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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
- 14
- 15
- 16
Chapter 15 – Missteps

That is quite the tale, Ashal.” The one-eyed knight leaned forward and steepled his fingers together. “Death Knights in Quel’thalas.”
Silence and a palpable darkness settled over the men, despite the brightness cast by the sun.
Ashal Orlinde nodded solemnly as he stroked his newly regrown goatee, “And all quite true.”
It was a warm day in Silvermoon City, the spring sun gleaming from the gold and crimson inlays and frescos. However, in that moment, they all seemed to dull before his eyes. The warmth leeched away by the very mention of the Scourge.
Northrend never seemed as close as it did at this moment. Weeks had passed into months and winter passed into spring. More weeks would pass before they began their journey south to meet up with the Argent Crusade’s primary forces for deployment and even longer before they arrived on the distant shores of Northrend. However, their time was fast approaching.
The last, unpredictable detail lay in the sea ice still blocking the shipping lanes. The winter had been hard and the ice was thick surrounding Northrend; the scouts were saying there were vast swaths where one could walk across the sea. It could easily be summer before the shipping lanes finally cleared.
Nevertheless, the Alliance was nothing if doggedly single-minded. They had been testing massive, armored ships for much of the spring, breaking their way through what sea ice they could find in international waters. It was an impressive show, to be sure, but the true challenge lay far in the seas around Northrend. The ice fields were infamous for either crushing or entrapping ships no matter how large or well armored.
The Horde was finally mobilizing as well. New, stronger zeppelins were being constructed and prepared for war. While zeppelins weren’t hampered by sea ice the way ships were, they would struggle against gale-force winds and thick ice that would coat every inch of the vessel. The first zeppelins had already made landfall and were establishing forward bases.
Curiously, Quel’thalas, already burdened with the weight of civil war and forced, abrupt change, had pledged itself to the war effort. It was a complete reversal of the sentiment expressed not even a few weeks ago. Sin’dorei adventurers and individuals had been free to do as they chose, as they always were, but the country itself had said it couldn’t offer much beyond basic support.
Yet, inexplicably, there was now going to be a full mobilization. Despite Ash’s personal desire to make Arthas pay, even he knew it was folly for Quel’thalas to join the war in the arctic.
“What of the Knights of the Ebon Blade?” The elder knight beside him didn’t move as he spoke, his expression guarded and remaining eye half-lidded. “Have they offered an explanation of this incident?”
“Only that they are addicted to inflicting pain, to deny that is to reduce themselves to little more than mindless Scourge… as we experienced firsthand.” Ashal said, feeling as disturbed as he had all those weeks ago.
The long dead human had stood before the front gate of the Whitebrook estate, screaming incoherently about Andris Whitebrook and vengeance. Rotted beyond recognition, the knight had been all but a skeleton bearing the colors of the Ebon Blade.
Talaerion Sunward leaned forward and skimmed the letters once more, as if seeking the answers Ash couldn’t give him. “If what you say is true, this… Knight didn’t have the presence of mind to compose these manifestos.”
“I agree.” Ash fought a shudder as it threatened to race unchecked through his muscular frame. “He did, however, have enough mind left to summon an army of the dead.”
Anaru had gone outside and tried to reason with the Ebon Knight. Una’s cousin had arrived wearing somber gray and gold military finery and the tabard of the Argent Crusade. It should have communicated that he was an ally. It instead backfired and whipped the skeletal knight into a hysterical frenzy.
There was no calming him. All reason had long since fled, leaving only bloodlust. He impotently howled and railed outside the gates until he was incomprehensible. The wards visibly glowed, but held firm.
It was at that moment the wards mysteriously failed, the dome of violet magic exploding into sparkling dust. There had been no time for proper weapons or armor. The moment the spell failed the crazed human had fallen upon them, an army of death appearing at his beckon call.
Those who could fight had raced outside in what had seemed like a futile attempt to stem the tide of ravening ghouls. Every elf in Quel’thalas knew all too well that anyone who fell would only add the Death Knight’s lethal arsenal. Most guests had only magic as a means to defend themselves, aside from a few like Anaru and himself who had worn dress swords.
At their darkest moment, rescue had come in the form of a full squad of Ebon Blade knights. However, relief soon turned to horror when they realized the identity of the leader of their saviors: Andris Whitebrook’s brother, Lorandil. Lorandil, who had perished to the frigid wastes with many of Kael’thas’ ill-fated entourage, stood before them in all his macabre, unliving glory.
A hand fell upon his shoulder.
Ashal glanced at the warlock sharing the table, mildly surprised at the contact. His elder brother, Tanithal, solemnly met his eyes despite his level of intoxication. His brother had insisted on attending this meeting.
The contact continued for several heartbeats too long for Ash and he brushed the offending hand from his shoulder.
Tanithal settled back in his chair and returned to his drink.
Ash supposed it was a misplaced sense of protectiveness that Tanithal couldn’t quite admit to. They hadn’t been close as children, but since the Third War, his brother had become infuriatingly clingy. They lived as antipodes, their chosen paths so far apart they might as well be from other worlds. He would be content if they went their separate ways.
Pushing his thoughts back to the task at hand, Ash ventured, “Since you traveled with Lord Whitebrook far longer than Anaru or myself – I was hoping you might have some ideas.”
The paladin was careful to use Andris’ proper title and discuss him in only the most respectful terms. Talaerion was his superior in both rank and class; and, had remained close friends with his former mentor after his apprenticeship ended. Already irritated enough by being forced to dine with a warlock; Talaerion was dangerously close to leaving. Ash couldn’t risk further angering him. Walen needed a proper master – one who was actually going to train him – and Sunward was conveniently free at the moment.
“Lord Whitebrook meted out justice for centuries before you even existed, Ashal. To say our mentor had enemies is an understatement. Most anyone with access to the Undercity could have composed these.” The disfigured Blood Knight said evenly.
The knight curled a corner of his upper lip into a hideous grimace. A scar lifted Talaerion’s mouth and nose into a permanent snarl, granting him a horrible, fearsome countenance. That look upon his face, actually one of frustration, intensified that effect. The elder knight had never bothered to heal the scars or replace his lost eye, though it lay well within his means. He glanced up, “How many were lost?”
“No one important.” The warlock across the table said dismissively as he casually shook off the succubus fawning over him.
Ash momentarily cradled his face and cursed. Talaerion’s passionate disdain for the arcane was near legendary; only their usefulness to Quel’thalas held his tongue in check. Warlocks, useful or not, he only marginally tolerated. Ash drained his brandy and had their waiter fetch an entire bottle for him. The dark haired paladin had a feeling he’d need the liquid fortitude.
The warlock had lapsed into an abstruse, slurred recount of the deceased, all deserving of their fate in his opinion. The sentiments weren’t new; he had heard other family members speak of others with the same level of contempt before.
Growing up, Tanithal had been the favored child; the one Ash had always found himself measured against. Even as a child, the elder Orlinde possessed an effortless charm and a keen intellect. Handsome by their peoples’ standards, the sorcerer was neither too muscular nor too lean with an angular face framed by a luxurious mane of ebon hair.
Everything about him radiated elegance and immaculate perfection; everything Ashal was not.
The sorcerer had a notorious bravado to go with his looks, which only grew the more intoxicated he became. During the ill-fortuned Winterveil party, he had regaled revelers with tales of his exploits for hours.
Una Whitebrook, in her refreshingly candid manner, had asked Ash in private if his brother was a popinjay or maybe a dilettante. She soon discovered another fondness of his brother: vexing members of the Order.
Whereas Una tended to eventually retreat, Talaerion roused to violence. Tanithal was well on his way to accomplishing that and Ash was determined not to be sober when it happened.
“Did Magister Whitebrook ever uncover why his wards failed?” The elder paladin grit out, tearing his livid gaze from the warlock.
“Sabotage.” Ash replied, “And the perpetrator or perpetrators remains both a mystery and at large.”
“Too hastily erected and not enough safeguards.” Tanithal offered in mock helpfulness, “I would have placed a… going away present at the source. Nothing forbidden, of course.”
Ash cradled his face in his palm once again and took a large sip, the welcome warmth radiating through him. He didn’t know what insanity prompted him to even mention this meeting to his brother, much less allow Tanithal to accompany him.
“What do you make of the boy?” The younger Orlinde blurted to change the subject before the men – himself included – came to blows.
Una and Walen Whitebrook stood at attention not far, at the base of the plaza where they dined. A test, ordered by Talaerion himself, to gauge their discipline and stamina.
Una’s experience as a guard was evident by her posture and even, alert gaze fixed upon a point before her. The slightest droop to the brunette elf’s shoulders signaled fatigue, but she remained solid and emotionless.
Walen was struggling to match Una’s poise, though he evidently refused to be outdone. He shifted ever so slight from foot to foot as his feet tired, his face breaking into random emotions from a scowl to wetting his lips.
“Impatient and requiring discipline,” Talaerion remarked sharply, his temper not even slightly lessened. “Not uncommon for his age.” He rose from the table and strode across the small plaza. Una snapped to a crisp salute and Walen quickly followed suit. Her salute was clearly the one favored by the humans, but that was to be expected.
The disfigured knight circled them, scrutinizing every facet of the younger paladins. He had served as a military discipline instructor before the wars, turning raw recruits into expert soldiers before becoming a paladin and then an adventurer.
Once again, Una’s training was plain when she didn’t even flinch under the elder’s inspection. Her gaze remained fixed upon the point she had chosen. He spoke to her quietly, only her crisp and prompt “No, Sir” hinting to his question.
Walen, however, was anxious and barely held his ground as Talaerion turned to him. Ash could empathize; he had been on the receiving end of a dressing down from the senior paladin more than once.
“Stand at ease.” The scarred Sin’dorei ordered mildly.
Una, familiar with military drill, instantly stepped out into what Ashal recognized as the relaxed stance of the Lordaeron infantry – and likely Stormwind City’s as well. Feet shoulder width apart, hands folded behind her back, posture still fixed. It wasn’t the correct stance observed in Quel’thalas, but few civilians would recognize that and they were the only military present at this time of day.
He silently circled them, his one-eyed gaze continuing to evaluate Walen. The youth was terrified, gulping as the elder knight came close once more.
Without a word, the elder Sin’dorei abruptly went about correcting Una’s stance until she stood in the proper at-ease stance of the Blood Knights. He then led the younger elves into the correct salute and back to attention.
With a nod, the knight returned to his seat. “Typical of his age and level of training. She, however, is everything I would expect from Stormwind City’s finest. Though I am curious, foreign drill is involved in most career military instruction and yet she was ignorant.”
“The explanation is that she wasn’t career military until her enlistment and she was only active for six months before her injury.” Ashal replied, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Truly?” Talaerion raised his eyebrows, genuinely surprised.
“Yes, the little Alliance cow –” Tanithal said loudly. Ash had little doubt she had heard him, though she was showing admirable self-control. His brother could uncover insecurities and sensitive subjects with astounding speed and Una had a sizeable number.
Ash raised his voice above the insult, “Volunteer, civilian peacekeeper. Due to heavy casualties, Lady Prestor admitted her and those like her into the guard to bolster their numbers.”
Tanithal raised his voice even louder as he finished, “— cried and opted to play with her dolls instead.”
“I presume her superiors felt she was most effective maintaining the home front.” Ashal was tiring of this charade in a hurry. He felt like he was a child once more, trying to get a word around his brother.
“It’s a wonder the Old Horde didn’t string her up by her tits.” Tanithal postulated, interrupting Ash as he tried to explain her lack of wartime experience. The warlock held his glass up to the sunlight in a mock salute. Ash wasn’t sure just who he was saluting.
“However, her dossier states she was involved in regular patrols and volunteered to guard Stormwind City’s prison for its most violent and dangerous offenders despite having little formal training.” Ash added hurriedly while his brother was taking another large sip, “At great personal risk she conducted an in-depth investigation —”
“While managing to be worthless to her own nation – impressive…” His brother once again spoke loudly.
Ashal braced himself, fearing that comment above all else would strike a nerve in his charge. Talaerion looked ready to silence the warlock himself for that matter. However, it was Walen who bellowed, “She isn’t worthless!”
“Well played.” Talaerion mumbled grudgingly and drunken amusement played upon the warlock’s face once again.
Ash gazed down at the shapely young woman, her gaze remaining unbroken and devoid of expression. Perhaps Una was aware that Walen had been his brother’s target all along or maybe he simply wasn’t giving her enough credit.
“After what she’s been through, you have no right to attack her, coward!” Walen shouted to the drunken warlock who merely laughed. “You wouldn’t have survived what she has!”
Walen started to stalk towards them. It was then Una finally broke her stance to restrain her cousin, muttering firmly yet quietly to him.
“Initiate Whitebrook!” Talaerion barked in a manner far separated from his norm; his voice suddenly harsh and uncharacteristically deep for an elf. It was a voice of a man who had broken lesser men. “Control yourself!”
There was no further words to the statement, though “or else” was strongly implied by virtue of the senior paladin’s history. His brand of discipline made Ashal’s punishments of chores like scrubbing latrines pale in comparison. Talaerion had, on occasion, disciplined insubordination with a thorough beating.
Walen immediately quieted and stood at attention once again, utterly petrified and awestruck simultaneously.
Una looked over her shoulder at them, her gaze locked on Ash’s own. “Are you sure about this?” Her expression asked soundlessly.
The exchange didn’t go without notice. Talaerion beckoned with the fingers of his left hand to summon her. Ash stiffened. She strode forward, that concerned expression gone as quickly as it came.
“Private Whitebrook, Commander Orlinde says you were not career military before joining our Argent brothers. I must confess… curiosity.” The maimed paladin said placidly after they exchanged salutes. It wasn’t the topic Ash was expecting. “You have permission to speak freely.” He added.
“I was just a guard. Never active service.” She said guardedly. “I fought, sure…”
“But you were purely at service in the home front.” Talaerion finished for her and leaned back in his chair comfortably. “Would it be fair to assume your position was a civilian peacekeeper until not long ago?”
“Yes, Sir.” She visibly tensed before she answered, but held herself firm. She hadn’t lied, but she probably felt as though she had.
Talaerion stroked his upper lip thoughtfully, “I presume you assisted in the refugee caravan after the sacking of Stormwind, then? Or were you among those evacuated?”
“Evacuated… but I was good at herding cats, I guess.” Una’s answer was simple and succinct. Ash loved her candor. She spoke Thalassian fluently, but her obvious southern accent with a hint of Dwarven clearly marked her as a foreigner. Ash found it refreshing and intriguing. After a moment she continued, “I wanted to help. But they sent me with the refugees.”
The senior paladin chuckled, “That is a commendable trait. It is little wonder you were chosen by our Argent brothers.”
“Thank you, Sir.” Una said graciously. After a moment, the young woman asked in her customary, half-whispering tone, “What about Walen?”
“I will take him as my apprentice.” Talaerion answered without hesitation. “First, I would like to see how he fares against an experienced opponent in unarmed combat.”
Una visibly tensed once again, but otherwise held the rest of her emotions in check. Unarmed fighting was still a weakness.
Not all that long ago, she had come to the Argent Dawn barely a blooded knight. Only a few skirmishes on the streets of Stormwind and happenstance encounters with her drunkard of a mentor had served to hone her skills in battle prior to the Argent Dawn.
It was a fault Ash had hoped to fix, but the Blood Knights’ preferred unarmed styles often went against the Code she held so dear. The Code was a crippling limitation of more traditional paladins; an affliction the Blood Knights of Quel’thalas had eliminated.
Una had pushed back quite angrily at first; but he had eventually won her over enough to accept further combat training. The younger paladin clung to the Code only because it was all she knew.
The Code was constructed by mere mortals. The Light didn’t recognize service to a specific ruler, cause, or faction. The Light didn’t actually care if she tossed sand in her foe’s eyes nor did it care if she delivered a well-timed kick to a spell-caster.
She was an intelligent and capable woman; Ash knew she would come to realize the truth on her own eventually.
Ash caught her eyes and nodded evenly, silently urging her to calm. He allowed himself to smile fondly.
Tanithal remained silent until she had walked away, but only that long. “I saw that, brother.”
“She merely required reassurance.” Ashal replied, “Her confidence is lacking, as you plainly observed. You saw nothing.”
Talaerion made a hideous grimace and said, “I’m loathe agreeing with a warlock… but you clearly fancy her.”
Refusing them the satisfaction of an answer, he directed his attention down the plaza to watch the two junior paladins. Una circled Walen swiftly, lithely testing him with a series of attacks. Ash grinned, knowing Walen couldn’t match her raw speed and agility. He would tire before he caught her.
Walen, however, wasn’t chasing her. He was moving purposefully and allowed her the first attack. His emerald eyes watched his elder cousin’s every move with a calculating expression beyond his years. Ash concluded he must have received at least some instruction in Outland, though how much he couldn’t be sure.
Despite Una’s claims of clumsiness, the young Quel’dorei was aware of her surroundings and of nearly every move Walen made. As her cousin grew emboldened, so too did she. Una began to toy with him, luring him into patterns and rhythms.
Walen attempted to seize her in a grappling hold. The Initiate had to bend lower than he was used to and went off-balance. An instant later, Una pivoted and threw Walen over her hip.
Each step highlighted the weeks of improvement Una had put in since New Years. Her frame, emaciated from disease and wasted from inactivity, had filled out once again. Her movements only highlighted soft curves and returned musculature of her trim physique.
“When did he last lay with a woman?” Tanithal ventured with a smirk, waving a servant over to pour him another glass of wine. “I don’t remember when he was not bedding males…”
“Or being bedded…” Talaerion chuckled wryly, extending his own wine glass to the servant.
“Here I thought it was cock he craved. Evidently my dear brother has decided to dip into fairer waters.” The warlock chortled at his own joke, “Or possibly he’s tired of being the fairer waters?”
“If that is the case, perhaps he should turn the other cheek.” The disfigured paladin said mildly, giving Ash a broader grin than he thought possible with his scarring.
“Oh, I’m sure he does with regularity.” His brother said smoothly. Tanithal then gasped in mock astonishment, “Wait! We’re thinking too conservatively! No doubt he has already had her in a crowded bed…” The rest of the statement was lost behind a cackle.
“Not yet. In due time.” Ash stated hoarsely, well aware his face was flushed all the way to the tips of his ears. As much as the older men disliked each other, they were certainly finding common ground. There was little doubt Una could hear some of this. If she had even a shred of Andris’ blood in her veins, she would most certainly delight in setting him squirming later.
The mental image of Una and Rune in the same bed arose unbidden, their nude bodies flushed and beckoning…
Both men roared with laughter.
His brother wheezed around laughs, “I do hope she prefers being on top, our dear Ashal wouldn’t know what to do if he…” While the bubbly laughter made the rest unintelligible, Ash could make a confident, but educated guess as to what he said.
“She is a Whitebrook.” Talaerion said easily, “Be there a male in that family that isn’t fond of endangering life and limb with every fuck – I’ve yet to meet him.”
“Still, he suddenly desires a woman! Though I suppose this is my brother after all – if it has a pulse, he is good to go.” Tanithal finally recovered, his voice watery and hoarse from laughter and wine. “Simply ask Emberblade in regards to the goat.”
Ash’s vision literally turned red. How dare that pompous wretch!
Before Tanithal knew what was happening, Ash was already out of his seat and his fist hammered his brother’s skull. Emerald flames erupted around them as the drunken warlock retaliated. Fury literally burned within his fel green eyes.
Flames licked his arms as his fists found his brother’s face again and again. A burning hand clasped the side of his face. Ash jerked away and continued pummeling him with his fists. An arcane torrent lashed Ashal and his brother bucked him off. It was the warlock’s turn to lash out with fists that burned with demonic fire.
Ash slammed his knee into Tanithal’s groin. The warlock bellowed with rage and pain, ceasing his spellcasting to grasp his crotch.
He vaguely heard Una cry out his name as Walen and Talaerion began pulling them further from each other.
Ash seized Walen’s outstretched arm and flung the youth out of his way. His eyes were on his gasping brother, struggling to his own feet in Talaerion’s grasp, dark power already coalescing around his hands.
Talaerion shouted in Old Common. A spell. A flash of light blinded him. A deafening peal shook him to his core. A fist connected solidly with his jaw.
He recovered and found himself staring into the face of a livid, brunette woman. Ash wondered for a moment where Esmea had come from before he registered it was Una. Her face freckles stood out even more vividly than usual as her face flushed with anger.
He started to move forward, determined to continue what he started. Tanithal was helpless, robbed of his magic by whatever spellcasting the senior paladin had done. Walen and Una blocked his way, shoving him away from his intended victim. Ash attempted first to maneuver and then force his way through. Together, the younger paladins were a solid wall. He couldn’t get a grip on either to cast them from his path without the other countering.
With a spiteful mutter, Ash took several steps backwards. Una glared at him for several long minutes with half-lidded eyes and her mouth screwed up into a determined scowl.
A frustratingly short distance away, Talaerion forced Tanithal to sit upon the ground and began examining him.
Walen petulantly stepped around him in the direction of the overturned table and chairs. Una stood where she could watch everyone, her stance relaxed yet ready. She finally snarled through her nose and inspected the half-moon shaped gouges her nails had dug into her palm. With a casual motion, she wasted a bit of mana to repair the tiny wounds.
Una realized he was watching her and met his gaze with the coldest expression he’d ever seen upon her.
“Sit.” She growled unsympathetically and shoved him towards a chair Walen had just righted. “Just what the hell was that about?”
Ash shook his head and, to his irritation, Una huffed indignantly.
She busied herself with cooling his burns and mending the split flesh and darkening bruises. “I swear I don’t know what’s stupider: drunken fighting or fighting a drunken warlock…” She muttered crossly under her breath, pressing a hand to his ribs. Pain flared at her touch. Una growled and channeled a spell to mend the injury, “Emmie is going to love this! When you’re sober…”
“I am not drunk, Private.” Ashal growled sternly to interrupt her.
“Okay, then… what was that about me and a goat?” Una asked pertly. As he had guessed, she had heard every word and was now ready to set him squirming.
Ash’s brother let fly yet another crazy, drunken guffaw. Talaerion braced himself to place most of his weight across the warlock, forcing him to stay still.
“Well, perhaps I did have a few too many…” Ash said quickly. She wouldn’t believe him if he told her the truth anyway. “Nothing of consequence... Just a brotherly spat – you wouldn’t understand.” He stressed the final three words. An only child, Una never had to contend with situations like this.
The young woman stopped, took a step backwards, and stared at him in disbelief. Her mouth opened and shut several times, though not a word emerged from her lips.
“You know what: just forget it.” Una snapped at last, her hands held up as though surrendering.
“Private! That is enough.” Ash lowered his voice to a menacing tone, stressing each word as he spoke for emphasis.
Una raised and lowered her eyebrows once, her lips tightly closed. Ash had a feeling he knew what the look meant; Anaru had made one like it frequently enough. Those two were closer than many siblings.
“Indeed. Am I dismissed, Commander?” She said quietly.
“Dismissed.” He agreed, giving her a curt salute.
Una returned it, her expression still cold and her voice even colder as she said, “Walen, would you please escort me to the baths?”
The youth was all too quick to comply, though not without shooting him a scathing look.
Ash glared at their retreating forms. He lowered his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Talaerion gathered his things, paid for his meal, and strode away without a single word. From Tanithal, there was no word either. Having been thoroughly healed, the drunken warlock had fallen asleep upon the warm pavers, his succubus curled up against him.
The inn’s staff began cautiously making their way around to clean up the aftermath of the fight. Enchanted brooms bobbed past, sweeping up the remains of the plates, wine glasses, and his brandy snifter. Only his bottle of brandy had survived the fight and it lay before him, the amber liquid within scattering golden light across the stained tablecloth.
An arcane guardian passed, warbling banal messages of generic encouragement from the Regent Lord. The golem was completely oblivious to the warlock sleeping off his drink; such was a common sight across the city – though not normally in such an open and public area.
Ash slammed his fist down upon the table as hard as he could, livid with himself. A public fistfight in broad daylight and he was already on probation. It was only by sheer coincidence this hadn’t ended very badly.
The staff was still casting furtive glances at the retreating construct, but none attempted to summon it. If they had known…
“I am an idiot.” The words spilled like an avalanche from his lips.
“What did you do this time?” It was both an aggravation and a relief to hear Rune’s placid, reproachful voice. Ash reached for the flask, intending to take a long swig to bolster himself for the tongue-lashing he was about to receive.
The bottle suddenly lifted away from his grasp and his friend swirled it appraisingly. There was a great deal less brandy in the container than he remembered.
“You’ve had enough.” The blond paladin said sternly. He was dressed casually, ready to enjoy this warm, spring day. Yet another item to add to the growing list of things he had ruined.
“I’m not drunk.” Ash grumbled, standing to take it from Rune as the healer took a swig himself. He stumbled into the table, sending the feet grating harshly against the pavers.
“Of course you’re not.” Rune said with a deadpan expression, corking the flask and moving around to help him rise. He wrapped an arm around him and asked, “To the barracks?”
“Is Una there?” He blurted, wanting nothing more than to avoid the freckled young woman.
“No… Though she mentioned in passing I might find you here. Why would she?” Rune asked as he paused to toss a few gold coins upon the abused and battered table.
“I’ve ruined everything.”
“No, you’re drunk and melodramatic.” Rune muttered spitefully to him, tightening his grip around Ash’s waist and they began to walk. “My apologies for the mess…” The blond knight said earnestly to the innkeeper as they passed.
Ash hung his head. Even with their history, Rune simply couldn’t understand. The healer was welcomed wherever he went. Ash was forever inferior and unwanted, never quite good enough to please those around him. He was sick of it.
The way Una smiled, her open and guileless demeanor, the way she wore her imperfections on her sleeve – he could simply exist around her. He’d ruined all that in one moment of drunken stupidity.
“The only woman in years to so much as look at me… and what do I do?” Ash said forlornly, “Cast her away!”
“Yes, it’s doubtless the maiden assumed the absolute worst and has run off into the high hills wailing in anguish.” Rune then snorted, pausing mid-step to readjust his grip.
“Of course she would!” Ash tried to fight Rune’s grip, but the former priest was far stronger than he used to be. “Just as Tanithal wished!”
“Shocking, don’t you think?” Rune replied sardonically, “Your brother has always been such a kindly soul.”
Though he still walked a razors edge between priest and paladin, Rune was no longer the frail novice he had once been. That elf was long dead, faded away to nothingness following the slaughter of Northshire Abbey and then the destruction of the Sunwell.
As the healer grew in strength, Ash was fading – returning to the hollow wretch Andris had plucked from the filth of the Undercity. All his mentor had done was erect a façade and make him palatable. It had all been for naught, everyone knew who and what he was. Forever punished for something not his fault, his guilt proven through the alibi.
While the guards opened the barracks gates, Rune muttered under his breath about warning Una. The stairs soon loomed before them and the blond paladin growled as they began upwards.
Ash collapsed gratefully upon Rune’s small couch the moment they entered his quarters.
He threw his hands up, “I tell her: Nothing of consequence, after I fight my own brother before her eyes! Couldn’t tell her the truth that it was my first, clumsy fuck and that a goat didn’t particip… partici…” He stumbled over the words, his lips and tongue not cooperating with him, “Wasn’t involved!”
He could hear Rune moving about in the back half of his quarters, “Naturally, my brother insists otherwise!”
Rune spoke loudly and sarcastically from wherever he was, but it was muffled and the brandy made it difficult to understand.
“What am I to do?” Ash called to him.
“You are going to drink. Water. In terms of liters.” Rune said firmly and closer than Ash was expecting. Ash looked over his shoulder to see a water goblet and a glass carafe at eye level. “I don’t have time to neither coddle you nor concoct a half dozen “remedies” for dehydration.”
“By the Sunwell, Rune, you are simple!” He sat up and turned to face the healer. “My brother always sees to –”
An explosion of cold water struck him full in the face.
“Forever playing the victim...” Rune said darkly as the black haired knight sputtered and coughed, “You’re a joke!”
“She will never accept me now!”
“Grow up! She is not Anaru with tits.” Rune interrupted sharply, “And, she made it abundantly clear at Winterveil she doesn’t care for your brother.”
“Since when has that mattered?” Ash realized too late that the water carafe was one of Tanithal’s early experiments with enchantment. The vessel always refilled itself, no matter how much water was consumed. Rune launched another surge of water.
“Stop!” The dark haired knight roared, wiping his face off. Blessed Ancestors, he was sick and tired of being trifled with! First his brother and now Rune! His eyes landed on the carafe and he lunged.
Rune dodged with a laugh, swiftly rounding the room. Ash stumbled over a pouf, narrowly missing a side table as he went down. When he recovered, he didn’t see what his friend had done with the vessel.
Ash snarled, attempting to cut Rune off as he dashed between furniture.
“Poor Ashal… damp, angry, and aroused.” Rune cackled and backpedaled away from him.
The drunken paladin could readily admit to the first two observations, but it took a quick glance at his pants to confirm the third. He managed to confound himself from time to time; why couldn’t he be at least normal?
Rune paused to lean on a table while he laughed. Ash used his momentary distraction to close distance. The blond noticed and quickly met his charge. They grappled, neither gaining nor losing ground.
It was aggravating. Once again, the memory of the slender, androgynous priest arose to taunt him. Thirty years ago, the other was but a genderless youth easily controlled by his larger, more muscular frame. Today, Rune controlled the situation with superlative ease.
Rune’s leg suddenly hooked his own legs and Ash crashed to the floor. His chin slammed upon the floorboards and the air fled his lungs. The former priest straddled and sat upon him. Ash could feel Rune’s own hardness pressing against his back.
Rune laid forward until his lips brushed his neck. “I see how you look at her,” He whispered. “How you obsess over her. What do you prefer now?” He leaned further forward to drag his teeth over the flesh warmed by his breath.
Ash bucked him off easily. Rune rolled to the side and jumped to his feet. It took Ash a moment longer, giving the blond time to put distance and obstacles between them.
“I prefer a warm hole, and you, my friend, have two.” Ash said with a wicked grin. “And what of you?”
Rune took that moment to charge, attempting to catch him in a takedown. The healer caught his arms, twisting as his foot once again hooked around his leg. Ash grit his teeth and managed to maintain his position. For a moment, at least. Rune let himself fall, taking him with him.
To Ash’s great irritation, Rune laid atop him once more. The cock grinding against his hip was dewy and leaking even through the layers of cloth shrouding it from view. A wicked grin lit the former priest’s features, “I am nothing if an opportunistic bastard.”
To that, the black haired elf could attest. Rune had an easy, casual way with both genders that had seldom left him wanting.
Ash bucked and rolled, attempting to dislodge the fellow knight lying across him. He managed to find leverage with one leg and he pushed with all his might. He felt Rune’s weight shift. Though slight, it was in his favor. He jerked, pushing Rune as he did and suddenly he was free.
The pale elf rolled away with a laugh, enjoying their little game. Ash growled, scrambled to his feet and tackled him. They slid and tumbled until they crashed into the foot of Rune’s bed. He finally managed to get Rune under him.
Rune thrashed and fought, but Ash was determined not to give up his precious win. He slid forward, pinning the flailing, grasping hands to the floor. The other elf cursed and growled in determination, refusing to give in. Ash growled himself, leaned forward, and sank his teeth into the cloth-covered shoulder. He released and bit again, higher and then again.
He had to slide further to put himself at a better angle as his mouth went ever higher. It was finally his lips, rather than his teeth, that found the blond’s neck. Rune shuddered and then finally released a lustful moan. He suckled, lapped, and nibbled at the soft flesh at the nape of his neck, tasting the salt skin and relishing in his conquest.
This was why he loved bedding males. The danger and conquest of forcing another to submit… and of submitting himself.
“Enough! You win!” Rune wheezed from beneath him and bucked slightly, “I need to breathe!”
Ash rolled off but not without smacking the blond’s ass twice as the healer pushed himself to his hands and knees. He glanced at the other paladin’s dresser, unsurprised to see leather restraints and other paraphernalia strewn across the top. Rune had definitely not been lonesome these past weeks.
“I shall feel this in the morning, to be sure.” Rune groaned as he dragged himself up the footboard. He looked back at him, nodded to the mattress, and purred suggestively, “Shall we?”
“We shall.” The black haired knight agreed, palming two restraints. He wasn’t ready to give up his victory. Not yet.
With a smirk, Rune turned to face the mattress and slowly stripped off his sweaty shirt. The flesh was still tantalizingly pale, but powerful muscles rippled beneath the pale skin. The hips could no longer be mistaken for the hips of a girl, but were still pleasantly narrow.
Ash strode forward, tucking the restraints into his waistband, grasping those hips between his hands and drawing Rune back to him. He kissed the nape of his neck and strode forward until the paler elf had to lean upon the bed. One hand coaxed his pants open and slid beneath the fabric to stroke the heated flesh through his underwear.
Rune abruptly turned from his ministrations.
His lips found Ash’s own, sucking his kiss. Pain stung as their lips and tongues dueled and mated like tigers. Biting, sucking, tangling, tasting. Their hands grasped each other with enough force to bruise, pulling each other ever tighter.
Ash’s teeth caught the blond’s tongue, holding him firmly to his mouth. The faint taste of copper mingled with flavors of the kiss. Only when Rune made a faint gagging noise did he release him.
“Bastard.” Rune rasped, pressing the back of one hand to his bruised mouth.
“You were the one who wanted to kiss.” Ash reminded him, “I wanted to pet.”
Rune turned and crawled over the edge of the bed. “Then why don’t you suck? Since you seem to be orally fixated tonight.”
“Turn over and I shall.” Ash growled. He had dropped the restraints during their kiss and couldn’t see where they had fallen. No matter. Rune had more.
“You need to be more… flexible.” Rune purred from the bed, taunting him.
Ash leaned over him to kiss the blond’s neck, putting his healing power into a massage as he did. With a grateful moan, Rune grasped the sides of the mattress to brace himself as Ash put his weight into each stroke. He lavished attention upon the pale form beneath him, as he always did, working the day’s stresses from his friend’s muscles. In turn, Ash felt some of his own tension fall away as he worked.
The bed frame was ornate, the sides shaped like the elegant branches of the trees outside. Rune had chosen it purely because he enjoyed binding his partners during sex. Each elegant arch and swirl provided ample places to accept a restraint.
Rune turned over and stretched with a lustful sigh. Ash ground his hardness into him as he bent over him, firmly running his hands up the blond’s arms to massage. The leather straps slipped into place without a sound.
Rune remained oblivious until Ash tightened the restraints. With a shout, he attempted to lurch upright. The entire bed jumped with the force of his jerk. “You son of a bitch!”
“Now, now, Runean.” Ash grinned, “You were the one who left his toys out.”
The blond silently fumed as Ashal began to sort through the sex toys strewn about the top of his dresser.
There were glass probes of varying sizes, some nearly a perfect anatomical sculpture of a penis and others topped with bulbous projections. There were delicate beaded rings, oils, and feathers. Everything that appealed to Rune’s sexual appetite.
He should have, at the very least, found them amusing. It should have given him ideas on how to torment the blond paladin until he howled his passions for all of Silvermoon to hear.
Now, he wasn’t sure what he wanted.
A loud noise startled him. An insistent pounding upon Rune’s door. A voice barked, “Sergeant Emberblade!”
It took him longer than he would have liked to figure out how to free Rune from the restraints. The pounding grew more insistent as he fumbled with the leathers.
Rune always composed himself so quickly. With a practiced gesture, he had closed his pants and was magically erasing any sign that moments prior he had been bound to his bed or engaged in rough foreplay.
Ash sat on the edge of the bed and willed himself to invisibility. It wasn’t that he wasn’t permitted in the barracks anymore. He was ready to be done with this damned city and his accursed brother. The dark haired paladin hung his head and admitted silently: He was ready to leave all his old temptations behind before they drowned him. He was down to mere weeks until these fools could no longer command him to their every whim.
The dark haired Sin’dorei flopped backwards and pulled the satin sheets over his head. The muffled voices were infuriating. So close, he had been so close.
“Commander!” Rune barked.
The use of his title and the tone of Rune’s voice immediately brought Ash out of bed and to his feet.
Framed within the threshold stood a nervous-looking messenger in the colors of the Argent Crusade, flanked by two elite guardsmen. Ash exchanged salutes with the young human.
The messenger stated without preamble, “Commander Orlinde, I bring word from Highlord Fordring himself. Scouts report the shipping lanes to Valgarde have been cleared.”
“When?” Rune blurted.
“Blessed ancestors…” Ash breathed simultaneously.
The ice was clear… now? It had been a hard winter; the ice couldn’t have broken so soon – it was impossible! Even the seas north of Quel’danas were still in the grip of the unnaturally harsh winter.
No, the lanes had been cleared. It could only mean the Alliance icebreakers were a complete success. His head swam. What had been weeks to prepare now counted in days – hours, actually.
“Three days ago, Sir.” The young human replied dutifully, “Highlord Fordring hopes to deploy the first battalion within the next two weeks.”
“Commander, I also bring additional orders from the Highlord.” The human offered a scroll bearing the signet of the Lord-Paladin. “Report to Menethil Harbor as soon as you are able.”
Ashal nodded mechanically as he accepted the document, “Understood.”
He exchanged salutes once more and the messenger set off, guards in tow, to notify Una as well.
Ash retreated back within and numbly sat on the edge of the bed. Rune leaned heavily against the wall, his head resting on his outstretched arm and watched him.
He broke the wax and skimmed the parchment. None of the orders within were unexpected. Ash had discussed everything within and more months ago, when he had met Highlord Fordring at Light’s Hope Chapel. They had given them enough notice they could ride, rather than seek transport from a mage. It would be a long, hard trek but they would arrive within the timeframe the Highlord hoped to achieve.
They would be among the first to cross the frozen continent, face the Scourge, and attempt to find a way into Icecrown. Possibly even confront the Lich King himself.
Darkness and cold settled upon him once again.
The bed sank as Rune settled upon the mattress too. The other paladin’s arms enwrapped him from behind, his warm body warding off only some of the cold.
Ash’s thoughts were turmoil as he reached up to clasp one of Rune’s arms.
He didn't worry for Rune; the healer's transformation from frail priest to robust paladin was long complete. The healer had walked the frozen north as a missionary. He, above all others, knew what to expect and would serve as their guide as they progressed north.
He didn’t worry about himself. Andris had believed in the value of asceticism and Ash had not been exempt.
Una, so weak not all that long ago, would soon walk the frozen wastes. She had never fought in a war. She had never gone without. She had never had to survive in hostile lands.
She had been a peacekeeper, protecting civilian interests and among the first evacuated when the Horde advanced into Elwynn Forest. While she had suffered every bit as much as the rest of their people, she had not faced war and the Scourge in the way most Sin’dorei had.
They had gone hiking, of course, to build her strength and acclimate her to carrying heavy gear in cold conditions. The mountains just north of the Amani lands had been ideal: of both the cold and danger. However, no simple mountain hike could simulate conditions in Northrend. The Scourge aside, they would face the harshest terrain and conditions on Azeroth, as well as any other threat Northrend saw fit to throw at them.
Her grandfather and Lady Calanthe, whose hammer Una now carried, had fallen before Arthas’ relentless march to the Sunwell. Lord Uther and Gavinrad had been slain near the city of Andorhal along with countless others. Seasoned warriors cut down as though they were nothing and the Quel’dorei people all but exterminated.
The first time Una had faced Scourge, it had nearly killed her. Ash had stood guard as Rune stabilized her, staring down a pitiful creature so deathly pale and still she might as well have been a corpse.
Arthas would do all that and more. He would tear her asunder. Under his control, she would slaughter her loved ones and destroy all she held dear. Her mind and soul trapped in eternal torment and damnation; aware of everything she inflicted in the name of the Lich King.
Rune rested his forehead against his back. Ash squeezed his arms.
“We should rest,” Rune whispered into his back. “Tomorrow will be difficult.”
The healer leaned back and Ash allowed him to draw him back until they lay upon the mattress. Ash was never the type to cuddle, but tonight he simply couldn’t muster the will to fight Rune.
It wasn’t terribly late; they had time to begin preparations. He couldn’t sit still, nor was he steady on his feet. He sighed heavily. Through the open door, he could see Rune’s carafe resting on a small table. How had he missed it sitting there?
“We knew it was coming.” Rune told him as Ash pulled away, rose, and went to pour himself a glass of water. “It’s never as bad as you imagine.”
“No, it’s always much worse.” Ash replied after his first, long sip.
Rune groaned, “Spare the histrionics, Ash, and come to bed.”
Ash didn’t move, instead choosing to pour himself another glass. To lay back down enticed him to think… to settle deeper into morbid visions, each worse than the next.
“Did you fret this intensely with me?” Rune asked blandly, neither annoyed nor amused. “With Calanthe? Máradion?”
Ash stiffened and sat down the glass, his stomach rising into his throat.
“Did you underestimate us as much as you are her? Fixate so utterly?” Rune said tensely, on the verge of anger without entirely giving over to it. Then he laughed darkly, “I don’t know why I keep trying to get through to you. Too much drink and you either fight all night or weep to the unfairness of life…”
Ash shut his eyes, lifted the goblet, but placed it back upon the table. He would become angry at Rune, if the blond elf weren’t perhaps the only true friend he had. His words were brutal, but truthful.
“Come to bed.” Rune urged. The sheets rustled and the bed creaked as the blond rose, followed by the quiet pad of each step as he crossed the floor to him. Then his warm arms wrapped around him.
Ash obeyed, but his thoughts remained in turmoil. Even as Rune coaxed his passions aflame once again, he couldn’t quite bring himself back to the place he had been before the news of their deployment.
The next day passed in a flurry that seemed like mere hours as they hurriedly prepared. There were personal affairs to be gotten in order, wills to be made, and gear to be bought.
All too soon, he stood before the gates of the city.
Una and Rune said their goodbyes to their families, embracing and kissing each in turn. Family surrounded them; their bonds painfully clear as they openly wept.
Naturally, there would be no goodbyes for him and it was as he wished.
“You can count on it!” Una’s voice punctuated the hum of conversation as she spoke with a group of her cousins. Aside from the sadness of parting, Una was so remarkably blithe that she seemed afflicted. She wrapped her arm around Kaleril, “We’ll see each other again, don’t cry!”
“I shall see to it you come home, Una.” He didn’t intend to say his oath aloud, but the words were determined to be spoken.
A hand fell upon his shoulder. Ash glowered as Tanithal once again came to stand at his side. The elegant warlock was extraordinarily sober and composed despite his drunken antics the day before. “Don’t make promises you cannot keep, brother.”
Ash hadn’t told his brother about his deployment. Frankly, he had been hoping to leave without seeing the damnable warlock.
“She will be different.” The paladin growled.
“You are going to war.” Tanithal was patronizing him again, speaking to him as if he were a simpleton. “To commit yourself to an oath you have no ability to uphold will destroy you…”
It was laughable that his brother would think they were in any way equal, that he could relate to the danger they would face in the arctic. The sorcerer had no idea. He was but a child flaunting power and delusions of grandeur.
“Since this is apparently personal… who, then, did you give an oath to?” Ash sneered, “Your succubus? Forget to get her nails done?”

“To mother,” The warlock said far too softly. Ash felt his heart jump into his throat: his elder brother never spoke like this. “As she breathed her last, that I would keep her youngest and most troubled son safe.”

Author’s Notes: I’d like to thank FS, beachedsam, KooriRoninheart, pacificuser, Rooietroll, and RogueMudblood for your wonderful reviews! Thank you so much!!

Thanks again to KooriRoninheart for beta reading this for me! Love you, Sis! Thank you again!
Updated June 08, 2013 -- Wanderingaddict pointed out I had a bit of an issue with Una's portrayal in this chapter, making her seem far more experienced than I had portrayed her in earlier chapters. Thanks so much for all your help!
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