~* Author's Notes *~

Let me know if you think this is too long and I can cut it in two fairly easily.

Warning: Adult-only and references sprinkled throughout.

~*~ Chapter 38 ~*~

Boobs.

That's what I had called them in my early teen years. Before that fun bags and before that knockers, but I was too young to know why they carried so many names. In my latter years they would be breasts. Then after joining the Scarlet Campaign they were always women's breasts, as off-limits to me as their hearts or minds.

"Cop a feel." The Forsaken Queen offered, disapproving eyes narrowing in a frown. As soon as she saw me the Lady stopped mid-reach to one of her attendants and stared me down. We both stared, I dare say, in surprise.

My own eyes hit the floor. I wouldn't say I was ashamed but damn… did she have to say that like I should be? I was a living man after all; my carnal desires were as in tact as my ability to follow threw.

Dead boobs, I tried to tell myself… but all it brought out was my sick humor and I found that I didn't care. I really didn't care. The Inquisitors often said that being undead meant leaving behind your humanity and all sense of morals rights and wrongs. Was finding the Lady before me attractive, though she was in every mortal sense dead, wrong?

My soul is already forfeit. The Light cares about neither what I do nor what I think.

"I can turn around if that would make you more comfortable." There was bitterness in her voice, unhappiness I did not like being the cause of. It shamed me. Even her servants looked away.

Stop staring at her!

"No, my Lady," I took one knee in submission, carefully moving the black scythe that was my calling card out of the way, "Your own chambers; I will be the one to turn." And so I did when I rose.

Finding that the Lady bathed at all surprised me. None of the other Forsaken seemed to. I mean, what did they have to fear from disease and rot? I on the other hand… didn't want to find out if I had anything to fear and scrubbed down every time I came back to the city.

I hadn't expected to find her here but there she was, bare down to the waist and fixing the ties of a leather and metal corset. The Lady didn't keep formal quarters – there weren't any to be had in the lower sections of the city – and so just stripped, bathed, dressed and went about her business in a private room adjacent to the Royal Chambers between audiences. It served as bathing room, office and personal storage. But not bed. Servants attended, those not gifted with magic or to graceless to swing an axe in the right direction, and were replacing the worn armor after a bath in the adjoining room.

The bitterness was gone, now a coyness, an almost girlish flirting. "I've nothing to hide." Vanity was something the Lady was well known for and one of the few characteristics that made it unchanged threw her journey from Ranger General to Queen. Men had wanted her before; they still wanted her now.

And the Lady still lavishes that attention, don't you?

I hoped my voice did not betray me, "Be that as it may, what right do I have to seek?" You are my Queen, I would never ask this from you even if you were living.

She resumed her dressing, the feathers of one preened shoulder mount rustling as they were replaced and buckled down. "Why are you here, Nekov?" She dismissed the casual flirting. It was an everyday thing to toy with her males and then changed the subject to spare them embarrassing themselves.

"Only to see the Royal Chamber, my Lady." My own quarters were above ground where the living guests of the city stayed. "This is the only part of your city I have not set foot in yet. It was not my intention to disturb you."

Of the entire filthy, moldy and blight-ridden Undercity, this one room was kept scrubbed and cleaned. No mold, nor grave moss, nor spider's webs in the vaulted stone rafters. The steps up to the dias gleamed smooth as glass, the walls hung with tapestries depicting each Horde nation in turn. The floor coverings were thick carpets woven with scenes of battle. One would literally walk on your enemies as you transverse the room. No doubt all this to make visitors and audiences more comfortable in a place that was otherwise a health hazard for the living.

Her voice was girlish again, the way it is when she was pleased but distracted and speaking to some male whose existence was but to serve her. "Normally when once visits the Royal Chamber they bring a gift."

In the back of my mind I heard a woman's voice with a slight Thelassian accent wondering why her date or brother or working colleague hadn't brought her gifts. There didn't need to be an occasion for gifts, she would tell them as if formal holidays were only holding them back form their true giving potential.

She likes presents. No, she likes tribute. Fitting for a Queen.

I glanced up at the row of heads around the second level of the Chamber: most Human, some Scourge or Forsaken, a Dwarf or two and even a Night Elf, judging by the shape of the jawbones. "Nissa Agamand was incorporeal. I had nothing to bring this time but for some foul smelling ichors." My earlier gifts were lined up at the end: the skulls of the rest of the Agamand family and several Scourge agents I dispatched on my own. She had been delighted with these, even permitting me to place a feathery kiss on the back of one gloved hand as reward.

"The Farthings," she had said to me when I presented Deviln's remains to her, "will be most pleased." Yevett had been, eyes swiftly changing to red as I had presented her the bones. Her brother Coleman had to pull her off me before I was gutted. He wanted the skulls for his mantle but settled for the rest. As I left the Gallows Inn they were line dancing on the bones with half the other patrons, as happy as anyone who's nightmares were finally come to an end.

"I would have your next assignment, my Lady. I grow restless."

This too pleased her, as I knew it would. My eagerness to cut down Scourge and Forsaken traitors alike, even the occasional living being who would interfere with the Apothecary's work, made her smile. I had decided I liked that smile since the first time I saw it in the dungeon.

In the dungeon, after being gifted with a smile – a promise - she had named me, gifted me the armor and weapons of my calling and sent me forth on a temperamental undead steed of my choosing. I had since lost that horse, cut down in battle, but the new one was clad in red and just as eager to buck. Her hooves at least struck more Scourge than me.

"The Scarlets still have my Druid. She is of yet unharmed, though for how long I cannot say. Living, yes, but safe from the Scarlet…? They only need an excuse to turn on her and she will discover their truths first hand."

Armor and clothing back in place I can hear soft scraping noises. It had been a long time since I had heard a woman brushing her hair, or having said hair brushed for her, but it brought back memories. My sister's hair had been as long as the Lady's, though not as fair. Of course, the style and color were different as well.

She fears the Cure may be lost because of my former allies… I had the decency to feel ashamed of my previous associations. If I knew then what I had seen firsthand now, oh but things would be different!

The Druid. I shuttered to think of that one, to remember her as I had last seen inside the cave of vines. Amber eyes glowed like nothing mortal; dead gray skin bloomed with color and life; ragged green scars faded away. She had breathed life into me and sucked out the poison; she had fought the Plague for me, trying to draw it out as well. Ultimately she lost, not powerful enough to attempt such an ambitious thing, but in the end I was a living man and none could call me Scourge.

"Does she frighten you?" The Lady was good at reading my thoughts. I suppose centuries of life and unlife made her a gift of insight.

"No, my Lady. Only that … she has claws and canines, even when she is not an animal." Though this didn't adequately explain my feelings there was no better way to put it.

The Lady seemed to consider that, "Claws and teeth and the ability to stop the tainted from turning for good." To me it seemed as if this prospect both contrived and worried the Lady. She stared up at the skulls for a moment. "When I put a Kal'dorie Druid in my mote I had planned for a Forsaken to crawl out. The Tauren were adamant it was not their brand of nature magic that created the trees in Quel'thalas. I wanted someone to question. Whatever the Priest did to her, whatever gift of the Light he loaned her, I would not see it wasted by the Scarlet Campaign!"

You damned her to death to answer questions about trees? But I don't suppose the Lady is used to getting simple answers out of members of the Alliance. Especially not their rebellious whelps, the majority of who are so bent on showing loyalty to their elder's causes they don't stop to consider why. Having dealt with that much longer than me I can understand the shortcut that was attempted. If one is Forsaken then whom's cause do you champion?

Oh, the irony…

Maybe her theory was correct: living and yet bearing the Plague of Undead… Now I knew how she had felt in that clearing, standing strait as a bone-thin half-grown elf could, slinging that rotted corpse of a child across a hip and declaring to be none of the things I had know for certain she was. How wrong I had been.

"I know the compound she is held in. If you would permit me to … borrow a few expendable subjects… I would risk a rescue mission." Though why I cannot say. My loyalty to the Lady was thick as cold molasses and as unmoving. In her name the missions I had done had been dangerous for a living man; I had soon learned the value of what she called "arrows in the quiver" and why failing or dying when you still had some left was not acceptable.

A sharp-nailed bare hand came to rest on my shoulder and I turned to look back at her. Hood down for once, the flowing white curls of damp hair clung to her bare neck and trailed downward into off-limit regions. Her pleased expression melted parts of me in uncomfortable ways.

You know that you do that, don't you, my Lady?

The servants bowed and left, taking with them the grooming accessories that kept their Queen looking as much like her High Elf visage as they were able.

"Would you manage with just one to accompany you inside?"

"I… might. The less the better, but the more the better as well." The lines of defense throughout the enclave would be hard to break: spell-mages, archers and warriors stood guard at every opening. "Only cannon fodder, or a distraction that wont die from holy-lit arrows, will get me in and out without very strong magic. The Cathedral keeps a shield of Holy Light around the entire place and no Forsaken or Scourge may pass without the accompaniment of a Commander, Inquisitor or the Archbishop himself."

I wonder if I can nick a head or two as gifts? The Lady's collection is without an Archbishop.

The white locks shook in disagreement. The Lady left me there and took a seat at the peak of the dias platform. The chair was a throne of Loraederon, brought below for her use from the original throne room far above. One leg flung casually over an arm, gaze tilted up to Traitor's Row once more.

I went to kneel near her, as a man does when before his Queen's throne. The thick leather of my cloak whispered over the floor, clashing roughly with the chink of my mail and plate as I moved.

I dare say I detest this armor. On the fist night I had worn mostly ill-fitting leather and mail. On the second I had rooted out, polished and painted some pieces of plate. The half-healed wounds I bore as a result of my first near-unarmored expedition would never be my mistake again. A Warrior needed his armor.

The Lady eyed me, "You think like a Warrior still. I could hear you coming before you got to the entrance of my chambers; mail and those bits of plate you have are not going to be of much use when storming a Light protected Scarlet stronghold."

Which is what the fodder is for, I thought. If she had heard me coming, why seem surprised to see me? Perhaps another was expected, and not so noisily?

"Let me guess: You planned to rush a weak point, spend my men keeping the defenders busy and then sneak threw unnoticed?" I nodded, grimacing at the sound of her exhale. "Then on your way out you will call in reserves, somehow, and they will rush the gates and keep them busy until you and the Druid slip away?"

No matter how stupid the plan sounded it had worked in the past. Granted it had never been used on a Scarlet stronghold, but I didn't really see a difference as far as excitability was concerned. "Some kinks in to work out, but the gist of it, my Lady."

The red eyes slid close with the headshake, then open again. My heart sank a little to know that the plan did not meet my Lady's expectations or approval. "You will take one," she instructed, "he will show you how to get in and out."

At my quizzical look the Lady elaborated, "I will not waste fighters rushing this compound. Many have done it in the past, including Arthas himself with a far larger army that I, and each were repelled. You will take one," a long pale finger stroked the air, sharp purple-stained nail visible above the quick, "and you will do as he says. Stealth is what is needed here, not brash Warrior actions."

I wanted to argue that when Arthas had slammed his army into the compound it had been the Light that repelled him, the Plague inside him unable to withstand the power of all the Scarlet Priests and Paladins that sent their judgments power at him all at once. He had been repelled, taking his army with him in defeat. That had been his last assault anywhere in Lordaeron before he left his ruined kingdom for good.

The unease of my words could not be helped, "A Rogue? You propose that me and one Rogue will manage to slip into this compound and out with your Druid?"

"Something like that, yes." Her head tilt and small smile were almost endearing. It certainly made me want to agree with her.

You seem to like to test me, my Lady.

"If you want rid of me just say it and I will turn myself over to the survivors of the Monastery and they will serve me up to the Light." My shoulders tensed with thoughts of the Monastery and the atrocities that had been committed there. The walls painted in blood, the gory decorations in the rafters, the posing of the bodies…

Her small chuckle caught me off guard, as did her hand coming to rest on top of my head. "If I wanted rid of you then I would do it myself. You have been surprisingly faithful and eager to please, short as your time in my service has been. I value these qualities." The hand left my head but the sensations it spread threw my chest did not go with it.

One of her hands beckoned to the shadows near the door and a figure in black and black and black stepped forward. An elf, I noted, though I could not see his eyes threw the mesh of the mask. "This will be the one who makes sure you succeed. Wont you?"

The man dropped to one knee, much as I had, but one hand stayed on the knee. Submission but not domination: he belonged to another. "As you say, your Majesty."

The Banshee Queen sat up strait in her throne and looked the man over, armored ankles locking together in a decidedly feminine way. "He'll need training. And different armor and perhaps a new weapon."

The blazing red eyes snapped around to me when I hissed sharply. My scythe. She wants me to give up my scythe… I could not imagine myself without the weapon that had been a much a part of me as my own two arms. Everything I had done for the Lady before me had been wrought at the end of that slick black blade. Leave it behind? I could not imagine.

Cut off my manly bits but leave me my weapon! "If you please, my Lady, I would rather keep it."

"And so it begins." The elfin man signed as if speaking of a spoiled child's demands. I had not noticed before but his accent was strictly Human, not even the slightest dialect of any of the elfin races. I had heard them all in my years but this was just strange.

"Now, now, be nice to my man. Nekov has done wonderful things for me with that blade. I would not ask him to give it up lightly."

The slow turn of the elf's head to look at me in slight surprise made me straiten up slightly. Yes, that Nekov, you little runt. I'd wager his name was not worth the Lady's breath to speak it. I knew I looked smug when he caught my eye – as best I could look at his at least – and I gave him my best what-now? grin.

In retrospect my arrogance was probably a mistake. Hindsight is 20/20 they say. But when the Lady plays men they dance for her, even if we weren't aware at the time.

The man scoffed, laughed at me even. "He is no Rogue, your Majesty. He is a Warrior in mismatched armor and wielding a common painted farm tool. I would be better off alone."

I bristled at this, hearing every sneer and every insult left unsead, "I could show you what farm tools can make of a man, elf." I had taken down Scourge four or five times his size, wielding dark necromantic magic or flurries of blades and weapons. My own had blocked theirs and in the end all heads came off with just slash and a tug. They were all the same, living or dead, once their heads came off.

I could see the eyes roll even threw the mesh covering them, "A Rogue they will hear coming from a mile off and with a two handed weapon… This is going to be fun!"

The Lady said nothing, just rested her chin on the back of one lovely hand and watched the men-folk strut.

I stood, angry. "If I must work with you then I will but don't think being a sneaky thief makes you better than me." I rose and went to stand over him. He was of a Human height but every ounce of him muscled like an elf in skin hugging, whisper-soft faded black leather. He smelled of freshly washed sheets and moonshine.

Quicker than I could react he had my scythe in his hands, testing the weight. I lunged to recapture it with a cry of "Unhand-" but before the words were out it went flying off to the side, spinning in a graceful ark and flung with the ease of practice.

My chain mail head cover was the next to be snatched off. I spun around from retrieving my weapon to retake my head cover, but he was behind me again in the flash of eyes and my plate leg plates were unbuckled and falling to the floor with a clatter.

How do you move so fast? What magic is that?

I was divested of my armguards next, thick padded leather sheaths bearing the bite marks of half a dozen undead enemies. I had covered them in mail when the bites left bruises even threw the leather. Curses followed the laughing Rogue as he danced tight circles around me removing my armor one piece at a time. When I would get my hands on him he would hit me, a quick shot to a nerve or a crippling blow to paralyze my muscles and numb the flesh.

I was stripped down to my leather pants by the time he was done. "Now," he said, fingers moving over the buckle at my belt and making my face redden, "lets see about slipping you into something more… comfortable. And quieter." Still unable to move I chanced a look at the Lady…

You made us fight on purpose, didn't you, my Lady? Just to make us cluck for your amusement.

… her eyes were bright with a red heat I had never seen before. "I should have warned you," she purred, "He's quit adept at removing men's clothing and … holding them still."