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Both Sides Now	By : Firefall_Varuna Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 4996 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own World of Warcraft, races, characters, settings, or themes presented within. I do not make money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
Chapter 11 – Hollow

Author's Note: This chapter is NSFW for general ickiness and slightly suggestive overtones near the end.
I'd like to thank KooriRoninHeart, Rooietroll, pacificuser, 98kiko, and Seleya Soulfire for your great reviews! Reading those really made my day!
As usual, reviews of any kind are very much welcome. Good, bad, or ugly – I love reviews regardless.
Thanks to KooriRoninHeart for beta reading this for me. Love ya, Sis!

Pain was the first thing Una Whitebrook felt as awareness slowly returned. It grew with each heartbeat until it roared in her ears and pulsated deep in her bones. She was aware of each broken bone, the tears and punctures through her flesh, and the Scourge infections racing through her veins like molten metal.
The young woman wanted to fight the onslaught or at least flee, but her body refused to comply. Una couldn't even scream, she was completely powerless to do anything but suffer in a sea of absolute darkness.
The young paladin tried to reach out for the Light. Nothing happened. Only the deepest void lay where her connection to the Light had once been. Had she been capable of doing so, she would have shuddered in grief. The Light would naturally flee if the wielder knowingly did something horrible. The young woman couldn't remember doing anything that would have stripped it from her. She was completely alone now, forsaken by even the Light.
The High Elf gradually became aware of a rocking sensation. It continued for an indeterminate span, each iteration bringing a new wave of pain. It dismayed her, but it wasn't for the pain. As perverse as it was, there was something else about it that confused her. Namely, she couldn't tell what the sensation exactly was. There wasn't anything to give her reference to what she was feeling. It didn't even come from a uniform direction as far as she could tell. No sight, sound, or smell; nothing but the rocking sensation and those waves of agony.
Una had always been told there were different kinds of pain. A veteran she had once met had told her there was pain and then there was pain that rendered a person down to their very soul. The young woman had never understood. Pain was transient; a fleeting sensation that would eventually come to pass and fade into memory. It was often a component to a priest's or paladin's spiritual trials, something intended to be dealt with, mastered, and triumphed over.
The only logical conclusion was that the Scourge had won. She was being Scourged – rent down to nothing but a shade of her former self. Only now, too late, did she understand. This anguish was likely just the beginning of what would become an eternity of torment.
An odd sensation gave her a moment of pause from her anguish. It came again: A series of gentle tugs. She felt something light and warm flow through her that was simultaneously both foreign and familiar. It was like the Light, but different somehow.
"Una." Her name came as though it had to be chipped from a block of ice one syllable at a time. Whoever was speaking had was a strange way of saying it; putting so much emphasis on the first syllable, making her name sound more like "oh-na" rather than "oo-na." The pain started to slowly ebb with each beat of her heart until it was at last tolerable.
"Una." The voice repeated, more insistent and this time it sounded correct. She realized the rocking sensation had stopped and she had not felt it in some time. Something rough yet blessedly cool brushed her chin, patted her intact cheek, and the voice repeated her name. Words again, or what she assumed were words. The words – while gentle – were rough, guttural, and complete nonsense to her ears. Bit by bit, the darkness receded and the world crept into focus.
A male troll's weathered face was hovering over her own, his long, yellowed tusks scant inches from her face. She stared at him with feverish eyes as he continued to tend to her. Healing magic wreathed his palms as he gently cupped her bandage shrouded face.
The soft, golden glow felt like the Light, she was sure of it. Trolls didn't worship the Light; they worshiped whatever pagan animal gods they deemed fit. Their people had never been on especially friendly terms. Why would a troll be helping her?
Recognition gradually came as she grew more alert. She was staring up at Faraji.
Una stared in bewilderment, trying to make sense of what was happening. More gentle touches of that divine magic, doing its best to burn away the Scourge filth and banish her pain. Nothing at all felt right.
"I'm dreaming… aren't I?" Una whispered.
Faraji paused and appeared as though he was considering her words. The priest had removed his face paint at some point and she marveled at how such a small change had rendered him unrecognizable. The yellow haired priest stroked his narrow chin and mouthed the words she had said. At last he said apologetically with a shake of his head, "Common not good."
She squeezed her eyes shut momentarily. If it wasn't for the pain, the paladin would have been sure this was all a horrible nightmare. Given the fever she could feel raging within her, she couldn't be at all sure she wasn't hallucinating.
The brown haired woman slowly realized the branches overhead were different. Gone were the blighted pine and fir of the former Darrowmere Forest, replaced instead by bleached, twisted boughs of dead deciduous trees. She looked intently at the green, wraith-like vapors sinuously twisting through the branches, trying to decide what exactly they were. Thick fog had closed in around them. Una figured it was probably why they had stopped. It was as thick – if not worse – than the fog that had settled upon them in Duskwood all those months ago. It seeped through the naked branches of the dead tree and the blankets covering her.
"Una, look." Faraji gently tapped her face and pointed to her eyes and then his in turn, "Look up." She obediently did her best to focus, meeting the troll's gaze. Faraji was clearly ill, his amber eyes were rheumy and blood shot. A gnomish flashlight flicked to life and shone into her eyes, blinding her. Had she been capable of doing so, she would have shrunk against the assault. With a hand clad in a surgical glove, the priest gently held her eyes open and examined them. The light extinguished, plunging her into darkness. Her eyes were slow to recover, but she could hear him as he tunelessly hummed.
As her vision cleared, she watched Faraji put on a battered, patched stethoscope that had been haphazardly altered to fit a troll. Remembering the searing, white-hot pain in her chest from earlier, she sucked in a nervous breath as he pressed the diaphragm to her heart. She had no idea what that had caused the pain and wasn't sure she wanted to know.
After a moment, the troll's mouth flexed into a wan smile and he removed the earpieces from his ears, "It okay." Una let out the breath she had been holding.
A choking noise and sudden movement drew her attention to her left. Tallak scrambled away into the roots of the pale tree and vomited. Faraji paused and draped the stethoscope around his neck, watching him. She didn't know orcs well, but the hunter certainly looked very ill and the emerald light washing his emerald skin made him look worse.
She startled when she noticed the light actually came from the tree, emanating from green-glowing pustules that ran the length of the trunk. Sickly mushrooms and fungus were growing near the base of the tree, glowing with that same viridian light.
Una wanted to ask "Tallak, are you okay?" but her strength waned and her voice faltered. All that emerged was a few reedy syllables. Faraji inquired in Orcish and received a weak nod in response.
They were enveloped in thick, heavy darkness that was punctuated only by the ghostly, glowing lights from the growths and mushrooms. The Death Knights were out there searching for them, she was certain of it. This fog was their doing; slowing them down to allow their magic to continue its slow work of killing them.
Tallak slowly stood erect, coughed, and leaned heavily against the tree. Even from here, she could hear the noisy sound of his breathing. He was breathing too hard and too fast.
"Drink?" Faraji asked, his voice hoarse. She returned her gaze to the yellow-haired troll as he cleared his throat, gazing at the beads of sweat running down his face. "Drink, you need?" He repeated patiently.
"Please…" She whispered.
Faraji carefully helped her sit up slightly with one hand and brought a water skin to her mouth. The priest brushed her mouth with a water skin and the barest trickle of water caressed her chapped lips.
The elf woman licked her parched lips and swallowed what he had given her. The clean water tasted better than anything she had ever tasted. She greedily swallowed as the priest carefully poured more into her waiting mouth. Faraji admonished her gently in Orcish as she drank, drawing the skin away from her to force her to slow down.
As Una was laid back upon the blankets, heavy fatigue fell upon her. The simple act of drinking had left her spent.
Faraji's three fingered hands hovered over her face and a foul smell made her cringe. Una's eyes struggled to focus on his fingers; each was covered in different colors of paint. He was applying it in quick, practiced strokes to her exposed face, creating what felt like a symmetrical pattern. He continued down her neck and chest, his hands not lingering in any place for long as he formed the symbol. When the troll seemed satisfied, he wiped his hands off. He chanted in his tongue, shaking that red, wooden fetish she had seen earlier over her. He pressed a hand to the space between her breasts and strength flooded her being.
A smile of thanks was all she could think of. The troll gave her a weak smile in return and began to change her dressings.
"Tallak… where… are we?" The paladin rasped. At one point, she would have been sure he couldn't hear her. She knew better now.
"Ghostlands." Tallak wheezed as he slowly walked and stopped to her left. She could see the orc's lips and fingertips were mottled with darkness as he gazed dispassionately at the ground. He wasn't getting enough air. "Can't ride... in this fog."
"A signal… in pass?" Una asked. She had been sure she had seen a signal flare during the battle. Surely they had to be through the pass by now. That signal could only have meant there were people in the pass.
"Shh. Sleep." Faraji interrupted gently. The yellow haired troll then spoke to Tallak in Orcish; from the tone she guessed he was ordering the hunter to lay down.
Tallak began to lower himself down beside her, his face agonized. Faraji moved quickly to help him lay down. The warmth of the brown haired orc's body was oddly familiar and comforting. Una realized she must have been sleeping next to Tallak before he woke up. There was the warmth of another to her right as well, though the bandages blocked her from seeing who.
Faraji wrapped her in the blankets and moved out of sight. She could hear him talking softly in Orcish. From somewhere nearby came the horrible sound of wet, racking coughs. The coughing was higher pitched than the other men; the paladin could only assume it was Faraji's son.
Una had the sudden comprehension that to even be in the Ghostlands, they had already passed through the ruins of the first Elf Gate. Somewhere behind her was where Aunt Illoria had died. Her body had likely long since returned to the earth, only perhaps leaving her bleached bones to testify that she had even existed. They had could have passed her without a second look. To the North, among the bones of those lost to the Dead Scar lay her grandfather's remains.
The High Elf would have sobbed if she had been able to, but all she could manage was a thin, threadlike whimper not unlike that of a small animal. She didn't want to be alone. Una desperately looked to her side, mentally begging Tallak to say something… anything. However, the hunter's breathing had softened and his expression relaxed. A soft snore emanated from his lips as he fell asleep. She knew the others had to be nearby, but with bandages shrouding much of her face, she couldn't see them.
Una started to whisper a prayer, imploring the Light for help.
Large, callused, trembling fingers touched the fingertips of her right hand, the arm heavy where it rested against her torso. The hand rotated, slipped under her hand, and squeezed her fingers. As excruciating as it was, Una was grateful for the contact.
Una snapped her eyes open in alarm as the macabre screams of Death Chargers and the clash of steel exploded in her ears like gunfire. Surrounding her was the faces of death. Elves. Or what once were elves. Bright lights from open lanterns blinded her and shouts rang her ears.
She gazed around her in alarm as the dead beings milled about their tiny clearing, descending upon them like locusts. Something dropped swiftly to the ground beside her and there was a rustle. The Light crashed into her like a tidal wave, forcing a gasp from her lips. The hallucination faded and the elves kneeling over her were alive and whole once more.
"Lady, can you hear me?" Asked a male Sin'dorei; the closest of the elves to her head. He was clad in the deep crimson and ruby armor of a Blood Knight, though his hands moved with the skillful efficiency she typically associated with priests. He was taking her vitals as someone else was palpitating her abdomen. "Can you hear me?" He repeated.
"Soren?" She gasped loudly, desperate for a familiar face.
"No, Lady! Don't try to talk; just whisper." The Blood Knight exclaimed, pressing a finger to her lips. "Sergeant Dawnwalker is in Orgrimmar at the moment. I'm Sergeant Emberblade."
Raising her voice just that loudly had left her completely winded. Spots flashed across her vision and the world seemed to spin. Una squeezed her eyes shut as tears threatened.
"Get me I.V. fluids!" He barked to a female dressed in the garb of a ranger. "Are you related to Magister Eilonel Whitebrook?"
"Yes…"
Sergeant Emberblade accepted the supplies from the ranger and began to ready the intravenous needle. The woman dropped several vials by his knee and jogged away. "You're severely dehydrated, my lady. I'm going to start you on intravenous fluids. Just a little poke…"
Una never felt him pierce the skin of her left hand, but she watched the Sergeant secure the tubing down to the back of her hand and then pass a bag of fluids to someone standing over her. They had made her class insert intravenous lines on each other during training and she had always intensely felt every movement in her vein. Una shook her head in dismay; it was either indicative of his skill or just how sick she truly was.
"I was afraid of that, he mentioned having a niece in the Argent Dawn and you have the face of a Whitebrook. I just came from dropping off your – I presume cousin – into your Uncle's care when the rescue team intercepted myself and my commanding officer. Walen fell ill in Outland and..." The blood knight said conversationally as he undid the bandages on her chest. Una frowned deeply as he continued talking, barely following his chatter. Walen was underage; how desperate was Silvermoon that they would send a minor into combat? "…And now you're being brought in. Not a good day for the Magister."
She gave a stuttered gasp as he carefully peeled the bandages away from the wound in her side. Someone made a noise of disgust.
"Their blades certainly did foul work." Sergeant Emberblade sounded as though he were looking at only a minor injury. Una shivered as pain burned around the spots where his fingers touched as he probed the wound in her side, as if his gloved fingertips were acid. "But all will be well once we get you back to Silvermoon." By the Light, he was so insipidly calm, he almost sounded like a fool. Simple wounds didn't burn like the hole in her side did; searing from exposure to the cool, damp air.
"I fear we can't dispel their plagues, Lady. However, Houngan Faraji warned us about that." Sergeant Emberblade continued and then bit the cap of a syringe to remove it. He spat it off to the side, filled the syringe from one of the vials, and flicked it with his finger to remove the bubbles. "However, your Argent fellows provided us with some medicines that might do the trick. Another poke incoming…"
As before, Una felt nothing but his hands against her arm. Despite being a medic, she detested needles with a passion. It slowly occurred to her that she definitely should have felt something with her arms like they were.
"Sergeant Emberblade?" Someone said crisply. The Blood Knight glanced behind him at the speaker. "We're ready, Sergeant."
"Thank you." Emberblade gave a nod of satisfaction and turned back to her. "I'm going to sedate you now, Lady Whitebrook. I fear there's no smooth roads until we leave the Ghostlands."
Una readied herself for another injection. Perhaps if she focused, she could feel it this time. However, Sergeant Emberblade laid his hands upon her and cast a spell. As darkness closed in upon her, Una decided he definitely had once been a priest.
It was dark when Una awoke once more. She blearily stared up at a darkened chandelier and listened to the steady tick of a clock. Facinated, her eyes traced a darkened swag of decorate fabric, tracing it down the ceiling until it came to the opposite wall. In the distance was a muted, blue glow.
A low, bassy moan echoed through the room as Nantan groaned in his sleep. The Tauren was likely awakening, as she was.
The paladin felt horribly weak, but she was comfortably resting on a thick, plush mattress and nestled within a cocoon of soft blankets. Aside from the fever, she felt blessedly numb. Each breath came easily, clearly. Una knew on some level she had been in surgery and knew that should have alarmed her. Elves had always preferred magical healing to surgery as far as she knew. It was cleaner and held fewer chances for infection or complications. The humans, dwarves, and gnomes were gradually coming to prefer it themselves for much the same reason. To have been in surgery meant her wounds had to be very grave. It was an odd state, she thought, to be heavily drugged and horribly weak yet still be so aware of what was happening around her.
The brown haired woman was lulled back into a light sleep, soothed by the steady tick of the clock. Gradually came the comforting sounds of a soft, familiar snore. It would be Tallak or Garrack making the noise, both orcs had the tendency to snore. Una lolled her head to one side to tuck more of her face beneath the blankets.
Sometime later, she felt someone move around the bed and a light touch as they checked on her. She opened her eyes as a long haired, brunette elf in priest's robes lifted the blankets and placed a hand to the wound on her side. The woman gave her a soft smile in greeting and cast a spell. Una felt nothing, but knew she was likely magically checking it. The priestess' hands ranged up, repeating the spell on her shoulder.
"Belestra," Someone said faintly in Thalassian, "The Magister found one."
"Excellent." The woman, Belestra, turned to accept something from the unseen figure. Una felt the priestess take her right hand and the cool metal of a ring slid up her ring finger. The woman leaned back over her, "How are you feeling, Lady Whitebrook?"
Despite understanding them perfectly, she couldn't come up with the right words in Thalassian no matter how hard she thought about it. "Better." She whispered in Common.
"That is a good sign." The male voice said once more.
"I am Belestra and this is Aldrae." The priestess said in hushed tones. A male Sin'dorei with short, blond hair stepped into view as she gestured. She started to say something else when raised voices penetrated the heavy doors and echoed through the room.
Una startled at the sound and shivered as a chill raced through her, despite her warm cocoon of blankets. Belestra stood straight and glanced at the door.
"Oh, for pity's sake… they should know better!" A deep, yet feminine voice exclaimed in exasperation. Una weakly looked in the direction of the voice. If she didn't know better, she could have sworn that sounded like Garrack's wife.
Aldrae stepped just out of her view to examine something over her head and off to the side.
The voices continued, becoming aggressively pitched. Una tried to focus on what was being said, but she couldn't make it out.
"She'll require more antibiotics." Aldrae whispered and after a moment added, "The fever concerns me."
"It concerns me as well." The brown haired priestess replied. "Should it climb higher…"
"Enough! I will not have them here!" An elven voice thundered, loud even through the heavy door. She heard moans and sounds of awakening.
"Damn them!" Aldrae hissed in fury as the priestess rubbed the bridge of her nose.
"I'll finish her examination. See if you can stop their bickering." Came the deep, feminine voice once again.
Una heard muttered thanks and the priests vanished from view. The shouts grew briefly louder as a door opened and closed once again.
"Hello, Dear." Meigmoga said softly, reaching out to caress the left side of her face. The paladin felt her heart leap into her throat as her instincts were confirmed. Una felt her eyes dampen in relief as the Orc woman began to check her wounds.
"So… glad… you're here." Una was overwhelmed by emotion. The shaman had stabilized Powell and helped Ludger, and mended the less injured men. I've seen worse, she had told her. Her's was a face she knew and trusted.
"Shh, I wouldn't leave all of you up here alone." Maggie pulled the blankets back from her legs and bent over her. She didn't notice before, but the shaman's magic brought with it the smell of cleansing rains and the bath-water storms of her childhood. "I'm thrilled to see you so alert."
Una didn't have the heart – or the strength – to tell her that she had been alert for quite a bit of this ordeal.
"I think everything will be just fine once we get you over those plagues, Honey. " Maggie whispered tenderly as she covered her up and leaned over to stroke her hair. Una felt a surge of affection towards the orc woman.
Her mother would like her... The thought came to an abrupt end. No, her parents would be furious for thinking like that… for being in Silvermoon in the first place. For feeling this way towards an orc. By the Light, what had she done?
"Poppa…" Una started to whisper, but her voice failed her.
"Your Uncle Nelaniu hasn't returned from fetching him yet." Maggie's voice was pitched in a reassuring manner. No doubt the shaman was assuming she was asking for him. "I'm sure he'll be here soon."
Una licked her lips and tried again, "Poppa… is going to… kill me."
"That's the anesthesia talking, dear." Maggie replied maternally, tucking the blankets around her. "He'll be thankful you survived and fought with such honor."
The doors opened and Una heard a number of people enter. Maggie left her side and she heard whispers in Orcish. She heard the shaman's voice rise several times in anger. Surprisingly, it was her Uncle Eilonel's level voice that carried the loudest.
Moments later, Maggie was back at her bedside; her eyes glowing a brilliant, frightening crimson. The air around her smelled like an encroaching thunderstorm as she began to disconnect her from the intravenous drip.
"What's… going on?" Una whispered plaintively. She hated not being able to understand Orcish, hated not being in control of her fate.
"You're being placed under quarantine." The shaman's voice was harsh with barely restrained fury.
Uncle Eilonel appeared at her bedside. His face, so much like her father's, was haggard. There were fine lines in the corners of his emerald eyes and around his mouth that she didn't remember being there before. Despite his obvious fatigue, the brown haired mage appeared calm and resolute.
Eilonel leaned over to kiss her forehead. "I'm teleporting you directly to my estate. It will all be fine." He kissed her forehead again, his lips lingering against her brow.

"I ain't sober enough fer things like this, lad." Hiram Stonemace said grimly, puffing away at his pipe, seemingly oblivious to the droplets of rain water threatening to extinguish it.
Anaru was in agreement, huddled in his oiled woolen cloak against the onslaught of the autumn storm. The storm howled and shieked, pelted them with frigid sheets of rain. Hakander and his Uncle Nelaniu stood before Una's parents home, speaking with his Aunt and Uncle regarding Una's injuries. While he was out of an earshot, the conversation seemed to be going well so far.
As paranoid as Uncle Ferran could be, Anaru was afraid he wouldn't believe him. With Una in critical condition, they didn't have the luxury of time to convince him otherwise.
It was probably helpful that Uncle Nelaniu had come rather than his father. Ferran had always respected – if not been slightly fearful of – his late, elder sister Osari's husband. Frankly, Anaru could testify that dueling the battle-mage was a less than enjoyable experience. Nelaniu could wield a sword as well as he could wield destructive magic.
Hakander seemed to be going over the extent of Una's injuries. His aunt's hands were clasped to her mouth, Ferran was looking away. Tyalaria's legs suddenly went out from under her and the blonde High Elf dropped to the floor. She sat there sobbing, Ferran kneeling by her side. Anaru felt his heart breaking. The paladin wanted nothing more than to go to them and try to help his Aunt and Uncle through this. However, he knew better. If he went to them now, the blame would be placed solely on his shoulders, a very one-sided fight would erupt, and they'd lose precious time.
As much as he hated it, he had to leave this to Hakander and Nelaniu.
Anaru looked down and struggled to gain control of his emotions. He wasn't holding up well either.
The paladin been overjoyed when Uncle Nelaniu had appeared in Stormwind. A classic High elf both in appearance and attitude, Nelaniu had a strong isolationist streak. Osari and he had been adventurers during the early part of their marriage, living on the road and in the wilds. Ever since Osari's death, Nelaniu and his daughter, Valeene, had been estranged from the family. He knew they had come to reside in Dalaran, but hadn't spoken with either in years. The thrill of an unexpected reunion had turned to horror when the mage had revealed the reason for his appearance.
Una and Walen were both in grave condition. Una from wounds sustained fighting Scourge and the subsequent infection; Walen possessed by a demonic entity that was slowly killing him. Their conditions were grave and the look upon the seasoned battle-mage's face had told him what words could not. The commander feared nothing more than Una and Walen dying before they could reach Silvermoon.
Hakander, both his second-in-command and possibly best friend, had been at his side this entire, nightmarish evening. Anaru wasn't sure where he'd be without the bald Draenei's help.
"Oh no. No. No!" Hiram moaned, his pipe dropping to the muddy puddles beneath their mounts. Anaru looked up to see his Aunt and Uncle's door closing.
"Ferran! You sick son of a bitch! This is your daughter!" Nelaniu bellowed loud enough to shake the sleeping forest. "This isn't about that fucking grudge of yours! Ferran!" From here, he could hear his Uncle's fist pounding against the door of the cottage.
Anaru moaned as his worst fears were realized. They had probably lost him the moment they told him Una was in Silvermoon. Any other city in the world and he probably would have been okay. The brown haired knight realized on some level he should be disgusted and furious. Instead, he just felt tired.
"Steady, lad." Hiram's voice was intended to soothe, but it did little to help.
He watched as the two men trudged their way through the howling storm back to them. As they came into the light cast by his lantern, he could see Hakander was visibly crestfallen and his Uncle livid enough that sparks flickered across his clenched fists.
"Ferget the idiot, lads." Hiram growled as he dismounted to retrieve his pipe, "He ain't worth shit an' we got more important matters."
Hakander nodded, drawing himself up. "I could call in some of my people's best healers. We have dealt with the Legion's handywork for eons, plus I…"
"I gotta a few options too, but again… we're talkin' time here." Hiram said impatiently, shaking the muddy water from his pipe. "Even with Nelaniu, yer gunna have to go to the Exodar to retrieve them."
"I might have something closer." Hakander persisted. "The men did some asking around in the Taverns. There are rumors about an unnaturally gifted healer…"
"An' we all know how reliable a source ale an' gossip makes." Hiram growled sarcastically. "We need concrete leads, lad. They ain't gunna hold out while we go on a wild good chase."
"I have an address…" Hakander growled, offering a scrap of paper to Anaru. "This healer saved a babe from demonic possession. Healed a woman who had been maimed by the Cult of the Damned…"
"Where?" Anaru exclaimed, feeling hopeful for the first time this evening. A healer with both experience with demonic possession and Scourge would be absolutely ideal. The street was unfamiliar to him, he hoped it was in one of Stormwind's provinces.
"Goldshire."
"Oi, lemme see it then." The dwarf said, reaching out for the slip of paper. "Betcha I kin tell ya who yer visitin'." Anaru surrendered it to the elder paladin. Hiram held it under the light cast from the lantern, squinting at it.
"Aye, that would be the Morris' place. I'd go wiv ye, but poor lad ain't got a moments rest lately. Came back from Outland not that long ago… held captive by the Legion, I hear. I reckon I wouldnae hear the end of it iffn he thought I'd sent ya." Hiram handed the scrap of paper back. "I'm well known fer doin' that too."
"I'm going." Anaru declared fervently, feeling a new-found strength flood him. "I need to pursue this. Hakander: Thank you."
The Vindicator nodded and gave him a brief bow, "You are quite welcome, Command… Anaru. I shall maintain order in your absence."
Hiram stepped forward and caught him in a furious embrace. Anaru had never been especially close with Una's mentor, but he appreciated it all the same. "I'll keep lookin. Ye tell the lass she be loved; the missus an' me will be prayin' for her." The dwarf said roughly when he broke the embrace, not even attempting to disguise the emotion in his voice. "Keep in touch."
"So what was his rational?" Anaru asked wearily after the two, elder paladins were out of an earshot. He desperately wanted to know what was more important to Ferran than his own flesh and blood.
"Not now, Anaru." Nelaniu said, rubbing a hand over his azure eyes.
"If not now, when?" The brown haired paladin bit out. He was sick of this stupidity, sick to his very core.
"Now is not the time, Anaru." The battle-mage spoke in a tone as weary as he felt, gesturing with a half-curled hand to emphasize each of his words. "Una and Walen won't live long if we don't find this healer the Vindicator spoke of."
They rode through the storm-lashed forest as the chilly, autumn storm raged around them. In the distance, they could see the outlines of the small necropolises that hovered outside the gates of Stormwind silhouetted in the angry sky. It seemed more appeared to replace any they managed to destroy. Nothing had emerged from these new structures yet, but they were an ominous sign.
At last, they found themselves in the slumbering town of Goldshire. They picked their way down the muddy, country roads until they found themselves before a small cottage.
Anaru braced himself and pounded on the door as the storm howled with renewed vigor.
Captain Morris was an aging human, his face testifying to the hardships he must have endured during his captivity in Outland. He seemed surprised to see visitors so late, but kindly shouted at them to stable their horses in his barn. Anaru assisted his Uncle and together they strode back to the house.
Anaru entered and removed his hood. He cursed himself as the human's eyes grew wide and his hand moved quickly to the sword at his side. He hurriedly removed his cloak and dropped it, holding his hands up in surrender. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his Uncle do the same.
"Captain Dylan Morris, please forgive our intrusion… I am Commander Anaru Whitebrook of the Argent Dawn." Anaru said, tapping the fingers of his right hand to his forehead in respect. He gestured to Nelaniu, "This is my uncle, Nelaniu, Battle-mage of the Kirin Tor."
"I once knew a Whitebrook." The human said guardedly, releasing the grip of his blade, "A very honorable Quel'dorei and a fellow paladin if I remember correctly. We fought together in the Battle of Connor's Main."
"My grandfather, Sir. I was his squire." Anaru said, nodding his appreciation as the paladin beckoned them closer to the fire. "Please forgive me, but time isn't a luxury we have this eve. I'm on a dire mission and you…"
"I'm retired, boy." The paladin sighed, "I've paid my dues a thousandfold. Find yourself another soldier." He turned to stoke the fire and add another log.
Anaru sighed and closed his eyes, willing his anger down. Relatively speaking, Captain Morris was an elder. "I'm only seeking information you might have."
Commander Morris sat down and motioned for them to do the same, "Well, I assume it must be important to bring you out in this beast of a storm. What can I do for you, Commander?"
"The men speak of rumors going around the taverns…"
"Always a reasonable source of information…" Dylan replied sarcastically, leaning back in his chair.
"I would normally agree with you, Sir." Anaru said in agreement, holding his chilled hands up to the fire. "But I am grasping at straws. This is the best lead we've found… The men speak of a healer, a mystic. That you've sent people to this healer: a babe cursed by a demon, a woman attacked by the Cult…"
"Son, you shouldn't believe everything you hear," The human said coldly. Anaru sucked in an anguished breath, lunged from the chair, and dropped to his knees before him.
"Please, sir…" He pleaded, feeling tears start to flow, "It's my brother and cousin… she's like a sister to me. Please… I beg you." The floodgates were open and there was no stopping him. "My brother is possessed! The demon is draining his life while threatening my family… My cousin was maimed by the Scourge and afflicted by plague…The healers can't save them, they're telling my father to prepare two funerals!"
"Everything dies, boy." Captain Morris said firmly, stressing the word "boy" once again.
"I am aware… I only lost three-quarters of my family on the same night, including my mother and grandfather. My grandfather likely moments after he tossed me through a portal to save my life." Anaru snapped waspishly. He shuddered in disbelief: How dare this human suggest he didn't understand death! "I failed him! I'm not failing them!" He bellowed, his entire body trembling with emotion.
He felt his Uncle's hand on his shoulder. "Enough, Nephew. Please, Captain, just give us the information we seek and we will be on our way."
Silence reigned, broken only by the crackle of flames. Anaru allowed his Uncle to draw him back into the chair he had been sitting in.
"I'm sorry, I truly am. But he lives in a distant land and it sounds as though they don't have much time left." The captain said at length, his voice finally losing the cold tone it had carried previously. "…I doubt two Blood Elves would be welcome in Darnassus."
"High Elves." Nelaniu corrected, his voice clipped in both irritation and exhaustion. The blond mage's eyes flicked to him and then back, as if expecting him to contribute. "Additionally, I might remind you: my nephew is Argent Dawn; I am Kirin Tor. Darnassus will be no trouble."
Anaru bowed his head and allowed the battle-mage to do the talking. His emotions were dangerously close to the surface and too raw. He couldn't think; and, if he couldn't think, he'd lose his head if Captain Morris resisted him once again. All he could see was Una's final, nervous smile before she and Hiram vanished into the crowds of Stormwind City. The memory of Una's sun-touched, freckled face was etched into his mind. A face that was likely gone forever. Even if she survived, she would be likely disfigured beyond recognition.
"A name? Please sir, just a name… who are we seeking?" His Uncle implored, leaning forward.
"That would be me." A mild voice said in answer.
Anaru looked up, not quite comprehending what he was hearing. A pale, black haired elf was descending the stairs, his footfalls silent upon the worn treads. He was shirtless and barefoot, clad only in loose, white pants. However, the paladin's blood ran as cold as glacial ice as his eyes fell upon a white blindfold tied about the elf's head. By the Light, Hakander had said healer… this lithe Sin'dorei coming down the stairs, moving with an almost boneless grace, appeared for all the world like a demon hunter.
"Rain, no." A shadow detached itself from the wall as the deep words were growled. Out of the corner of his eye was something massive and black. A panther. Anaru yelped in alarm and lunged out of his chair, backing into his Uncle's chair. Nelaniu came to his feet as well, settling into a relaxed defensive stance.
"And what if it were me? Crystal?" The pale elf replied softly. "…Our daughter?"
Anaru felt his Uncle's hand come to rest on his own, staying his hand. The paladin slowly moved his sweating fingers away from his sword.
"Damnit, Rain… we are not discussing this." The panther melted into the form of a heavily built Kaldorei with long, violet hair and a scraggly beard.
"I'm needed." The blind healer replied quietly, yet firmly. He crossed his arms over the lean, but muscular chest.
Anaru strained his senses, seeking the demonic aura he knew demon hunters should posses. All paladins were trained to sense the presense of demons and undead. While the elf did indeed have an aura, it felt nothing even remotely close to a demonic aura. Nelaniu's face was calm, but his jaw was just perceptibly tense. It was clear the battle-mage sensed something as well. He strained, delving deeper into the stranger's aura. The aura vanished completely. The "healer" glanced at him and issued a barely perceptible shake of his head.
"Crystal needs us!" The Night Elf snarled.
"They aren't asking for you…"
"Like hell I'd let you go alone!" The violet haired druid shouted, "This is foolish, we return to Darnassus tomorrow to await our child's birth!"
Anaru caught a glimpse of a small, white, long haired dog dart down the stairs in advance of another figure. He turned his head to watch it as it ran to Rain and realized it was a fox; a perfectly white fox. He looked back up to see a pregnant Night Elf descending the stairs, her silver hair braided loosely and hanging down her back.
"I agree with our Heart, my love." The woman replied, rubbing her belly through her nightdress as she stared at the druid pointedly.
"We have a moon until the baby is due… and clearly we will be in the company of mages. They could open a portal to Darnassus at a moment's notice if needed." Despite appearing blind, Rain glanced to Nelaniu as if seeking confirmation. His Uncle nodded mutely in agreement.
"We will talk. Now. Alone." The druid bit out.
As the elves filed back upstairs, Anaru looked helplessly at his Uncle for guidance as though he were a child once again. A demon hunter and an ill-tempered druid weren't what he was expecting. Beads of nervous sweat had broken out upon the mage's face. The captain shifted nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.
There was no sound emanating down the stairs, nothing to indicate what they were discussing or whether it was in their favor.
"Can I offer you a drink?" Captain Morris said lamely, all too intent on the carpet beneath his feet.
"No, thank you." Nelaniu replied hoarsely. The blond Quel'dorei paused to clear his throat, "And none for my Nephew. He never has been able to hold his liquor."
The fox once more darted down the stairs. Anaru looked up hopefully as the elves reappeared.
"We will help." The druid's deep voice once again filled the space. He paused to run his hand over his face and through his beard as though he couldn't quite believe he was agreeing to assisting them, "But I have some demands that must be met."
"Name it and if it lies within my power; I swear it shall be done." Nelaniu replied without hesitation.
"Protection." Falcon growled, stressing the word. "I want guards at all times."
"Emmie should already be there…" Anaru told Nelaniu softly. If there was anything he could be sure of, it was Esmea's nature. She held no animosity for any living being, save for those who threatened others. His Uncle had said she immediately agreed to enforce the quarantine, knowing her, she had moved heaven and earth to find like-minded individuals and have them posted without delay.
"Very likely Guards have already been posted. Next?" The blond battle-mage crossed his arms over his chest with a nod.
"I require they be moved from Silvermoon. We will not treat them if they reside within the city." There was steel in the druid's tone that told Anaru this demand was especially important to him.
Nelaniu waved dismissively, "Again, done. They were removed from the city and placed into quarantine at my brother-in-law's estate some distance away from the city."
"And finally," Falcon said, "Privacy. No one is to know we are there or were ever there." The last comment seemed directed at Captain Morris in particular.
"It was a baby, Falcon. What would you have me do?" The human spoke up defensively. "As for the others…" He let his words trail off and issued the druid an expressive shrug.
"None of ours shall breathe a word of your presense." Nelaniu said firmly. His blue eyes landed on Rain, "I just hope you're as good as they say you are. We need a miracle…"
Rain paused midstep on the stairs and tilted his head towards the blond mage, "If we are not already too late, I will do my best"

Una knew it was nearly the end.
Over the hours since she had awoken from surgery, the infections had worsened. Her lymph nodes had swollen to the edge of rupture, the skin over them stretched to the breaking point, weeping blood and fluids. The fever raged relentlessly as if she were burning to death from the inside out. Meigmoga and the other healers, including the Blood Knights' best, were barely keeping her alive.
A deep weariness penetrated all the way through her very being. She was dying. They had made certain she was in no pain, but there was nothing more they could do for her.
"...And may the Light bless you and keep you. Amen." Sergeant Emberblade finished the prayer in a gentle, soft voice as he drew the Symbol of the Holy Light on her forehead in holy water. The room was darkened, lit only by a few sparse candles. The paladin was dressed in traditional robes of a priest of the Church of the Holy Light. He had given her the Church's traditional Last Rites and had moved on to Anointing of the Sick. She knew the Sin'dorei probably didn't actually believe the prayers he was giving her, but she appreciated this final, small thing.
The paladin knew on some level, she should be upset that it was ending this way. Instead, she was almost ready to be beyond this pain. Almost. She wanted to see her parents again. However, instead Uncle Nelaniu had returned without them. She knew Anaru was here, but where he was, she didn't know.
As the paladin concluded the ritual, her Uncle Eilonel, reclined on the bed beside her, tightened his grip around her slightly in an embrace.
"Are you going to be okay, Magister?" The paladin asked, brushing a hand through his red-blond hair.
"She spent her first night in this world sleeping on my chest. It's only appropriate that she… she…" Her uncle's voice broke. Una thought it odd. Wouldn't she have been with her parents? She let it go, it was silly to notice such things now.
"I understand. If you need me, I'll be outside." Emberblade said softly. He inclined his head towards her, "I shall see you in the morning, Una."
A low, loud, guttural moan that escalated into a feral scream could be heard as the door opened and shut. She couldn't be sure if she was hallucinating once more. Uncle Eilonel shuddered and she concluded it had to be real.
"Shh…" Uncle Eilonel whispered, tightening his grip once more. She must have stirred or given her Uncle some indications she had been aware of the noise. "Save your strength… try to get some sleep."
He started to sing a Quel'dorei lullaby; singing the parts he remembered and intermittently humming his way through the parts he didn't. Both Eilonel and her father shared the same tone of voice and it was wonderfully comforting. He periodically paused to kiss her brow, even as the screams that carried through the door reached a horrible climax.
Una blinked and it was dawn. Golden light filtered through the high windows and the white, sheer curtains seemed to almost glow. The room was filled with glorious, brilliant sunlight. She had survived the night. It surprised her greater than anything she had experienced so far.
As she continued to awaken, the tattered memories of her dreams from that began to float to the surface of her mind. Horrendous, fevered nightmares of demons and her grandfather's rotted, Scourged remains coming for her.
From the warmth at her right side and the arms wrapped around her, her Uncle was still sleeping at her side. She closed her eyes and allowed her head to loll into his chest as tears began to flow. Her forehead met bare flesh. Uncle Eilonel had always been a slight, thin man and thus rarely removed his shirt, even around family. Meanwhile, her father often went without a shirt. Had her father made it afterall?
She struggled to weakly open her eyes. The flesh before her was far too pale to be a Whitebrook. Her family's complexion was always slightly ruddier than typical High Elves, a gift that had gotten her in trouble after the Sin'dorei's defection to the Horde.
Maggie had said her Uncle Nelaniu had come all the way from Dalaran. Perhaps Uncle Nelaniu had spelled her Uncle Eilonel sometime during the night. She remembered him as being very fair compared to her family. However, the man sleeping beside her stirred and a lock of hair as black as ebony brushed the bridge of her nose. Uncle Nelaniu was just to the golden side of platinum blond.
She weakly lifted her head. Confusion settled upon her once again as her eyes fell upon an unfamiliar face; the man's eyes covered by a white blindfold. Something rough was pricking the left side of her neck even as warm breath caressed her skin, raising gooseflesh. A rush of adrenaline brought unexpected strength with it.
Una turned her head and gazed into the face of a brute of a Kaldorei, his face relaxed in sleep. It had been his coarse, violet beard she had felt against her neck. His chest too was bare. A breath of air brought with it a faint chill. The bedding she was wrapped in was soaking wet.
She struggled to lift her head further. Their chests weren't the only things bare. Her eyes traced down two very male, very nude forms.
By the Light, she was laying with naked men! Her heart pounded in her chest. What in the hell was going on? Had she died? Was she dreaming? Una shut her eyes and counted down. When she opened her eyes, they were still very much nude.
"Relax." The Night Elf said softly, "You're safe."
"Easy for you to say." The sentence came easily and without need to breathe partway through, though she still couldn't put much more than a whisper behind it.
The violet haired elf chuckled and placed a callused hand upon her forehead. Her face and hair were soaked as well. His hand moved and pressed the back of it against one cheek and then the other. Una startled as his knuckles brushed her right cheek. There should be a tear through it! However, there was only a faint sting as his knuckles dragged across her skin.
His callused fingertips touched the right corner of her mouth and traced the stinging line back to her ear. "Good, it closed…" The comment was more to himself than to her.
"What?" Una breathed. She had been mutilated, there had been a hole through her face, but the pain from his touch was akin to a minor scratch from a house cat. "Nothing is making any sense… Who are you?"
"Call me Falcon…" The Kaldorei replied. "And the confusion will pass." Falcon groaned and rolled so he was leaning over her, affording her an unobstructed view all the way down. "Your fever finally broke." She shut her eyes in embarrassment as he pulled the bedding back from her body. Aside from the casts and bandages, she was completely nude as well. His hands roamed her body, examining her injuries with rough, practiced fingers. His touch once again hurt, but nothing like she had experienced earlier.
Brushes of healing magic here and there, under her jaw, on the sides of her neck, armpits, and beside her breasts. Una realized he was healing the angry, split flesh over her lymph nodes. She shuddered as his hands parted her legs to heal the flesh above the lymph nodes in her groin. The naturally sensitive skin was even more sensitive; his rough hands were unwelcome and painful.
"Are you feeling well, Lady?" Falcon paused and looked at her in concern.
"Fall sleep nearly dead, wake up in a harem…" Una muttered, unable to resist taking another embarrassed yet appreciative look at his physique.
The Night Elf laughed with a rich, deep tone. "You must be feeling better then."
Una blushed and cast a glance at the still sleeping elf to her right. She wasn't sure she would know what to do if the other woke.
Falcon noted the direction of her gaze, "Let him sleep, he is exhausted. After you and the boy, he was completely drained. He wanted to heal your companions as well, but I wouldn't allow it… the orc maiden was doing fine. And orcs like their scars – don't ask me how I know that, please."

Chapter Notes:
This was the first of a two chapter crossover with KooriRoninHeart's Hell Cavern story. If you haven't read it already, I'd highly suggest it. It's a great read!
Houngan – Voodoo priest. Since Warcraft borrows so heavily from real voodoo, I decided to give Faraji the proper honorific.
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