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Last Breath	By : kalla Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 5528 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: World of Warcraft, Azeroth and the concept of Blood Elves and Trolls within the universe are not mine. No money is made from this story.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
Full Disclaimer:

World of Warcraft is not mine, nor are the concepts of Trolls and Blood Elves within the World of Warcraft setting. The Setting of Azeroth is not mine. Any NPCs present in World of Warcraft are not mine.
Tshion, my Blood Elf Paladin, and Briyanna, my Blood Elf Priest ARE mine.

Jelah, the Troll Mage, and Selarcis, the Blood Elf Paladin, belong to my boyfriend and is used with permission.

Rynzia belongs to her creator, and is used without permission.

Part of this story is/has been Role-Played in game and out.
The title is inspired by Evanescence, "My Last Breath".

The chapter title is inspired by The Last Dance, "Once Beautiful".

I claim neither song to be my own.
This work is purely for archival/entertainment, and no money is being made from it.

VII. Whisper In My Ear
Tshion had no idea how much time had passed. He didn't really care.
He shifted slightly and lifted his head. Whoever now had a soaking shoulder held out a scrap of cloth to him, and with trembling hands, he took it, drying his sore and swollen eyes. He backed away a little, and the arm fell from around him.
Tshion blinked, and found himself looking into a pair of sympathetic turquoise eyes. He blinked again.
“They took him to the Shado-Pan Monastery on Vol'jin's orders,” Selarcis murmured.
Tshion hiccuped in reply.
“He's alive, Tshion. According to Vol'jin, if they could bring him back from the edge of death, they can heal Jelah.” He gently nudged the other paladin. “Come on. Let's get out of here.”
Slowly, Tshion pulled away and got to his feet. Someone had left his sword, shield and helmet beside them, and Selarcis was picking up his breastplate and shoulder guards before standing.
As he sheathed his sword, Tshion looked around. The only people left now were a couple of Horde Grunts, a handful of Varian Wrynn's bodyguards, and some of the various leaders, talking with others who had been a part of the reinforcements. They had positioned themselves at a respectful distance, though a few occasionally glanced toward the two paladins, now putting themselves to rights.
One of them separated from the group and approached them.
“You two ready to get out of here?” Rynzia asked, quietly.
“More than,” Selarcis replied. “Can you send us-”
“Back to the Shrine of Two Moons? Done.” A moment later, Ryn had opened a portal for them. “Go on. There's going to be a bit of cleanup here, and it seems like peace talks – or at least a general ceasefire – are in progress. I wish I could send you straight to the Monastery, but... I'm not quite up to it.”
“It won't be hard to get there. Thank you, Ryn,” Selarcis murmured.
Tshion tried to smile his thanks at the mage, but she shook her head and patted his shoulder. “Go. He needs you more than we do, and you shouldn't be in the Healers' way by now.” She smiled at him. “Find Vol'jin when you arrive. He wanted to speak with you.” She gently nudged him toward the portal.
Hiding his shock, Tshion nodded, made sure he had everything, took another look around, pointedly avoiding the still-present blood-stains, and stepped through the portal.
Tshion frowned as he shook off the effects. He didn't much care for portals. They left his stomach in knots at the best of times, but now he felt sick.
Selarcis gripped his arm, steadying him. “Easy. If I had been thinking, I'd have had her send us back to the guild hall so you could get out of that... and bathe. I know I long for one, and to get out of this armor.”
Tshion chuckled weakly. “Agreed. I'm sure we can do something about it here, though. It's not like we all haven't stashed things, and right now, a cold bath in a river sounds heavenly compared to... well.” He gestured at himself, and could feel the sweat and blood drying on the gambeson under his armor.
“I think we can do better than that. Just beware of Madam Vee Luo – she'll try to feed us as well.” Selarcis turned towards the Shrine's Eastern entrance, leading Tshion gently, but firmly.
“The thought of food makes me sick, right now. Especially after all that,” Tshion grumbled.
“I know. Still, she means well.”
To her credit, the innkeeper cheerfully provided them with private baths, soap and towels. Once they had visited the bank and dug clothing out of storage, they retired to them.
Tshion closed his eyes as he sank into a tub of hot water, wincing as the heat not only loosened blood, dirt, and who knows what else, it managed to find every minor abrasion, bruise, cut and ache it touched. He soaked only as long as it took to loosen some of the tension in his back, neck and shoulders, then washed and stepped out.
Clean clothing that was not a prelude to armor never felt so good.
He met Selarcis in the common area of the inn. The other paladin looked as relieved as he did.
“Do you have everything you need?” Selarcis asked him. At Tshion's nod, they left the Shrine. “Would you prefer to fly, or take the long way?”
“Fly. The sooner I...” Tshion stopped, unable to continue.
“I understand.” Selarcis fumbled under his shirt for a moment, withdrawing a vial on a chain. “I'll take you.”
“I thought you hated that thing,” Tshion protested quietly.
“It comes in useful at times like these, and instead of taking a longer way by wyvern, I can get you there directly.” Selarcis ran his finger over the vial and it glowed for a moment. Tshion stepped back as Selarcis growled, glowing brightly for a moment as his form shifted into a huge sand-dragon. Tucking his wings, he bent down on his front legs so Tshion could clamber onto his back. Once he felt the other paladin was secure, he took a few steps forward and launched off the terrace.
The flight took a far shorter time than Tshion expected. Lost in his thoughts, which repeated the last several hours over in his mind, he was surprised when they were already flying over Mount Neverest, the air this high up much colder than he expected. He pulled his cloak out of his knapsack and wrapped it around himself, trying to ignore the little voice in his head that kept repeating one phrase, over and over: “You failed him.”
Selarcis landed in front of the Monastery, and once Tshon's feet touched the snow, reverted back into his humanoid form. Tucking the vial back under his shirt, he started towards the Monastery, tugging at the sleeve of Tshion's shirt.
Numbly, Tshion followed.
Just beyond the doors, Vol'jin himself stood, speaking with one of the monks. Both looked up as the two Sin'dorei approached. The monk bowed and left them alone in the ante-chamber.
Selarcis followed the monk after nudging Tshion forward.
Vol'jin looked Tshion over, then nodded. “You be Tshion, ya?” Tshion nodded, swallowing audibly. “Don' look so nervous. I not gonna eat ya head.” He paused, tilting his head curiously. “Ya attached t' that one, Jelah?”
“Very much so,” Tshion answered, quietly, trying to keep his voice from shaking.
Vol'jin nodded. “He call ya name. Reachin'. Didn' like wakin' wit'out ya there.” He reached up and laid a hand on Tshion's shoulder. “He gonna be all right. Dese monks, dey know. Dey pull me outta worse den what he got. He just as stubborn as I be when I be healin'. Stay wit' him. He need ya.”
Tshion blinked, then nodded slowly. “Thank you, Warchief.”
Vol'jin chuckled, patted Tshion's shoulder and turned toward the door. “Mah name be Volj'in. Don' be forgettin' dat.”
He passed through the doors, leaving Tshion wondering what just happened.
“Tshion?” Selarcis rounded a corner, and beckoned to the other paladin. Tshion moved to join him. “They have his bones set. Things were a little more complicated than they originally thought, and … Well, come on, see for yourself.” He led the way down a hall and into a small room where a bed was partially hidden with a screen.
From what Tshion could see, Jelah's head was bandaged, and one wrist was in a tight splint. A strange contraption was set up near the foot, where his broken leg had been suspended by a network of pulleys, rope and a cloth sling. Briyanna sat in a chair beside him, talking to him too softly for them to hear, but whatever she was saying, Jelah's face told him that he was angry.
Tshion closed his eyes, pained, and looked away. “I can't,” he whispered. “I let this happen to him.”
“You didn't,” Selarcis whispered back. “Go. He needs you, and you need to be there, for both your sakes.” Selarcis gently pressed a hand into the small of Tshion's back and pushed him forward.
Briyanna looked up, patted Jelah's hand, and got up. “Talk sense into him, Tshion.”
At the mention of the paladin's name, Jelah's head snapped toward them, and immediately looked away. Briyanna gestured with her head, and two other Healers, monks, from the look of them, departed. She tugged at Selarcis, but pushed Tshion around the screen, whispering in his ear. “He's not being very cooperative. Be gentle with him, Tshion. I've never seen him like this, and it frightens me.” Without another word, she and Selarcis left, closing the door firmly behind them.
Tshion moved closer, and settled himself cautiously into the chair Briyanna had vacated. “Jelah?”
Jelah didn't turn to look at him. Tshion looked him over. The mage looked horrible. Apart from the bandages, Tshion could see bruising in his face, and could feel the tension of anger radiating from the troll even at the distance he was. His uninjured hand was clenched in the blanket covering his torso, and the foot at the end of the raised leg, also heavily splinted, was bruised. Another blanket covered his uninjured leg, but the lump under the blanket showed that his other ankle was splinted as well.
“I would rather not talk about it,” Jelah said, softly. Tshion blinked.
Tshion stayed silent for several moments, then reached out to pull the fisted hand between his own hands. “You're alive,” he whispered, finally, pulling the hand up to his lips and pressing them to the back of the mage's hand. “By the Light, you're alive.” His eyes closed and he felt the tears stinging his eyes again, but this time of relief.
Jelah turned to look at the paladin then, and though Tshion couldn't see it, his expression was shocked. The fist uncurled, and he pulled his hand from Tshion's and touched the paladin's face, exactly as he had before he passed out.
“I thought.. I thought you were dead, Jelah.”
“Not... Not quite,” Jelah said, finally. Tshion opened his eyes and looked at the mage, leaning into the touch of his hand. “Would prefer it, though, compared to...” At Tshion's sob, he regretted the words at once. “This pain,” he said, covering it. “Didn't think the wall would be so hard.”
Tshion lifted an eyebrow, ignoring the tears spilling over his face. Jelah shifted slightly, trying to turn toward the paladin, gave up and sighed. His hand slid away just enough for him to reach out both arms to the paladin, who moved to hug the mage, as gently as he could.
“They won't let me move. They won't let me up,” Jelah complained.
“I should say not,” Tshion growled. “The wall, and the floor hit you harder than you thought, and you didn't bounce.” He nuzzled his face into the troll's neck. “Why, Jelah? Why did-”
“I had to.” Tshion leaned back and looked the mage directly in the eyes. “I had to, before you worried more about me than what was in front of you, trying to lop your head off. You had to stop him, before he killed us all.”
“I was supposed to protect you.”
“You did,” Jelah shook his head when Tshion pulled away. His good arm tightened, and his hand pulled a fistful of fabric from the paladin's back. “No, damn it, listen to me. I... I didn't think I would... I... it was only supposed to be... I only wanted him to put me out of the way, out of reach, so there would be nothing more for you to worry about. It wasn't supposed to... do this.”
“Do -this-? He could have killed you! What if he'd broken your neck before you hit that wall? What if hitting the wall broke your spine? You call this out of the way?” Tshion's voice was rising, and Jelah let him go.
“You kept looking to where the others had collapsed. You were looking for me. You almost got killed in the distraction. And it did.”
“It did what?”
“They've already Healed it.”
“Healed what?”
Jelah looked away. “My back.”
Tshion dropped into the chair with a loud thump, stunned, the anger draining out of him as quickly as it had risen.
“You've noticed, by now,” Jelah said sourly, “that I'm speaking normally, and I assure you, no one here is going to give me anything with mageroyal in it any time soon.”
“What else, other than your spine?”
Jelah took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then in a toneless voice, listed off his injuries: fractured spine, cracked skull, broken wrist, broken leg, sprained ankle, cracked rib, countless bruises, friction abrasions, bruising to countless areas and a dislocated hip.
Tshion sucked in a breath, and stood up, shaking. “Out of the way,” he breathed. “I know dead people with fewer-”
“I'm a troll,” Jelah pointed out, softly.
“One who is not going to be moving from that bed for at the very least a week,” Tshion shot back. “And if you think you are, I will sit on you.”
“I don't need to-”
“In. Full. Plate.”
“I'll be-”
“I. Will. Not. Lose. You. Again.” Tshion turned around, his eyes glowing slightly.
“Again?” The mage's confusion was evident, but so was the guilt.
“You were dead, Jelah.” Jelah's silence was audible. “I have just enough Healer in me to know that, and knew when I touched you. They pulled you back before you could go anywhere.” Jelah remained silent. Tshion went on, his eyes hard on the troll's. “I can't lose you,” he whispered, fear lacing his words.
Jelah closed his eyes, unable to take the intensity of the paladin's gaze. “I'm sorry,” he murmured.
The chair creaked as Tshion sat down again, pulling Jelah's hand into his. “Prove it, then,” he whispered. “Follow every order you're given. Take everything they give you.” His voice broke as he continued, “Go back to being the fiery, incessantly cheerful troll who giggled at setting cultists on fire.”

He pulled the hand to his lips, still whispering. “And never do this again. I can't lose you. It would kill me to lose you.”
Jelah's hand closed around Tshion's.
It was warm.
- 6
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- 8
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Last Breath