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Bond	By : Silverr Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 2569 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own World of Warcraft, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Bond
- 1
A/N: I had posted a prompt for this, but as the saying goes, "if you want something done, do it yourself" ....
For those not familiar with the Death Knight manga, Faltora was Koltira's brother. He was killed by Scourge just prior to Koltira's death and raising.

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Bond,
by Silverr

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Faltora and the others kept asking about it for weeks, and every time he did Koltira had shrugged and said that, yes, of course everyone was right, there couldn't have been a soldier – after all, a lone human would never have been able to penetrate so deep in their forests without being detected – and that it had likely been a hallucination, a mind-poison caused by the disease.
By the time they stopped asking, the line across his fingers where the chain had bit into his flesh had healed.

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Something had been spooking the wild deep woodlands of Quel'thalas.
While some suggested that perhaps forces should be send to check the Runestones guarding the perimeter, Magister Drathir waved off their concerns, attributing the disturbances to a rabid or diseased animal, and so it was that Koltira Lightweaver – who more and more felt that the price of a safe nest in the midst of eternal springtime was a life of petty, mind-crushing dullness – had volunteered to hunt the creature down. If Faltora suspected the real reason – that since his Welcoming Koltira was tired of being approached by those assessing his interest in various potential partners – he didn't bring it up.
Which was good. He supposed that was why he loved being alone in the forest. It didn't ask delicate questions. It didn't chase after him. It didn't demand that he explain his reasons. It didn't get insulted by a polite rejection … blessedly, the forest rarely reacted to his presence at all, unless he was careless.
There was a sound up ahead, or perhaps off to the right. Koltira crouched and listened until it came again. Splashing noises, probably from Sorrow's End Rock. Whatever the animal was, it was big. Staying low, Koltira moved through the underbrush, moving only under the cover of noise.
And then he saw it. In the shadows at the base of the jutting upthrust of rock, where an ancient underground spring fed a pool that trickled down and away in a ribbon of silver, stood a soldier – a human soldier - holding a sword and shield and scanning the forest as if he'd heard Koltira's approach. He didn't seem especially wary, though and after a moment laid his shield next to a folded cloak on a flat dry boulder, put his sword carefully under the water at the edge of the pool – hidden, but easily accessible – and then began to swiftly strip, laying each piece of armor on the cloak.
Koltira was elated to finally see a human – although he'd never expected one so far from the border with Lordaeron. And that in itself was odd: what was this human doing here? Was he lost? Plate armor, sword, shield, no horse suggested infantry, but then where were the others of his troop? Dead? It didn't make sense that he was a scout or a spy, since such would have had bow or dagger, and wear less noisy chain mail or leathers. Then too, scouting was usually a young man's assignment, and from what Koltira could see the human was not young. His beard was gray, and though his shoulder-length hair was darker, the color of old iron, it was frosted white at the temples. Middle-aged, perhaps? The human pulled off his smallclothes, knelt to splash his face with water, then quickly doused his arms and chest, scrubbing with his hands under his arms, between his legs. He stood, dripping. and Koltira, still hiding in the leaves, realized that humans, this human, with his thick muscled body, the chest furred with gray hair, the small ears, the dark red genitals almost hidden in black pubic hair ... Everything about the human was just different enough to make him seem like an exotic animal, and at the thought the fluttering of excitement in Koltira's belly blazed into an inexplicable, terrifying desire.

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The monster emerged from the trees across the stream from Koltira's hiding place, and in deadly silence headed for the human. It was no animal Koltira had ever seen before, misshaped and grotesque, its scabbed hide mottled with decay, its sides rippling as if bursting with maggots. Koltira could not find his voice to shout a warning, but instinct let him raise his bow. The arrow sank deep into the creature's side, and it stopped, then began to lurch toward him.
They knew he was here now, both of them, and so he scrambled from cover, shooting as he ran, aiming for the creature's head, horrified because it had no eyes. Shoot and run, shoot and run; downstream, away from the spring, the soldier shouting something unintelligible but it didn't matter, Koltira was out of arrows but the beast had to be almost dead, it was ribboned with its own blood ... and then something caught his foot and he fell, and in an instant it was upon him, deadly yellow tusks ripping his shirt and slicing across his upper arm, a fetid rotting maw closing around his throat …
… until suddently its jaws released him, its weight squeezing the breath from his chest as it twisted in a death-spasm. There was a wet sound, the creature's body rolled off him, and the still-naked human stood over him. One hand held the sword, slick with blood and offal; the other held out to Koltira, offering to help him up.
The human's hand was calloused, a warrior's hand. His grip was strong: he seemed surprised when Koltira's equaled it. As Koltira stood and caught his breath the soldier frowned and pointed to Koltira's arm, which was smeared with blackish ichor and oozing blood from where the creature's tusks had broken the skin. The human said something in a language Koltira did not know, harsh round syllables, then pointed again.
Koltira shook his head to signify that he did not understand.
The soldier touched Koltira's shirt, then raised his eyebrows, questioning. When Koltira did not respond the human took hold of the shirt and efficiently tore it to pieces, using the strips to clean and bandage Koltira's wound.
Koltira could not help but stare at the soldier as he worked. His face was unlike any elf's: pale golden eyes flecked with brown; weathered skin patterned with faint wrinkles and creases; beard covering not just chin, but upper lip and half his cheeks, and his hair, threaded with more white than had been visible from a distance.
Koltira wanted … he wanted to belong to this human.
When the soldier was done tying the bandages he stepped back, and looked directly at Koltira at last.
Koltira reached out, hooking his fingers over the small locket the soldier wore around his neck on a thin silver chain. The soldier resisted as Koltira tried pull him forward: Koltira pulled harder, so hard that the thin chain cut into his fingers before it snapped.
With a sharp cry the human went to snatch the locket back – but Koltira was already holding it out, cupped in his side-by-side palms. When the puzzled soldier took the locket Koltira pressed his palms together and extended his arms, offering what he hoped would be understood.
The soldier looked at him shrewdly, and the cool calculation of the look made Koltira realize that this was no ordinary foot soldier. This was someone accustomed to command, someone who expected to be obeyed.
A shudder of anticipation rippled over Koltira and he parted his lips, willing the human to notice his excitement, wanting him to understand its meaning.
Something shifted in the human's pale eyes, a comprehension. He ran his fingers along the flat of his sword blade, coating them with blood, then reached out and stroked Koltira's forehead and face.
Marking him.
After a moment, the soldier cautiously put his fingertips against Koltira's lips.
Without hesitation Koltira sucked them, hoping to communicate by action.
The soldier grunted in surprise and pulled his hand away, but then slowly reached behind Koltira's head, removing the leather strip that bound his hair.
Once Koltira's hands were tied he sat and then lay back on the bank of the stream, stretching his bound arms up over his head and pushing his hips up to make sure that the human did not miss the proof of his ardor. He didn't care what this human did to him as long as he did something.
The human, seemingly amused by the elf's impatience, thrust his sword into the ground just below Koltira's wrists. Koltira knew that all he needed to do to get free was to pull his bonds down against the blade – but he did not want to get free.
The human was straddling him now, smiling faintly, towering like some primal god, and the mix of fear and anticipation aroused Koltira as he'd never been inflamed before. The only thing that kept Koltira from shouting in frustration was watching how the human's cock was finally taking an interest, the heavy shaft thickening and rising, a clear drop glistening at the tip. Koltira opened his mouth, hoping the soldier would let himself be tasted
The human squatted, rubbing him with the heel of his hand as he slowly undid the fastenings of Koltira's leggings ...
The first arrow grazed the human's neck.
The second pierced his shoulder, and the third his forearm as he tried to shield himself.
Koltira heard shouts in Thalassian, heard footfalls running up from behind him, felt someone pull the sword from the earth. Then his hands were free and Faltora was helping him up, and someone was sobbing over and over again about the blood, and someone else was hissing at Koltira to cover himself, but when he pulled himself free of all the circling arms and looked toward Sorrow's End Rock, the cloak, the armor, and his soldier were gone.

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At first he had insisted that they listen to the truth, but then he'd overheard them whispering. worried that his "ordeal" at the hands of the savage invader had temporarily unhinged his mind. After that he realized that it was simpler to just agree to every alteration they made, and so he let them erase his soldier from the story, agreeing that not only had the beast been the cause of his injuries, but that its poison had been the cause of his talk about a kindly human soldier. Then too, he was grateful to have the excuse of his "frail health" to oust those bright-eyed hopefuls who sat by his bedside long after sunset.

He bided his time, and once he had lulled them into relaxing their vigilance he went back and haunted the woods, his eyes straining to spot a trail of blood in the leaves and mosses, in the pine needles underfoot, in the crumbling wood of fallen trees. Day after day he crossed and re-crossed a world centered on Sorrow's End Rock, hoping to find – but also hoping not to find – a faded purple cloak or a pile of bleached bones, and all the while there was a sense of gathering darkness, like thunder just below the threshold of hearing, until finally he began to believe that perhaps he had in a delirium imagined it all.

And then one day, just after a rain, when he knelt to drink from the pool at the base of Sorrow's End Rock, he saw the silver gleam of a broken chain in the water and knew that it had been neither dream nor fever, and the knowledge was like the flickering flame of a candle placed in a window to see a weary storm-tossed traveler safely home.

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- END -

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(04) 5 April 2012
- 1
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