream Nathiel had built up in his mind, an illusion formed of his own making, his desires desperately projected into those lovely eyes.

"I'm sorry I had to hurt you," Belauq whispered softly from the bed.

"Get out," Nathiel growled deliberately in common, forsaking the flowing, liquid syllables of his native tongue for the human words. "Get the fuck out!" He didn't turn, didn't look at the other kal'dorei. He gritted his teeth, because the crushing heat in his chest was only getting worse, until he wanted to tear something apart, ached to destroy something, anything. He stood where he was, trying to draw in the chill of the night air.

Warm, gentle fingers came to rest gently against his rigid back.

"It's alright," Belauq whispered. "It's alright."

"How could you do this to me?" Nathiel's voice was quiet, cold, and deathly. It wasn't the cold that made him shake. It was the rage and the hurt that were threatening to explode at any moment onto the oh-so-convenient target at his back.

"Because I care for you. If I hadn't told you, and you realized that I knew, would you ever have forgiven me?" Belauq's tone was soft, even sad. "I wanted to keep the truth in front of your eyes, Nathiel. I didn't want to hurt you, but I wanted to let you be hurt even less."

Nathiel turned, brushing Belauq away, but the druid didn't step back, reaching up to hold Nathiel's face in his hands. His golden eyes were full of tears. "I'm here for you. You know that."

Nathiel didn't fight the lips that pressed against his, didn't push Belauq away. He stared down into the other kal'dorei's eyes, and suddenly felt utterly cold, all the heat gone from his body, as though he'd ceased to live. He pulled away, and started getting dressed.

"Where are you going?" Belauq asked, shock in his voice, dropping out of Darnassian.

"Out." Nathiel bit the word off - crisp, cold, and clean.

He didn't know how long he wandered through the city, paid no attention the the streets as he ghosted through them, a dark brooding figure, like a caged predator, only it wasn't the city that was his prison, but the tormenting thoughts in his mind that he couldn't outpace. Still, he kept moving, because he couldn't keep still, couldn't settle, drifting from corner to corner, gliding down alleys, prowling restlessly, not even knowing what he was seeking.

Somehow he ended up in front of Ambryn's apartment building. He recognized it, uncertain how long he'd been standing there across the street, staring at it. He didn't cross the empty avenue, but gazed up at the windows, most of them dark this late at night. Somewhere, he knew, Ambryn was up there.

The thought filled him with a mixture of pain, longing, and the drifting remnants of pleasure, torn to shreds by the all-too-knowing words from Belauq's lips. He wondered if Ambryn was asleep. He wondered if someone else was in Ambryn's bed even now, holding him in his arms.

Nathiel squeezed his eyes shut, because the heat flared in his chest all over again. He squatted where he was, dressed in his armor, and stared up at the dark windows, his spear across his knees.

Ambryn blinked at the knock on his door. It was Brandon, the daytime concierge, and there was a nervous look on his features, his sideswept brown hair appearing slightly displaced, as though he'd been running.

"Mr. Dellani," he said, light tenor voice slightly strained, reinforcing Ambryn's suspicions that he'd been running. "Your um . . . the night elf that you . . ." He paused, clearly looking for a polite way to reference Nathiel and just as clearly not quite sure how to do so. "Well, he's . . . he's been across the street all night. A few of the other residents are starting to become . . . somewhat alarmed. There's been talk of calling the guard, but I thought before that . . ."

Ambryn blinked again, and then he was past Brandon at a run, disdaining dignity in favor of speed as he headed for the lift. He got inside, realized abruptly that he hadn't ever actually used the lever on the side, and Brandon stepped inside after him, and flipped it, breathing hard, evidently right on his heels.

He slammed the filigreed gates open the moment they were on the ground floor, and Ambryn was running across the lobby, dodging the mages giving him curious looks, his heart in his throat. The sun was just rising, sending its golden rays down the street.

Nathiel blinked, falling out of the trance he'd been in as he sensed something change in his surroundings, an irregularity in the flow of people. He saw Ambryn emerge from the lobby doors at a run, felt a strange sense of surreal disbelief, and then the sun was dancing in the human's golden curls, setting it all aglow with breathtaking radiance, his jade eyes wide and luminous, pale face slightly flushed. He felt his heart stop in his chest, felt the world drop away, narrowing to the graceful figure in flowing robes running towards him.

Ambryn caught sight of Nathiel, and he felt his heart stop in his chest. The night elf rose from his crouch, dark blue plate armor glinting dully in the morning light, shifting his spear from his knees to one hand as he straightened, face strangely expressionless. Ambryn didn't halt, but jumped the steps and ran right into Nathiel's arms. For a moment, Nathiel simply stood where he was, as though he'd turned into a statue, and then his arms came around, curving gently around Ambryn, and Ambryn thought for a moment that he was horribly injured somehow when the big night elf dropped to his knees, spear clattering the ground, and pressed his face against Ambryn's abdomen.

"Please," he whispered. "Please tell me you're real."

"Oh love." Ambryn felt tears come to his eyes, because there was pain, deep and tired, in Nathiel's voice. "I'm real, and I'm here, I promise."

The arms around him tightened almost to the point that they took his breath away, but Ambryn scarcely noticed, one hand stroking Nathiel's hair, the other on his back, holding him tenderly, and afraid, because he could feel Nathiel trembling. Not knowing what else to do, he began to sing, a soft, crooning lullaby. He wasn't sure how long they remained there like that, but he felt Nathiel shift against him, drawing back. For a moment he thought he'd done something wrong, silver eyes glowing fiercely up at him, and then Nathiel was kissing him, mouth fierce on Ambryn's lips, still holding him tightly, as though he'd never let go.

Nathiel could feel Ambryn, soft and warm and gentle, there in his arms, and longed for it to be enough, needed desperately for it to be real, with an urgency that shocked even him. Before he'd realized it, the words had escaped his lips.

Ambryn's answer was sweet, tender, the words unimportant, the emotions underlaying them balm to Nathiel's soul, and when he began to sing, Nathiel could only remain there where he was, on his knees, spell-bound, because he could feel the feeling returning to his body, feel the dream rising around him again.

All he could do was embrace it, because he needed it. He needed this. Suddenly Ambryn's mouth was under his, lips so soft, yielding, warm and sweet, and the faint smell of mint suffused the air around him, intoxicating and light. Nathiel couldn't bring himself to let go. He drank Ambryn in again as he had at the stable, drew on him like air, like life itself.

He kissed the human until he was breathless, until he felt new fire racing through his veins again, cleansing and sweet, bringing him back to life. He looked down into jade eyes gone hazy with pleasure.

Maybe Belauq was right.

Maybe this was wrong.

The very thought was anathema, too close to possibility to be bearable, and Nathiel drank from Ambryn once more, until every last trace of his doubt and despair was burned away, and gathered the human mage up in his arms, carrying him inside, unwilling to relinquish him.

Unwilling to relinquish the dream.

Ambryn heard Nathiel's heart beat slow and steady in his chest, felt that granite-hard torso rise and fall underneath his cheek, and reflected ruefully that yet again, they hadn't quite managed to make it to the bedroom, in both the literal and metaphorical senses.

To his relief, Nathiel was seemingly uninjured, at least physically. Ambryn remembered another morning though, when it had been Nathiel who'd come to him, found him crying there in the lobby. He hadn't asked any questions, seeming to understand that whatever had just happened was itself past bearing, much less remembering and reliving.

His arms were still fierce in their embrace, even in slumber, and Ambryn couldn't help but feel tears prick once more at his eyes at the thought of Nathiel's words. Something in his world had been broken, and Ambryn wasn't at all sure he could set it to rights, but he was determined to do what he could. All too soon, the warmth of Nathiel's big body and the feeling of security in his embrace ensnared Ambryn's senses in drowsiness.

Ambryn managed to half-smother a yawn, and then he was falling asleep in Nathiel's arms.

The first thought that had entered Tybalt Dellani's mind when he'd seen his estranged (temporarily estranged, he correct himself) son erupt from the doors of his apartment building had been that Ambryn had somehow gotten word of his imminent arrival and was high-tailing it out of the vicinity in an attempt to avoid what he undoubtedly assumed would be another uncomfortable, probably even combative encounter with his father.

Following right on its heels was the possibility that there might be a fire, but there was no smoke coming from any of the windows, and no one seemed unduly alarmed.

And then the ambassador had followed his son's gaze, realized that those jade eyes never even wavered to one side or the other, and turned to see what could only be the night elf he was even now making an earnest bid to remove from his city.

What had happened next had shocked him outright, to the point that he'd forgotten himself, forgotten the reason for his errand, only able to watch as the night elf collapsed to his knees, pulling Ambryn close like a drowning man clinging to a piece of flotsam for dear life, the kiss that followed only compounding his stunned disbelief with something akin to horror as his son was practically mauled by a common mercenary, and a desperate-looking one at that.

He was still staring, utterly agog, as the night elf scooped Ambryn into his arms as though he weighed something less than a feather, and went inside.

What was more, while there were shocked glances following the couple, they weren't as appalled as Tybalt might have reasonably expected in the event that such a sight was utterly foreign to them.

He was still struggling to gather his wits and his composure when a voice he recalled with some disfavor spoke from his right.

"He hasn't changed a bit." There was genuine regret in Hector's voice.

Tybalt's flash of hot anger snapped his wits back into place. "Shouldn't that give you the advantage then?" he murmured coldly, and turned to go.

"I was more expecting you to sort of blast him out of existence while you had a clear shot." Hector's tone was edged with grim amusement. "That would have solved my problems nicely."

Tybalt stopped at that, and gave the blond knight an eagle-eyed glare. "Whereupon you, in your eagerness to garner my son's favor and your zealous respect for the rule of law, would undoubtedly have plunged your sword into my ribs."

The hint of a smile tugged at Hector's mouth, his blue eyes ice-cold. "The thought had occurred to me. This didn't need to happen in the first place. It wouldn't-"

"If you think, for one moment, than I honestly regret my actions that afternoon, you are wrong, Sir Evansley." Tybalt cut Hector off like a sharp hatchet going through cotton, dark eyes flashing. "At the moment, you are the lesser evil, but do not fail to understand for even a moment that I think only less of you for that." He turned away. "Do not speak to me directly again. It only hampers your chances. If you need to send word, do so through Eanté."

Hector watched Tybalt leave with only a small amount of grim satisfaction. In truth, he honestly would have considered slaying the ambassador if it would get him Ambryn's affections, except for the fact that he knew Ambryn wouldn't regard him any more kindly for the act. He'd much rather have stabbed the night elf though, if he had the choice.

Getting into a fight with Tybalt had been stupid, but it was the only outlet available for his rage, and Hector knew the older man was too cool and calculating to let it hamper his plans to get Ambryn safely back under control.

That was exactly where Hector didn't want him. Of course, the problem with Tybalt Dellani was that while he was controlling, he always kept his means impeccable, ready for scrutiny, balancing his use of power with the proper amount of moderation to keep it from appearing harsh or unreasonable. It was a line that had been very fine at times, but unfortunately, it was a line the ambassador still had yet to cross, at least as far as Hector knew.

Something told him that if those less scrupulous acts did exist of course, then they were hidden so deeply and well that finding them would be tantamount to being buried oneself in the uncovering.

Hector scowled. It was wheels within wheels, politics even in matters of the heart, and he was getting sick of it, sick of playing the game, biding his time, trying to keep what little hold on Ambryn he had left, though that admittedly seemed slight.

Hector grimaced. He couldn't give up. He wouldn't. He hadn't waited seven years just to let Ambryn fall out of his life.

Eanté glanced up as Tybalt entered.

He didn't storm, didn't scowl, outward facade unfailingly composed. But his rage hung around him like the first clouds of a thunderstorm building on the horizon. She smiled at him, the professional one that he liked to see, the one that told him that here, in his offices in the State Department, the wheels and gears continued to run in sync, on time, and in good order.

He glanced at her, and she saw the fury in his eyes recede slightly.

"Have you found anything about the mercenary case?"

Eanté allowed her smile to widen slightly. "As a matter of fact, there was a report of an incident where the mercenary in question was involved, apparently personally. It comes from a young lady of good social standing. Her father is a ranking colonel in the Lordaeron army."

Tybalt stopped, and then a smile crossed his features, the small, subtle one that told her that inside, he was chortling with glee. "Be so good as to have it on my desk this afternoon," he said warmly.

She nodded.

He resumed his dignified stroll to his office with a much more satisfied air, and then paused.

Eanté lifted her head inquiringly.

He inclined his head ever so slightly. "Thank you, Eanté. I depend on you."

Eanté smiled back. "It's my pleasure, Ambassador."

Author's Post-Script Notes:

I leave you with my customary request for constructive criticism and ideas where I can improve my writing. Help me be a better writer, and I'll give you better stuff to read.

Also, once again, thanks goes to you wonderful folks who were good enough to leave me reviews thus far!

Dusty the Umbravita and Seripithus, again, thank your for your continued feedback – you really have helped me to reveal my characters, not just to others, but to myself, and I hope you'll continue to help me out in that endeavor. Much love for you ladies!

FalseHope 01, it's nice to see that someone appreciates my cleanup efforts, and I hope you let me know if you do see any typos, because I hate the little buggers, and every time I review my work, I seem to find something that makes me want to grimace at the thought of how many other people have probably seen it.

Kinsfang, sorry Hiath died, but I'm glad you like the story! Maybe I'll be able to work in some closure for our stoic blood elf, but it most likely won't come until the end (which admittedly is quite a ways away).

Oh, and if anyone has an idea for a better summary, I'd welcome assistance. I have to agree that the current one sucks.