Xynrael lay his head back in the snow, his eyes half-closed, looking sleepily up at the falling sheets of white. For a moment, all the world was silent around him. There was no battle to distract him, no pressing matters that required his immediate attention, and, most importantly of all, no voice in the back of his head, prodding him on and calling him to battle. A small, almost contented smile passed briefly over his lips, shadowed only by his hood and a few tiny flecks of snow that drifted onto his cheeks. There was purity in this silence. There was contentment.
Then the Death Knight chuckled softly, and placed his hands on either side of his head, flipping back upwards and reaching out a hand to take that of his partner. He landed easily on his feet, despite the tremendous weight of his plate armor.
Xynrael the Dawnbreaker, first of the Lich King's Tundra Stalkers, lifted his mace from his shoulder, striking out to the left against the dragonhawk and rider who had swept down and knocked him over into the snow. The dragonhawk had attempted to claw and bite at his eyes, while the rider, a ranger whom he perhaps once met in life (though he couldn't be sure; after all, they were all just as prissy and self-possessed as the rest of his former compatriots), set another arrow against the curve of his bow. The first problem was easily solved- the strike of Xynrael's mace not only cleaved its head in half, but crushed the rest of its body down into the snow, leaving a thrashing corpse in the field of white, the mangled remnants of its neck and the flattened part of the creature's spine spewing jet after jet of crimson, staining the pure white canvas that blanketed the valley where its target now fought.
The ranger was another matter. Apparently sensing the imminent death of his mount, probably also his companion, the Quel'dorei threw himself foreward, straight over Xynrael's shoulders and into the snow.
Curious, Xyn thought. Few rangers ever so readily abandoned their companions. But, this one was cold. Calculating. He would make a good pet, himself.
This train of thought was interrupted by the blind sling of an arrow, the head of which embedded itself in Xynrael's chest armor, just above and to the left of the browning husk that had once served to pump blood to the Death Knight's extremeties. Another followed, and another, and another, in rapid succession, the second and third causing Xynrael to grunt and jerk slightly, both in pain and from the force. The third had found its mark and stuck straight from his neck, the second burying itself between the shoulder joint between primordial saronite plating.
Ranger paused in the assault of his perceived prey, another arrow fitted against the curve of his bow, string pulled tight. This shot was clearly aimed for Xynrael's head, but Ranger didn't release.
And in that moment, Ranger sealed his fate. The Stalker's hand shot out, tendrils of unholy energy seizing the bowstring and pulling it in the opposite direction, near one of the ends of the bow. The string itself snapped like a twig. Tension suddenly relieved, both string and arrow slid from Ranger's grasp.
Apparently feeling the need to bolster his courage for the inevitable, Ranger drew two longknives, one from either hip, crouching low and foreward in an aggressive posture. He looked like a cornered animal, ready to pounce out of both desperation and pure, feral instinct.
"You might kill me, but-" He began, but stopped almost immediately, dropping both knives and reaching for his throat.
"I am killing you. Didn't you notice?" The Death Knight's voice was cold, like an echo in a canyon, thoroughly unrelated to the fact that their short-lived duel was in fact taking place in a canyon. Dark chains of blood surrounded the Ranger's throat, lifting him from the air, seemingly under their own power, causing him to kick and squirm while gasping desperately for air. The chains closed, not only severing his windpipe, but also crushing his spine. In spite of the blinding pain, Ranger's eyes still blinked and his mouth opened.
Xynrael knelt down beside him, softly petting his cheek. "There, there. It doesn't make sense- your idealism didn't save you. I know, I know; you were the last man standing. The lone hero, fighting against an impossible villain. You should have been able to win. I should have sat still and let you have your last words. Well, you still have plenty more to say..."
He reached out, stabbing two fingers into Ranger's eyes. The High Elf (Blood Elf, Xynrael corrected himself, as the transformation began) jerked, his entire body thrashing despite the lack of nervous connection. Bolt after bolt of black lightning shot through his body, tracing the patterns made by rapidly-coagulating blood. As Xyn's energy and manifested will crashed through the other man's body, he felt it.
The pain. The beautiful pain and agony of life being stripped away. One is always birthed through tremendous labor pains. But, this... Such beautiful rebirth. The most beautiful pain one could suffer, not for another, but for the rebirth of oneself. The fear- what's going to happen to me? Why am I not passing on to a better place? Because, Xynrael assured him, there is no better place. You are simply crossing over to a new perspective. A new way. A beautiful, perfect way, a life of immortal service to a King who loves you, and knows you. Knows your worries and your joys and your pain and your glories.
Knows your soul.
The man stood slowly, like a newborn fawn. He rose on shaky legs, arms swinging freely, knees nearly buckling under his own weight. Xynrael knelt down, gently helping the other up, while pulling back his hood. He leaned his forehead softly against this new creature, and very lovingly touched his lips to the bridge of its nose. Two words croaked from the hollow throat, already pale with color and black with the stagnation of its blood.
"Must... Feed..."
With a flourish of the arm, Xynrael indicated the pre-tenderized dragonhawk corpse. His new child immediately ran, threw its head back, and tossed itself headfirst into the carcass, still warm with pulsing lifeblood. Claws tore eagerly but uncertainly at the flesh, skinning the creature almost at the pace of a child trying to rip the skin from an orange with his bare fingers.
Xynrael smiled, pulling his hood back up and heading for a small hill of rock and dirt and snow, his eyes scanning over the valley with fatherly affection. Sprays of blood and discarded bones still decorated the snow, and even from among these meager scraps the ghouls gathered as if they were fit for gods to eat.
Among the carnage, a tattered Sin'dorei standard flapped meekly in the breeze, almost as if it were afraid to make its presence known amongst the dead it had once so proudly represented.
----------------------------------
Xynrael Frostbane awoke with a start, but did not stir. He glanced over to his side to make sure his slight gasp had not awoken Tyaene, then very slowly pulled the bedsheets aside and rose. He paused momentarily, fingers grazing over the blonde strands of her hair, then slipping down to linger on her shoulder. Finally, he turned and walked towards the mirror, his bare feet making deep but quiet padding sounds on the carpet as he moved. He stood before the glass, naked and observing himself in silent contemplation.
After only a moment, Xyn moved away, noting silently that his body hadn't changed at al in seven years, save for the tiny, almost unnoticeable limp in his right leg and the various tattoos that decorated his skin. He opened the door to the balcony, letting the eternal Spring air of Eversong Wood flow into the room. Xynrael drank it in like a man tasting fine wine. After smelling the blight and blemish of the Plaguelands and Northrend, having purchased some of the soil of the Woods with his own blood, he knew how precious a thing the smell of that air was. It smelled free.
Expecting a whisper of "What are you doing up?" from Ty should he cast shadows into their room much longer, Xyn turned again, heading back to bed, but leaving the door open. As he went to sit down on the edge of the sheets, he began to feel strange. Not quite uneasy, but unsure, as if something were amiss. He paused, glancing around the room, then finally down at the woman who lay in his bed. She was facing away from him, but already he was sure; the pale blonde strands that lay spread over his beloved's pillow were not hers.
She rolled over slowly, giving him a curious look and a soft, almost sad, but still affectionate smile. Her fel-green eyes regarded his with slight wonderment, slowly glancing him over as she rose.
"Couldn't sleep?" She whispered, taking a step towards him.
"What are you doing here... You of all people, and like this?" He asked, the confusion of his own placement vanishing just as quickly as the questions as to hers were out of his mouth
"You know how this sort of thing works better than I do, Frostbane. You see me how you truly see me. Perhaps how I truly am." Her voice was something short of a purr, but had no rise and fall to it. Her words were smooth, soft, bearing almost a sensual but loving tone that tickled at his ears as she slid across the carpet, wrapping her arms around his waist and laying her cheek softly against his chest, eyes dropping closed.
She looked more relaxed than he had ever seen her, and while he had seen her avert her eyes before, never had she simply leaned into him and closed them. Her guard was relaxed. She felt.. Safe.
How did he know she felt safe?
Xynrael shook it off, his head wavering back and forth slowly as he enveloped her bare form, one arm slipping about her waist, the other reaching from her left hip upwards, the hand of that arm tangling gently in her hair. "Why are you here?"
"Because there's something I need to tell you." She whispered against his chest, the breath of air nearly setting him to shivering. She slowly rocked her hips slightly and slowly from side to side, as if dancing with him, or perhaps as if she were trying to rock a small child to sleep after a terrible nightmare.
"What?"
"I can't tell you."
"Why can't you tell me?" He asked, looking down at her. He rocked back and forth with her, an almost undiscernable motion, and suddenly realized that it was comforting. As his eyes took in the curves of her naked form, he realized there was no eroticism, no lust, in his movements. And slowly, he began to wonder if this, and not his first dream, was the nightmare.
She reached up, laying one hand on his chest, shifting her head to press her ear against his heart, but said nothing, her breasts rising and falling deeply against his abomden with each breath and soft sway on the carpet.
Xynrael's fingers slowly slid through her hair, the tips of each gently petting at her neck as his palm pressed to the back of it. "I know you hate what I am, but-"
She looked up at him suddenly, as if she had been struck. "I could never hate what you are," she replied, immediately. "But, yes...I hate what you are."
"What do you mean?"
"It's not like you to ask silly questions," she responded softly, though the words carried more sting than any sharp comment she had ever made to him. She lay her head back on his chest, her fingers curling against his bare skin.
"I can't do this any more. I need to know." He responded, his chin coming to rest atop her head, eyes falling shut, as if stifling tears. "Is this... Are you here? Are you with me?" He asked, not at all the question he had intended.
"We're always together, Frostbane. I don't need you to keep me safe."
"What do you need me for, then?" He asked, the voice inside his mind growing frustrated, but the rest of him calm, his body perfectly relaxed. The Death Knight was unsure as to which one of them was resting against the other, but for the moment, it didn't seem to matter.
She reached up for his cheek, the tenderness in her touch undoing him completely. Tears poured from his eyes, making small streaks in her hair as they descended. "To protect me."
Xynrael's increduility at her statement was buried completely beneath a torrent of other emotions, the overflow of which was presently streaming down his cheeks. "Is it because I'm weak? Is that why you can't tell me?"
"Frostbane..." She glanced up at him, a patient, motherly look on her face she cradled his tear-streaked face between her hands. While the look she gave him was maternal, the feeling of her hands against his cheeks sent fire coursing through them, down his neck, and into his chest.. The flow of tears stopped, as if in response to the words she had not yet spoken. "No one is stronger than you."
"Is that what you wanted to tell me?"
"I've already told you what I wanted to tell you." She whispered, slipping away from him and taking him by the hand, leading him towards the bed. Despite the sheer intimacy in even the simple gesture of taking him by the hand, there was still no lust, though when he looked at her, he saw something burning her eyes something deeper than that.
Finally, he asked her, "Why here? Why are you... Like this?" He asked, motioning his free hand up and down the line of her form. "Why in the dream?"
"Because," she began, gently pushing him onto the sheets and curling one leg around his, the other fitting snugly against it as she lay her head in the crook of his arm, "this is how you see me. Nothing in the way. Perfect intimacy. Because we're connected. Entwined. We belong." She replied, her voice changing. Even without her chest against him, he could feel her pulse. Feel her blood surging, heart beating slow but strong, and suddenly, he was sure she was there, even if she didn't mean to be.
He slipped his arm around her shoulders, one hand reaching over to lay against the thigh that had curled over his own. Suddenly, she looked up at him, her eyes wide and trusting, seizing on his own. "I'm afraid," she whispered.
"I know."
"Frostbane...I want to tell you."
He sat bolt upright in bed. The place beside him was empty; Tyaene was out, training. And she... was only Light knew where.
Laying his head back and staring up at the ceiling, Xynrael Frostbane began to cry.
No comments:
Post a Comment