Author's Notes:
I know at least one of you thought that last chapter ended too abruptly. Well, sorry about that but it was already half again the usual chapter length, and there's a TON more in this one. Some of this may feel a little obligatory, but there's a lot of stuff that needs to happen here to keep the ball rolling, so I'm trying to balance length with content and hopefully not drag this out to the point where people are like "Get A Move On Already Fish!"
Ж
Act I Scene XIV
In The Light Of Day
The street in front of the small boarding house was empty, flooded with moonlight as Muharine set gracefully down on the pavement. Nathiel dismounted and pulled Ambryn down into his arms, but didn't set him down. Intellectually he knew they wouldn't have been parted for long, that Ambryn would have found a way back to him even if he hadn't managed to catch up, that Ambryn was never in any real physical danger. Convincing his heart of that, however, was a much more monumental task.
Nathiel turned. "Thank you Muharine. I owe you."
The hippogryph inclined his noble head ever so slightly. "You're welcome, and I know. I'll consider it an adequate start if you come by this week with a beef haunch. Prime bull stock." He snorted. "And it'd be nice if you dropped in when it wasn't an emergency."
Nathiel winced slightly. "Right. Prime beef."
The hippogryph took once more to the skies, spiraling upward to gain altitude and then banking toward the southern end of the city and the stables.
"Can I go with you when you go to see him?" Ambryn's gaze was still on the place where the hippogryph had vanished from sight.
"I know for a fact he'd like that," Nathiel said after a moment, looking down into those jade eyes, somehow even more lovely under the moonlight.
"I'm sorry about-"
"Don't." Nathiel realized his tone had hardened and took a deep breath. "It's not your fault. You were doing what you had to. You tried to talk him down." He couldn't hold the rest back.
"But he betrayed your trust," Nathiel continued. Ambryn could feel Nathiel's arms tighten. "He tried to take you away from me. That's something I can't forgive." The beloved silver eyes blazed. Nathiel's darkly handsome features were taut, hard, and unrelenting. "I know he means something to you, but I can't let that go."
It was hard to hear. It was even harder to nod. It hadn't been what he wanted – nothing had been. He'd hoped, if nothing else, that Hector would understand, would let go. Ambryn had asked a lot of Nathiel already. He hesitated to ask for more. He prayed Hector would see sense, would keep running and never come back. With time perhaps, he would find someone else.
Ambryn turned his gaze toward the building in front of them, not so large as his own apartment building though still generously sized, a sturdy structure of brick. A change of subject was in order. "Is this where you live?"
"Yeah. My landlady is a little bit of a sourpuss, but she puts up with me." Nathiel smiled down at him, forcing some jocularity into his tone. He started walking toward the front door. "I'm afraid it might be a little bit of a mess, I uh . . . wasn't expecting to entertain here tonight."
Ambryn carefully avoided mentioning the still-fresh reason for that. "Ah, so it's my chance to see your den of debauchery." He lifted his eyebrows and gave Nathiel a leer that needed a lot more practice to look anything close to genuine.
Nathiel didn't have to think hard about not telling Ambryn that up until they'd met, that'd frequently been exactly what the two-room living space he occupied had served as. He just chuckled instead, making an effort to pump more life into the casual atmosphere they were both trying to maintain.
His landlady stood from the chair in the entry hall she'd been sitting in, and Nathiel tensed slightly as he caught sight of the two robed figures in the official deep purple of the Kirin Tor. He looked for insignia, but there was nothing embroidered on their chests.
"Mr. Highfury. Mr. Dellani. Ambassador Dellani has asked for both of you," the one on the stairs said politely. "Please come with us."
Nathiel opened his mouth, but silver light was already whirling around them. The last thing he saw was his landlady's worried expression underneath her graying hair.
A little to Ambryn's surprise, it wasn't the office tower in the Administrative Quarter. They were facing his apartment building. Another pair of Kirin Tor were standing at the doors, the doorman absent. Their escort preceded them, clearly assuming that Nathiel and Ambryn would comply, or at least giving that appearance.
It was disturbing in a way, to realize that he was trying to decide if he could take one of them if it came down to a fight, and a little frightening to consider that he might not be able to get Nathiel out of harm's way.
"Don't worry," Nathiel said quietly.
"I'm not." Ambryn took a deep breath. Not for myself.
"You're a terrible liar." Nathiel smirked very faintly, but his eyes remained on the Kirin Tor mages that preceded them. He didn't set Ambryn down, but continued to cradle the human mage protectively in his arms as they entered the empty lobby.
"If you need to put me-"
"No." The word wasn't sharp, just firm, but it brooked no argument.
One of their escort glanced back at them, but said nothing.
Nathiel wasn't thinking about fighting the Kirin Tor. Not two of them. Not with Ambryn with him. But if he could get enough distance on them he could go to ground if it became necessary.
They reached the lift, and the mages waited for Nathiel and Ambryn to go first. One of them threw the brass lever.
Ambryn was beginning to feel it, the first threads of chill burrowing once more into his flesh from somewhere within, and he shut his eyes, because he didn't want to feel it, didn't want to feel that terrible cold spread through him once more.
He shivered, and Nathiel's grip tightened. Ambryn wrapped his arms around Nathiel's neck and held onto him, tried to fight the growing chill inside with Nathiel's warmth.
And yet, another part of him knew that Tybalt was up there, knew that he was interfering again, that he was a threat in earnest to the flame of life that Ambryn wanted to curl up to, wake up next to every day of his life. The knowledge was like ice growing in his mind, frigid and bringing with it a terrible clarity, harsh and angular.
By the time they reached his floor, it had spread beyond his power to stop it. He could feel it in his flesh, in his soul.
Nathiel paused as he stepped out of the lift. "Are you alright?"
Both Kirin Tor stopped and glanced back at that, their expressions unreadable.
Ambryn kept his eyes closed. "Please set me down."
"Ambryn-"
"Please." Ambryn didn't want to look into Nathiel's eyes, didn't want him to see the horrible frost that had rooted itself within his core. He hardly recognized his own voice.
After a long moment, the arms around him loosened, and he was set on his feet.
Ambryn opened his eyes, and one of the Kirin Tor started to step back before he caught himself. He cleared his throat. "Please - this way, Mr. Dellani."
Ambryn stepped toward them, past them, their wary gazes following, and suddenly they were an escort rather than guards. He didn't look back at Nathiel. He didn't dare. He was afraid he would shatter. The metal handle of his door felt warm to his hand. That it was unlocked without his doing or consent only added to the blizzard that was rising inside.
Tybalt looked up as the door opened, and his eyes widened slightly.
"Son-"
"We had a bargain." Ambryn's words were the sounds of boughs cracking beneath far too much ice. "I warned you, Ambassador, that further interference was intolerable."
"Wait. Please." Eanté's words were quick and a little uncertain.
Ambryn's gaze turned to her, and she did step back, her arms wrapping around herself, face going white..
"I would have abided by it. Believe me, I had every intention of doing so, until a night elven huntress came looking for you." Tybalt Dellani's face was set. His dark eyes rose over Ambryn's shoulder, and they darkened, hardening. "I had every intention of trusting you, mercenary, until she brought me this!"
He pulled out something small that gleamed in the light, dangling from a copper chain clenched in his fist, and threw it.
Ambryn turned, following it as it sailed past him, caught by a large, rich purple hand, and as it swung from Nathiel's fist, Ambryn caught a glimpse of his own face, eyes turned to wells of darkness, hair radiating out like the fiery corona of the sun, expression utterly cold, and it took his breath away, shaking him so hard that the ice shattered.
"No," he whispered.
Nathiel blinked as he caught the cameo. On one side, someone had painted Ambryn's beautiful face with painstaking realism, capturing his brilliant emerald eyes, pale features, and honey-spun hair in a breathtaking portrait of enamel. Nathiel's brow furrowed, and then he heard the single, small denial on Ambryn's lips, felt the emotion behind it.
Ambryn was staring at the other side of the cameo as though facing down an adder, soft, sweet face bloodless, eyes wide and pale.
Nathiel looped it around his fist, and caught a glimpse of the other side.
It took him a moment to recognize the face, because it was so utterly unlike Ambryn, so unbelievably alien to see such a harsh expression on his lover's face. The features were there, the same curve of his lips, the line of his brow and his jaw.
The eyes were wells of endless darkness.
For a moment Nathiel was stunned, and then he was furious, an instinctive anger that boiled up from deep within him like dragon's breath, scouring everything in its path. He realized dimly that the chain was biting into his flesh, that his fist was shaking, because it was so intrinsically wrong in a way that twisted in his gut.
"What is this?" His words came out in a chest-deep roar, and he had to stop himself, because he'd started moving toward the Ambassador without even thinking about it, one of the Kirin Tor guards moving to intercept him.
Tybalt was suddenly wearing a thoughtful expression, laying a light hand on his guardsman's shoulder and stepping past him. "You . . . honestly don't know." His eyebrows rose slightly. "Three of your people landed in Valiance Keep. The Governor's office was distributing sketches, reproduced from what you're holding in your hand. Their leader had it in her possession. I . . . questioned her quite thoroughly."
"Did she have a good explanation?" Nathiel's temper subsided slightly. He was still angry, but he was thinking it through. If there was something going on in Ashenvale that involved Ambryn . . . It would be all too easy to get a teleportation to bring him close to Darnassus, and in the space of a day, maybe less, he'd have plenty of answers, and if the situation called for it, plenty of blood.
It wouldn't be the first time he'd killed another kal'dorei.
"She claims that it was made from the visions of three priestesses of Elune." Tybalt glanced to one side. "Son, are you all right?"
Ambryn hadn't moved, and with an inward curse, Nathiel tossed the enameled portrait to the woman in the business dress who was standing off to one side and pulled Ambryn into his arms, anger boiling up all over again as his lover continued to shiver.
"Don't be afraid. I won't let them hurt you." Nathiel glanced at Tybalt, and then added as an afterthought. "Neither will your father."
Ambryn was stiff in his arms. His voice was quiet.
"It's not them I'm afraid of." He looked up, and his jade eyes were wounded so deeply Nathiel the pain in his own heart. "It's me."
Nathiel cupped Ambryn's face in his hands, unable to believe what he'd just heard. "Listen to me, Ambryn. Look at me." He studied the face that grew more precious to him with every passing day. "You're good. You are nothing but good. Every day, every single day I admire you for that. I look to you for that. Do you hear me? I know that whatever you're afraid of, there's no reason for it. There's no reason for you to fear yourself or what you'll do, because I know, body and soul, that you'll do what's right, and what's good." He forced a smile, because he could feel tears wanting to burn at the corners of his own eyes. "Don't ever doubt that, because I don't."
There was a heart-stopping moment, and then Ambryn smiled tremulously back at him, and the jade eyes were crying, but those tears seemed to wash away some of that awful, soul-aching pain. Nathiel kissed him, gently but thoroughly, and through the salt, there was that same, divinely sweet taste that was home, that was peace, that was Ambryn.
Nathiel held him close, ignoring the fact that they had an audience, all his attention on the bright, beautiful, beloved being in his arms, the pillar that made his world whole. Then, slowly, he let go, stepped back, and turned back to Tybalt, meeting his brown eyed-gaze.
"Sir, I'm asking for your help." Nathiel took a deep breath. "I need to stop this. I need to get to Darnassus, and . . . I . . . I need to know that Ambryn will be safe."
Tybalt studied him for a long, long moment and finally nodded. "Come to my office tomorrow."
"Nathiel, wait." Ambryn was slowly shaking his head, and Nathiel saw the realization waking in his eyes, awareness of the bloodshed that was all that could follow now. "You don't have to-"
"I'll do anything to keep you," Nathiel said simply. "I'll do whatever I have to, whatever it takes."
Ambryn swallowed at the look in his gaze, and then closed his eyes and lowered his head.
Ж
Shaenae paced across the thick, lush lavender carpet that covered much of the parqueted floor. There was a decanter on the oak sideboard, and crystal glasses. She'd sated her hunger on the fruit and cold meats that had been left for her, with generous amounts of both still left. The couch was plush, thickly upholstered, the chairs generously sized even for her inhuman stature. There was even an accommodation in a small room at the back.
It was a very polite, very spacious, very well-furnished cell, but it was a cell nonetheless. The door remained locked, and had been so for hours. She'd had no contact with Iralia or Lofgryn.
The Ambassador's son.
There was no possible way she could have predicted it. Shaenae was certain the priestesses hadn't known either. What had been a bad situation already had become even more perilous.
With any luck one of her subordinates had managed to make contact with the kal'dorei consulate.
Shaenae hadn't expected finding the object of the vision to be so simple.
She hadn't expected the situation and circumstances to be so complex.
She'd told Ambassador Dellani everything, had held nothing back, both because she hoped that he would hold to as much of whatever minimal reason was possible under the circumstances, and because he seemed perfectly willing to follow through on his eloquently-worded threat.
Reason was a slim hope indeed, when it came to a parent and offspring.
Twenty-four steps to the door. Twenty-four steps to the windowless wall.
Shaenae paced, and she worried, and she wondered, and she prayed.
The door opened and she whirled, prepared to sell her life dearly.
The woman from the Ambassador's office, Eanté, smiled coolly and professionally as she opened the door. "Please forgive the delay. The Ambassador has arranged accommodations for you near the Night Elf consulate." She folded her hands. "The guard has been provided with your description in order to ensure that nothing untoward occurs during your stay. It is Ambassador's wish that you find a warm welcome in Dalaran, and please feel free to call upon his office if you should find yourself in want for any amenities."
Shaenae hesitated, and then stepped forward. "Wait. What about the-"
"At no time should you be found anywhere in the remote vicinity of Ambryn Dellani." The human's expression remained polite, the tone civil, but there was no mistaking the words. "As it happens, the Ambassador is currently making preparations for a diplomatic visit to Darnassus. He would be pleased if you would accompany him."
Shaenae simply nodded. "I understand." She did. Here within this city, it might as well be impossible for her to complete her mission and return with the human. Still, she was being given leave to contact the Consulate. She would send word, and await a response.
Ж
The sun was rising. Nathiel could see the first hints of dawn touching the sky, lightening the horizon. He held Ambryn close in his arms, and breathed in the scent of his hair, touched with the faintest hint of cool, clean mint.
He didn't think lightly of what he was about to do. It would be difficult, almost certainly dangerous. He wasn't anything close to a trained assassin. Still, this needed to be done.
Ambryn stirred against him, lifting his head, and Nathiel found his lips, kissed them lightly, and tightened his grip.
"You don't have to do this," Ambryn said softly.
"I told you, you're a terrible liar." Nathiel kissed him again, felt Ambryn yield to him. Desire flared hot even as his resolve strengthened. "You know I do. The sooner the better."
"No." Ambryn shook his head, buried his face in Nathiel's chest. "We can stay here. We'll be safe here."
"Ambryn." Nathiel's tone was slightly sad. "Do you really believe my people will simply give up? If it was important enough for them to send one group of hunters so far, it's important enough for them to send more. You heard your father last night."
"So you'll kill them."
Nathiel took a deep breath. "If I have to, yes. It might not come to that."
"You think it will."
"But I hope it won't." Nathiel threaded his fingers through Ambryn's curls, studied the way they began to gleam under the growing light. "What if they don't even come for you personally? What if they petition the Senate? Prophecy has a lot of weight these days after Medivh. If I wait, it will happen, one way or the other."
Ambryn lifted his head, jade eyes shadowed, and kissed him. Nathiel could taste the desperation in it. He rolled over, supporting himself above Ambryn with his elbows, and claimed his mouth, the kiss long and deep, holding nothing back, trying to memorize this moment, this sensation, this place in time, because he wasn't sure when he would be able to come back to it.
Then, gently, he disentangled himself.
He dressed in the living room, waiting for the sound of sobs.
"Nathiel."
Nathiel turned. Ambryn stood in the doorway to the bedroom, honey curls tousled, jade eyes sad, but he smiled faintly, the effort obviously costing him. It was thin, but it was there. "Let me make you breakfast first."
Ж
The sun was visible on the horizon by the time Nathiel had girded himself at his apartment and headed for the Administrative Quarter. It didn't take him long to find Ambassador Dellani's office. The woman from last night was there behind a slim desk, in an identical business suit, everything about her organized and neatly pressed, her hair pulled back in a tight, crisp ponytail.
She stood and gave him a professional smile, giving him a brief handshake and then crossing to the double doors. "I'm Eanté, personal administrative assistant to Ambassador Dellani. Please, come in – he's been expecting you."
Tybalt stood at the far end of the office, looking down at his desk, expression pensive. He glanced up after a moment, and his brow furrowed ever so slightly, clearing an instant later. "Master Highfury." He smiled slightly, and held out his hand. "May I call you Nathiel?"
Nathiel blinked. The politeness felt a little awkward, and he was keyed up to go. Still, he gave the Ambassador's hand a brief, firm shake. "You can, sir. I'm ready to go."
"Ah, yes – about that." Tybalt's eyebrows rose slightly. "Nathiel, with the understanding that you already hold my son's best interests at heart, I'd actually like to retain your services in official capacity as a bodyguard until the upcoming diplomatic mission is ready to depart, and then continue in that capacity until Ambryn is safely returned to Dalaran where he belongs. I expect we'll be leaving for Valgarde Keep within a week."
"What?" The word was out of Nathiel's mouth before he'd thought better of it. "Sir, you can't take Ambryn there! Not now!"
Tybalt's small smile vanished, brown eyes regarding Nathiel with a certain piercing calculation. "While I admire your fervor, I believe you are failing to take Ambryn himself into account. Perhaps you don't know my son as well as you think. While his motives are generally noble, his actions can occasionally be . . . rash." He let out a sudden sigh, abruptly looking much more human. "That's part of the reason I need you to stay – he won't listen to me, but hopefully he'll listen to you. I need you to keep him from going himself." He held up a finger. "Believe me, I've taken into consideration the probable danger of taking him to Darnassus. But I'd much rather take him along with ten veteran mages, twenty guards, and the three mercenary companies, including Vir Aegeae, that I've engaged, than have him traipse out there on his own. I like the odds of his survival much better that way. It will also make it a great deal easier to . . . shall we say, resolve the issue if need should arise. I firmly believe in strongly hedging all of my bets."
Tybalt's words made an awful sort of sense. Ambryn leaving on his own . . . Nathiel realized he should have expected that. His own words about knowing Ambryn would do the right thing came back to haunt him. That sad smile this morning suddenly took on a whole new meaning.
Nathiel nodded. "Thank you sir. I've got to go back."
"Do hurry," Tybalt said simply.
Nathiel's world dissolved into silver light, and when it returned, he was back in front of Ambryn's apartment building. He took the stairs to the door two at a time, not even glancing at the purple-robed Kirin Tor who hadn't been there before today, and ran for the lift, startled mages scattering out of his way.
Ж
Annatta knocked and then let herself in, the makings of cinnamon rolls in the paper bag cradled in her arm. Ambryn sat fully dressed on the couch, alone, no trace of a smile anywhere to be found. He lifted his gaze, eyes widening. He looked like he'd been crying.
"Annatta."
Annatta made yet another mental note to kill or at least mortally injure Hector the next time (and ideally the last time) that she saw him. Still, she was puzzled by the fact that Nathiel wasn't present. She smiled warmly, hoping she looked reassuring. "Hi. I know you had a rough night last night." She'd been slightly irritated that Nathiel had taken the hippogryph and left her behind, but it made good sense, and she'd forgiven him since he'd brought Ambryn back safe. "I thought perhaps cinnamon rolls?"
Ambryn's expression didn't light up, the darkness in his gaze not easing even a little. He shook his head. "Oh Annatta, I'm in an awful lot of trouble."
Annatta blinked, mind literally boggled for a moment by the impossible notion that Ambryn himself had actually beaten her to the punch where Hector was concerned and delivered him to his demise.
No, it wasn't possible . . . was it?
She set the paper sack full of baking goods on the table and crossed to the couch, putting her arm around Ambryn's shoulders. "Want to talk about it?"
He told her, in a choked, miserable tone, about everything that had happened. By the end of it, her own heart was thundering, a thousand curses in her thoughts that she couldn't give voice to, anger and fear and guilt and loathing tangling into a horrible, confused knot with a single thought at its center.
She could use this to get what she wanted. All she had to do was turn him over to the night elves. If they wanted him that badly . . .
The thought alone made her sick to the pit of her soul, so vile that it burned from her empty stomach all the way up to her mouth until she wanted to heave bile inelegantly into her lap.
She could.
She wouldn't.
Using his affections for Nathiel had been one thing, but just the idea of turning him over to ancient elder elves afraid of some vision of doom was beyond anathema and set everything in her to screaming in denial.
"No."
She didn't realize she'd spoken it out loud, didn't realize that her face reflected her own horror and shock and outrage until she saw Ambryn staring at her, looking so lost and disheartened and . . . guilty.
How could he even feel it? How could the one, single, innocent person in this whole, tangled, confused mess feel a shame the rest of them ought to be drowning in?
Annatta squeezed her eyes shut.
"Annatta? I – I'm sorry! I didn't mean to drop this on you – I . . ."
"I have to go." Annatta almost choked on her self-loathing. "I'm sorry, Ambryn, but I - I have to go."
She opened her eyes to see Ambryn looking as though she'd stabbed him in the heart, and the worst part was that guilt, continuing to grow in his jade gaze, like a dagger in her belly. She tore herself away from him and ran for the door, tears burning at her own eyes, threw it open, and almost ran into Nathiel, wearing full armor and armed to the teeth. He was breathing hard, as though he'd been running.
Annatta looked into his panicked silver eyes, and had an awful, awful realization.
Ambryn was thinking of . . .
"Don't let him go," she snapped, not caring how harsh her tone was, not caring that Ambryn could hear her. "Keep him here, and keep him safe."
Nathiel was past her without a word, pulling Ambryn into his arms, lifting him from his feet, big body shaking.
Annatta watched them for a moment, and then shut the door, suddenly feeling numb.
Nathiel was the one who deserved Ambryn, she thought with a faint sense of disbelief. It had all been there in his eyes. She'd seen it herself, that desperate, fiery glance, fierce and unrelenting. She made it a few more steps down the hall, half-fell sideways into a wall, and sank down it, crying her eyes out.
"I'm sorry," she whispered brokenly. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." She sobbed, shoulders shaking, until she was almost sick, and managed to stagger at last to her feet, eyes blurry with tears, guilt shredding her heart.
Ж
The incandescent disk of the sun was just barely above the horizon, but Hillstop's Endless Tankard never closed. Hector sat at a table, nursing a mug of cold, bitter beer that matched what was left of his love life, and watched it rise. He was only half-drunk. He was waiting for guards to show up, or even Kirin Tor. He wouldn't disgrace himself by being completely smashed. He wanted to face Ambryn with some dignity at least when the sentence was handed down.
"Sir Hector."
Hector turned his head, and met Tybalt's brown eyes. The bastard was immaculately attired as ever, in the same steel-gray robes with all their fancy rune-embroidery.
Hector snorted. "What - no minions to bring me in? Come to do me yourself?" He spread his arms. "Kill me."
Tybalt let out a small sigh. "Far from it. Why do you think there hasn't been any pursuit even after the body of a known assassin was found, armed with no less than six different kinds of poisons, with a significant amount of coin in his pocket? May I sit?"
Hector blinked, brow furrowing. This confrontation wasn't going at all the way he'd assumed. "I guess." He watched as Tybalt seated himself, and leaned forward, taking a swig of his beer. "If you're not here to kill me or drag me in front of a judge, what are you here for, Tybalt?"
"Believe me, both options crossed my mind, and I've seriously considered the merits of each." Tybalt's tone remained casual despite his words. "But I may yet have a use for you."
Hector snorted. "You can't make it worth my time."
"Oh?" Tybalt folded his hands in front of him. "I was under the impression that you were in love with Ambryn. Perhaps it was merely a fool's shallow infatuation."
Hector was on his feet in a heartbeat, knocking his chair back. "Don't go there old man! I'll kill you! I love him more than anyone!" He snorted softly. "I still do."
Tybalt gave him a long, considering look, and gestured with one hand. "Sit down. We need to talk."
Hector considered throwing a punch. Sure, he might get arrested, probably get some serious prison time, but he was getting well and truly sick of Tybalt's games.
But Ambryn . . .
He realized he was swaying slightly on his feet. He turned, found his chair after a moment, and picked it up, ignoring the sour look the barkeep was giving him.
"First – why did you do it? What could you possibly have hoped to accomplish?" Tybalt's eyebrows were slightly raised.
Hector felt his hackles rise, fighting for calm, because along with the anger came more despair than he wanted to face. "I knew – I already knew I'd lost him." Hector looked down at his mug. "I was desperate. I thought "if I could just get him away from the night elf for just ten minutes" then maybe, somehow, I could reawaken the spark in his eyes. I wanted . . . I wanted so badly to see him smile for me. Just me. I wanted him back, and I was willing to do anything, literally anything to have him."
Tybalt was silent for a long moment. Then all at once, he let out a sigh. "Ambryn is very much his mother's son. That resemblance has been reinforced by recent events." The Ambassador gestured for service. "So let me tell you about Marianne." He glanced at the waitress as she approached. "A sweet red, please."
"I remember her." Hector did, and fondly. She'd always welcomed him, as warm and kind as his own mother, blunting the worst of Tybalt's wrath when he fell afoul of it.
"Later in life, yes." Tybalt steepled his fingers, gaze turning distant. "She loved being a mother. I never saw her so happy as the first time she was pregnant. She was probably twice as excited as I was."
The glass of red was poured, and Tybalt spoke, his words measured, eyes lost somewhere in the past.
"When I first met Marianne, they called her War Goddess. Ice Queen. Lady Victory. In those days we fought in the very ruins of Dalaran itself, in the rubble of our homes, battled demons of staggering power that could kill with a word or a look. Marianne Altirana was a living, flesh and blood legend among us."
"She was known for three things in descending order, her ability to win, her beauty, and her utter coolness even toward other mages. She was like an ice storm come to life – fierce, vengeful, unstoppable, and utterly cold. War hardened her, made her harsh, made her something . . . elemental." Tybalt paused. "I still remember the day she saved my life. There were three doom lords, and the two other mages I was with were dead in mere heartbeats, one by demon fire, the other torn to shreds. I was covered in his blood, out of strength, and certain I was about to follow."
"She saved you." Hector leaned forward, beer forgotten, enthralled despite himself.
"Yes." Tybalt nodded. "One moment I was about to give up my life, and the next the world had turned to ice, all three demons nothing more than frosty statues. She floated down in the midst of them, looking very much like the goddess we called her, beautiful and perfect and wild, and she took my hand, and pulled me to my feet."
"So she stopped being so cold?"
"No." Tybalt shook his head. "I was alive, however weak, and therefore could be of assistance. I sometimes wonder if her incredible stamina then, all her power . . . if it wasn't what took its toll on her later. I fought beside her until the moon was high and I could barely stand, and somehow we made it back to a fortified position. I don't know if she slept, but I did. I was exhausted. She had us out of our shelters and blankets before dawn and on the move."
"We took heavy losses, but the demons always sustained far heavier. Even when they caught us by surprise, and that only happened once under Marianne's command, we demolished them. We weren't invincible, but we spent ourselves as though we were, and I suppose that might have been what made the difference. I was just as much in awe of her as anyone. I certainly never thought of myself as a prospective suitor." Tybalt frowned, the look strangely pensive. "I'm not sure why, and she only ever told me afterward that I was the prettiest of a poor lot, but one night on the way to my blankets, she pulled me aside. When the war ended, I proposed as a matter of course. I was honestly stunned when she said yes."
"She became a different person after the war ended, to my relief to be honest. I truly wasn't looking forward to being married to a woman who could terrify me with just a look, but . . . well, there was the matter of propriety. Thankfully that ice gradually melted, and I counted myself extremely fortunate after that to have her as a wife."
Hector scratched his jaw and frowned. It was strange enough just to think of elegant Tybalt in the midst of war, tattered and exhausted and filthy, battling nightmares come to life. He'd had no idea that gentle Marianne had been . . . well . . . what sounded like a great war hero, although everyone around her had always treated her with the greatest respect, and perhaps there had been quiet awe there as well.
Still . . .
"What does this have to do with Ambryn?" He asked the question straight out, not at all certain of the answer.
"He bears the same ice within him, the same capacity for . . . ruthlessness under pressure. Sometimes I wonder if it isn't Marianne herself." Tybalt's expression only grew more troubled. "He was always the closest to her." His gaze focused once more on Hector. "You will never win Ambryn through feats of arms, skill at words, or even simple sincerity. Every time you cross him, he will fight, and each time he is pressed, he will grow colder, until that ice shows through. You will never see victory unless he grants it to you."
Hector snorted. "So all of this was just to tell me there's no hope?"
"No." Tybalt shook his head. "It's so that you don't press him when you come with us to Darnassus to keep him safe."
Hector actually shook his head at that, left fumbling by the abrupt segue. "Why-"
"Three night elven priestesses have had a vision, and seen Ambryn at the heart of a great opportunity, or a great disaster – they're not certain of which. They've sent huntresses to collect him. He will accompany me on a diplomatic-"
"No!" Hector bolted upright once more, alarm crashing through him, a rush of adrenaline burning off the buzz of the alcohol. "Tybalt, you can't-"
"Let me finish," Tybalt snapped irritably. "You know that Ambryn's seeing a Night Elf. In all honesty, I don't think this paramour capable of betrayal – he seems to genuinely love Ambryn, but I like to hedge my bets."
Hector took a long, deep breath. "So you're going to Darnassus, to kill these priestesses if necessary, along with anyone else that has designs on your son, and you'll take every tool at your disposal. Maybe Ambryn isn't the only one the old Marianne has touched."
"Oh, I won't deny that she's left a mark." Tybalt looked down at his hands. "Sometimes, it's almost as if she's still there, and if I roll over, I can put my arm around her again and . . ." He trailed off, brown eyes uncertain, and shook his head, looking Hector in the eye. "Will you do it, to keep him safe? To pick up the pieces of his heart if this mercenary proves a traitor?"
Hector closed his eyes, and then nodded. Some hope, even just a little, and that probably false, was better than none.
Ж
The expression on Consul Hinishma's Ravensong's face was uneasy. Shaenae didn't blame her. This entire city, built of arcane power, made her uneasy, to say nothing of its inhabitants. Two in particular were of considerable concern.
"Please understand, huntress, that this comes at a time when relations between Dalaran and Darnassus are particularly sensitive. The circumstances could hardly be politically worse. We've always had something of a culturally strained relationship, and now, when we're finally coming closer to a position where we can meet, with one of their more influential politicians willing to really engage in a dialogue . . . I think you can see the difficulty, especially when this vision concerns the Ambassador's own son."
Shaenae grimaced. "Consul, I had no intentions of coming here to foul up international relations." She shrugged. "Truthfully, the priestesses say the omen may be for good or for ill."
"And the druids?"
Shaenae's grimace turned to a genuine wince. "Some among their number are much more . . . outspoken in their disfavor. For now, however, they wait on Tyrande's word."
"She has delayed judgment, I trust?" Hinishma's feathery eyebrows rose.
"Indeed. There's simply not enough information." Shaenae shrugged again, a little helplessly. "Goddess' truth, there are some among the kal'dorei who believe him linked to the thing that ravages the Horde ranks in the south of Ashenvale. Their presence there is all but annihilated. It may well be by now. Some among us would champion the boy for the link by circumstance alone."
"If only the Goddess would shed but a bit more light on which path we ought to take." Hinishma thumped the desk with her fist, expression vexed.
"Unless doing so would lead us to the wrong outcome." Shaenae sighed. "The ways of Elune are not ours. It does more harm than good to second-guess her."
Hinishma cocked an eyebrow. "Do I hear the words of one trained by the Sisterhood of the Moon?"
"Once." Shaenae shook her head. "But that path was . . . not for me."
Hinishma smiled faintly. "That's actually reassuring. Better one trained even a little in the lunar mysteries than a hot-headed warrior with the platitudes of the Blooded Claw ringing in his ears."
Shaenae shook her head again. "In such dealings with creatures of the arcane, I should hope even the hard-liner isolationists would think twice of rash action. Another war, especially with the Kirin Tor, would be one we could ill afford."
"That is wisdom." Hinishma nodded. "You will wait and depart with the Ambassador?"
Shaenae returned the nod. "I see little other choice, and much to be gained by gracefully acquiescing, especially since he makes a gesture towards giving us what we ask at least in part."
"A gesture yes," Hinishma said quietly, gaze turning distant. "But the man has four hands though he appears to have only two. It is those unseen hands for which we must be watchful, and give him no cause for unrest." She stood. "I will send word to Darnassus."
"Send it with Iralia and Lofgryn. They yearn for the forests, and they are dependable." Shaenae pulled on her cloak as she got up. "These lands are cold."
"In more ways than one," Hinishma agreed with a sigh.
Ж
Ambryn had cried himself to sleep in the bedroom.
Deep within, Nathiel felt the fire of rage, smoldering, building in his chest, because it seemed like all the world had suddenly turned against him, trying its level best to smash the beautiful dream he'd discovered at long last. He sat in the darkness on the couch in Ambryn's living room, the scene playing over and over again in his mind, Annatta flinging open the door, her eyes wide. The harsh warning.
Keep him here, and keep him safe. Her eyes had been wide and panicked, but behind that, he'd seen a flicker of something else.
Guilt.
Had she left because she couldn't protect him?
Or because she didn't trust herself to?
Nathiel didn't know what was going on in her head. He didn't care. But he knew that look. He'd seen it too many times in his long life, all too often in the eyes of those he'd counted as allies. His fists clenched, gauntlets creaking, and he relaxed with an effort.
First Hector. Then his own people. Now Annatta. What could possibly go wrong next?
Thank Elune for, surprisingly, Tybalt. Nathiel was still strongly averse to the idea of taking Ambryn to Darnassus. It felt too much like walking right into the dragon's maw, but it was better than his own plan, and even ten Kirin Tor would be a force to be reckoned with, not to mention all the muscle Tybalt was hiring, his own guild included.
Nathiel checked on Ambryn, as much for himself as out of concern for his lover, not needing the light coming through the curtains to trace every line of that beloved face, mere darkness unable to hide the rich color of his hair from Nathiel's silver gaze. He dreamt beneath the heavy slumber of emotional exhaustion – too much shock too fast. Nathiel ghosted soundlessly to the bedside and knelt, pressing his lips to the back of one outstretched hand.
The lines in Ambryn's face relaxed ever so slightly, not drawn quite as deeply as before, and somewhere in all the rage that simmered in his breast Nathiel found a spark of gentle warmth. It wasn't enough to make him smile, but it was enough.
He went downstairs, gave a note to the concierge along with a few coins, and went back up to Ambryn's apartment. For a time, he just watched him, and yet Ambryn never seemed to quite settle, shifting slightly, faint noises coming from his mouth.
Nathiel let out a faint sigh, undressed, and slipped into bed with him.
Ambryn curled against him, and his breathing settled at last into the deep, easy rhythms of true, restful sleep, face relaxing. Nathiel couldn't help the smile that curved his own lips this time, and holding Ambryn close, he drifted into the world of dreams as well.
Ж
The kitchen felt strangely empty.
Ambryn looked at the cabinets, the sink, the stove, folded his arms, leaned back against the counter, and could only bear it for a few moments before he went back out to the living room, looking out the window.
He felt listless, ill at ease, off balance.
He was trying to put on a good face for Nathiel. It wasn't as though the state of affairs wasn't bad enough without him moping, but he didn't think he was being very convincing about the whole thing. Nathiel had borne it patiently thus far this morning and last night, kindly even – but Ambryn didn't want to push it.
He didn't want things to get any worse.
He knew if he went to the door he could hear the quiet, graceful flow of the kal'dorei tongue on the other side. Reiyad had arrived early this morning, and Ambryn felt bad, because he hadn't made any breakfast even for the two of them much less for guests.
He glanced back at the kitchen. He'd once thought of it as just . . . well, the basic definition of a kitchen – a place to make a meal when he wasn't eating out, to store food and snacks, to keep the dishes and wash them.
Then suddenly, with Annatta's help, it had become a realm of a sort of domestic magic, where they laughed, talked, shared, and made things that made them happy, made others happy. It had gone from being just a room with a purpose to being a part of home, and all the connotations that simple word carried with it.
He could still see Annatta's bright blue eyes, wide and staring, all the color fled from her face. He could still hear the strain in her voice as she told him she had to leave, with no word of explanation.
In all honesty, he supposed he didn't truly blame her for her reaction. It was one thing to ask her to make nice with a member of a people who had had a rocky relationship with her own since time immemorial. It was quite another to expect her to continue that friendship when those people, conceivably dangerous people, might well want him dead. He didn't blame her, and he certainly didn't want her to get hurt.
Ambryn lowered his head, closed his eyes, and let out a sigh. It was better this way.
It was better, but it still cut deep.
Ambryn found himself confronting the root of the problem.
It made him wonder if Reiyad was telling Nathiel to leave him, and that made him feel worse, because a part of him considered that to be perfectly reasonable, even laudable, and another part admonished that part for thinking so poorly of someone who was clearly Nathiel's longtime friend.
All the rest was maundering over the thought that really, there was a very simple solution – no guards, no weapons, no bloodshed.
He could travel to Darnassus to himself to avoid the conflict that Tybalt was undoubtedly already preparing for. He knew his father. Tybalt's assassins wouldn't carry knives in their sleeves, but they would likely be just as deadly. Tybalt wouldn't do it out of malevolence.
No, he'd do it because Ambryn was his son, because it was the appropriate thing for him to do, and because he never left any loose ends.
Ambryn looked out the window, toward the distant horizon, and he shivered, but didn't look away, gaze seeking.
Ж
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Reiyad's expression was uneasy and despite the words being in their native tongue, he kept his voice low. "I mean, walking right into their midst Nath . . . wouldn't it be better to go to ground? Hide out for a few years? Keep a low profile until all this blows over?"
"Just deliver the money for me. The courier will know where to find me." Nathiel glanced back at the door. He knew his nervousness was showing. Tybalt's words still resonated in his ears.
It was strange, this sudden need to touch Ambryn, not just because he desired him, but to reassure himself with that physical contact. His imagination spun fanciful horrors, a band of night elven hunters breaking in through the window despite the fact that they were high above the street and it would be impossible for them to climb the sheer side of the building unseen in broad daylight, or a sniper in the building across the street even though it would take something with the power of a ballista to maintain sufficient inertia to break through the glass, not to mention incredible luck to actually hit anything.
"Don't tell anyone I said this, but . . . Nath, I'm worried about him. He's not a bad person. He doesn't deserve this."
"Then we'll hope that our people are wise, and that his own kindness rules this fate they fear." Nathiel put his hand on Reiyad's shoulder, feeling a rush of warmth for the other kal'dorei. "But I plan to be well-armed, just in case."
Reiyad nodded, slower this time. "It's a little fucked up, that you're thinking about using it on . . . well, on your own people."
"The whole thing is fucked up." Nathiel glanced once more toward the door, thinking about Ambryn waiting beyond it, alone. "I'll need to you to come back tonight, at nightfall. I have to meet the courier alone." He glanced at Reiyad. "I need you to keep an eye on Ambryn for me. I'm depending on you."
Reiyad clasped Nathiel's hand with his own. "You can count on me, I swear it."
"I know."
"Enjoy it while it lasts. You don't get paid very often for eating good food and enjoying great sex." Reiyad grinned, and after a moment Nathiel managed to find a grin of his own.
"I was actually thinking of taking Ambryn out for breakfast. I haven't done it in a while." Nathiel slipped back into Common. "Care to join us?"
Reiyad didn't hesitate. He obviously hadn't eaten either. "Sure."
It wasn't until Nathiel was watching Ambryn get out of the shower that his body abruptly reminded him that they hadn't had sex in two days, blood rushing to his cock, and he had to admit to himself that he'd gotten rather spoiled. Here they were, in the middle of what was promising to damn well be a crisis, and he was getting as hard as if he hadn't had sex in two weeks. It didn't help when Ambryn put a foot up on the side of the tub to towel his toes off, because Nathiel's gaze immediately went to the perfect, creamy curves of his bottom as he bent over, and his mouth went dry, blood pounding. Telling himself that he was acting like an animal in heat didn't help. If anything, it just made it worse.
Ambryn straightened, looked up at him, and his eyes widened slightly, the smile that curved his lips a lot more genuine than the ones he'd been giving lately, warm and intimate and so incredibly inviting.
"Have I told you lately that you're beautiful?" Nathiel asked absently, unable to help the way his hands gripped Ambryn's hips, sliding up his ribs. "I mean, as in absolutely breathtaking?"
"Just the other day, but I have to admit I like hearing it," Ambryn replied playfully as Nathiel's hands came up to cup the sides of his face. "Have I told you lately that you have the body of a god, only better because it's flesh and blood?"
"I have to admit," Nathiel replied, tone dropping to a husky bass. "I like hearing it."
"Reiyad's waiting," Ambryn breathed as Nathiel's face dipped toward his.
Nathiel kissed him anyway, long and deep, and let out a frustrated growl as he pulled away. Ambryn smiled at him, and his hand closed on Nathiel's engorging penis, the girth too much for him to get his fingers all the way around the hot, hard shaft.
"Promise," he murmured warmly, and kissed Nathiel's chest.
"I'll hold you to it." Nathiel couldn't help the continued low tone of his voice. Part of him was thinking of suitable excuses for asking Reiyad to take a raincheck. Ambryn kissed one of the hands that still cupped his face, and wrapped his towel modestly around himself before he went out.
It helped a little bit that Ambryn was already dressed when he finished showering. Nathiel didn't think twice about strapping a brace of knives to his right thigh over his breeches so they'd be easily to hand and his moon glaive to the small of his back, though he did leave his spear and his armor behind.
Ambryn was wearing one of his favorites, the long-sleeved shirt in soft, satiny lavender that had a pearly sheen to it, the sleeves and throat lightly embroidered in white, along with a pair of loose, comfortable blue trousers. Nathiel wanted to pull it all off. Reiyad was giving him a knowingly amused look, and he returned it with an unabashed grin.
He kept his gaze moving, eyes alert on the way to the breakfast place, and was reassured by the way Reiyad did as well, Ambryn between them. They didn't see any strange kal'dorei, and Nathiel was able to relax a little bit once they sat down. He didn't pull out a chair for Ambryn, just sat and tugged his human lover into his lap, breathing in Ambryn's scent and enjoying the weight of him, the proportions just right, the feel of that delightful bottom against his crotch.
Sure, he was gratifying himself to a certain extent in public, but for a man in his position, allowances had to be made. He was a hard-working bodyguard on the job after all, and no one was going to snatch Ambryn right out of his arms. Ambryn himself certainly didn't seem to mind the seating arrangements. The warmth was back in his eyes.
It wasn't that Nathiel had forgotten what was going on around them. Elune knew he was more aware of it than he wanted to be, but that strange dreamy spell between them was back, renewed in that moment of desire in the apartment, weaving a barrier, however ephemeral, between what was now and what might be, and he had no intentions of disrupting it.
They didn't talk about was coming, didn't speak of Ashenvale, or the journey, or Darnassus. They talked about Vir Aegeae, mostly gossip, a lot of it old, and to Nathiel's surprise and pleasure, Ambryn joined in with a few funny stories about Periont's Tower and the goings-on there, although, he couldn't help but notice, there was no mention of Annatta in any of them.
The food was good, though he couldn't help thinking that Ambryn's cooking would have been better. Preferably served by the cook, completely naked. Just the thought would have been enough to get him rock hard if he wasn't already at full attention anyway. He sat there in that restaurant, his arm around Ambryn's waist, the warmth of him filling his lap perfectly, and couldn't help but think that in spite of everything, or maybe even especially in light of it, that he was one lucky, lucky man.
He brought Ambryn's head around with a gentle finger on his chin, looked into those jade eyes that made his world whole, and the next thought felt not just natural, but overdue.
It was time to make it official.
He didn't speak the words, but kissed Ambryn, gently, lightly, holding the kiss, and felt his lover mold himself to him, their lips fitting together in exquisite perfection.
Reiyad saw them back to the apartment, for which Nathiel was grateful, but didn't linger, for which he was even more grateful, and Nathiel swept Ambryn up in his arms, carrying him to the bedroom.
He took his time, taking it slow. He wanted this to last, wanted to luxuriate in this while they had the chance, mapping every expanse of Ambryn's flesh anew with his mouth, with his fingers, tasting, caressing the soft, pale skin, relishing the way Ambryn responded to him, surrendered to him without any doubt or hesitation, admiring the contrast between their skin tones, pale white against rich, dark purple. When Nathiel finally entered him, uniting them, it felt more than just good – it felt glorious, and it felt right. Every bone in his body, every drop of blood needed this, desired this, and his heart reveled in it.
He kept the pace slow, each stroke of his manhood into Ambryn's yielding, embracing body powerful, fulfilling, strong, steady, bringing them closer to that ascension into ecstasy. He breathed against Ambryn's neck, kissed it, and thrust into that tight heat, his hands on Ambryn's hips, feeling his lover arch under him, hearing him call his name, the air hot and thick with the smell of sex. Ambryn's curls spilled across the pillow like honey, and Nathiel kissed its silken waves before he reclaimed Ambryn's mouth.
There was something here beyond words, more than just the temporary pleasures of the flesh. It was a union of souls. It was life. It was refuge. In the moment that they climaxed together, Nathiel wasn't just sated. He was completed, fulfilled, utterly satisfied as the heavens seemingly opened up around them and the world dissolved into primal, extraordinary bliss.
For a long time afterward, he simply held Ambryn in his arms, listening to the silence, still buried to the hilt in his body, hidden away from the world by four walls and soft, rumpled sheets. Time flitted past on silent wings.
"I should go make lunch," Ambryn said finally.
"Mmm." Nathiel didn't loosen his embrace. He wasn't quite ready to break the spell.
Ambryn giggled, and Nathiel smiled.
He let Ambryn up eventually, as much because nature inevitably made its demands known as because he was hungry. He watched, wondering for a moment why Ambryn hesitated in the kitchen doorway, hand coming up to rest on the frame, luscious body wrapped in a thin dressing robe, and after a moment, Nathiel understood.
Annatta again. It was . . . it had become their place, and as much as he begrudged the quel'dorei female any part of Ambryn she could lay claim to, just the sight of Ambryn's pain made him wish that whatever had happened between them yesterday had never come to pass. Still, if she couldn't trust herself with him, at least she had honor enough to see it, and do what was right. It was hard, but in the end, it was probably better.
Nathiel felt a small swell of pride as Ambryn stepped over that invisible line in the empty doorway. Within a half hour, delicious smells emanated once more from the kitchen, and while Ambryn arched an eyebrow when Nathiel plucked a morsel of chicken from where it was still simmering in its spicy bourbon sauce and popped it into his mouth, he also met Nathiel's unrepentant grin with a laughing smile. They ate there in the kitchen from a single large plate, Ambryn sitting on the counter, Nathiel standing between his knees, licking delicious sauce from the side of Ambryn's mouth, tasting it when he kissed his lips.
The dishes went into the sink, and Nathiel carried Ambryn back into the living room, his human lover's weight light in his arms, and settled on the couch, Ambryn in his lap, Ambryn's head on his chest, running his fingers over the rich, thick, honey-brown curls, feeling Ambryn relax in his embrace.
He was silent for a long moment, trying to think of where to begin.
"You know," he said after a moment. "I haven't felt this way in almost six hundred years." He felt Ambryn shift, looked down into those verdant jade eyes, and saw his own luminous silver orbs reflected in them. "I haven't felt so incredibly at peace."
"That's a very long time," Ambryn said finally into the silence, a little sadly, one hand coming up to caress the side of Nathiel's face, fingertips as light and soft as butterfly wings.
Nathiel captured them, kissed them, and held them over his heart. "It was worth it."
Ambryn's smile lost its sadness, warming once more.
Nathiel looked deep into those jade wells, like rich forests he could lose himself in, oceans of green with no shore, no end, watching carefully, not wanting to miss what happened in their depths. He didn't feel hesitant, just glad, luxuriating in this moment, tasting what he was about to say.
"I love you, Ambryn Dellani."
Ambryn's eyes widened, and then his smile turned brilliant, luminous, face shining like a star, eyes even more impossibly beautiful than before, full of love, the afternoon sunlight coming in through the window limning his countenance in golden radiance.
Ambryn looked up into the blazing silver eyes, studied the darkly handsome face beneath the short-cropped night-blue hair, pulse racing not with alarm, but with rapture. It felt impossible, the feeling that swelled within him, and yet it was the most natural feeling in the world, one that had been there for a long time now, only fully blossoming in that moment, his hand resting on Nathiel's granite chest over his great heart, sensing the way it beat powerfully beneath his palm. The world ceased to matter. His cares ceased to exist.
"And I love you, Nathiel Highfury."
What followed was a kiss for the ages.
End of Act I.
Ж
Author's Postscript Notes:
As always, I leave you with a request for constructive criticism. If you see typos, grammar errors, awkward lines, or something just plain sucks or doesn't fit, please let me know that in the reviews! Help me be a better writer, and I'll give you better stuff to read! Comments and questions are always welcome too!
Again – this chapter was written at a rather brisk pace – was it too brisk? Too slow? Too much? Too little? Let me know.
Thanks goes to those of you who've been kind enough to leave reviews thus far, especially Dusty, who has continued to provide me with some really concrete in-depth feedback!
Also, random hello to my reader from Ireland! I've always thought the Irish are sexy!
Edit: Additional thanks goes to Cyght for helping me get my goddesses straight!