Warcraft 1. A Temper That Never Tires

_**Love Bites**_

_Writer's Note: Breaking Dawn will shortly be converted from a one-shot to a series of analogy tales set in the Cataclysm expansion of WOW. This story will eventually be added to it, but for now…Love Is In The Air, and so it stands alone.

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Part 1: A Temper That Never Tires

"_If I could soar the sky for hours_

_Just like a butterfly through flowers_

_I'd fly to you_

'_Cause you know that you showed me I could_

_You always ran to me when I cried_

_And promised to be closer to my side_

_I'm glad it's true_

_Even when I'm not doin' so good._

_Still I dunno know-whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa_

_Why you went flying with a loser like me_

_Just goes to show-whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa_

_The sky's never a limit to what we can be…"

* * *

_

_In a world that has shattered__…_

_Some things stand strong._

…_Always?_

Zackel Wintersoul was not the type to hold up certain periods of time as more important to a relationship than others.

Well, to be more specific, he was not one to let outsiders do it. When the Crown Chemical Co (and the Forsaken pulling its strings) had caused its initial ruckus all those years ago, inadvertently semi-legitimizing the 'period of love' they'd been trying to manipulate for their own ends, Zackel had been single. In the two serious relationships he'd been in since then, he had not seen a valid reason to treat those days as if they were anything special. A relationship was _always _special, no matter what the time of year was, and acting as if one should 'try harder' during a specific period of time struck Zackel as crass, manipulative, and all and all artificial. Zackel had seen too many men (and women) who seemed to think that acting their best during that period allowed them to slack off the rest of the time, and he'd told a few of them that, to their faces. So far, it had earned him two punches. It didn't change Zackel's mind.

However, just because Zackel saw no reason why a block of days were said to be more 'romantic' and 'passionate' and 'couple-friendly', it did not mean that he was so above it all to play along. Winter's Veil, in the end, was about community and family, not about the gifts, but getting them was still nice. Likewise, while showing love and affection to your significant other should have been done year-round, well…no harm in taking advantage of widely held beliefs to step up your efforts.

Also, if the timing favored you, one would be a fool not to take advantage.

"When in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes…I all alone beweep my outcast state…" Zackel murmured to himself, holding the black rose out in front of him. He'd given Rielle more than a few flowers carved from ice over their years, but this year he'd come up with a new idea. With absolute concentration, one finger held up and pointing at the flower, he was writing on the delicate petals with traces of frost, casting a brief poem in tiny Draeneic text (Rielle had excellent eyes). He wasn't exactly sure where the text came from: Zackel had discovered it in Draenei records, which according to the scattershot info, the aliens had picked up somewhere during their eons of space travel. Whatever its origins, it translated well to Common, Zackel doing said translating out loud as he wrote the original alien cuneiform on the flower.

"And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, and look upon myself and curse my fate. Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd, Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least. Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising, From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate; For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings…That then I scorn to change my state with kings."

With the last bit of text displayed on the flower, Zackel carefully reached out with one hand and brought the gnome-contraption he'd built the night before in front of him. Originally a clock covered with an elongated glass dome, Zackel had removed the clock and done some modifications, both mechanical and magical, to the base. Carefully placing the rose on the thin stand, Zackel settled the glass cover onto the base and locked it down, before focusing some of his magical talents inside it. Faint cold mist began to exude from the base within, a preservation mechanism that would keep the rose fresh and the writing clear until Rielle showed up.

Exactly when she would, Zackel didn't know. They'd made general plans to meet that day: Zackel figured it wouldn't be much longer. He just hoped circumstances continued to exist as they currently were for the day, if only for the sake of his ideas. Things rarely turned out the way you wanted to in Azeroth, ESPECIALLY after the Shattering…but one could hope.

Their lives had been busy since the day Deathwing had returned; after a few quiet years, the two of them had found themselves thrust into new and ever-expanding threats. At the moment, though, the pair had found themselves on the dangerous territories that had been dubbed the Twilight Highlands. While they hadn't been part of the initial force that had (with considerable difficulty) made landing and begun construction of the location dubbed Highbank, Zackel and Rielle had certainly aided in keeping Highbank in one piece: between the orc offshoot known as the Dragonmaw, the far-too-volatile Horde elements that were already there (it almost drove Zackel to despair that, even with the world at risk of breaking apart, the Alliance and Horde STILL couldn't stop fighting each other), and of course, the actual Twilight's Hammer cult and all the dark forces they were aligned with, there had been more then enough danger to go around. Despite the odds, the Alliance had dug its heels in and refused to be cast out, and, in typical aggressive fashion, had sent scout, adventurer, and mercenary parties into the Highlands to accomplish tasks even as they fought to survive (something Zackel didn't pat himself on the back for as much as others did: the Horde had done the same). The approach had bourn fruit, for the most part: the Alliance had united the scattered Wildhammer dwarf clans that roamed the highlands and recruited them into their ranks, and the Horde had sent a party into the cursed fortress Grim Batol and struck a blow against the Twilight's Hammer, among other things. Not everything had worked out well, though; an attempt to strike another blow, this time against Deathwing, had ended with the red dragon queen Alexstraza gravely wounded and the Red Dragonflight barely restrained in their desire for vengeance.

It was the last event that had led to the current circumstances. Highbank was still under construction, the Alliance having finally finished fortifying the initial keep and the land and sea defenses to focus on building a few more structures within its walls. A makeshift barracks had been among the first completed buildings; besides those who had been allowed to sleep in the keep (and they were very few, as it was primarily used for the commanders and official Alliance forces rather than for hired outsiders), adventurers had been forced to sleep in tents inside the fortress walls. With the barracks done, most of the adventurers had moved in, trading the exposure, cold winds blowing off the sea, and lumpy ground for the cramped rooms and absolute lack of privacy of the building. Zackel and Rielle had been separated (the barracks were not unisex), and while a few more structures had been finished since then (including, of all things, a small makeshift bar/tavern, though considering the fact that the Wildhammers had come into the fold, maybe that wasn't so surprising), more rooms, or an inn, was not among them. With said barracks crammed to bursting, and going outside in a tent not much better, Zackel and Rielle had resigned themselves to the situation and focused on the work.

Then the Red Dragonflight had come, its leaders proposing a bold plan. After Alexstraza's injuries, the Red Dragonflight had been chomping at the bit for revenge. They were not, however, so stupid to let this desire cause them to play into enemy hands. The Red Dragonflight leaders had proposed using the situation for a feint: the Alliance members (as well as any neutral mercenaries) that they recruited would fake an attack at Grim Batol, supposedly seeking to penetrate its deeper chambers and get at whatever lay there, then quickly retreat. At the same time, the Red Dragonflight would strike at the Twilight's Hammer bastion, re-channeling their rage at a just-as-deserving target, hopefully catching them off guard and inflicting far more damage than a strike at Deathwing would create. The Alliance leaders had agreed, and quickly rounded up every single able-bodied combatant who wanted to go.

That number, however, had not included Zackel or Rielle. Zackel had been in Stormwind at the time, picking up some supplies, and Rielle had been engaged with other Wildhammer dwarves in the small town known as Thundermar, aiding them in their issues with the Dragonmaw orcs that had been stupid enough to not side with the Horde. The pair had returned to find the barracks had gone from overstuffed to virtually deserted, and with a request for no newcomers to join the planned assault due to issues with time and security, Zackel and Rielle had been effectively banned from the attack. Zackel somewhat regretted not being there when the request had been made, but sometimes timing just didn't work out. He was also mildly concerned for his friend Nekola, who HAD gone with the rest of the selected Alliance. After meeting the dwarf priest again, shortly after the Shattering, he'd ended up sharing several more adventures with her; her healing skills had not lessened, and perhaps best of all, she and Rielle got along well. If something happened when he wasn't around, well…hopefully nothing would. Zackel had had his fill of regrets.

On the good side, the barracks being empty meant that Zackel had been able to claim a special 'officer room' for himself (previously, whoever got the room had been decided by card games). Though all that meant in the end was that he got a slightly better bed and a window, the main benefit was privacy. While word had come that the feint and actual attack had been fairly successful, the collected Alliance members had not yet returned to Highbank. Between that fact, and the time period, and the apparent lull of trouble, Zackel had figured that spending a day with his lady would be a nice break from the current troubles of the world.

Whenever she showed up.

Which would hopefully be soon.

"Well…beats digging up more clay fragments for pocket change." Zackel said, pulling out a gold piece and rolling it across his knuckles. The irony that the particular piece of coin may very well have come from Zackel's archeology pursuits was not lost on him.

* * *

When the hammer came down on the axe, Dorgan Slagfist could feel the power of the weapon radiate up his arm. The blacksmith had seen a few exceptional weapons pass through his shop in Highbank, for repairs and touch-ups, but the crimson and black axe, as big as he was, seemed to speak to him more. The weapon sang of war and bloodshed, of glorious battle and conquest, of all one's foes falling beneath one's heel. Dorgan suspected that there was a tale behind its construction, but he also suspected that he wouldn't be hearing it today. Regrettable, but it did not lessen the enjoyment he felt while working on the weapon. It gave him confidence that, for all the twisted, horrendous creatures and powers the Twilight's Hammer commanded, it would all end up as little more than corpses at their feet and blood on their blades.

Finishing his work, Dorgan placed the axe in the nearby water sluice, the liquid carefully moderated to properly cool and strengthen the weapon. Wiping the axe down with a cloth, Dorgan turned to his customer, who was looking at the sky with a thoughtful expression.

"Done, lass." Dorgan said, the Draenei standing up and walking over to him. "I must say…that's quite a tool for a lady."

Rielle smirked with one corner of her mouth, before she reached down and picked up the axe one-handed. This fact did not go unnoticed by the dwarf, who worked a forge all day and had the muscles to go with it; he'd felt far more comfortable handling the weapon with both his arms.

"Good thing I'm not one, then." Rielle said, looking over her axe. "Ah, excellent work. Keep the change." Rielle said, handing the dwarf a small pouch of gold coins.

"Many thanks. Keep your feet on the ground."

"Duly noted." Rielle said, picking up her helmet and tucking it under her arm as she headed out of the 'craftsmanship' section of Highbank. Judging by what the sun had told her, it was slightly past 11 AM. Having completed all the small daily tasks she could think of, Rielle pondered what she could fit in before she went and spent time with Zackel. Check for information? Then again, with so few people around, she doubted she'd get anything new. Inquire about developing jobs? No, that could be read the wrong way…

There really wasn't much of anything she could do, in the end. That seemed like as good a reason as any…

"Pardon me!" A voice came, and Rielle turned to look at a male human in dark robes. Her nose crinkled at the scent of fel energy: a warlock. Rielle didn't care for warlocks: most Draenei didn't, on principle. On the other hand, Rielle had met at least two warlocks with willpower and noble intentions that could easily be a match for her own, so she tried not to judge without merit. "You are Rielle? The Draenei warrior?"

"Who's asking?" Rielle said, her battle instincts flaring up.

"Hey! I wanted to ask her!" Came another, female voice, and the warlock was abruptly elbowed aside by someone else. A female dwarf, and a paladin, based on the various religious symbols carved into her sapphire-colored armor, as Rielle observed.

"Hi! Fhaerris Glorygem! Can you help us?" The dwarf said, even as she stuck out her hand.

"What?" Rielle said, a little confused.

"We want to deliver a message to Firebeard's Patrol! But Highbank's out of griffons, and we've heard that the black dragonkin have been ranging further afield from the Obsidian Forest these past weeks, ever since Alexstraza's injury. Embouldered, or whatever the word is." Fhaerris said in a non-breathing rush. "So we thought we'd ask you!"

"You know me?" Rielle said.

"Only by reputation." The warlock said, rubbing his hip where the dwarf had elbowed him.

"Yeah! You're a giant ass-kicker, and stuff! With you, we don't have to be worried about anything! Can you help us? PLEASSSEEEE?" Fhaerris said, and Rielle could swear the dwarf was giving her puppy-dog eyes.

"There's payment involved. Not a bad sum." The warlock added in a dry tone.

"…well…I…" Rielle said, glancing back into Highbank. Looking back at the dwarf, she swore she could see the paladin's upper lip quivering. Peering upwards, Rielle did a little geographic math.

The battlefields in front of Highbank were calm for now. At maximum ride on a ground-mount, barring any outside interference, Firebeard's Patrol could be reached and returned from inside ninety minutes. She and Zackel hadn't set a particular time to meet…and she did always feel better if she got some exercise during the day…

…Surely it couldn't hurt. Maybe she could…

No, Zackel would probably be cross at the thought of spending their day (even a small part) doing dirty work. Better to just do it and come see him afterwards, with some extra money and a new story to tell. She could clean herself off and the two could treat themselves to a rowboat ride, or some sabreworg meat in the special sauce that cook Silvia provided if you paid him enough. Yeah, she could handle this.

"…Trouble you say?' Rielle said, putting her axe on the ground. The paladin Fhaerris, despite seeming very un-paladin like in some senses, apparently recognized the motion as an agreement, and began clapping her hands together in glee.

"Hopefully none." The warlock said.

"Oh I don't know…" Rielle said, reaching up and slipping her helmet over her face. The magically enchanted super-charged crystals expanded upward from its jaw, covering Rielle's lovely features in a line of cruel spikes. It did not, however, hide the wicked grin that came over her features.

"There's not much fun in that."

* * *

Zackel had been reading the book for nearly an hour when he'd started to feel bothered. Another hour had passed before the sensation grew too much for him to concentrate on the book. Where was Rielle?

Zackel put the book down and pondered the wall. While it was true that the pair hadn't set a specific time, he'd been quite certain Rielle would have shown up by now. She was a practical girl, and wasn't the type for small talk or gossip. Maybe she'd met up with…no, she wasn't currently in the camp. Then what was it?

"…girl should remember I don't live as long as her." Zackel said. Standing up, he took a moment to peer out the window (which looked out onto Highbank, and revealed no Rielle), before he laid down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He did that for another thirty minutes before he finally got antsy and got off the bed, heading to his personal chest of items and opening it up.

The palm-fitting gem was a dark, rusty red, and it felt warm to the touch. That fact provided a little comfort to Zackel, albeit not as much as he'd have liked. The gem contained, among other things, including magic, a few drops of Rielle's blood. It had a pretty far range, and as long as the gem remained warm to Zackel's touch, it meant Rielle was alive. If the gem heated up, it meant she was exerting herself. If it got colder, it meant she was injured. If it turned black and went completely cold…

That would hopefully never, ever happen. Still, it never hurt to take precautions.

Zackel stared at the gem for another half an hour before his patience finally ran thin enough to head out. He knew that if there was some innocuous reason that she was taking so long, she'd be mad that he thought she had to be tracked down. Still, Zackel would take kow-towing and spoiling her to appease her temper over not knowing what had happened to her (he'd done it before).

He really hoped the whole incident didn't involve Ishova. That was the last thing he needed.

* * *

Rielle should have known from the size of the payment that the 'brief mission' she'd decided to do would turn out the way it had. There was generous compensation…and then there was the act of throwing money at an issue to try and stave off perceived problems. The sheer number of gold pieces that were being offered for a simple delivery should have tipped her off that she wasn't just delivering a normal message. The message was clearly so important that not only did the payer wanted it delivered fast, he wanted the carriers to be so eager to collect that they wouldn't question what the message was. Nothing like waving cash at the average Azeroth adventurer to get them to stop thinking, especially when they thought they had been handed a sucker on a silver platter. Rielle, not wanting to spoil things for her companions, had kept her questions to herself until the delivery, when she'd asked the woman that had accepted the letter, in a teasing manner, if it was a love poem.

The woman had tried to kill her. Things had gone downhill from there.

As it had turned out, the message had not been a love poem. It had been from a Twilight's Hammer spy inside Highbank, informing the message-taker of a meeting place. Said message-taker had clearly ended up being too paranoid and twitchy for their own good, and interpreted Rielle's joke as an indication she'd known too much. The message was also in code, but one of Fhaerris' companions, a male rogue, had happened to be an expert cryptographer (and also a budding businessman who had given Rielle his card, something that had mightily confused the Draenei) who had figured out what the message meant. With a Potion of Illusion provided by Rielle (mixed by Zackel, the sweet ever-prepared brainiac), another of the team, a night elf druid, had taken the message-taker's place and the group had headed to the meeting place. One ambush and fight later, the Twilight's Hammer spy and her minions were dead…

And another Alliance group had arrived immediately afterwards, apparently tracking the spy for their own reasons. It was around the time when the dead spy was revealed to be wearing one half of a necklace that, if brought with its other half, could cause the Alliance and Horde terrible trouble, that Rielle began to wonder if it would have been better if she'd just said no to the offer.

But she couldn't just walk away. Not now…

* * *

Highbank's still-being-constructed status made one thing simple: it wasn't hard to turn over every stone. Even the keep and ships in the dock didn't add much time to Zackel's search; whether that was a good thing or not, the mage could not say. He'd started his hunt for his girlfriend mildly irritated, and forty-five minutes later, there was nothing mild left.

He'd held the 'lifestone' in his hand the whole time, but he hadn't been able to tell if its changes in heat were due to his own body or the gem actually doing its job (too subtle. Zackel never thought he'd have an experience where that was a bad thing). Between that, and a complete lack of Rielle (unless she was somehow hiding in one of the ships or the keep areas Zackel hadn't been allowed into, which would require stealth and quiet, which Zackel expected Rielle to be capable of to that degree about as soon as he expected to find out she was really three goblins in a Draenei costume), Zackel had finally returned to his room with a dark expression and darker feelings. The few people still in the barracks paid him little mind as he made his way to his room, entering and sitting at the small table, his staff in its usual position against the wall. Left with nothing else to do, Zackel sat and stared at the lifestone, waiting to see if it could give him any new answers.

All it did, over the next hours, was heat up and cool down in an almost-controlled matter. Zackel knew what that meant: Group combat with someone who was fixing up Rielle on the fly. Zackel, after a bit, suspected it had been doing that even as he'd stalked around Highbank: he hadn't noticed because he'd been clutching the gem in his hand and paying attention to his search rather than letting it sit on his palm and focusing on it.

So, barring something extremely unlikely like false readings, what had occurred was clear. Rielle had decided to run off and brawl with someone (or more likely, someones) instead of spending time with him. Fel, she'd run off WITHOUT him.

Which was ridiculous. Rielle wasn't like that. It must have been some kind of emergency…

An emergency she hadn't gotten his help with? What, did the problem have an anti-mage ray? Rielle had mocked, lorded over, and generally poked fun at Zackel many a time over how squishy she thought he was and how important it was for him to hide behind her far stronger, more enduring body…but she'd never tried to exclude him from a battle due to it. She sure as fel never hesitated in sharing monetary rewards with him either, and on the rare times when both of them wanted the same item and couldn't properly divide it, the two just flipped a coin, or played a game of Thrust or two. She _never _excluded him.

Maybe she'd decided to help someone out…but again, why hadn't she gotten him? For all her talk about the glory of battle and the eternal goal of greater strength, Rielle had a wide streak of altruism in her. Maybe she'd decided that between a day spent with the man she'd spent years with and a day spent aiding someone she might never see again, sometimes the latter was a better thing…but why would she make such a choice a mystery?

Zackel drummed his free hand on the table, trying to get his feelings under control. He didn't own Rielle, any more than she owned him. She could go off and do whatever she pleased, within reason, and she sure as fel didn't need him to look after her. She'd survived, quite well, before she'd met him, during the period they were apart, and at the several points they'd separated to work on individual tasks. And fel, he himself had been doing his little musing on how no day should be held up as special when it came to a relationship. So what if she went off and did something else today? What was the worst that could happen, beyond the realm of possibilities Zackel didn't want to think about? So he lost the room, and their privacy, if the main glut of adventurers came back (unless Zackel won the card games, but he wasn't as good at those as he was at other types of games, and he doubted he could talk all the adventurers into a Thrust tournament). Big deal. They could be in Stormwind in a week, or other, smaller bits of civilization in less time, if it came down to the private matters of their relationship. He'd survive…

But they'd made plans. He'd wracked his brain to try and think up something special for her. Instead, she'd run off for whatever reason, without a message or word left behind. For no certain reason, except that it had involved battle.

The battle, Zackel darkly recalled, that Rielle had said was even better than sex for her at times. If he knew anything about his girl, he knew how true that was. He'd seen it, many times. She loved him…and she loved the fight.

Maybe she'd wanted her cake and to eat it too, and had ended up with her cake on the floor. The cake being him. It was around then Zackel realized he had no idea where he was going with the metaphor.

Well, that left him with two choices. The lifestone's range covered half of the Twilight Highlands (and the ocean beyond the docks, but no ships had been launched today, so unless Rielle had decided to jump in the water and spontaneously grow fins and gills, he could leave that out): Zackel could look for Rielle for days and not find her. So, with that fact evident, he could sit here and wait for her…and if things abruptly turned really bad, he could find a way to re-assess the 'For days' part.

Not like anything could happen, unless Cho'Gall himself decided to come out of his bastion and challenge Rielle to one on one combat. Besides that, how bad could it get?

* * *

Rielle honestly wondered two things. One was how, no matter how many times she went through it, how simple things becoming anything but simple kept happening to her.

The other was whether the whole Twilight Highlands was on fire now. It sure seemed like it.

Rielle had finally stopped paying attention to what exactly was going on three hours ago, when the THIRD side of the issue they'd ended up being dragged in emerged. As far as the Draenei could tell, it had something to do with a powerful magic necklace/focus device, two factions in the Twilight's Hammer wanting it for themselves (as well as part of the Black Dragonflight, said third side), a Wildhammer shaman who wanted it destroyed, and all sorts of power-grabs, betrayals, backstabbings, as well as a great deal of blathering about the inevitability of the end of the world, mixed in. It didn't help that said dwarf had a rather dull way of speaking, causing Rielle to tune out during half of the explanations. In truth, she didn't really care. All she needed to know was where the targets she had to hit with her axe were, at which point she began doing that until they weren't a problem any more.

Considering how it had ended up, maybe she _should _have paid more attention.

It had finally climaxed in the strange pit-arena known as the Crucible of Carnage, whose gladiator battles had been subsumed by a far greater threat. The three sides had converged there, Rielle's group hot on their heels, but not before one of the Twilight's Hammer's sides had won, their leader uniting the necklace and transforming themselves into a fearsome elemental ascendant. The first thing 'Emberscar the Devourer' had done was incinerate both his enemies AND his allies, declaring them useless now in the service of the Hammer. The second thing was to begin trying to set the whole arena on fire in preparation for something, or in honor or Ragnaros, or because Emberscar liked to watch things burn, his opinions seemed a touch inconsistent. It was around then that Rielle and _her _allies had gotten properly involved; the Wildhammer shaman, one Hargoth Dimblaze, warned that the Red Dragonflight's flank was still exposed in regards to the attack they'd launched, and that if Emberscar attacked them while they were trying to properly withdraw from said attack, the results for the likely worn and weary dragons would be disastrous. Rielle did not bother to question if, or how, Emberscar could know about the attacks, or where the Red Dragonflight's exposed flank was, or, being fully in the grip of CRUSHKILLDESTROY that so many Twilight Hammer members got into whenever they awakened or unleashed a transformed state, if he had anything resembling the intelligence and sense to do something that tactically skilled. All she knew was she had eleven people, including one very surprising, and familiar face, who were counting on her to pull her weight, and a deadly threat to her own self, her allies, and who knew what else. That was enough, and into the fray she went.

Time slowed down. The world fell away. All there was was the fire and her enemy (and it was one hell of a fire. Rielle was REALLY wishing she'd brought Zackel along), and sometimes her allies, lashing out with their own weapons and magic. Despite the odds, Emberscar did not seem concerned an iota, roaring mad laughter and unleashing terrible flame in a myriad of ways.

"Oh Wodin, what a match! I would be even more excited if I wasn't already so completely terrified! Why did we invite this guy again?" Gurgthock the goblin said, crouched behind a rock that allowed him to peer down into the Crucible when he dared to stick his head out.

"We didn't." Wodin replied

"Maybe we should have not invited him more firmly!"

"Duly noted."

"AHAHAHAHAHA!" Emberscar bellowed, lava pouring down the sides of the rock basin, the Alliance members furiously trying to outright avoid the molten rock and use their various powers to stave off convection. "Burn in the liquid heat of the Firelands!"

The crimson axe lashed out, but Emberscar, by some divine (or likely anything but) providence ducked underneath the blow and unleashed an explosion of flame in return. Rielle rolled with the blast, flipping back onto her feet four meters from the elemental.

"You know, I fought with your master when he tried to invade Mount Hyjal." Rielle said. "What hope do you really think you have?"

"What hope have YOU? My end is a prize FAR beyond your grasp!" Emberscar yelled, and slammed his hand out, hurling more fireballs at Rielle.

"That's not really a-" Rielle managed to get out before she dodged to the side, sprinting at an angle even as more fire exploded around her. Her feint worked, as Emberscar exposed himself to a knife, a bolt of electricity, and brilliant glowing light that slammed into his back. All it did, though, was make him turn around and fire in the other direction.

Rielle took that as a cue to charge in, her axe lashing out.

Emberscar turned back at the last second, his burning hands grabbing the axe-edge in mid-blow. Rielle felt the creature's horrific body heat burn her through her armor, even as she stared into its malefic gaze.

"I think you've lived long enough." Emberscar said. "What say you?"

The explosion blew Rielle across the pit, the force flipping the Draenei over and causing her to land on her face. Despite that, she'd held onto her axe, even as she tried to struggle to her feet.

"Exactly." Emberscar said, and thrust up his arms. Fire exploded in the clouds above the Crucible, before sheets and pillars of flame tore from within their black depths and came surging down into the arena.

"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Emberscar shrieked, watching his Draenei enemy vanish underneath one of his fiery bombs, even as the other ones around him ran for their lives. Oh, they did not relent, he could feel their blows hitting him, the fools still taking shots even as they tried not to die, but it was all futile, they would all cease to be before he did…

The thunderous impact rang up his legs, the vibration having extended forward along the ground before Emberscar. The elemental jerked his head to focus on the sight in front of him. Moments ago, there had been nothing there except fire. Then, with one incredible stomp, most of it had been blown out, leaving scattered remnants and the Draenei figure.

Said Draenei who was also on fire, her armor blazing in several spots. Rielle didn't even seem to notice, fixing Emberscar with a withering glare so intense that it gave the ascendant pause.

"I _got _something to say." Rielle said, lifting her also-ablaze axe. "Better to burn out, than fade away."

The rain fell on her moments later, healing waters called by the shamans, extinguishing the flames. Rielle didn't seem to notice that either.

"…what _ARE__…_no! ALL FLESH BURNS!" Emberscar thundered, and pistoned out his hands, more fireballs blasting from his hands.

The ground shattered beneath Rielle's foot as she took off, charging right at Emberscar, the fireballs impacting on her and not slowing her an iota.

"WHAT…?"

"I am the one, the only one, you may call me KINGDOM COME." Rielle answered, her axe rising up as she stampeded towards her target. "GIVE ME THE PRIZE!"

Emberscar thrust out his arm to intercept the weapon again.

The axe blade struck his hand once more.

This time, it kept going.

Rielle tried not to enjoy the look of astonished pain that came over the ascendant's face. Tried, and failed, as she forced her axe directly down the center of Emberscar's arm, ripping it out just before she reached the shoulder and yanking it up, cleaving most of Emberscar's head off with one final thrust.

_Shouldn__'__t have given my axe a chance to resonate with your particular bio-combustion wavelength, moron._

Even as Rielle struck her blow, she felt the heat begin to build. She knew what it meant, all too well. One final blaze of glory from her enemy.

Yeah, not happening.

Rielle whirled even as she completed her fatal-head slice, her axe lashing out one final time and impacting against Emberscar's body, sending the corpse flying across the arena and burying itself in the far wall. As her final thought of how she perceived her opponent, Rielle turned her back on him.

The explosion, muffled by the partially-entombed cadaver, was still enough to blast a heat shockwave across the arena and crumble most of the wall the ascendant had been impacted into. Rielle did not move an inch from the pulse, her tattered cloak whipping in the hot wind, blood sizzling on her axe. Rielle held her breath until the air had cooled, before inhaling deeply and swinging her axe up over her shoulder.

"I guess that answers my question." Rielle said, looking over her shoulder at the mound of scorched rock. In one final snub, she mimed biting her thumb at the pile.

"…I DON'T BELIEVE IT! WE HAVE A NEW CHAMPION OF CARNAGE! OUR BIG, BAD, BEEFY CHALLENGER HAS BEEN DEFEATED BY A RAGTAG CREW OF NOBODIES!" Gurthock yelled

"Hey!" Fhaerris protested, while the Wildhammer dwarf poured more healing rain on her hissing armor.

"You know what I mean! INCREDIBLE FINISH!"

"…Wow. That was kinda awesome." The rogue said, regarding Rielle before looking at the other Draenei, and shaman, of the party.

"There's nothing KINDA about her."

* * *

Zackel admitted to himself, when the lifestone had begun seriously heating up, all his irritation had vanished beneath concern. But the heat didn't last long, and once the lifestone cooled off and settled into a calm, baseline temperature that didn't change any more, the mage found his blacker feelings returning.

Despite that, he did not forgot what he observed. Whatever her reasons may have been, Rielle had engaged in some severe combat. She probably wouldn't be feeling springtime fresh, and being belligerent and hostile towards her, on top of not being in his nature, wouldn't solve anything.

Knowing that and keeping it in mind, however, were two different things. So when he finally heard the footsteps approaching, roughly another hour later, he did not rise from his chair. Instead, he kept his face away from the door, looking at the wall, until the knob finally turned. Zackel glanced, with his eyes alone, to confirm that it was Rielle.

The Draenei, in a rare occurrence for her, did not catch the motion. Instead, she entered the room to see her boyfriend and long-time love staring at the wall, drumming his fingers on the table. After a few seconds, he finally looked properly at her.

"…hi." Rielle said, trying to keep her tone neutral.

"…Based on how you look, I hope you got paid." Zackel said, his tone also even.

"…Well, you see…that's the funny part of the story…" Rielle said, heading into Zackel's room, dragging her axe along the ground behind her. "Everyone who could have paid me…was evil. Evil and dead. Primarily dead now. It's funny, but not in the funny ha ha sense."

"…I gathered." Zackel said, getting up. With Rielle having gotten closer, and the marks of war more evident on her armor, Zackel had felt his irritation die down, replaced again by concern. Part of him, a small part but there, yelled at him to not just forget all his grief because she walked in the door battered and bruised. She'd GOTTEN battered and bruised without him, and done it instead of spending time with him, and considering she hadn't immediately offered an explanation, it didn't exactly speak of the most noble of motives. The part, however, was not dominant, and so Zackel quickly reached his girlfriend and escorted her to his chair.

"Ahhhhh…oh, no. Not gonna be good enough. Ow." Rielle said. "Zackel, could you…?"

"On it." Zackel said, as he began helping the Draenei out of her armor. He hissed between his teeth once or twice; despite whatever healing she'd gotten, it clearly had missed a spot or two, leaving the Draenei criss-crossed with burns and marks of wear from her armor, further disfiguring her blueish-purple skin.

"I assume this will require repairs." Zackel said, regarding the armor.

"It always does." Rielle said, idly grabbing the rose-container and shoving it to the edge of the table in order to put her axe on it. Zackel blinked, wondering if the Draenei had even been aware of what she'd pushed aside, or just registered it as an object she had to move to put her weapon down.

"Zackel? Potions? Any?"

"…of course." Zackel said, digging into one of his bags. Rielle sighed contentedly as the mage dripped the healing tinctures on her scattershot injuries.

"Oh light…Zackel, I know you wanna know what's going on…but I've had it. I just want to lie down. I'm sorry but…I'm tired." Rielle said, before batting her eyes at the mage.

"If you're trying to trick me into not being cross, it's not going to work, my dear."

"What if I threatened to punch you instead?"

"You said it yourself. You're in no state to hit anything."

"…curses…foiled again…" Rielle said, before she held out her arms. Zackel didn't bother questioning if the Draenei could walk: he helped her up and over to the bed.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH…oh this beats a sleeping bag. Or straw-filled mattresses." Rielle said, relaxing on the feather-filled bedding, a small pillow tucked behind her back.

"Tends to." Zackel said, offering Rielle a flask of water which she snatched and greedily drank. "Food?"

"No…I'm good."

"So…it was a hard day."

"Fel for the company. And my brain cells. I think even you would have had trouble. In regards to the matters with the brain cells, that is. Probably the other too. It was that kind of day." Rielle said, leaning further back. "Speaking of….yeah. Today."

"Yeah."

"I'm wiped, Zackel. Things just…went differently. Y'know?"

"…It happens." Zackel said, walking over and grabbing the chair he'd been sitting in, pulling it over to the bed while he reached into his robes. Rielle glanced at the motion, and her face brightened when Zackel removed a grinding stone.

"You sweet thing."

"Things didn't go as planned. I compensate. It's what I do." Zackel said, lifting up one of Rielle's legs before he began gently buffing at her hoof with the stone. Rielle closed her eyes and sighed at the pleasant sensation.

Zackel, meanwhile, pondered his options. He'd ruled out being cross, and his attempt to shame her with the hoof-polish didn't seem to be working out either. What else could he do? Try and extract some promises from her? Use wordplay in her tired state to…no, that was something Sparse would do. Maybe he should just suck it up and live with it…

Except THAT wasn't fair either. There were all sorts of pitfalls in a relationship, a lot of which you never saw or never conceived of. Letting Rielle think that this was completely-acceptable behavior fell under that umbrella, as far as Zackel could tell. He shouldn't just keep quiet because it was the easier and kinder thing to do. If he did that, who knew where it would lead. Better to take the harder road…

"Look, Rielle…I think that…" Zackel said, looking at the Draenei.

Her soft snore was her only reply. Its cuteness, however, was lost on Zackel at the moment.

"…Yeah, right. Of course. Big surprise." Zackel said, gently placing Rielle's foot down on the bed. Adjusting the covers, the mage tucked the alien in, slightly adjusting her position so she wouldn't wake up with a muscle cramp. The alien slept through it all, and Zackel closed the thin curtains so the beginning to emerge moonlight wouldn't bother her.

Keeping as quiet as possible, Zackel gathered up his staff and general personal objects, and left the officer's room, locking the door behind him. He waited until he was several steps away from said door before he began letting his mood influence his footsteps.

It might have been better if he'd exerted more control, as his heavy tread kept him from noticing the figure in the shadows of the main dormitory, who waited for him to walk past and head outside before rising to follow him.


	2. A Heart That Never Hardens

Part 2: A Heart That Never Hardens

Quiet nights were rare for Highbank, and its defenses showed it: not only were the walls fully manned at night, but a contingent of soldiers regularly patrolled the docks. In addition, a warlock and mage remained on the wall at all times, each using particular tricks of their trade to keep an eye on the shadows, and whatever might want to hide in them on the ragged battlefield before the fortress. Zackel had even done it himself, a time or two, and one of the first things he considered, as he left the barracks, was to go up and volunteer to do it again.

After a few seconds, Zackel decided against it. Some people worked well when they were angry, and Zackel was smart enough to know he wasn't one of them. In general, doing anything while one was angry was a bad idea; it swayed thought processes and altered perception, and the results rarely ended up the better for it. There were exceptions, like his girlfriend (ironically, the reason he was angry in the first place), but she'd been trained in such matters, and more. In truth, Rielle handled most of her anger in a matter that almost sublime, bending it to her will rather than vice-versa and doing astonishing things with it. Unfortunately, Zackel mused, some of the way she seemed to handle that anger was to direct it against him, breaking it into a thousand minor needles cloaked in humor and camaraderie, of course. Or maybe not. As said, it was a bad idea to do anything while angry. Including, it seemed, anything in a cogitate vein. It just turned it to brooding.

Zackel stopped where he was, having walked alongside the barracks, pondering for a few seconds before he went back and leaned against the wall. He needed to calm down. Normally, he did that with Rielle, but that option wasn't available. Lacking that…

Zackel put down his staff to dig into his pockets, extracting an absorbent plant fiber (a leftover effect of gathering herbs) and a piece of glued paper. Sprinkling the fiber onto the paper, Zackel removed a tiny vial from his sleeve and dripped it onto the cilia. Normally, one drank the potion Zackel had just mixed with the plant remnants, but that was supposed to be done if stress was bothering the stomach. Zackel hadn't reached that stage yet, and he planned to cut it off with a variant shared among alchemists and gnomes. Rolling up the paper, Zackel lit one end and brought it to his lips, inhaling the fumes of the concoction. The mild effluvium went to work immediately, inducing a calming sensation in his lungs and spreading out into his chest.

Still, it was short-term. Not to mention a filthy habit Zackel wouldn't have indulged in otherwise. Then again, even he had his moments…

He also didn't feel like making them any worse.

"You have a headache?"

The figure in the shadows stopped. Zackel didn't exactly pat himself on the back for having noticed her. A rogue, she wasn't.

"Because if you aren't avoiding the light for that purpose, I can't really think of what reason you'd have." Zackel said, pushing himself off the wall, picking up his staff while dropping and stepping on his chemically-soaked fiber. He tried to keep his tone and face neutral; despite the big picture, he didn't have enough reason to direct his bad temperament towards his current associate. Yet, anyway.

Hopefully never, as the Draenei walked out from the shadows next to the barracks.

"Fair awareness, mage."

"Stealth isn't exactly your specialty, Ishova." Zackel said. The Draenei had no immediate reply, at least verbally. Instead, no longer needing to repress its power to hide herself, the shaman allowed the emerald energies that shone on her shoulders and battle-harness to re-ignite, the crystalline material shimmering almost in twin with the alien's glowing eyes. Zackel glanced at the action before returning his gaze to Ishova, who put her right hand on her hip and gestured with her head.

"I take it my sister wanted the bed all to herself?"

"Maybe. I didn't need to debate that." Zackel said, relaxing his own stance as best he could. The two had a fair resemblance, sharing the same bluish-purple skin and particular 'eye-tint', but while Rielle had black-silver hair and horns that curved up and away from her head, Ishova had brown hair that, when she wasn't wearing a helmet, she allowed to fall over one eye, and a pair of horns that matched the slant of her cranium almost perfectly. Well, that and the fact that Rielle was at least six inches taller than her sister, but that detail was only really apparent when the two Draenei were standing side by side. Which was, these days, quite often. "Didn't see you around earlier. Thought you'd went with the Red Dragonflight assault."

"No. Was involved in Earthen Ring business. It concluded today. With Rielle's help, actually." Ishova said, removing her hand from her hip. "Strange you weren't around as well."

"…that's one way of putting it." Zackel said. "What happened?"

"Didn't she tell you?"

"She was tired."

"Probably best if she tells you. I could…cause an incorrect construction of a hypothesis, you might say?" Ishova said, giving the mage a rueful smirk.

"If I did, I'd make it sound more natural than that."

"I don't NEED to be natural, because I can use small words." Ishova said, giving Zackel a poke in the chest. For a moment, the mask on the Draenei lifted, and Zackel felt he could see the real girl beneath it. He wished he could figure a way to get rid of the mask entirely. He preferred what it concealed.

If he was correct. For all he knew, this was the actual Ishova. Zackel didn't think that was the case, but at the same time, he really didn't know what could have caused it to change. Well, beyond the obvious.

When he'd first met the Draenei, a few years back, she'd been different. Brighter, in a way, with a spark in her eyes and a lust for life. She'd seemed to like him too, or at least she hadn't found any reasons to _dis_like him. That hadn't surprised Zackel; Rielle had claimed that Ishova admired her, but either Rielle had misjudged her sister, or underplayed her assessment. In truth, Ishova outright hero-worshipped her older sibling, doing everything in her power to take after how Rielle spoke, acted, and fought. It made sense that she'd get along with Zackel too, thought the mage admitted they hadn't precisely become close friends. What they'd had was good enough, but now, after the Shattering had thrown them back together…

It was the subtle things. She still got along with Zackel, and Zackel had never sensed her holding back in her aid whenever she fought beside him. There had even been a time when Rielle hadn't been around, and Ishova had stayed her course. Sometimes, she even acted like she had just now, poking Zackel in the chest and speaking in the vein of playful teasing rather than with a faint strain of legitimate hostility. The rest of the time…

Whatever it was, Zackel couldn't pin it down. Maybe it had to do with the other ways the Draenei had changed. She still had that spark, that vivaciousness…but it seemed muted now, less her true self and more a part of her. Why this had happened, Zackel could not say; while Ishova and Rielle had apparently talked about it, Rielle had told him it was a secret between sisters, and she would not betray Ishova's confidence. Zackel had respected that and not pried, but he'd still tried to piece together an idea of the situation from the information he was allowed. Some of it was likely the Shattering; every aspect of it, from the damage done to the world (not to mention the World Pillar: Zackel had been in Deepholm, with Ishova, and every time the Draenei saw the ravaged stone Zackel swore she was going to cry), to the malevolent force behind it, to the other forces he'd aligned with, impacted on the shamans of the world harder than any of the other peoples of the Alliance (save, perhaps, the druids). Ishova had spoken, once or twice, of her fellows' struggles with despair and a numbing sickness of knowing just how hurt the world was and, perhaps worse, how much more pain it could still suffer. The Draenei seemed to speak of these unfortunates, though, primarily as a reminder to not fall into that abyss herself. Which left other, personal possibilities, and on that front Ishova wasn't talking. From the tiny amount of information Zackel had, he theorized that Ishova had lost someone in the Shattering, and considering how much she hated the Twilight's Hammer, it somehow involved them.

He doubted the Draenei would be opening up any time soon, though, which meant he had to deal with Ishova's changed attitude (provided she _had _it, that is, that he wasn't inventing it out of whole cloth) in other ways. Mostly, that meant keeping the peace and not provoking her. Even when she seemed to be trying to do so herself, and not in the fun way that her finger poke and quote about using big words had indicated. No sooner had the mask slipped in that regard then it was back on, Ishova stepping away from Zackel and leaning against the wall, her eyes and armor glowing in the shadows.

"So I guess you won't be spending the night with her?"

"Night's still young. But if that's what happens…well, you were there. If she's so tired she wants to sleep it off, you probably agree that she needs to."

"Oh, please. Like some Twilight rabble can do more than cause us minor grievance."

"I thought you said Rielle should tell me what happened."

"I did. Doesn't mean I can't comment on what I saw."

"…you're not exactly being useful, are you?" Zackel said, trying to phrase the question as just that.

"My supply of useful's run dry today. Still have some aggression, though. Wanna get your butt kicked in another duel, wielder of the arcane? It always amuses me to show you how superior the elements are." Ishova said.

"The appeal of that leaves something to be desired for me, Ishova." Zackel said, turning away. "I'm going to let your sister rest and amuse myself for now."

"Wimmppppp!"

"Sorry, I've been called that by experts. Your sister being one." Zackel said, before heading off. Ishova crossed her arms, trying to think of a further counter and coming up empty. She narrowed her eyes, regarding the mage as he made his way down one of Highbank's few streets.

_And she remembered__…

* * *

_

"_What do you see in him, sister?__"___

_"__What?__"__ Rielle said, thinking she had misheard over the low roar that the large dwarf pub-room emitted. Brewfest was coming up again, and the dwarves of Ironforge seemed determined to get a good head start on the holiday (well, that, and they were dwarves). __"__What, you mean Zackel?__"_

_Ishova had spoken with her actions, turning her head to look across the room, where Zackel sat at his own small table, perusing a large book. He seemed completely unaffected by the resounding noise around him, and Ishova knew it wasn__'__t because he was wearing ear plugs. Sometimes, he could just block it all out and focus on his reading. Normally, Ishova would have found it a good quality to have. Key word: Normally__…_

"…_how is he DOING that?__"__ Ishova said._

"_What, reading?__"_

"_Reading in HERE!__"_

"_That__'__s just Zackel, Ishova. It__'__s what he likes to do.__"_

"_That__'__s precisely IT.__"__ Ishova said, turning back towards her sister. __"__He__'__s surrounded by boisterous chaos and mead flowing like water__…__and he__'__s READING.__"_

"…_so?__"_

"…_I dunno, sis. He__'__s a good guy and all, but__…"_

"_Oh, I get it. You think I should be seeing someone who would be throwing back the alcohol with me before looking for some heads to crack together. Someone more like me?__"_

"_Well__…__yes! The thought has occurred to me!__"__ Ishova said, before she was drunkenly propositioned by a bleary-eyed human warlock. A mild zap of lightning got rid of her unwelcome guest, and Ishova turned back to see Rielle leaning her chin on her interlocked fingers, watching Zackel from across the room._

"_Did you think that back during the Exodar incident?__"__ Rielle said, turning her gaze towards the shaman._

"_Well, no. But there were other things. I mostly just was happy you were happy. Didn__'__t care what the source was.__"__ Ishova said. __"__But it__'__s been years since then__…"_

"_Not THAT many.__"_

"_Still years. Now here we are, with that weerkuay Dragon Aspect trying to break the world in two, and that __**WEERKUAY**__ Twilight__'__s Hammer__…__but in between that, and this? I think__…__well, as I said. I wonder what you see in him!__"_

"…_I__'__ll admit, during those years, I had a few doubts of my own.__"__ Rielle said. __"__But I think this speaks for itself, Ishova. The troubles we had, we worked them out. The differences we have__…__we use them as best we can. I think that if this wasn__'__t meant to last, and if I __'__should have__'__ gone off and found someone __'__more like me__'__, then we wouldn__'__t be having this conversation. I could probably go on a while longer about what I see in him Ishova, but the sum of it is this. Plenty. And who knows what the future will bring.__"_

_Ishova had been looking across the room at Zackel while her sister had been speaking, turning only to look back at her when she was done__…__.and she__'__d seen it. Seen it in her sister__'__s pose and facial expression, as well as her final words. The truth had struck her like a bolt._

_This wasn__'__t just a fun romp in the hay for Rielle. Zackel wasn__'__t someone she kept around out of fear of being alone, or because she could easily dominate him and hence always have control of the situation. It wasn__'__t something that had continued along simply due to general momentum, or Rielle using an interaction/relationship to learn more about herself. This was one of the rarer, and far more important situations. Her sister was in love._

_Her sister, with her independent streak a mile wide, whose response to an army of the Legion would be to flip them off and then introduce as many as she could to her axe, going down screaming defiance if she went down at all, who had seen the worst that this world and others had to offer and endured it all with a smile and a wave__…__was in love._

_And this time, as much as she wanted to__…__Ishova found she couldn__'__t be happy for her.

* * *

_

The worst part, of course, was that Ishova was well aware she was in the wrong for her feelings. She liked Zackel, then and now. His strengths outweighed his weaknesses. He not only looked past her sister's flaws (and she had a few), he tried to help her with them. Yeah, he was quiet, bookish, and brainy, and sometimes gloried in that a little too much before Rielle smacked him over the head and told him to cut it out, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Sometimes sames attracted, and sometimes opposites did. Relationships didn't work like magnetism.

But as close as Zackel and Rielle hopefully were, the truth was the mage had entered the Draenei's life at a certain point. Ishova had always been there, up until Rielle had left to wander Azeroth. Ishova had known about the deep sadness and sense of inferiority Rielle had carried with her, even then, but out of respect for her sister, she'd kept quiet. When she'd turned up with Zackel, and it was clear that her interaction with him had helped her with that, Ishova had been happy for them.

Then she'd learned that nothing was as stable as you thought. Not even the earth beneath your feet. She'd suffered her own loss. And along had come Rielle and Zackel, still together…

Ishova had a hard time describing it, but seeing how the world had changed, and how her sister hadn't, the grim spectres of possible futures and the changes they could bring had loomed in her vision. Zackel made Rielle happy, but there was no guarantee that could last, or _would_. Ishova wanted to believe that, if it ended, her sister would handle it with the strength Ishova knew she had. But from what Rielle had shared with her, it was clear that her strength had failed her in dealing with her problems by herself, and that the mage had played a crucial role in getting everything to start healing. How much of that was reliant on his presence? How much of a risk was Rielle at if she lost him? How much pain and suffering could she endure if it happened?

How could she stand back and just let it pass by?

There were things she couldn't change, of course. And she knew that the situation didn't call for overt sabotage (fel, her sister was too smart and tough to fall in with a man that would require outside interference to break it off with him). All the same…she had to be sure. If Zackel had been given her sister's love, Ishova would be damn sure he deserved it. If he didn't, she'd decide what necessary alterations would be needed to fix the situation. She didn't like that she had to do such a thing to a decent guy like Zackel…but between that and her sister's happiness, she'd live with what she did to him.

Even now.

Ishova knew what had happened to her sister this day. Chances were Zackel had a vague idea himself, just lacking the details. She wasn't going to hold his negative reaction against him. She was no saint herself; people could, and world, react badly to things that made them unhappy. Such things, however, could snowball. If, and how that happened, could speak a lot about the person.

The situation was prime for her to see such things. Maybe, in a way, she'd tried to arrange it. She'd told Rielle, on their way back to Highbank, that if Zackel gave her shit for blowing him off, that the warrior leave some for her after Rielle finished. Rielle had laughed it off, but the seed had been planted. Evidentially, Zackel hadn't given her any excrement, but in turn, he was clearly feeling in the way of excrement.

Perfect.

The draenei had borrowed a hair off the night elf druid they'd met today, while healing her wounds. Adding it to the Potion of Illusion took ten seconds. In another thirty, Ishova was the spitting image of that female druid. Said druid was quite good looking; the shaman had a feeling that would help.

Time to see, having been rejected in several different ways, and on his own, if Zackel acted like an excrement.

* * *

The makeshift tavern did not yet have a name: Wildhammer dwarves did not believe in naming such an establishment until it was completed. As a result, most people simply referred to it as 'the drinking place' or something similarly generic. Unlike the keep and barracks, the tavern lacked a foundation, currently consisting of four wooden beams driven into the ground with walls and a roof formed with more wooden boards. Inside, the only real 'completed' part of the tavern was the bar table itself, its drinks aligned behind it and a door leading to a small room with the spare liquors. There were only a few makeshift bar stools and two tables, the rest of the furniture being buckets, discarded books, and barrels filled with sand. It didn't even have a door: instead patrons just walked through a blank space in the wall and did their best to make it to the bar. Sometimes, on busy nights, this could be quite a task.

Tonight, however, the tavern was as depleted as the barracks, its only occupants being a group of dwarves (and a gnome) playing cards at one of the tables, a male Draenei hunter sitting at the bar and eating several large legs of meat, tossing the bones to his worg pet to gnaw on, and two females in robes (they could have been priests or mages, Zackel couldn't tell from his glance) in one of the darker corners of the bar, conversing over a barrel. Zackel calmly walked over to the bar and sat at one of the other stools, waiting until the dwarf barhand got over to him.

"What will ye have?"

"What's the strongest thing you've got?" Zackel said.

"…I think, lad, you'd have more fun gargling creeper venom than what I could give you for that request." The dwarf said, glancing up and down the slight mage's frame.

"I'll be the judge of that."

"Have it your way." The dwarf said, putting down a small glass and filling it with a nearly black liquid. Zackel cocked his head.

"Grain goes dark when it's harvested. That's how you know it's good." The bartender said, watching Zackel. Zackel picked up the drink and perused it a bit more…before putting it back down and dipping his finger in it.

"What are yae doin'?"

"Being the judge." Zackel said, bringing the finger to his tongue. He promptly felt like the dwarf had punched him in the mouth instead of giving him service.

"Geeeeeei!" Zackel said, recoiling slightly…with the dirt ground under his stool turning said slightness into a full fall. Thudding on the earth, Zackel shook his head and felt at the lower half of his face, the potency of the drink still vibrating in his jaw.

"You were not joking." The mage said, pulling himself back up.

"Aye, not really me field." The dwarf said. "I'd offer you another drink, but you already stuck your finger in it."

"Understood." Zackel said, looking inside his robes.

"No need to pay me immediately lad, just make sure you pay before you leave."

"Noted, but that's not what I'm doing." Zackel said, withdrawing a vial of green liquid. The dwarf watched as the mage tapped a few drops into the dark alcohol, causing it to foam up and spill out of the glass.

"What are you doing, mage?"

"Making this a little more tolerable for my delicate sensibilities." Zackel said, dipping his finger into the glass and testing the new mix. The kick was tolerable this time around, and Zackel put the agent he'd selected away and picked up the glass.

"Ruining a good brew there, mage." The dwarf bartender said, looking cross in a professional manner.

"I paid for it, or will. I can throw it on the ground and dance on it if I please."

"That you could, but I don't exactly cotton to long-held and loved recipes getting mucked with by someone who thinks he's too clever, by half." The dwarf said.

"I see where you're coming from. Got Stormstout?"

"Aye."

"Make any further drinks that." Zackel said, sipping at the semi-neutralized drink. It still burned, but in a more acceptable, senses-clearing way.

"Not often a human grasps his limitations."

Zackel looked towards the female voice, just in time for her to sit next to him. It took a moment for Zackel to identify her as a night elf; her skin was very 'human-esque', rather than the deep ceruleans and azures night elves tended towards. Her hair was an almost perfect white with the faintest touch of purple, with deep purple tattoes/markings on her regally beautiful face. She was dressed in blue, purple and brown leathers, with several arrangements of feathers on her helmet, shoulders, and leg armor. If she had a weapon, she kept it concealed on her person.

"Then again, you humans do tend towards surprises." The night elf said.

"…good or bad?"

"Both."

"…I'd like to note that limitations is a malleable term. It can be something to heed…or something someone wants to throw on you like an anchor." Zackel said.

"Smart. Then again, I gathered that from your drinking habits." The night elf said, leaning on the bar. "Cairlinn Glimmerdew. Buy a lady a drink?"

"Zackel Wintersoul, and if you could kindly point the lady out." Zackel said, before drinking the rest of the black lager. "Ah, sorry, that came out wrong. I've seen night elves before, a fair bit. They seem to be mostly made of steel, rage, and battle-mastery, which aren't exactly quantities a 'lady' has."

"The dwarf was right. You're too clever, and if you don't watch it, it will cost you some teeth." Cairlinn said, narrowing her eyes.

"Ah, now THERE'S a night elf…again, sorry. Wasn't exactly expecting to be drinking with company. Off my game, in general." Zackel said, gesturing for the bartender to bring him and the night elf a drink.

"From the way you talk, it seems more likely you _wouldn__'__t _drink with company." Cairlinn said, drinking from the flagon she'd been brought.

"Touché. Yes and no. About half the time, I didn't, and the other half mostly makes up my recent life." Zackel said. "…look…I hate to be rude, but I really need to ask this. Are you waiting for someone?"

"No. Why?"

"You said it yourself, you think I'm smart. So forgive me." Zackel said. "The average man sees a night elf female, and they think that they have a chance to score bragging rights with their fellows in regards to bedroom matters. _I _see a night elf, who are brave, fierce, skilled, and a great, great boon to the Alliance and any war-party I've been a part of…and who have a very bad tendency to be standoffish, xenophobic, and have an all around stick up their rears. I understand your culture, Miss Glimmerdew, as much as an outsider and a non-expert can, and I know you're not all like that, in as much as all dwarves are drunkards or all gnomes constantly blow themselves up or all Draenei are saints…but I've seen that night elves, sadly, from my personal experiences, do tend towards these negative aspects. So when a young lady with links to that history sits down and offers to make small talk…oh lord, I am _BAD _at this." Zackel said, burying his face in one hand. "If you want to go, or want me to go…"

"Normally I would, but part of me wants to see just how far you can jam your foot down your throat." Cairlinn said, tracing a finger along her glass' edge. "But to counter one of your points, yes, a lot of my people look down on the other races of this world, and they think it would be much better if we just withdrew to our lands, sealed the borders, and had nothing else to do with you. And some of us spent thousands of years sitting around that same area, with the same people to talk to, with all the men sleeping in the Emerald Dream and not letting the women expand out of their limited duties, as important as they were…well, Zackel, for all the chaos and danger of this world, and for all the troubles you 'lesser races' bring…some of us think that eternal stagnation may be a worse fate than constant pandemonium. I'd like to think that this number is only going to increase with time. Get the picture, human? Or do you want to insult me some more?"

"…Well, considering you didn't turn up your nose immediately at me for wielding the forbidden arcane, I guess I doubly failed."

"Oh no, you're still an idiot without peer for exposing yourself to the corrupting energies that called the Legion here twice and thinking there's any benefit to them."

Zackel stared dully at the night elf.

"I'm kidding." Cairlinn said. "I don't like the arcane, no. But you humans seem to have a knack for it, so who am I to judge? If no one dared change anything, I'd still be a Sentinel going out of my mind with boredom rather than a druid seeing what the world has to offer."

"I thought…"

"Like I said. The night elf men USED to keep us, for lack of a better term, in set roles. In a way, we did the same to them, and to ourselves. But times have changed, as much as some of my people hate it, and so have we. Fel, some of us are even delving back into the arcane ourselves. Never thought I'd see that." Cairlinn said. "So yes, mage, I speak to you in good faith and the general camaraderie of our Alliance. No night elf friend or whatnot of mine is going to come over here and bother you for talking to me, and if someone I DON'T know decides to so that, I'll tell them where they can stick it. With that said, new topic. You claim you don't drink alone. Why are you, than?"

"…it's private." Zackel said, drinking his own mead.

"Fair enough, but take some advice from someone who's walked this world considerably longer than you, Zackel." Cairlinn said, before finishing her drink and gesturing for another. "Wallowing in your problems doesn't do anything to solve them."

"That's for sure."

"So you have your own experience in the matter?"

"…More or less." Zackel said. "You ever been in love, Cairlinn?"

At that moment, Ishova, cloaked in the illusion of the night elf druid Cairlinn Glimmerdew, and doing a good job playing the role (drawing primarily on the long conversations she'd had with a night elf friend of her, Tiorio Rendrazor, himself a druid), almost blew the whole scenario. Only the fact she was looking for the bartender saved her, as it concealed the brief gut-wrenching pain that abruptly crossed her features.

"…in some ways, yes. Others, no." Cairlinn/Ishova said, looking back at Zackel once her mask was back on. The mage, perusing his own drink, seemed none the wiser.

"It's a wonderful thing. But…it's also a lot more fragile than stories would suggest." Zackel said. "The first time…"

* * *

Rielle felt sleep drifting away from her, the pain bringing her back to the land of the living. Stirring beneath the covers, Rielle put one hand on her stomach. It wasn't intensely painful, but it was enough to wake her up.

Rielle, feeling the ache pulse, quickly ruled out any kind of injury or poison. For a bit, she thought she had to use the washroom, but a lack of pressure on her bladder and bowels ruled that out as well. Rielle further ruled out hunger pangs or muscle cramps from cold air, even as the pain subsided a bit. Blinking her glowing eyes, Rielle lay on the bed and wondered what else there was.

It clicked when she realized she was alone in the room.

"…Zackel." Rielle said. Apparently she felt worse about blowing him off than she realized. Enough that, having gotten some rest, the guilt was pulsing in her gut, disturbing her sleep.

He did give a lot up for her. More than she asked. Maybe more than she deserved…No, he hated that way of thinking. Still, she had taken a lot today, and not given anything back.

She'd gotten some rest now. Maybe it was time to get some clothes on and make up for lost time…

* * *

"And then I get a knock on the door, and IN SHE WALKS! Nearly keeled over dead on the spot! Turns out the grave was the result of a Light-blasted clerical error! That pretty much served for any remaining sign I needed, and we've been together ever since." Zackel said, lifting his flagon and finding it empty. How many drinks was that? Was it four? No, it had to be more than four…or was he counting some of them twice?

"Aha…really." Cairlinn/Ishova said, gesturing to order another drink of her own. Unlike Zackel, a fair bit of her orders had not gone down her throat; one learned a few tricks in that regard when one drank with orcs and said orcs expected you to keep up. Having had to trick their knowing eyes, fooling Zackel that she was getting as intoxicated as him hadn't been that hard. Though, to his credit, the next drink he ordered came with instructions to fill up the mug halfway and water the drink down from there, as cross as the request made the dwarf. At least he knew he was reaching his limits. One good bit of observation, though, did not a whole picture complete.

She'd spent the time listening to him recount a story she already knew, drinking all the whole. Time to go to work.

"So where is she now, then?"

"Oh, sleeping off a hard day. Whatever that entailed. Didn't tell me." Zackel said.

"She hides things from you?"

"Oh, no. Especially if she's telling me how insufficient I am in the many areas she's critiqued. Or letting other people know how lacking she thinks I am in those regards. Or going on about how weak and vulnerable I am." Zackel said.

"…are we talking about the same woman here?"

"Yes. I'm overstating. All of that is done in fun, with a soft touch. She saves genuine criticism for behind closed doors and with constructive intentions in mind. She's made me a better person, in body and soul…" Zackel said, trailing off.

"…But?"

"…She just ran off today. We were going to spend time together, and instead…I don't know her reasons, so I can't form any judgments yet…but part of the reason I don't know why is she didn't tell me. She claimed she was too tired. Maybe she felt I could handle it, but…it just makes me wonder."

"You feel that things are not properly balanced."

"How apt for a druid. Making a notion like that, that is." Zackel said, drinking his diluted mead.

"It's still true."

"…sometimes I'm reminded of something a drunken stranger once said to me, in a bar much like this." Zackel said. "He said that women go into a relationship thinking they can change a man, and men go into a relationship thinking things will never change. It's not a viewpoint I have, but I can see where it's coming from. Relationships are about give and take. I want to think, in that regard, we're balanced…"

"…and instead you think…?"

"…a lot of stuff happened after we found each other again. Horrible stuff, terrifying stuff…but at the same time, I thought it forged our relationship to the point of near-invulnerability. I thought I had it figured out, as best you can figure these things. Barring the usual dustups, when the world finally quieted down…part of me wanted to as well. The other part wanted to keep traveling, keep gaining knowledge and strength, lend my talents to those in need, and maybe get some re-compensation in return…but the thought that I had peaked was coming to mind more and more. I was okay with the possibility. The appeal of settling down…maybe even starting a family, changing my focus from the trials of strength to the trials such a choice would bring…five years ago I would have looked on such a thing with dread. Now…not so much. But in that regard…"

"Rielle wasn't the same."

"Nothing explicitly said. But before the first rumors of what happened at the Ruby Sanctum began crossing the cities, before the Elementals started getting stirred up, before the Shattering…I got the feeling that Rielle was looking at a world that looked like it might settle down into peace and guarded preparation should the Legion return…and that kind of world scared her. Now that everything's gone straight into the abyss again…it's not that she doesn't care. We were in Goldshire when Deathwing attacked Stormwind. We helped with the cleanup and rescue efforts. I held her as she cried over little bodies covered with sheets that she was too late to save despite all her strength. She mourns the horrors that Deathwing has brought, knows the stakes we're facing…and even then, sometimes she walks around with her head held just a little higher and a skip in her step. Because it means that she can keep searching for an ever-higher pinnacle, that she can keep living life without what she perceives as regrets…with what, in truth, _ARE _her regrets."

"Like you."

"I'm not a regret. She loves me. But I'm not her world." Zackel said, throwing back the rest of his alcohol. "Nor do I ever expect to be. Nor do I really want to be. That's not who she is. But, days like this, acts like this…I wonder just how much of that world I take up. How to regard it. How to handle it. How I should question it…and worse, give myself the answers."

"…Well, if you had to answer that question right now, what would your answer be?" Ishova said, ordering yet another drink for herself.

"…she doesn't want to, or let, anything or anyone hold her back. Including the man she loves." Zackel said. "My thoughts lean that our time together has solidified me as an aid, not a hindrance, in that regard. But like I said, when the world seemed like it would become peaceful, she balked. I know she made nothing clear, and I _KNOW _that everyone has threads of those caliber running through them, it's the curse of who we are…but…"

Zackel ordered another drink, and Ishova noted that he didn't ask for it to be watered down this time.

"…If I knew it would ensure our future happiness…I'd give up anything for her. _ANYTHING._ My magic. My eyes. My legs. Even my manhood. We could always adapt, and adopt, if needed." Zackel said. "Times like this…"

"You don't think she'd do the same."

"I question it. The fact that I do, it hurts me, Cairlinn. And it's not just because I'm recognizing my own flaws in the matter. I think that would be easier, I could just whine and bitch until someone told me to shut up, or maybe punched me in the face, and then I'd choke down the negative reinforcement and start dealing with it. This doesn't just hurt me, _SHE _hurts me. Worse, it's not in a way that I can file under the trials of love. It's under the black, nagging cloud that my mind and vision can just see the inevitable coming and I can't do a damn thing to change it, because it's all about issues and facets I can't change outside of mind control. Then I wonder if I'm a terrible person…"

"You're not." Ishova said, hoping she sounded sincere.

"Thanks, but we just met. No offense."

"None taken. But you should also consider the value of an outside opinion. You know what I think? You are on the wronged side here."

"Great, I'll just bring you up to our bedroom and you can express your opinion. I'm sure that would go over splendidly." Zackel said, draining the last of his alcohol (again) and ordering more (again).

"Yes, that would be more trouble than it would be worth, I think." Ishova said. "But even if I take into account your slant, you still pull ahead for me, Zackel. Rielle comes off as a girl with troubles who doesn't want to admit them, and takes them out on you. Whatever her reason, and even if they were good, she still walked out on you without a word, and then expected compliance and pandering when she returned. You torture yourself over your own failings, while she just sleeps and accepts this as a good way to have a relationship."

"No…I'm probably screwing things up. I'm drunk, I NEVER get drunk…" Zackel muttered.

"And why are you here, getting drunk? Alone?" Ishova said, pushing her flagon aside. "Zackel…how much of this is really you, and how much is her?"

"…I don't know." Zackel said, staring at his beer.

"What can you do to fix it?"

"…still working on that?"

"Well I…I have a bold suggestion." Ishova said, leaning forward and putting her hand on Zackel's own. "I think that you've buried your head in the sand here, and what you have to do is pull it out and look around again. See more of the world."

"I've SEEN plenty of the world, I don't…really…think…" Zackel said, before the exact nature of the offer dawned on him. "What?"

"…Zackel, take this from someone who spent centuries doing the same thing because she thought it was the right thing, and what I leaned when I saw the world. Nothing's simple, and sometimes the best solutions seem like the most unlikely ones." Ishova said, putting on her best flirting, semi-intoxicated expression. "It's not balanced with her. Maybe…balance is what's needed. And…well, the fact that someone like you is forced to sit here under a dark cloud when he should be more…content in who he is, how he thinks, how he chooses to act…"

"…Cairlinn, there's unorthodox solutions and then there's cutting off your nose to spite your face. If I…"

"Yes, it'd make you a hypocrite and a liar. Maybe that's what she's earned. A payment she'd likely never even collect, because she might never know." Cairlinn said, drawing a finger up Zackel's arm. Zackel's gaze fixed on her face, and the false night elf gave a soft smile.

Zackel moistened his upper lip, looking at everything he'd laid out. Rielle trusted him implicitly…and that didn't seem to matter much. He never lied to her, but that was assuming she did likewise. He probably could get away with it, with no one the wiser…and it wasn't like he was just hitting on some random barmaid. This night elf, Cairlinn, claimed she understood, and had actually listened and made her own argument that favored this. Like she said, the whole right and wrong aspect of it all might have been forever lost in the murk, no matter what he chose. Between all that, between everything he feared, between all the parts of him that told him that sense lay in the night elf's offer…

He turned away.

"No." Zackel said, pulling his arm free (albeit gently) from Cairlinn's soft touch. "Even if you're right, no."

"…she'd never-"

"_I__'__D_ know. As cliché as that sounds, and is." Zackel said, reaching for his flagon and then, with another disgusted snort, shoving it aside. He'd already danced too far over the line, and in truth, he couldn't blame it all on the Stormstout. "Rielle, she's infuriating, and selfish, and so many other things…but while she may piss in my ear, she would never tells me it's raining. I think you'd better go, Cairlinn."

"…You could just be walking off to more regrets."

"I think walking off with you would lead to more."

"…goodbye, Zackel. I hope it works out." Ishova said, standing up from the bar. "I think we could have had fun."

"Find someone more deserving of it. I have no doubt you can." Zackel said.

"_Ande__'__thoras-ethil.__" _Ishova said, using a traditional night elf farewell.

"…_Ishnu-alah.__"_ Zackel said, replying with his own Darnassian (one that was technically used, primarily, as a greeting, but considering it meant "Good fortune to you", he figured it applied). Cairlinn headed out the door, Zackel not looking at her as she left.

"One day, life will remind me not to drink, and I will _LISTEN.__"_ Zackel said, reaching into his robes and withdrawing another small vial. Zackel was mildly impressed he was able to locate the proper, black liquid on the first try, with how sloshing his brain cells felt. How long had he been drinking? Two hours? Couldn't have been much longer than that, and that was within the timeframe of his concoction…

In truth, most 'cures' for the downside of excess alcohol consumption were useless. If a person drank a gigantic amount and then woke up with all the unpleasantness such a choice resulted in, there was no real solution except to have the body break the alcohol down. Drinking coffee, dunking your head in water, drinking MORE alcohol, accomplished nothing in the end.

Those solutions, however, were initiated the morning after. Zackel drank his while most of the liquor was still sloshing around in his stomach. The resulting cramps caused him to lean over the bar with his eyes closed for the next two minutes, but once they faded, Zackel felt more like himself. Still somewhat buzzed (the nature of alcohol caused it to be absorbed by the body rather quickly, which limited the effectiveness of a concoction that caused alcohol to immediately be altered into sugar), but better a buzz than an encroaching blackout. Sometimes, being an alchemist was extremely useful.

"I'm afraid this isn't a hotel, young man; if you want to sleep, pay your bill and go elsewhere." The dwarven bartender said, apparently having misconstrued Zackel's lean.

"Ah…yeah. Give me the bill. Then, in about…ten minutes, pour me one more length of Stormstout and bring it to me, if you provide that service. Actually…pour about a QUARTER of a length, and fill the rest with water."

"Again? Do yae KNOW what you're doing to these magnificent drafts?" The bartender said, his tone sour.

"A little, but unless it's reason enough to deny me service, that's what I request." Zackel said. The bartender grumbled some more before quoting a monetary sum. Zackel counted out the coins, handed them over and turned around on the bar stool, reaching into his robe again. Ironically, his second attempt to procure what he wanted turned up the wrong result several times, ultimately forcing Zackel to remove the small case and look through the alchemical draughts he kept for himself (and Rielle) in it before locating what he wanted and throwing it down to freshen his still semi-off-kilter mind.

He wasn't quite yet ready to return to his room, but he'd done enough drinking and making himself miserable. One close call and look into his less than admirable qualities was enough. He needed to do something new to kill a little more time.

The bar had, as far as Zackel could tell, cleared out even more…save for the dwarves and gnome, who had been playing cards and laughing during Zackel's whole conversation with the night elf. Zackel wasn't very good at cards (hence why he'd had to wait until there was no one around to claim the officer's room), but he didn't really want to play, just chit-chat. And when it came to dwarves, there was no easier way to become their best friend (for a very brief time, anyway) than to buy them a drink.

So that's what Zackel did, walking up and calling for a round on him. Just like that, the dwarves acted like he'd traveled with him for months.

* * *

Ishova waited until she was a few streets away before she undid the illusion, leaning against the wall of the keep with a sigh and looking back the way she came.

She really wanted to give Zackel a passing grade, she did. He deeply cared for her sister, to the point where he was torturing himself over her. Yet, at the same time, he'd bitterly criticized her behind her back, something he claimed he hated…

And he'd been tempted. He'd turned her down, as Cairlinn, but Ishova had seen it in his eyes. He'd entertained, ever so briefly, taking her up on the worst breaking point Ishova had thrown out. Just like he'd rambled, more than once, Ishova couldn't let that go, despite the circumstances.

He was still weak. He had strengths to go with it, many of them…but in the most important matters, Ishova still saw weakness.

How to advance from here? She didn't really want to wander off and brood on these issues like Zackel was. Maybe she should be bold and return to the bar, as herself. See how Zackel acted towards her under a different kind of treatment. See if he'd try and conceal his deeper feelings behind glib cleverness and professions of supposed intent.

See if he'd look in the mirror instead of just admiring the view.

And see if the ultimate problem lay with him…or with her.

* * *

For all of Zackel's problems, he never saw what proved the worst one coming. To be fair, no one in Azeroth likely would have.

Later, Zackel would think about something else he'd heard once; that it was more distracting to hear part of a conversation than an entire one. He suspected something like that had occurred. He'd alternated his tone during his time in the bar, speaking fairly loudly several times, loud enough for anyone close to overhear. He couldn't recall just what he said, just that he'd spoken at high volume. Who knew what snatches of conversation had floated across the room, and been picked up by certain ears.

Most of the rest was stuff Zackel could have never known. Personal experience, immediate past interaction and what it may or may not have reinforced, possible links to the current time and what it meant, all could have played a role. The only thing Zackel knew for sure was one factor.

He'd been talking with the dwarves for about ten minutes, telling them the story of how he'd become the master of the Crushridge Clan for three days, having been standing next to the table rather than sitting down, gesturing with his watered-down alcohol, when he'd sensed the approach.

"So, IN CONCLUSION…ogres smell worse and crap more than any other creature on this thrice-damned planet!" Zackel said, and turned away from the roaring laughter this produced to look at his guest. He did not recognize the black-haired woman, dressed in odd greenish-black robes and with a blue-crystalline dagger tucked at her side (later, he would realize he HAD seen her, briefly, when he'd entered the bar, keeping to one of the corners, having had a companion at the time, said companion having apparently left). She might have looked friendly and pleasant enough, if she hadn't worn an immensely sour expression. "Yes? Can I help you?"

"…You know…" The woman said, her voice traced with an accent that Zackel tried to place. "You remind me of my ex."

Zackel stared at the woman, who just glared back. After a few seconds, the mage still didn't know what to make of it.

"…Uh…good for me then?" Zackel said, and turned away to resume talking to the dwarves.

He did not so much hear what happened as _felt_ it, the sensation that his personal space had been invaded, and not just because the woman had stepped closer. There was also a sense of expansion, like something had become more than it had, immediately, and that was more than enough to make Zackel turn back to look at the woman.

Who wasn't a woman any more; Zackel found himself looking into the elongated visage of a worgen. She'd transformed in seconds (in more than one way; she'd gained over a foot of height, for starters), a feat that would have perked Zackel's curiosity more if the woman's look hadn't changed from waspish to hostile.

Her exhalation, just before she spoke, gave Zackel the only certain piece of the puzzle; she'd been drinking. A lot.

Too bad for Zackel.

"_**I HATE MY EX.**__**"**_


	3. A Touch That Never Hurts

Part 3: A Touch That Never Hurts

The furred hand felt like it was covered in armor, from how fiercely it slammed against Zackel's face. The mage went down in a confused heap, the remains of his drink spraying out across the dirt floor. The dwarves (and gnome) were stunned into silence at this abrupt violence.

"YOU PIECE OF SHIT!" The worgen yelled, reaching down and seizing onto Zackel's robe from the back.

"Huh? Wait, wait-WHAT DID I DOOOOOOOO!" Zackel lamented as he was literally heaved across the bar's dirt floor and out the open door. The fact that he hadn't just been tossed through the wall was not of much comfort to him.

"Pardon me boys. Personal business." The worgen told the dwarves, stalking after Zackel.

"…what just happened?" One of the dwarves said.

"The worgen seems unhappy with the mage." The gnome said.

"Aye, uh…did he pay for his round?"

"Aye." Another dwarf said.

"What's her issue then?"

"Uh…she's dating him? I dunno." Another dwarf said.

"Hey! Barkeep! You might want to call the guards!" The first dwarf said.

"I'll get right on it." The bartender said, drying one of his mugs. While, unlike the dwarves and gnome, he was not drunk, he had watched the mage take the great brews of his people and mix in water and strange chemicals, a mild insult that the mage, for all his supposed intelligence, had been clueless over. He WOULD alert the guards…momentarily. No MASSIVE hurry though…

"Well then…guess I wouldn't want to be in his shoes then!" The dwarf roared in laughter, his tablemates joining in. Had he, and his companions, not indulged so much in their own intoxicants that evening, they might have grasped that things were not that cut and dried, and might have even interfered on Zackel's behalf. But, as an old tale went, when it came to alcohol, where once were sensible men, by and by came fools…

And eventually, beasts, as the worgen emerged from the doorway while Zackel spat out dirt, trying to get up while he again wondered what on Azeroth had just happened.

"Wait, WAIT! I think there's been some sort of misunderstanding…!" Zackel protested.

The worgen's response was to ignite golden power on her hand.

"The only understanding you need…"

The clawed hand lashed out, sending a bolt of power flying out from the worgen's hand and crashing into Zackel's chest, throwing him backwards onto his back with another painful exhalation.

"Is that, heh heh heh, I never miss." The worgen priest said, slurring out the last word.

Gasping for breath, Zackel rolled over and propped himself up on his staff (which he'd somehow held onto the whole time. Long term combat instincts had their uses), drawing himself back up.

Nearby, Ishova stood where she had stopped on the street, her eyes alight with surprise. This hadn't been what she'd expected to come back to…

She also didn't react as she thought she would have. Instead of coming to Zackel's defense, she slipped back into the shadows to watch. Rielle always claimed the mage wasn't as feeble as he looked. Maybe saving him from a mauling would squash that point for good. But first, a mauling actually needed to happen…if the mage allowed it.

"Okay, hold on…REALLY! Why are you attacking me? What did…!" Zackel managed to get out before the worgen fired another bolt of golden power at him, Zackel dodging by centimers. "Stop that! I'm pretty sure that's a misuse of the Light!"

"The Light exists to bring justice!" The worgen snapped, and fired a third time. Zackel's response was to wave his own arm, calling a shield of ice to block the attack…

It did. Just before it abruptly compacted into powder and blew away when the worgen snapped out its other hand. Zackel got a moment to recognize the spell dispersal technique before the worgen pointed, and a bolt of crackling black energy lanced out and slammed into his forehead. Suddenly, it felt like a group of mad woodpeckers had taken up residence inside his skull, and Zackel stumbled around, yelling and trying to get rid of the feeling.

"He was always so _cocksure_! So full of hisself! A hypocrite, _LIKE YOU!__"_ The worgen said, advancing forward, her hand still held out, its debilitating energy continuing to surge into Zackel's mind. Zackel fell to one knee again, the worgen keeping her stance a few more seconds before snapping her fingers, cutting off the beam. "I dunno where he is now, or if he's sil'alive. But you'll do."

"I'll do, I…" Zackel said, blinking. "…wait, WAIT! Stop, please! This isn't the right thing!"

"Says you." The worgen replied, throwing her arm out in a flourish. Zackel saw the misty energy lash out and seize him, pulling him forward with another yell into the Worgen's grip. Or rather, the worgen's backhanded blow, Zackel immediately heading back the way he came, finally losing his staff in the tumble.

"Uggghhhhh…" Zackel groaned, his mouth dry and his head spinning. Part of him wanted to counterattack, but the other part knew that a battle-priest like this would have her own protection, that being an invisible force field that would blunt, if not outright stop anything he tried to throw at her. She, on the other hand, could easily get around any shields of ice he made (at least, she could based on the fact that she'd ambushed him while he was still mildly drunk, but if wishes were horses…). Trying to brawl with her would just get himself hurt worse. "…wait, stop…please."

The worgen's response was to hammer another golden pulse into the mage, this one on his back as he was trying to get up. Zackel was thrown forward onto his face, the worgen snarling a mocking laugh as he did.

"All right…listen! I'm not your ex!" Zackel said, pushing himself back up. "Look, whatever he did was clearly terrible, but I'm NOT HIM! You are going against your vows AND against the basic morality I am sure you have! Please stop, and THINK!"

The worgen reached up a claw, tapping the side of her head.

Then she lit Zackel on fire.

"If my will is opposed, than my powers would cease…dey persist…so clearly, the Light agrees with me." The worgen said, slurring her sentence again. Zackel didn't really notice, as he was flailing around and battering at his clothes. Holy fire from the Light was a weird thing; it could burn like normal fire, or it could leave skin and clothes untouched, instead sending deep, wrenching pains into muscles and bones. It was the latter case here; said pain finally caused Zackel to collapse, the fire flickering and dying off his form a few seconds later.

"_FIGHT HER.__"_ Ishova whispered. It had become clear to the Draenei that the worgen was beyond listening to reason, and might not have listened even if she was sober. Yet here the mage was trying to play peacemaker. And Rielle claimed he was smart?

"…The Light…grants chances to those who stray…" Zackel said, trying to get up again. "But it has limits…if you persist, you might find yourself awakening tomorrow…left with no power at all. Think about that, priest. No more ability to heal, or turn away evil. Who knows how many would suffer for your lapse of judgment? Surely you have friends, allies! Please…as much as a piece of shit your ex was, is he really worth THAT?"

"Ohhhh, fancy words! From a book!" The worgen said, and blew Zackel off his feet with another golden pulse. "I've found, in dis world of ours…words in a book are just that. They dunmatter little compared to deeds. And the deeds done in turn."

Zackel coughed, spitting blood onto the ground. He hoped that was just an inner mouth laceration; he was somehow prone to them.

"…all right…" Zackel said, sliding into a kneeling stance…before lowering his head. "I'm sorry…"

The worgen paused, even as Ishova buried her face in one hand.

"I'm sorry…for what he did…_I_ did…forgive me…" Zackel said. "Mercy…I'll take your justice…just please…stop…"

The worgen cocked its head, looking down at the prostrating mage. Zackel crossed his fingers and hoped that he could finally get through, before it was all lost to regret…

The sharp claws seizing him by the head might as well have seized his heart too.

"He was also a liar." The worgen said, and slammed Zackel into the ground. A thickly muscled leg kicked Zackel across the street again, the mage coming to a rest several feet distant.

"_Weerku dak.__"_ Ishova said, drawing out her personal mace as she began calling on the elements.

"You don't get it. Just like _him_. But in a way…that just makes this _better_." The worgen priest said, walking over to Zackel's fallen body. "Got regrets, mage? Well, you're about to have more. _A LOT MORE_."

Zackel had no response. Rather, no clear response. The worgen's ears, however, picked up the sound of faint, whispered mutters. The Light came to her hand again, but the worgen hesitated before bringing it to bear. He wasn't chanting a spell, she would have picked up a vibe from that. But she hadn't hit him in the throat either. Why was he being so quiet? Especially with how hard he'd tried to beg off?

"What, human?" The worgen said. Zackel did not look at her, continuing to lie there as he spewed out his incomprehensible susurration. "You have something to say?"

Still the barely audible noise.

"_**What?**__**"**_ The worgen said, leaning in and picking Zackel up, tilting her head slightly to direct her ear to the sound…

Zackel's hand seized onto the fur on her neck, the mage yanking his head forward and putting himself nose to snout with the worgen. The problem with battle-priests, unlike others who were more devoted to healing and protection, was that they tended to lack the finer points of skill when it came to their Light-granted shields. Skilled members of such practices could put the barrier right up against their skin…while priests more prone to trying to melt their enemy's faces tended to project it as a bubble around them. The bubble method, however, had certain disadvantages.

Like being completely useless if the enemy got right into one's personal space. The worgen priest felt the magical surge she hadn't before, but by now it was far too late, as Zackel opened his mouth and spewed a bitterly cold ice-mist from within him, the frost stabbing into the entirety of the worgen's face, clamping her nostrils shut even as it froze the liquid in her eyes solid.

"ARGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" The worgen screamed, dropping Zackel and rearing away, clawing at her face. Zackel took a few steps away from the agonizing creature, calmly reaching into his robe. He knew what he was looking for; he remembered where he'd left the potion when he'd been hunting for the medicinal one. He also knew he didn't have a lot of time; the worgen may have been drunk, and currently in terrible pain, but she was also a priest. She could fix up the damage he'd done in the space of seconds.

Zackel also knew that between said pain and intoxication, he had a bigger window than he normally would. Popping the top off the flask, he threw down the red liquid within. It hit his stomach like a bomb, the eruption surging out through his body's muscles. Rielle would probably be cross he'd drunk one of HER potions, but he could always make more. And for now, he needed it more.

From the shadows, Ishova blinked, watching the worgen claw at her face and shriek her pain. Zackel, on the other hand, tossed whatever he had drunk to the side and began walking away. For a moment, Ishova thought he was running.

Then she realized that if that was the case, Zackel would have BEEN running, not walking. The full realization came when she flicked her eyes across the street and saw Zackel's staff, lying forgotten. Zackel was heading right for it.

"I tried to be reasonable." Zackel said, leaning over and picking up his staff. "Tried to make you see you were making a mistake. Tried to be the bigger man. But it is very, VERY clear that you will not respond to that."

Ishova watched as icy-blue energies began gathering around the mage, but instead of getting into a firing stance, he began walking back towards the Worgen, who had fallen to her knees, clutching her face in agony.

"I hope the Light forgives you." Zackel said, the energies flowing down his arm and centering on the end of his staff. Holding it out, a mass of super-dense ice flash-froze into existence on the end. "But I don't."

The worgen's only response was a shrieking roar. In the process, she looked towards the mage just in time for Zackel to swing his makeshift bludgeon down and shatter the ice cluster over her head.

The worgen hit the ground like a rock. She did not, however, remain still, instead thrashing weakly where she'd fallen. Zackel had expected that; while her shield might have been disrupted by her lost concentration, it was still there. It was not enough to fully deflect the blow, though…

And it certainly wasn't now.

"I can speak the glib prattle of violence as well." Zackel said, the ice chunks floating back up around him. The worgen had by now rolled onto her hands and knees, trying to rise. "Like this. Bad dog."

The ice pieces reformed around the mage's staff, once again in a gnome-sized cluster.

Zackel immediately broke it again, right over the worgen's head and back.

"_PLAY DEAD.__"_ Zackel hissed, and spat on the fallen body.

His sense returned a moment later, and with a sickening lurch in his chest, Zackel realized he'd gone too far. Kneeling down by the worgen, he felt for a pulse, cursing the worgen's twisted body and how the fur interfered in finding a vein…

"Zackel!"

The mage looked up as Ishova arrived, kneeling down across from him.

"Ishova? When did…never mind. I hit her too hard. I need healing…"

"I can do that." Ishova said; the healing talents were not her specialty, but she knew enough to get by and handle anything that didn't verge on bodily bisection. Glowing liquid flowed out from her hands, sinking into the worgen's form.

"Her eyes…froze them. Fix that too. Don't want her to be blind. Don't…" Zackel said, standing up and holding his head.

"Zackel, don't you dare feel guilty. I saw most of this from the ramparts. If I hadn't taken so long to get down here, I probably would have brained her myself." Ishova said, continuing her healing work and hoping Zackel swallowed her lie.

"Maybe, but…ugh." Zackel said, burying his face in one hand. Ishova finished her preliminary cellular repairs and stood up, walking over to the mage. When she touched his face, he almost jerked away.

"You're hurt too. Let me get that." Ishova said.

"…so stupid." Zackel said, lowering his hand.

"Pardon?"

"This whole thing…so stupid. I don't know why she attacked me, why she was so mad…she was drunk…"

"That's not your responsibility." Ishova said, sending out more healing waters into Zackel's face and body.

"It _WAS_ mine to show the restraint she wasn't." Zackel said. "She's not the enemy. Just…someone in a bad situation. Just…a bad situation…" Zackel mumbled.

"From my experience, a lot of problems come out of bad situations." Ishova said.

"….yeah. Don't they." Zackel said. In the background, the sound of distant voices was reaching him. "You hear that?"

"Yeah. Looks like the guards finally realized the trouble was inside the walls." Ishova said, stepping away from Zackel. "Get out of here Zack."

"What?"

"You've been through enough. I'll handle the explanations. Go on, get." Ishova said, gesturing with her hand. Zackel debated the offer, and ultimately decided even _he _had had enough; adding a long explanation to the Stormwind men who had been stationed here was too much. Gathering his robes around himself, he ducked around the nearest building and began walking. He'd go around a bit and then head back to the barracks, just to be sure.

Ishova watched the mage go, before kneeling back down to resume healing.

"Well…maybe you're not so weak after all, mage." Ishova said, smirking a bit at the mess Zackel had made of the worgen. The fact that those words would have just made Zackel feel sicker was lost on her.

* * *

Zackel was feeling lost himself by the time he finally made his way back to the barracks, walking quietly through the main quarters in order to prevent his passage from disturbing anyone. It took him a moment to find the key to his door, but Zackel was more relieved that he still had it at all, after all the tossing around he'd just endured. He carefully inserted it and turning the lock; with the curtains closed, the room was nearly pitch-black. Zackel carefully closed the door and stood in the darkness until his eyes adjusted.

Once his night vision was assured, Zackel silently crept across the room, leaning his staff against the wall next to the table. With the same slow, measured actions, the mage undid and took off his robe, placing it over the chair. After checking the floor temperature, he took his boots off as well.

No splinters found his bare feet as he walked over to the bed. Another small blessing, he supposed. Turning around, he slowly lowered himself down onto the mattress, sitting and staring into the dark.

Rielle slipped up a few seconds later, wrapping her arms around him. He'd known she was there, but not her state, and he'd been quiet as to not disturb her sleep. Evidentially, it hadn't been needed.

"Hi baby." Rielle whispered. Her plan to go out had been cut short when she'd stood up and found her legs screaming at her; she'd put a little too much focus on fixing wounds and not dealing with muscle strain, it seemed. The Draenei had changed her plans from 'go find her boyfriend' to 'wait for him', and after getting out of her clothes and donning more comfortable sleeping attire (that being Zackel's own nightshirt), she'd gone back to bed and waited, dozing until she'd heard the key.

Her plans lasted right up until she'd embraced Zackel. She knew, just by that, that things weren't right.

"…hi Rielle." Zackel said, not immediately looking at the Draenei.

"Zackel?"

"Rielle, don't think I don't appreciate this, I do…" Zackel said, finally turning towards the alien's darkened form. "But we need to talk."

"Zackel, I know…"

"It's more than that…" Zackel said, before sighing. "Rielle…do you respect me?"

"…I'm going to assume by the supposed obviousness of the answer to that that I'd be better off examining the question." Rielle said, removing her arms from Zackel and shifting back a bit, adjusting her legs so she could kneel in comfort. Her glowing eyes faintly illuminated Zackel's mildly grim features. "…your hair's bloody. Were you in a fight?"

"Kinda/sorta. It's not important." Zackel said. "Rielle, I understand that one day isn't much different from the other, and things come up…but, again, I'm worried I'm seeing the forest."

Rielle said nothing.

"I know…I over-think things. But I only do that to try and head off problems before they happen, or be better prepared for them. Everyone has problems, but the people who can handle them all are considerably smaller in number. I'm just…worried that it isn't enough."

"…And these problems…do you feel I'm more to blame, that I'm showing the lack of effort in fixing them?" Rielle said.

"…yes…and no. It's not the obvious things. You and I are good at that. It's the small things, the bad situations you can't see coming. What comes out of those." Zackel said, closing his eyes. He remembered the brief period of derangement he'd entered with the worgen when he'd finally been pushed beyond his limits; hitting her over the head with his ice-bludgeon once should have done enough. The second had been done solely because Zackel had wanted to do it, and even the fact that he'd pulled the blow and counted on the remnants of the priest's shield keeping them from skull-fracturing harm didn't make up for it. Worse, he knew WHY he'd been so easily pushed to those extremes, and what it could pertain to. As much as he wanted to, sometimes, Zackel couldn't turn his brain off. "You decided, for whatever reason, you wanted to go off somewhere without me. I understand that. Even the fact that we made plans, I also understand that. Being exhausted, not wanting to talk…all the same. Yet I was still hurt. And Light help me…I started questioning it. Us. The little possibilities."

"…you know, the ironic thing is that I was trying to _prevent _this from happening. Different colors, same stripe." Rielle said. "I got approached by a paladin asking for help. She said it would be quick, I thought it would be as well, I also thought if I came and got you you'd be annoyed that I wanted to spend our time doing missions. So I went off, gambling that I'd be back and you'd never knew I left Highbank…and it didn't work out. Like you said. A bad situation."

"…is it that quirky female dwarf?"

"You met Fhaerris?" Rielle said.

"Not precisely…but I've seen her around…and I'll admit, from what I've seen, she WOULD be hard to say no to." Zackel said. "Still…I wish you'd come to get me."

"I wish I did too." Rielle said, reaching out to touch Zackel's face. Disappointment fell over her features when he brushed her hand away.

"It's not exactly an answer, though."

Rielle looked on, silent again.

"…in this chaotic mess of a world, it's easy to get tunnel vision in regards to what's important…but at the same time, that tunnel vision can creep into some things in ways you'd never expect. I ask if you respect me, Rielle, because part of me wonders if I'm holding you back."

"I-"

"Wait, let me clarify. I know you'd claim that part of your advancement is my doing. I'm honored and privileged to play that role. But part of my questions is that, eventually, maybe even now…I'll stop playing the role. I might even start playing the opposite. Not because I want to hold you back…but because what I think would be best could be at odds at what you think is best. I don't ask if you respect me because I think you don't, Rielle. I ask mainly because I wondered, tonight, what could be done to make that so." Zackel said.

"…And so you started thinking about all the bad possibilities that could lead to our breakup because of it, and all your other trains of thought…heh. You know, the average guy would have just bitched until he got laid, then forgot all about it. You never were very good at being average, were you Zackel?" Rielle said. "You're candid. So am I, though, and it's my turn. You're hurt by me, but I'm disappointed in you. You're falling back into that self-victimization complex you've indulged in before."

It was Zackel's turn to be silent.

"You've made good, valid points about today, and even about what it could mean…and you're using them to indulge yourself. To lament over how you care so much, and by extension, how your wrongs are lesser in comparison. Make no mistake, Zackel. Jumping on a chance to play martyr is at least as dishonorable as my errors, but in your case, I think you're so busy trying to figure out all these little, possible problems that you're missing the biggest, most natural one. The same ennui that ate you up after Jasciona. The same flaw that might make you want to seek it out, just so you can lie and say you don't have to shoulder any blame."

Zackel continued to say nothing, but when he began turning his head away, Rielle reached up and faced it back towards her.

"So, you need to do the same, Zackel. You need to see the bad situation for what it is. You need to see just where your good ideas and traits start to bleed into grayer motivations. I know that, if you can, _WHEN _you do…then I'll have no choice to do the same. I'll even admit…my wrong outstrips yours. Yours is all subtle character traits that can swing either way…traits that I'm glad you have. Me…I tried to have my own indulgence today, and instead of hurting me, it hurt you. So, I offer you this final, candid truth. I am sorry."

Zackel did not immediately reply, instead taking Rielle's hand. For a moment, the Draenei thought he might be trying to force breaking their eye contract, but instead he took her hand between his, not so much breaking the eye contact as lowering his gaze in an abasing tilt.

"I believe you." Zackel said. "You're right about me. You and I, we each have our failings. Then, now, in the future. Like our dreams, they'll always need work. It's the Us though, that…"

Rielle heard the faint tremor go through the mage's voice.

"…I don't know what I would do without you. These past years have been the best in my life…if I lost this…I don't think the world will ever seem as bright again, no matter why or how…"

"Shhhh…" Rielle said, removing her hand to take Zackel's face, resting her forehead against his. "Don't think about that. It helps no one, especially us. But no matter WHAT, mage…you'll never lose me. Never. Don't let the pain and despair that's drifted across the lands into your heart, Zackel. That's the best part of you, and it belongs to me and me alone."

Silence settled onto the room, a moment that lasted nearly a minute.

"…so let me see if I have this straight…" Zackel finally said. "I make a multitude of professions about how you're not my property, and that your freedom and my love are two wholly different things that don't need each other to exist…and then you go and claim possession of my heart."  
"Well, your brain's too filled with lint from naval gazing, and I have bigger balls than you ever will." Rielle said, lifting up her forehead and flashing a semi-cruel smirk.

"I'll just be over here letting you think up some new insults. At least do me the honor of finding an original way to show what a wretched failure I am." Zackel said, though his tone was anything but serious. Rielle could see it, even in the slight motion he made to fully sit out on the edge of the bed again. He'd gotten out from under the cloud.

"Mocking you is easy. I think I'll…ugggghhhhhhh…" Rielle said, acting like she was passing a kidney stone. "_COMPLIMENT _you. That's a _REAL _challenge to rise to."

"Well, you always were a challenging sort." Zackel said.

Rielle reached around Zackel's head and flicked him in the forehead.

"That lacks something from that stance."

Rielle's arm reached down, grabbed Zackel by the chin, and (gently) turned him back towards the alien, where she delivered a firmer flick with her other hand.

"And THAT lacks something when done with your weaker arm."

Rielle settled for flailing and mock-slapping the mage. Zackel made a feeble effort to fend off the blows before turning back to face the wall.

"So, this fight…did you win?"

"Yes. No. No real winner." Zackel said. "Really…it just confirms why I shouldn't drink. I just get all maudlin and pseudo-philosophical."

"…Well…I suppose I didn't properly answer your question." Rielle said, slipping her arms back around the mage, her chin resting on his shoulder. "How do I respect you? Let me count the ways…"

Zackel almost opened his mouth again, but reversed himself at the last minute. A wise choice, as Rielle adjusted her position to whisper into his ear.

"I would take you into the heart of the Legion to fight its devils. I would trust you to breathe for me, and let my blood be directed by your heart. Your spark, your essence, flows through Zerstoren, and if all other power was stripped from it, I would know yours would carry the day, any day. You defied my expectations, and saved my life, and gave me more than I could ever ask for. I love you, Zackel Wintersoul. If what beats in my chest could be turned to power…all the evils of the world would be little more than ash on the wind."

Zackel didn't say anything in return. He simply reached down and took one of Rielle's hands, interlacing his fingers with her own. Rielle turned her head in response, resting her cheek against Zackel's, feeling him return the touch.

"…can I ask one more thing of you?" Zackel said after a bit.

"What?"

"Can we…just hold onto this for now?"

"I'd like that." Rielle said, and settled herself fully against the mage's back. In time, when he moved fully onto the bed, leaning against its baseboard, a pillow set behind him, Rielle wordlessly shifted her own position to lie against him, her head on his shoulder, one arm tucked around his chest. Zackel slipped his own arm around her, and the two lay on the bed, eyes closed, the only sound the whisper of the night air.

* * *

Ishova was noticing the quiet of the night herself, having made her way up to the ramparts of Highbank. Her explanation that she hadn't seen how the fight had started, merely stumbled onto its aftermath, had been bought by the Highbank guards, the worgen priestess having been taken by them to the Keep for observation and questioning. Ishova was uncertain what the worgen would tell them, but whatever might have happened, she would take Zackel's side.

On that regard. On the whole issue…

He'd proven that he wasn't weak…somewhat. Ishova had to admit, albeit grudgingly, that some of her assessment might be a personal matter. She also knew, though, that Zackel had spent a chunk of the night bitterly complaining about her sister, and fighting back against a bullying fellow Alliance member after trying to reason with them did not balance the scales.

She'd need to keep at it, though at the moment, the Draenei didn't know how. Leaning on the rampart wall, ostensibly on volunteer guard duty, looking out onto the dark battlefield and absent-mindedly tossing one of her maces, up and down, in her right hand, Ishova pondered the hypothesis of what she would have done if this night had been her only chance to initiate her tests. She wanted to say that, based solely on this night, she had high hopes…but she also knew that, in real life, ants were easy to step on.

Zackel was good for her sister. Ishova, however, wanted the closest thing to perfection she could get. To get that…

She knew the pain of lost love, of betrayal. That would not happen to Rielle. Over her dead body-

Distracted by her black thoughts, Ishova's hand proved to be inaccurate at the worst time, the mace shaft bouncing off the flat of her palm before she could properly close her grip. Jerking at the sensation, Ishova lunged to catch the weapon, an effort that turned out to be futile as it disappeared into the shadows. Snarling a Draenei curse, Ishova looked over the edge of the rampart, trying to see where the weapon had fallen. After several seconds of peering at dark, dark, more dark, some murk for variety, and still more dark, she threw out a few more curses that her parents would be ashamed she knew.

"…well, I hope you're having fun, sis." Ishova muttered, leaning up from the stone. "I'm no-"

Ishova turned to see her mace, placed directly in her field of vision…and held by a female high elf.

"Huh?" Ishova said.

"You dropped this." The high elf said. Ishova looked up and down, wondering if her eyes were somehow deceiving her. Where the fel had THIS woman come from? Ishova had thought she was alone, how did, her mace, the…

"If you could." The high elf said, gesturing. Ishova reached up and took the weapon, taking a step back as she did. The woman, despite her slender build, was dressed in black and golden armor, her hair an unnatural silver tint. If she proved aggressive for some reason, Ishova had a bad feeling it would end poorly all around…

"My thanks." Ishova said, glancing at her weapon for damage or sabotage. Her peripheral vision left the high elf for no less than a quarter of a second.

Then she was gone. Ishova jerked her eyes back to where the high elf had been, only to find empty air. Waving her hand around and listening to the wind to reveal concealed figures turned up nothing as well. Here and gone, like she never was there to begin with.

"…the _FEL? _Am I being pranked?" Ishova said, turning and going looking for the nearest guard. She wanted to find out if, by some obscure coincidence, a high elf had turned up at Highbank. The negative answers she got once she located said guards left her with a deep, twisting cold in her guts. Things like that didn't happen without a reason.

Ishova's immediate hunt for answers kept her from seeing the high elf appear back on the street, strolling down it. She glanced at the barracks, and then, with a cabalistic snort, vanished into thin air before she completed another step.

A moment afterwards, her footprints vanished in turn.

* * *

The moon had come out again; with a faint touch of directed arcane force, Zackel opened the curtains to let its luminance into the room. Closing his eyes again, he lay on the bed for a few more minutes.

"Rielle?"

"Mmm-hm?" Rielle said, her voice soft, but clear.

"Still feeling tired?"

Rielle didn't respond, instead placing her hand on Zackel's chest and slipping her leg over him, sitting on his lap and straddling him. With a graceful shift, the Draenei removed her night-clothes, tossing the shirt to the floor, the moonlight tracing its way along her skin.

"Not really." Rielle said, leaning in. "I think…I'd rather make up for lost time."

"…there's a fair bit of it." Zackel said.

"I'm game." Rielle whispered, and kissed the lips she knew so intimately.

Like all the other times, it was magic.

* * *

"_We__'__ll soar past the highest dream_

_We__'__re a team_

_I can__'__t remember even leaving the ground_

_This world is more than it seems_

_But it won__'__t keep us down if we__'__re the strongest around_

_So stay, stay_

_Don__'__t butter-fly far away_

_Don__'__t let a windstorm just sweep you astray_

_This time I__'__ll bear you above_

_On my loveeeeee__…"

* * *

_

_**Coda:**_

"So Ishova showed up again? Dealt with the Worgen?" Rielle said, sitting on the chair while putting on her boots.

"Yeah. She's why I didn't come in all bruised and cut up. Saw the fight from the ramparts." Zackel said, doing the buttons up on his shirt. "I do wish she'd told me of her precise involvement of your Twilight mess. Could have avoided all this."

"And let it come back to plague us later? I'm kinda glad we dealt with it now." Rielle said, standing up and adjusting her under-armor leathers. "So, that's all you did? Drank, got in a dispute with a worgen, came back here?"

"Well…"

"_See more of the world."_

"…Rielle? Do me a favor?"

"Yeah?"

"Say 'May your troubles be diminished.' In Darnassian."

"The night elf farewell? What was it…_Ande__'__thoras-ethil.__"_

"…You mispronounce the second word there. You sound it as an A. It's an E sound."

"Really?"

"Yes…something I've…noticed. It has to do with your accent."

"Well, that's a little low on my list of concerns-what's this?"

Zackel, having been facing away from his girlfriend, his mind pondering a nagging thought that refused to clarify itself, turned to see what had prompted her question. It turned out to have been the black rose, still in its container on the corner of the table, having gone unnoticed until now.

"…a representation of what you are. Beautiful and terrible, with cruel thorns to any who would dare strike at you." Zackel said. Rielle, having opened the glass, smiled softly as she picked the rose up.

"…lovely…" Rielle said. "…one thing I don't get. Why was it in a case?"

"Look closer and see."

"…it's a lovely flower Zackel, but I just see black petals."

"…oh Light blast it." Zackel said, strolling over and looking at the flower. As it turned out, the cooling mechanism had stopped working at some point, and the carefully traced frost had faded away.

"It's all right Zackel. This is more than enough." Rielle said, leaning in and giving the mage another kiss. Zackel accepted it…and also used his skilled fingers to pluck the rose from Rielle's hand.

"Rielle, remember how you said I over-think things?"

"Yes…?"

Zackel, with a blur of fingers, extracted a rune from within his sleeve. Crushing it, he left the powder drift off the flower, the magical dust settling onto lines so faint they were virtually non-existent.

"Sometimes it works for me." Zackel said, and exhaled icy-blue mist onto the flower, causing the Draenei script to bloom back into existence. Rielle's eyes widened slightly at the sight.

"What else can I say, Rielle?" Zackel said, handing the flower over. "You take my breath away."

Rielle took a moment to look over the flower, reading the words there. For a moment, her eyes actually grew misty.

"…if anyone tries to take this room, I will kick their ass so hard Deathwing will feel it."

"…I'm not sure if I should be alarmed or eager." Zackel said.

"Both." Rielle said, flashing another wicked smile. "Go get us some breakfast, you're better at dealing with the bartering crap you need to do to get any eggs. We'll see what today brings. What tonight brings is my secret."

"Does it involve butter and Goblin jumper cables?"

"Maybe to _start._"

"Bad girl."

"The worst."

"Well, best start the day well then." Zackel said, picking up his staff and heading for the door. "Wait, you hate that berry jam, right?"

"Yeah. If they're serving THAT I'll take my bread plain." Rielle said, settling her armor chest piece onto her body.

"Gotcha. See you in a bit." Zackel said, opening the door and heading out into the barracks, his staff tapping on his shoulder. The greater number of Alliance members out in the main sleeping quarters indicated what Zackel had presumed earlier; the adventurers who'd feigned the attack were returning. Zackel had heard rumors that, based on how this assault had gone, plans might be drawn up to strike at Cho'Gall's stronghold. The possibility both made him nauseous and excited; killing the mad Old God servant would put the Alliance firmly on the offensive against Deathwing.

If they brought him and Rielle. He wouldn't exactly curse the day if they didn't. Though he suspected Rielle might. That was the future, though. Today was today.

"…Of course, knowing my luck…" Zackel said, stepping out of the barracks. "Some bad shit is about to arrive down the pipe and put itself directly in my mouth, because Light forfend I get some good things without something bad happening to-"

"MAGE!" Came the angry female voice. The _familiar_ angry female voice. Zackel groaned inwardly.

"I wonder if the Darkmoon Fair is hiring. I'm a thrice-damned natural." Zackel said, and turned towards the female worgen priest as she stalked up the street towards him. There were more people in Highbank than had been there the previous night, but not enough, as the worgen violently strode towards him. Zackel could tell from the motion that she was healed from the night before (including her eyes, which at the moment, wasn't much of a comfort), and also no longer drunk. She was also not alone; she had two companions with her, both worgen as well. When Zackel turned around on a hunch, he saw a third worgen there, having popped up behind him to cut off his escape.

"…You know, what I said last night still stands. Do we REALLY have to repeat those events? I'd rather not." Zackel said, backing up towards the barracks entrance as the four worgen closed in around him.

"SHUT UP!" The worgen priest yelled, brandishing cruel claws at the mage.

"Did she tell you everything, or just the parts that make this convenient?" Zackel asked one of the new worgen. All he got in response was a growl. "Okay, how about the Twilight's Hammer and Black Dragonflight? Have you forgotten we're supposed to be fighting THEM?"

"They can wait." The worgen priest said, smiling through a mouthful of fangs.

"…If I let you hit me once, can we consider it even?"

"_**NO."**_

Zackel, his staff held horizontally behind his back, flicked his eyes around, assessing his options…

The footsteps reached his ears. Virtually any other observer would be unable to discern it from anyone else, but Zackel was not them. The apprehension and quiet dread vanished off his face, and he surprised the four worgen by giving a grin that was as feral as anything they could muster.

"Fine then. One last question."

A familiar hand touched itself on Zackel's shoulder.

"Have you met my girlfriend?"

8888

The Highbank guards really didn't know what to make of the sight. The pile of worgen seemed almost comical, the way they were sprawled together on the street. None of the guards noticed the human and Draenei leaving in the distance, nor the slight uplift in the Draenei's step that could almost be a skip.

"…You know, Laekyn…" The worgen rogue said, speaking to the worgen priest beneath him who had gotten him into this mess. "You might have thought to mention he was sleeping with the Blade of O'ros."

"…_**SHUT UP."**_

The End


End file.

Warcraft, Adventure, Romance