Warcraft 1. Population Control

AN: Okay, so I'm sure that this pairing type is typical, but I felt like doing it so whatever. Alara is based on my blood elf paladin. Jarreth is based off no one in particular. Same goes for pretty much everyone else in this fic.

Disclaimer: I don't own or work for Blizzard, blah blah blah, don't sue me. I think that covers it.

This is technically my first WoW fic, although not the first one I've attempted. Hopefully this will go well.

The rating isn't for giggles, either. This is bound to get serious, violent, and graphic. It stands to reason that if you don't like those things, you will have taken note of the rating and shied from it.

This prologue is short and more informational so you can learn a bit about the heroine. I tried not to make it too dry .

I've mushed the prologue and the first chapter into one chapter. I didn't think they really needed to go up individually.

Thanks, and enjoy.

**Prologue: A Quiet Sort of Elf**

Like any self-respecting little girl, Alara Sunshade had dreamed of growing up to be a normal, well-adjusted, happy blood elf. Her earliest professional aspirations tended toward an animal trainer, or perhaps even a stable-mistress. She was soft spoken, quite shy, and all too happy to let others lead. She owned something near to twelve cats, to which her father held a festering animosity due to his allergies.

Alara grew up on the outskirts of Silvermoon, never once stepping into the big city. Her family was large but, being the youngest of eight and her nearest sibling being ten years her senior, Alara's younger days were lonely. She filled the time playing with her cats and talking to imaginary friends.

Daveious Sunshade was the eldest of the eight children. The first word he spoke was said to be 'Paladin' and he talked of little else until he was old enough to pursue his dream. He spoke of the profession so passionately that he managed to recruit his sister Silmania. The two trained together and had left the Eversong Woods before Alara was even born.

By the time the last of the Sunshade children had ventured from her mother's womb, three of the remaining six children were enrolled in the Paladin training program. The other two, still too young to join, were showing signs of following in their siblings' foot steps. When Alara showed no sign of interest, her parents were overjoyed. Perhaps _one_ of their daughters had some sense to her after all.

When Alara turned ten years of age, Daveious and Silmania returned from Mulgore. Alara had never met these siblings and was fascinated by their stories. They spoiled their baby sister with exotic gifts made by the taurens and trolls. It was this visit that charmed Alara away from her previous dreams of teaching cats to jump through hoops and into aspirations to become what all of her siblings had. It was eight years later that Alara found herself, sword in hand, ready to take on the world one manaworm at a time.

**Chapter One: Population Control**

"Fifty," Alara murmured under her breath as her sword swung in a wide arch. The manaworm she had been aiming for sliced neatly in half before dropping to the ground with a thunk. Without much thought, the young woman turned to the next floating annelid and repeated the motion. _Swish, thunk. Swish, thunk._ She quickly looted the small group of worms she had disposed of before turning to find another gathering.

When she had told Daveious that she was going to follow his lead, he warned her that it would take a lot of hard work and perseverance. _This_, however, was ridiculous. As far as she was concerned, she wasn't a paladin. She was an exterminator. "Alara," she mimicked in a whiney voice as two more manaworms hit the ground. "The manaworms are overpopulated. Go kill them. Alara, the springpaw pups are too aggressive, go kill them. Alara, I need coffee, go get it." She bared her teeth and struck a manaworm with enough force to send the front half spinning across the glade. "Bah!" The woman knelt to take some shards from the corpse before surveying the territory. There were more to the right and slightly downhill. She headed their way, sword balanced across her shoulders.

At least, she reflected as she sliced through a group of manaworms that she was imagining had a strong resemblance to her trainer, this was a good way to work out her frustrations.

"Yo!"

Alara's attention was instantly shifted to her left and the young woman smiled broadly at the sight of another blood elf picking her way across the grassy grove. The newcomer made a show of sidestepping the orb-like remains of the manaworms as if she were dodging cow pies in a pasture. She was dressed in royal livery, indicating her role as a palace paladin. Although her hair was a hue of honey-yellow instead of the inky black tresses Alara sported, there was an uncanny family resemblance between the two females.

"Fellias! What ever are you doing here?" Alara wiped her sword quickly on a cloth pulled from her bag before sheathing the blade across her back. She came forward, embracing her sister in a warm greeting.

"Business from the city," the older woman replied, patting a bundle of scrolls held tightly under her arm. "I saw you over here doing population control and couldn't help but pay a visit."

"I could use a break, to tell you the truth. Mind if I go with?"

"By all means," Fellias smiled down at her little sister and placed her free arm around the young woman's shoulders. "It shouldn't take too long."

The two women stepped over worm orbs as they made their way across the grass toward the structure in the near distance. The Sunspire was Fellias' destination so she had not been lying when she said it wouldn't be long before her task was complete.

"It's been such a boring walk from Silvermoon, Kiddo," Fellias commented as they walked up a set of large, marble stairs placed into the side of a small hill below the Spire.

"At least you get out," Alara muttered grumpily from her sister's left. "All I do is kill manaworms and fetch Master Jesthenis a bagel."

"And so you will for some time yet. Being a trainee is difficult, we all start the same. When I was your age, those manaworms were just as populous as they are now. It never ends." They walked in silence for a brief moment before Fellias continued. "How many are you up to now?"

"Sixty-two," came the sullen reply of the younger blood elf.

"Respectable," Fellias returned with a smirk. She ruffled Alara's hair with a gloved hand, musing the locks out of their captive headband.

"Hey!" The younger grabbed her band as it threatened to fall to the ground. With a few quick motions, she had tamed her shoulder length hair back into some semblance of order. "Killing manaworms all day is boring," she stated once finished preening.

"It builds character," her sister replied. "I had two hundred eighty-one before I was allowed to become an actual paladin. Trainees aren't allowed the same type of tasks as actually low ranked knights. You know that. Once you graduate and start really training, things get more interesting."

"Like what?" Alara's interest was peeked and she didn't bother to hide this fact from her sister.

The sparkle in Fellias' eyes did not encourage Alara's excitement. "Oh, things like Tender population control. Delivery of completely unimportant documents. Gathering alcohol for _another_ of Saltheril's parties…" Fellias burst into laughter at the crestfallen look on Alara's face. "It will get better. Just hang in there, do your duties, and eventually you'll be free to train as you please."

"By the Sun Well I hope so! I want to see Mulgore, Fellias, like Daveious and Silmania. Or visit the Needles like Migrania. I mean, even Pelia is off doing interesting Outrider work. What am I doing? Killing _worms_." Her frustrations brought another laugh to her sister's lips.

"Tell you what, Kiddo," Fellias started as they reached the Spire, "Next week I have leave from palace duties. Come to Silvermoon. I'll show you around, we can visit Mom and Dad, and you can meet some of the other higher ranking paladins in the city. You can make some connections. A job in the city, especially in the palace, can mean a lot of travel. Hell, they're sending me to Undercity next month as an envoy."

"Really? You'd let me come to visit?" Alara's eyes lit up to a brighter green.

"Of course! I'll arrange for your trainer to give you leave. You can stay the whole week if I can swing it. I'd love to have you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to deliver these before Solanian has an aneurism."

Alara waited outside of the Spire on the marble porch while her sister ran up the ramp at the back of the antechamber. She could barely contain her excitement.

Although not the closest in age – Fellias was some seventeen years older – they were the closest in location. This had allowed the sisters to become closer to each other than with their other siblings. To be blunt, Fellias was Alara's favorite and she was the one Alara looked up to most. It may have been Daveious who inspiring Alara to become a paladin, but it was Fellias who supported her through the difficult trails of being a trainee.

As she stood on the porch, Alara beamed at anyone who dared look her way, not bothering to notice the strange looks she was given. Other trainees of various disciplines as well as low ranked professionals scurried in and out of the Spire like busy little worker ants, scrolls containing menial tasks clutched in their hands or under their arms. The urge to burst into random dance flooded over Alara and it took a lot of self control not to boogie down right there on the porch.

Glancing into the Spire, Alara saw Fellias jog back down the ramp, jumping the last couple feet to land in front of Jesthenis. She engaged him quickly in conversation, using her usual briskness that tended to throw others off guard. Fellias motioned toward Alara and Jesthenis glanced her way. Alara raised a hand and waggled shy fingers at her master before the man looked back to Fellias.

It seemed like an eternity before Fellias returned to her sister on the porch of the Spire. "He says you can have next week off of training," the elder announced before her sister became too squirmy. The younger woman's breath exploded from her chest with a squeal of happiness.

"He either really likes you, or really doesn't," Fellias continued as the two walked away from the entrance to the Sunspire. "He was reluctant to let you go at first."

"You didn't bully him, did you? He's not that bad of a person." The indignant look on Alara's face was amusing, but Fellias held back more laughter. She'd already laughed a number of times at her little sister and, even though Alara was a constant well of amusement, Fellias thought that now might not be the best time to giggle.

"No, of course not. I never bully," she said indignantly instead. "Anyway, I'm going to hurry back to Silvermoon. This coming Sunday, I'll be waiting for you at the front gate of Silvermoon, alright? And bring something nice to wear; I have an invite to Saltheril's shin-dig."

As Fellias jogged off toward the bridge leading into the Ruins, Alara was left with a warm, tingly feeling inside her stomach. She needed a good, long vacation from training. This trip to her sister's would be just what the doctor ordered.

* * *

The day was chilly when Alara rose from her cot and snagged her travel bag from the floor. She tossed it onto the rumpled blankets and quickly dressed. Although the clothing she dawned was topped with the shoddy, no-so-shiny chain mail she had been given upon her entrance into the training program, Alara carefully folded a nice, silky shirt and a long skirt into her pack. If she was going to go to Saltheril's party with Fellias, she would at least look respectable. That clothing was the only nice thing she owned, which wasn't saying much as she owned very little. She reflected a little forlornly that everything she actually owned she could fit in her bag with room left over. That would change when she started adventuring and getting paid for her duties. Being a trainee definitely left one with very little finances. All the money she collected in her looting was turned in to the academy to pay for her training. At least they fed her, she admitted silently to herself as she grabbed a couple loaves of bread taken from last night's dinner. She stuffed these into her pack and followed them with her hearthstone and a flask of water. It wasn't that far to the city, but it could take her a number of hours to get there and she was skipping breakfast to get an early start. 

Attaching her pack to her body, Alara surveyed her room with a final sweep. "Well, that's it," she murmured to no one in particular. Grabbing her battered battle sword, she sheathed it across her back, spun around on the ball of her foot, and strode purposefully out her room, shutting the door quietly behind her. Not many of her fellow students were up and moving yet and she didn't want to wake them. The dormitory was silent as she padded out of the building and into the early dawn sunlight.

Cold though it was, Sunstrider Island was practically glowing as the sun crept over the horizon to bath the small bit of land with light. Soon the early morning chill would receded and be replaced with a warm sunlight that would permeate the whole land of Eversong Woods. It was going to be a beautiful day to say the least, perfect for traveling. "It's a good thing that's exactly what I intend to do today!" Alara announced smugly. She stood on the porch of the dormitory for a long moment, soaking in the lovely sunrise and inhaling deeply. Nothing could possibly ruin this day for her.

The young trainee skipped down the steps and started off at a jog for the bridge that lead off the island. She occasionally waved to a few other early-rising trainees going about their own business. A couple waved back but most were too wrapped up in their own affairs to do more than nod congenially in her direction. It didn't really matter to Alara; she was far too happy to care if they even noticed her existence. The young woman wouldn't be surprised if she looked down to find herself walking on a cushion of air.

As the bridge approached quickly, Alara was forced to pause and gaze apprehensively at the arches leading into the Ruins of Silvermoon. She had been through them only once before in her lifetime and she had clutched Fellias' hand tightly the entire time. The Wretched gave her a severe case of the willies and having to pass through that area without an actual paladin next to her was a little unnerving. To make herself feel a little more confidant, Alara unsheathed her sword and held it tightly in her hand. "Just in case," she muttered to herself as she continued across the bridge and toward the ruins.

A few steps in, Alara was forced to sidestep rapidly and halt her progress. At her feet, oozing a mixture of coagulated blood and a substance Alara could only vaguely recognize as whatever he had eaten earlier was a corpse. How long he had been dead she wasn't sure, and she'd be damned if she was going to touch him to find out. With a bit of tentativeness, she prodded the body with her booted toe. Nothing. "Well, what did you expect?" She berated herself. It wasn't as though the body was going to say 'hey, knock it off!'

For what seemed like an eternity, Alara stood there, staring down at the body with uncertainty. She wanted to do something helpful, but there really wasn't anything she could do. He was dead. That much was obvious by the fact that his stomach was sitting next to his knees. She couldn't exactly ignore the fact that she was standing next to a corpse of a blood elf, either. If it was Alliance, she would probably spit on it and continue on her way, but this man had been one of her own species.

"I'll tell the guards about you," she addressed the corpse finally. She felt better having made a decision. "They'll know what to do about you. I have to go now. Sorry." Feeling slightly silly at having talked to the corpse, Alara moved further down the path that led to Falconwing Square. She could vaguely hear the Wretched moving around on either side of the path, lurking behind the abandoned buildings. The back of her neck prickled unpleasantly as she ran, but she knew that if she kept straight towards Falconwing, she should be okay.

Alara ran right up to the first guard she saw and reported her findings. He stared at her for a moment before nodding his understanding.

"Ah, you need Outrunner Alarion. That's probably one of her messengers. She's actually at the far end of this road here." He pointed back in the directly she had just come from. "Remember the Sun Well."

"But I-" Alara started, looking distressed. The guard jabbed his finger toward the arches at the far end of the lane, repeated the woman's name Alara needed to talk to, and smiled encouragingly. "Oh, fine."

Somewhat annoyed that her progress was being side-tracked, Alara spun around and jogged back the way she came. She glanced surreptitiously to her sides to make sure no Wretched were climbing the embankment to the road to eat her. She leapt over the corpse once she reached him and practically sprinted to the woman when she spotted her.

"Greetings, Paladin," the woman said formally, raising her palm in welcome. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm not… well… There's a body," Alara pointed over her shoulder with her thumb. "He's rather dead."

"Damn, another one?" Alarion growled slightly under her breath for a moment before surveying Alara. "Hey, can you do me a favor? There's a package on that guy that really needs to go to the inn in Falconwing Square. Could you deliver it for me while I take care of his body? The innkeeper will reward you."

"I… but…" Alara stood there for a moment, torn between her willingness to help others and her desire to get to Silvermoon to start her vacation. "Sure, okay." They didn't have to know she wasn't supposed to be doing quests yet, right?

"Thanks. I really appreciate it."

Alara merely nodded and ran back towards the corpse. Searching the body for a very illusive package was not a fun task. The blood soaked little box made Alara retch, but she tossed it into her bag none-the-less and took off down the path for Falconwing.

The innkeeper did reward Alara as Alarion claimed she would. With a few more coppers in her bag, the blood elf felt a little better about having been sidetracked from her travel. Turning to leave, the innkeeper put a hand on the young woman's shoulder. "I was wondering, since you delivered this to me for Alarion if you could do me a favor, too."

"Uhm… I really…what is it?"

"I made these for the guards," the innkeeper motioned to a tray of tarts on a table near-by. "But I can't leave the inn and my helper is visiting some family in Silvermoon. Could you hand them out for me?" The woman smiled warmly at Alara, picking up the tray and offering it to the younger woman. "You can have one, too."

"Well..." They did smell delicious. "Okay, no problem."

"Please return my tray!" the innkeeper called after her as Alara jogged off with the tasty-smelling tarts.

One tray of tarts, two letters stashed in her bag for people in Silvermoon, a promise to return in a week to help arrange a child's birthday party, and a bad leg cramp from running all over Falconwing Square in order to find an elderly elf's lost glasses later, Alara was ready to continue on her way. Her pocket felt heavy with the copper she had gained from her ventures and she couldn't wait to spend it in Silvermoon. "Well, if this is what being a paladin is going to be like, it's not that bad." She grinned to herself, massaged her leg a bit more, and then headed for the arches that lead out into the Eversong Woods.

* * *

"You are late," Fellias announced the moment a very bedraggled Alara came into view around the corner of the path. The woman was standing on the bridge that led to the front gates of Silvermoon. "What in the world happened?" 

"I was mistaken for a fully-fledged paladin seven times." Alara collapsed onto a bench as soon as she reached her sister. "Tart?" The younger woman offered the pastry to Fellias. The older woman merely laughed.

"Well, I hope they paid you well for your troubles. You know you can refuse to help people. You're not supposed to be doing quests yet," Fellias chided gently. "You could get hurt."

Alara pulled a face at her sister and tore the tart in half. She handed one portion to Fellias before munching on her own. "I was delivering pastries and letters. Unless I get a paper cut or food poisoning, I think I'll be alright."

"Regardless," Fellias started, then shrugged and thought better of scolding her sister. She couldn't help it if she wanted to be helpful. That was one good trait a paladin needed. "Shall we?" The older woman motioned to the front gates. "Saltheril's party is tonight so we need to go get ready. You brought something more presentable, I presume?"

"Yes. But I also have a couple letters to deliver…" Alara motioned vaguely to her bag and Fellias nodded.

"We'll get those passed out after we change. Onward!" Arm slung across her sister's shoulder and sucking sticky jam off her fingers from the tart, Fellias led her little sister into Silvermoon.

* * *

AN: Well, there's the first bit. Please let me know what you think. 


	2. Bad Very Bad

AN: Thank you to those who reviewed! You don't know how thrilled I was to get some nice comments. Thanks again!

**Additional**: I've revised this chapter after reading it through and smacking myself with a trout over the terrible grammar and spelling errors that slipped in without my permission. Nothing about the story has changed so if you've already read it, there's no reason to re-read it. I just fixed a few obvious mistakes that I berated myself for.

**Chapter Two: Bad. Very Bad.**

Alara had never felt more out of place than she did the moment Fellias dragged her across the threshold of Saltheril's haven. The building was crammed with elves in fine attire. They were also older and, to her opinion, prettier than she was. No one gave her more than a glance as Fellias tugged her sister to and fro. Names were exchanged so quickly that Alara had no time to process anyone she had been introduced to. All she understood was that these people were all high ranking, important, and far too busy to bother with her.

As Fellias was drawn into a conversation about the merits of single handed swords versus two handed broadswords, Alara felt herself compelled to find the nearest table of refreshments and gorge herself. This party was not her scene to be sure, but at least there was food and slightly alcoholic beverages. Maybe after a couple of drinks the young woman would be having a much better time.

The one thing Alara had overlooked before downing a bottle of fruity wine was that she had never consumed alcohol before in her life. Being the sheltered baby of the Sunshade family had not leant easily to having a good time experimenting with the finer things in life. It was not until after the second bottle was empty that Alara realized she could barely walk in a straight line, let alone follow everyone outside when Saltheril called for fireworks to be lit. Fellias wandered over to her sister as the hall emptied.

"Coming, Kiddo?" The elder looked at her sibling with a bit of concern when she noticed that Alara's eyes were not tracking properly.

"I thinks I say... _stay_ for now. I'mma sit for a bit." Alara promptly sat ever-so-carefully on the air next to the chair she had been aiming for. A bewildered look graced her features when she found herself on the ground. Fellias only giggled at her obviously inebriated little sister and helped her up and to the actual chair.

"Alright, Alara," the older paladin started, "I'm going to go watch the fireworks and do a few duels. If you feel up to it, come out and join the fun. If not, just stay here and recoup. We'll head home soon." Fellias pat her sister on the head and jogged toward the door as the first explosion of fireworks resounded across the woods.

* * *

The longer Alara sat in her nice, comfortable chair, the better she felt. The young trainee had reached that phase of drunkenness where everything around her seemed to be clarified and amplified. It was odd and, as she had never felt anything like this before, Alara was fascinated by the strange euphoria surrounding her. Somewhere in the course of her musings, Alara had stood and walked halfway across the chamber she sat in, bottle of wine clutched in her hand.

Frowning, Alara glanced toward the ramp at the far end of the room. Did she just hear something from upstairs? Straining her ears, the girl held her breath. Yes! There was a definite sound coming from upstairs. That was odd. Saltheril was outside with his party-goers and she hadn't seen anyone go past her while perched in her chair. As stealthily as a young, barely trained paladin with one too many drinks under her belt could, Alara stalked up the ramp to investigate.

The air was practically humming with energy by the time Alara was halfway up the ramp. Someone, although she had no idea who, was working some form of magic. She knew, deep down, that she shouldn't go any further. It was probably just some mage doing his research. Yet, that irritatingly curious part of her nature got the better of her and, as her inhibitions were shot, the woman's feet carried her the rest of the way up the ramp.

She paused as her head peeked over the lip. She was fairly well hidden by the edge of the floor and didn't want to disturb what she watched if she couldn't help it. Her head was too foggy to fully comprehend what she was seeing, but something told Alara it was wrong. She couldn't detect what, at first, but there was a definite wrongness with the scene unfolding before her eyes.

There was a man standing in the center of the room, his long robes pooled at the floor around his feet. His back, thankfully, was to her and he did not appear to notice her presence. The air around him crackled with electricity and from an orb placed before him an image was being projected upward. She recognized it vaguely as the layout of the city. It looked like the map Fellias had handed to Alara shortly before they changed for the party so she could deliver those letters. A nagging voice in the back of Alara's head reminded the girl that she had yet to do those tasks. The elf pushed those thoughts away; what she was currently seeing held more importance.

The image of Silvermoon blueprints faded and was replaced with an extremely ugly face (in Alara's opinion). According to her text books, this was a dwarf. She had never seen anything except blood elves until recently. In Silvermoon, emissaries roamed the streets from the other horde factions. Those had been her first glimpse of any humanoid creatures that were not her own kind, besides what was seen in books. They were talking, strangely enough, in Orcish. That, she knew, was odd. Why would a dwarf know Orcish?

"Let me know when things are in place, Belarethil," the ugly face from the orb was grunting. "You have done well and we'll be rewarding you for this service."

The mage bowed gracefully before the picture. "But of course, Steelgrope. Plans are proceeding as expected. By next moon, things will be aligned properly for your men. Silvermoon will not be expecting it. Both of us will be rewarded dually."

"And you're certain no one suspects?"

The mage shook his head with a whip. "Of course not. These parties are the perfect cover. No one has any reason to come up here, they're all outside getting drunk. My fool cousin thinks I'm using this floor as a private workshop for experiments and nothing more."

"Good." Steelgrope paused for a moment. "When you are in control, you will not forget our aid, I hope." There was an obvious threat in the tone and Alara strained her ears to make sure she caught every word. Fellias would have to know about this!

"You're people will be well taken care of when I have regency." Belarethil's tone seemed genuine enough, although the dwarf did not seem very convinced. "Trust me, friend. When I am regent here, we both will benefit."

Alara could wait no longer. She had to tell Fellias. Spinning quickly to run back down the ramp, Alara neglected to realize just how unstable on her feet she was. Flailing in an ungainly manor similar to a water bird taking flight, her hand seemed to loose control of the wine she was holding and the bottle slipped from her fingers to shatter at her feet. She had not moved more than a foot before she was seized roughly from behind and dragged back up the ramp by her hair. A hand was clamped tightly over her mouth to prevent her screams from reaching anyone outside the building.

Curses flew from the mage's mouth as he surveyed the little paladin trainee he manhandled. He knew she'd seen too much by the way she'd tried to run and by the frightened look in her eyes. He would have to dispose of her quickly before suspicion was aroused. Spinning her around, he pulled a dagger from his hip and held it against her throat.

Alara froze as the sharp prick of steel touched her flesh. A panic came over her and she barely dared to breathe let alone struggle. She stared up at the mage as he gazed over her features. Another curse left his lips, but he said nothing else.

Belarethil recognized this girl as that little tag-a-long Fellias had brought. A Sunshade was not someone to reckon with, even if it was a fledgling. Doing anything to directly harm the youngest of the notorious paladin siblings would most likely result in his instant death. He could not directly kill her, but he could not let her go. She would blab to her sister for sure. Mind racing, the elf tried to find a solution to this problem that would make her death look accidental. A slow, calculating smile spread across his features as the young woman broke out into a sweat. It was not a good smile. It was pure evil in the man's eyes as his hands started to glow.

And it was those eyes that were the last thing Alara saw before plummeting into darkness.

* * *

Slowly, her whole body aching, Alara roused from whatever sleep she had been in. She couldn't see anything right away; her vision had yet to clear. Her other senses kicked in, sending non-visual cues to her mind. The air smelled damp and slightly chilly, and of loam. Wherever she was, she was in an old, moist forest. The ground beneath her was uneven and also wet. The sounds of grunts and squawks from far off creatures confirmed her idea that her location was somewhere arboreal. Very cautiously, Alara opened her eyes and let them adjust to their surroundings. She instantly regretted ever waking up.

Standing above Alara was what she believed to be the ugliest thing she had ever seen - and she had seen a few trolls wandering around Silvermoon. His build was bulky and muscular, and he was taller than any man she had ever seen before. His hair was the color of limes and his eyes shone a hideous yellow in her direction. He looked as though he had bathed recently in a tub filled with grape juice because his skin was a pale purple tinge. Beefy arms hefted a rather large sword that was pointed directly at Alara's face.

Given her circumstances, Alara did the only respectable thing a young, female, unarmed, pre-paladin blood elf could do when confronted with what was obviously a high ranking, fully battle-worn, adult male night elf. She screamed.

* * *

AN: There's chapter two. Its' a bit short, but this is really all I wanted to get across with this chapter. It may be revised and lengthened.

Also, don't get me wrong about the trolls comment. My main is a troll. I like trolls. They're just ugly as sin is all :)


	3. In Which Things Get Even Worse

AN: Thank you to Dazja for reviewing again so quickly after I posted the second chapter! I appreciate it! Onward!

**Chapter Three: In Which Things Get Even Worse**

Belarethil lowered his hands and glanced around his workroom apprehensively for a moment, making sure there really was no one else around to witness the portal suck the young woman in. He was left alone in his workroom with the distant sounds of fireworks and revelers drifting in through the windows. Good. Time to put on his game face. Schooling is features into a look of distressed panic, Belarethil took a breath and sprinted down the ramp so he would appeared winded when he reached his cousin.

"Saltheril!" the mage wheezed the moment the relative was in site, about to light off another firework. "Saltheril! I must speak with you." Grabbing the other elf by the elbow, Belarethil dragged his cousin away from the group and to a lesser populated part of the party.

"What is it?" the other asked, annoyed at having been interrupted. "Made some sort of breakthrough in your studies have you?"

Belarethil shook his head and waved a hand in front of his cousin's face, dismissing the idea. "No, no, no. Something terrible has happened! One of your guests, I need to know who they are."

As Saltheril had consumed a considerable amount of alcohol over the course of the night, he blinked blearily at Belarethil. "What? Why? Who? Can't this wait until after fireworks?"

"No, it cannot!" Belarethil glared at the lord for a moment. "Who was the young woman with Sir Fellias? The girl?" When Saltheril looked blankly at his cousin, Belarethil smacked the other male on the forehead with his palm. If he was going to convince everyone that what happened was really an accident, he'd need to first make a convincing scene of it. His addlebrained, drunken cousin was not helping his situation.

"Fellias' brought a guest? Was she on the list?"

"What? How should I know, I've been upstairs," snapped the mage. "Focus. I need to know who came with Fellias." Belarethil spoke slowly, emphasizing each word carefully for Saltheril's benefit.

"My little sister," Fellias supplied evenly. Belarethil turned to look at the woman as she walked up. The paladin's hands were fisted on her hips and her eyebrows were drawn inward. "What's going on here? Why are you asking about Alara?"

"She's your…" Belarethil's eyes widened as he feigned shock and then promptly moved toward Fellias with hands wrung together. "I… you see…" He stuttered nervously, licking his lips as through they were dry. "There was this accident and… she… I hadn't gotten it right yet.. I'm not sure…"

Fellias' eyes darkened to an emerald shade as she moved towards the mage with slow, deliberate steps. By now, most people standing nearby had stopped their conversations to watch. A few showed concern as they caught the gist of the conversation. "What. Has. Happened." At 'happened' Fellias' hand shot out and grabbed Belarethil by the front of his robe, bunching the material near his throat. With the ease of one trained to battle, the woman literally lifted Belartheil off the ground a few inches, holding him up with one arm. "Talk."

"I was experimenting with a new type of portal," he whimpered, voice raspy as her knuckles dug into his throat. "I didn't realize she'd blundered up to my workshop." Fellias shook him harshly when he stopped talking. Gasping for breath, Belarethil attempted to regain his voice. "The portal backfired," the mage continued, voice fading as he attempted to breathe. "She…"

Another shake from Fellias brought a fit of coughing to the mage and the woman finally dropped in to the ground in an undignified heap. "Where is she?" the paladin asked darkly, leaning over the man on the ground.

"I don't know," Belarethil lied, rubbing the front of his robe where she had seized him. "I hadn't set the parameters yet. I was trying to find a faster way to portal," he explained pitifully.

"You…" Fellias lifted her foot and placed it firmly on Belarethil's chest, pressing down with enough pressure that the man would have bruising the next morning. "You…" The woman could not get a coherent thought out. Her beloved little sister was.. somewhere. She could be anywhere. She could be in the Outlands! "If I… if she… you…" The pressure increased and Belarethil groaned in pain."

"Fellias, it was an accident," Saltheril reminded the woman as he noticed his cousin's discomfort. "I'm sure there's some way to locate your sibling, isn't there?" The man placed his hands on the paladin's shoulders and drew her back from his cousin, allowing the mage to breathe once more.

"I," Fellias spoke softly, her voice so icy that it killed the mood of the party, "am going to call my brother Daveious. If Alara is found alive, we will not kill you," she addressed the cowering mage. "If we find our sister otherwise, then you will wish for death before we will grant you such relief. Do I make myself clear?"

"Completely," Belarethil squeaked, no longer faking his fear or panic. He figured Fellias would charge off to find her sister alone. The mention of Daveious – a rather infamous Paladin – brought a cold sweat to the mage's body. If the eldest Sunshade was involved, then the rest of the Sunshades would no doubt be involved. His only hope was that the stir caused by a group of seven crusading paladins would distract from his ploy to overthrow Silvermoon and, by the time they found what remained of their little sister, Belarethil would be in control with a formidable army of his own.

* * *

Not for the first time that day, Alara's hair was used against her. With one, large, rough hand, the night elf seized the smaller elf by the top of her head and shook her like a ragdoll. This effectively stopped the screaming of fear but turned the noise into one of pain as the young woman felt hair pull free of her head. She gripped around his wrist, digging fingernails into the flesh in hopes that he would let go. It did nothing but annoy the older elf.

Snarling, he spat a few words at her that were lost on her ears. She did not speak Darnassian. Nor did she speak the common tongue of humans. The only languages she knew were Thalassian and Orcish. The gist of his words, however, was easy to understand and she quickly let go of his hand and clamped her mouth shut. The shaking, much to her relief, stopped and she was set on her feet.

As soon as he had released her hair, his hand encircled her upper arm. Alara gulped as the man's fingers were able to touch around her limb. This was not someone to be reckoned with. He was large, powerful, and obviously highly ranked based on the condition and quality of the gear he wore. Without any sort of ceremony, the night elf spun on his heel and dragged the hapless female behind him.

It was all Alara could do to keep up with the other's quick pace. Stumbling, she bumped her shins on protruding stumps and was whipped in the face by branches back lashing after the man's passage. If she fell, he merely hauled her along until she regained her footing enough to flounder behind him one more. Scraped, bruised, and thoroughly disgruntled, she trudged in his wake. She was too busy tying to remain in tact to let the fear welling up in the pit of her stomach take its hold on her. If given the chance to panic, she would have. Alara had awoken in a foreign forest at the blade point of a large, ugly alliance enemy. It was at that point that she cursed her decision to leave her pack at Fellias' home. Her hearthstone had been in that pack. If only she had her bag, she could run to safety given the chance and teleport out of there. That was not going to be an option without the means to translocate.

The smell of woodsmoke brought Alara's attention to a break in the trees ahead. Reaching the clearing, the girl was roughly thrown onto the grass covered ground. Blinking, she realized the dusty brown in her field of vision belonged to a pair of well kept boots. Following those boots upward, she took in every detail of clothing obviously meant for a woodsman. It was clear from just his clothing that this new man was a hunter. As her eyes reached the face that accompanied the body, she shuddered.

The newcomer was tall, like the rough man who captured her, but he was not as bulky. Slender would be far from the truth but, if he stood next to his counterpart, Alara could imagine he would be considered small for his people. Lean, perhaps, was a better word. His build wasn't one for hefting around; it was for speed and agility. His hair was the deepest shade of green Alara had ever seen and it flowed down his back in thick strands, left loose unlike the rough one's tightly bound ponytail. The face as well, she noticed grudgingly, wasn't nearly as grim or square-jawed. He wasn't attractive to her by any degree and made her feel all the prettier, but he still wasn't quite as hideous as the man who grabbed her moments ago. His skin, too, was a paler shade of purple than his counterpart. It was almost unnoticeable, in fact. If Alara hadn't been raised in a community full of peach-skinned elves, she probably would not have noticed the tinge in his skin.

Her new captor turned to the other and spoke a few words, making a curious motion towards Alara. The first spat back some harsh sounding sentences and aimed a kick for the girl on the ground. Surprisingly, the second man cut off the first with a motion of his hand, indicating that they shouldn't roughen her up anymore than they'd already done. Alara found out shortly that she was in for a lot of surprises. It had been a very shocking day.

"What is your purpose here?"

Alara's eyes snapped up to the second man with alarm. What in the name of the Sun Well was he doing speaking Orcish at her? Why were members of the Alliance suddenly learning the guttural, Horde language? She didn't have time to process the shock before a kick did manage to make contact with her side. It was the first man's foot that made the offense and she grunted and curled into a ball. The hunter, once again, snapped a few words at the warrior before turning his attention back to Alara. He repeated his question.

"Where is here?" she countered, a bit more pertly than she'd intended. It was not easy being hung-over, shaken around, dragged through the woods, and kicked. Tears were threatening and only by sheer will Alara kept them from escaping her eyes. She glared up at the hunter, trying to seem more confidant than she really felt.

He glared back and reached down to take a hold of her hair. She mentally growled as his fingers entwined in her locks and forced her head back at a sharp angle. "Answer the question," he murmured dangerously.

"I was portaled here without my permission," she ground out, a sharp pain lancing through her neck as it was held in that uncomfortable position. "I don't want to be here."

He seemed to process that information for a moment before releasing her hair and straightening. He spoke a few words to the warrior and made a motion towards Alara that she did not particularly like. The first man came towards her with his sword drawn.

Alara's mind raced rapidly as she watched the warrior raise his sword in what seemed like slow motion. Before she had even fully gathered the thought into her mind, her mouth opened and she blurted out the first thing she could think of.

"My name is Alara Sunshade! If you kill me, my brother will avenge me!"

The sword wavered and the two exchanged glances. The second spoke. "Daveious Sunshade?" Alara nodded her affirmative. "You lie." His tone was not very assured, however.

"I do not. When they find out I'm missing there will be a reward for my return." She was thinking more clearly now and was stalling. "Keep me alive and you'll be spared, I'll make sure of that. Kill me and Daveious will have your heads."

The two exchanged more words in Darnassian while Alara panicked on the ground near them. It seemed like forever before some decision was made regarding the small captive they had. With hands none-too-gentle, the hunter bound Alara's wrists behind her back and hefted her back to her feet.

"For now," he snarled in her ear, bending slightly to do so as the top of her head only came to his shoulder. "If my brother and I hear nothing of a reward for Alara Sunshade's safe return, you are not good to us and will be destroyed." A shiver passed down Alara's back that had nothing to do with the warm breath breathed into her ear. She prayed that Fellias had enough mind to post a reward before launching a massive, world-wide search for her.

With a shove, the hunter led the girl toward a large tent set up at the opposite side of the clearing. Shoving a flap aside, he pushed the girl into the structure and followed her. Dragging her by her bounded hands backwards, she felt him adjusting the knot to allow for a chain to slip through. She was being secured to a long metal line staked to the tent that held, to her surprise, five other prisoners. Horde prisoners, she noted with a bit of relief. She wasn't completely alone!

Among her fellow detainees numbered two trolls, one of each gender, a female tauren, a very disgruntled looking male orc, and a male blood elf. They glanced at her dispassionately before staring towards the ground with dejection. Alara wondered how long they had been captured to be so sullen.

The hunter grabbed Alara roughly by the chin when he noticed her attention wandering to the other Horde members, turning her to face him. His eyes, glowing a shade of deep golden-yellow, bore into hers without any pity. "For now, you will be called the name you gave us. You will talk only when I speak to you. Any attempt to run or escape and we will be forced to deal with your brother." The implication was clear to Alara that, if she should run away, they would kill her and worry about Daveious later. "You will refer to me as Master Jarreth. My brother is Master Dargatha. Do you understand?" The hand tightened.

"Yes," she squeaked, unable to nod her acquisition.

"Yes, what?" he prompted, fingers digging hard enough to leave bruises on her pale flesh.

"Yes, Master Jarreth," she whispered, the corners of her eyes becoming moist from the pain he was causing her.

"Good girl," he growled derisively, shoving her backwards suddenly so that she fell to the ground with a thump. "Now the rest of you," Jarreth spoke, glaring at the other prisoners. "We will be moving tomorrow. Be nice to your new friend." With a sneer, the night elf turned and moved from the tent, letting the flap of canvas fall down behind him.

The moment Jarreth had left the tent, all of Alara's bravado whooshed out of her with a sob. The dams she had placed in front of her eyes burst and there was nothing the girl could do to still the hot tears that steamed down her face as she cried into the grass she lay on. If the others noticed at first, they said nothing.

Before long, the sobs died in Alara's throat and she felt she had let out all she needed to. She could cry all she wanted and it wouldn't change the situation. With a shaky breath, the young woman sat up and, pulling her knees to her chest, rubbed her face against them to dry it off.

"Feel better, Dearie?" a friendly and deep feminine voice whispered from her right. Looking over, Alara found herself staring into the soft brown cow-eyes of the tauren speaking Orcish. It was, after all, the only language the Horde had in common.

"A little," Alara replied softly, hiccupping a couple times.

"Poor thing," the bovine continued, shaking her head. "You're barely weaned. What are you doing in a place like Ashenvale?" After Alara explained the unwilling teleportation, the tauren nodded sympathetically.

"A few words of advice," came a voice to her left. It was the male blood elf. For the benefit of the tauren in the conversation, he also spoke Orcish. "Jarreth uses scare tactics well, but he isn't the one to watch out for. Always keep one eye on that brother of his. Bad things happen…" The man turned his head toward the girl and Alara cringed to see the eye-patch over the man's left eye. "My name is Pasanyan Brightcore," he added. "That is Melanda Shadowhoof," he jerked his head toward the tauren. "We've been in this slave string the longest."

"What do they intend to do with you?" the young trainee asked, terrified.

"Take us back to their homeland for questioning and probably slavery," Melanda supplied sullenly. "They think we all have some important information about our people to pass on to their intelligence. Any of our comrades who didn't prove useful…" The female made a suggestive gesture and guttural gurgle that Alara took to mean the others had been killed. "Tell me, Child," the tauren continued, "What information could one such as you have that's valuable to them?"

"It's not information that saved me," Alara replied, looking down at her knees. "It's because my brothers and sisters will slaughter them if they find out I'm dead." At a quizzical look from both her new companions, Alara elaborated. "My name is Alara Sunshade."

"Which makes your brother Daveious Sunshade," Pasanyan interrupted. He looked only slightly excited about the prospect. "If he comes to rescue you, perhaps there is a chance of survival after all." His tone did not seem very convinced, but it was difficult to hope when in their situation. "Hope, for all our sakes, that you brother can find you in time."

Alara could only nod glumly in his direction. Fervently, she willed Daveious and Fellias to find her and take her away from this mess. Never had Alara had any inkling of the true cruelty of the Alliance until the moment she had awoken in this land. She found herself missing the days she spent killing manaworms and longed for it. Given a choice, she reflected rather ironically, she would much rather spend the rest of her days killing manaworms than being in that tent, chained like a dog, and beaten by angry, ugly night elves. This was, by far, the worst vacation Alara had ever had.

* * *

AN: And there's chapter three! I hope you like it! Please review and let me know if you have any comments or constructive critz for me. If you see any spelling/grammar errors, please point them out so I can fix them! Thanks!


	4. Punishment

**Chapter Four: Punishment**

The moment Alara awoke, she realized it had not been all one very bad dream as she had hoped it would be. Dark canvas met her eyes and she felt a severe ache in her shoulders from having her arms tied behind her back while she slept. Sitting up from her side, the young woman allowed her eyes to adjust to the dim of the tent while those around her roused from fitful slumber. The elf attempted to roll some of the stiffness out of her shoulder unsuccessfully.

With a groan, the young woman let her arms slump behind her and tugged uselessly at the bindings. This motion she regretted moments later as the chain clinked loudly, bringing Jarreth into the tent to check on the cause. When his eyes lit upon Alara, his smirk grew. The older man walked towards her purposefully and landed a strong cuff on the side of her head. Yelping, Alara fell to her side and cringed.

"Trying to escape so soon?" Jarreth growled at her as his fingers hooked the collar of her shirt and righted her. She felt the material strain as she was lifted to her feet and prayed it wouldn't rip. As bad as it was to be in her party clothing in the middle of the wilderness, being topless with only her underwear on would be far worse.

She shook her head rapidly to his question and stared adamantly at her feet, refusing to look into his face. He took her posture as one of submission and released her. "Good," he muttered. "Now, everyone on your feet. We have ground to cover." With as much roughness as he had handled her, Jarreth yanked the others to a standing position before snatching up the chain they were bound to and dragging it behind him out of the tent. As soon as they were clear, he re-staked them outside in, much to Alara's dismay, a gray drizzle. She watched as the two captors disassembled the tent and bundled it onto a horse standing nearby. Its halter was tied, in turn, to another horse. A third mount stood beside the second, flicking its ears in annoyance at the rain. Sitting nearby, watching the captives with a rather hungry look, was a very large, very black panther. Alara swallowed inaudibly as the creature took its time surveying the new addition.

"Right." Jarreth approached the group while Dargatha double checked that everything tied to the pack horse or to their mounts was secure. Methodically, as if it had been done hundreds of times over, Jarreth began to untie hands, move them to the front of the body, and retie them to the chain. Alara watched in muted dismay to see how compliant her fellow captives had become. They didn't bother to even resist. Everyone moved their hands willingly to the front for Jarreth to fasten.

When he reached Alara, he eyed her for a moment before untying her and dragging her further up the line. Without a word, he shoved her to the front of the line and tied her wrists more tightly than she thought necessary. Without warning, she squeaked in pain as the rope dug into her skin, jerking slightly away from the hunter. She was rewarded with another cuff and a grunt from Jarreth to keep still and quiet.

"Deigo." As the hunter straightened, he cast a motion toward the jungle cat that had been eyeing the prisoners. It lumbered forward with a sickeningly smooth motion, belying a killing grace unique to its feline family. The young woman watched it approach with rapt attention, not trusting this creature any more than she trusted the man who repeatedly smacked her when she made any sort of noise or resistance. "Now," Jarreth said, addressing Deigo. "You have an extra special guest to watch today." His tone was sarcastic as his hand dropped heavily onto the top of Alara's messy hair. His fingers curled into it and Alara held back a gasp as her head was tugged for emphasis. "Alara," her turned his golden gaze to the young woman who's hair he grasped, forcing her to look at him and not at the panther, "If you make any attempt to flee, Deigo will track you down and slowly devour you alive. Understand?"

"Yes, Master Jarreth," she whispered in reply, not able to nod her head as he held it firmly in place. The panther was large enough for the girl to sit on comfortably. She had no doubt the killing power of the beast that was Jarreth's pet.

"Good girl," Jarreth whispered back, no actual praise in his voice. He released her and turned to his brother. Words were exchanged quickly and both mounted their horses. Taking point, Jarreth attached the chain to a special horn on the rear of his saddle. Dargatha rode at the rear, leading the packhorse behind.

Without a word to warn the prisoners that they were to start walking, Jarreth urged his horse into a fast walk, causing Alara to pitch forward violently. A quick stumble and a rather undignified squawk later, the young woman trudged grudgingly behind her captor.

* * *

The rain was progressively turning the paths they took into a giant quagmire. It only took one half of an hour for Alara to lose a shoe in the mud. Her request to stop and retrieve the footwear fell on deaf ears and the girl had to make her way with only one shod foot until some twenty minutes after that when her second shoe fell victim to the sucking mud. Completely miserable, the girl ignored her frozen, mud caked feet and mindlessly kept the tail end of Jarreth's mount at the top of her vision.

She envied the others and their knee length boots. They all had been equipped for travel when they were captured while Alara was in a pair of soft, doe-skin house shoes and a skirt. Her most expensive and nice possessions were now splattered with mud and clinging to her skin. Silk was not the best attire for rain. She cursed her fashion sense of wearing a dark bra under her light colored shirt as the drizzle-turned-downpour turned her previously smooth and light top transparent. Her skirt snagged often on protruding roots and rocks, tearing it ragged along the hem. Fixating on her clothing, however vain such a thought was considering the circumstances, prevented Alara from falling into complete despair at her situation.

Despite the muck covering the path, Jarreth's pace did not falter and Alara felt hard-pressed to keep up in her conditions. It was tempting to tear off her skirt to prevent it from causing her to drag along, but doing so would be the last resort in the young blood elf's mind.

It was the third time in ten minutes that Alara tripped on the edge of her skirt and stumbled into the mud. Using the pull of the horse in front of her, she struggled to get to her feet before the troll behind her tread upon her back. She needn't have bothered getting up as a boot collided with the back of her head, causing the young woman to fall face first into the mud once more. Sputtering a mouth full of inky-black dirt, Alara glared at the warrior-brother sitting smugly on his horse. Her look rewarded her with another boot to the head. Leaning down in his saddle, Dargatha snagged the woman by her hair and hauled her up in the mud. He snarled a few words at her, released her, and rode back towards the end of the line.

Jarreth gazed over his shoulder with what could only be seen as boredom, although the corners of his mouth turned down at the sight of his brother kicking the smaller, weaker female in the head not once but twice. That was over doing it a bit. When the warrior made no move to kick a third time and merely snapped a few words at the girl, Jarreth let it drop. "He says not to fall down again or he'll feed you to his horse," the hunter translated to Alara in a voice the younger elf would have sworn held a helpful tone. "Keep glaring like that, and _I_ will feed you to Deigo." Jarreth smirked with satisfaction to see the blood elf straighten herself, and yank the front of her skirt off the ground with her bound hands. She seemed fairly chastised and none-too-frightened at the thought.

Regardless of the warnings, Alara grew very tired and her grip on her skirt slipped a number of times. Each time resulted in a stumble to the mud, a halt in the line, and a rather hard kick from the mounted Dargatha. By the last kick she was given, Alara's head was spinning and she no longer found the strength to stand back up. Closing her eyes, the young woman lay in the mud, feeling the substance ooze into her shirt and up her skirt as the rain pattered down on her prone form. She sensed more than felt herself being lifted from the mud and placed on something more solid. She didn't open her eyes to check before darkness swirled behind her eyelids and the blackness overtook her.

* * *

"Next time, stay out of it." Jarreth gave his brother's shoulder a sharp shove as he pushed past him toward the prone figure of Alara laying on his bedroll in the captor's smaller tent. The rest of the prisoners had been seen to, fed, and fastened into the tent for the night, Deigo keeping guard.

Jarreth knelt next to Alara, hands full of linen, and surveyed the girl. A large bruise was spreading across the girl's temple were the last kick had found it's mark. Although hidden by her hair, Jarreth could feel lumps were previous kicks had landed.

"Get off it," Dargatha ground out, glaring at the little elf his brother was nursing. The hunter was currently wrapping the girl's head in bandages covered in a salve. "This runt's Horde, incase you've forgotten."

"Horde she may be. Elf, she is also." Jarreth fastened the bandages with a clip and sat back on his heels. "If she's telling the truth, she's a Sunshade. It would be in our best interest not to kill her before we get back."

"I didn't kill her, now did I?" The older elf fisted his hands before folding them across his chest with a growl. "A good kick here or there will get her moving."

Jarreth was quiet for a moment while watching Alara's breathing to detect any abnormality. Her chest rose and fell in a slow, rhythmic pattern. He looked daggers towards his brother before speaking. "The prisoners are my responsibility until we get to Darnassus. If you kill her before we get there, I will personally hold you responsible when the Sunshade Paladins gut us alive. It should be obvious that she has no special powers or strength. Treating her as you treat the other slaves will result in her death in a matter of days."

Dargatha took a threatening step towards his brother, fists now held at his sides. "Why are you protecting this traitor?" He waved a hand toward the girl. "You should be as ready as I to kill her without a moment's notice."

"And I would be, too, if I were as dumb as you," Jarreth snarled back, standing and placing himself between the young woman and his brother. "Dargatha, think about it for a second and let your pea-sized brain grasp this concept." The insults caused his older brother to bristle, but Jarreth pushed on with his logic. "She's a Sunshade, or so we will assume until we find out otherwise. Alive, she will be worth hundreds. Dead, she is worth our heads. Do you comprehend why I'm trying to keep her alive now? Even if she's not returned to her family, she will sell for enough to retire on just for the infamy her name carries. What wealthy lord wouldn't want to buy her and flaunt the fact that he has a Sunshade bending to his will? Think, you dimwit!" Jarreth flicked his brother in the forehead sharply as the slower individual seemed to catch onto the idea his younger brother was trying to force into his head.

"Fine. I won't kill her before we get home," Dargatha agreed after what seemed like an eternity. As much as Jarreth cared for his brother, the older night elf was unusually slow witted. As a warrior, his only job was along the lines of hack and slash. Brains were not a prerequisite, it would seem. Jarreth had always been the brainy one of the family and tended to grasp concepts at more than twice the speed of his counterpart. It was frustrating to watch the gears in Dargatha's brain grind away at an idea for over an hour before it would sink in. Thankfully, in the case of Alara, putting a monetary concept over her head was easy enough for Dargatha to understand.

"Good. Now move. I need to put her back with the others." Lifting Alara took little to no effort for the night elf and he exited the tent with her carried bride-style in his arms. He watched her face as drops of rain hit it. There was a flinching response that indicated she would wake soon. Most likely with a splitting head ache and a muddled memory of what happened to her.

* * *

They were, according to Jarreth, making good time. It was for this reason that they stopped early and made camp. The prisoners were staked outside of their tent while a meager portion of bread was handed out to each. The sun shone down through the tree tops and the ground was warm beneath them.

It had been over a week since Alara had woken with her head wrapped up like a mummy. The rain had stopped the next morning and travel became easier as both the road dried and her muscles became accustomed to the work.

Alara chewed slowly at the course bread in her hand, gazing at nothing in particular. The night elves were sitting near a ring of stone they had created to hold a fire. They ate very little, talking earnestly to each other in Darnassian. Sitting a few feet away, also eating very little, was Deigo. He watched Alara like a hawk after eating the mouthful of food he had been given.

The young woman had watched Deigo eat the pitiful chunk of meat Jarreth had tossed the animal's way when they had finished passing out the bread to the captives. The flesh the panther swallowed looked sickly, as though whatever it had been was old. Despite the fact that the panther was there to watch and possibly maim Alara, the young blood elf felt sorry for the creature. It was obvious to her based on the food the captors were eating that the whole group was running low of edible provisions.

Before she had really realized what she did, Alara tore her bread in an uneven half, tossing the larger portion to the feline. Deigo stared at the elf for a long, unblinking moment as if weighing the young female's intentions. Then, coming to a decision, the cat leant over the bread and mowed it down. Although it could have been the girl's imagination, she swore Deigo nodded to her when he was done.

This became the ritual for Alara as the days passed and as the small group of slaves and slavers moved slowly across Ashenvale. The trek would normally have taken a group their size no more than a week. However, as six of their number were weakened and chained together, progress was fairly slow. Alara, being the smallest of the group, had the most trouble. Although Dargatha had promised not to kill her, he had said nothing about not beating her. Often the slightest slip caused him to rebuke her with a physical attack of some sort. Cowed, she avoided messing up in his presence. It was easier said then done as he found any excuse to cause her harm. Being an elf allied with the Horde was apparently the worst form of traitor to a night elf.

Thus, the night Jarreth and Deigo left to hunt for more provisions, leaving the captives in Dargatha's care, brought a shiver of apprehension to Alara. Even if she didn't trust the hunter or his pet, she trusted Dargatha less. Without his brother to cook dinner, Dargatha untied Alara and ordered her to do so while he hovered over her, cuffing her for any reason he chose. Tormenting the girl seemed to become a favorite pass-time for him.

The ingredients she had to choose from were few and Alara settled for making a simple soup out of some of the barely remaining and a few chunks of stringy rabbit. It smelled delicious to her but she knew tasting the meal while it cooked would result in a very bad strike. Her stomach growled, but she ignored it as she stirred the soup to cook it evenly. She had, as usual, shared her bread with Deigo out of pity for the small rations the large cat was forced to live off.

As she stirred, Alara's mind wandered from her task. It had been a terrible few weeks since her capture. She wondered what Fellias was doing about it and if Daveious was really looking for her. She remembered the undelivered letters in her pack and hoped her master would forgive her for not returning to training when she was supposed to. Tears slid unnoticed down her cheeks as she recalled her peaceful life among the blood elves and longed for the days of killing manaworms and fetching bagels. She would be happy for the rest of her days if all she had to do was fetch bagels for important people.

Her breath hitched in her throat as the image of Fellias returned to her mind. Her sister would find her, surely. It had been two weeks, though, and Alara was starting to lose hope in her situation. She imagined things getting progressively worse with no end in sight.

Dargatha watched the pitiful creature cooking his food with distaste. At least whatever she was making smelled appetizing, even if she wasn't. Small, weak, the only thing she had going for herself was her looks. By night elf standards, Alara was fragile in appearance, with hair darker than the sky at night. A delicate, pointed face and slender body was appealing and rare for night elf females, who normally had bodies similar to grass cats, lithe with underlying muscle tone. His sister, he mused, would slaughter to have a figure like this one's. Too bad blood elves were Horde.

The warrior's face darkened when he heard the hitch in her breath and saw tears dripping down her face. "Knock it off," he growled at her. Startled, Alara dropped the spoon and glanced his way. She had not understood his words as usual. Blankly, she stared openly at him like a deer caught in the open. Reaching out, Dargatha aimed a cuff at her. To his surprise, his hand met nothing. Alara had ducked.

Instantly, she realized her response, which had been automatic, was a bad one. In a movement far too fast for Alara to catch, Dargatha had sprung from his seat and sent his fist into her side. Falling heavily, the young woman wheezed for breath as a sharp pain in her side started to spread across her body. Before she could sit up and grovel to the obviously angry night elf, he was on her.

Straddling her form, Dargatha struck down at the blood elf, anger taking over any of his better judgments. As he had untied her to allow her to cook, Alara tried to hold her hands up to stop him, shoving at his chest and striking back in desperation. She was too small, though, and he was too strong. The beatings on his end came faster and more severe. Soon, Alara barely registered his fists contacting with her body. It took even longer for her to realize when it had stopped suddenly. Blinking blackened eyes, she gazed blurrily towards the form of Dargatha laying a few feet away being yelled at by a very angry Jarreth.

The younger night elf had returned moments before, a brace of pheasant slung across his shoulder, only to see his brother beating Alara to a pulp. He didn't know, nor did he really care, what has caused this sudden outburst from Dargatha. He did know that it had to stop or Alara would be dead.

Dropping the birds, Jarreth pulled his brother forcefully off the young woman and threw him to the ground. A few strikes to the warrior with his own fists ceased the fight Dargatha was responding with.

"Have you lost your mind?!" Jarreth screamed at the older elf, kicking the man forcefully. "Do you want to get yourself killed? Do you want to see me strangled with my own intestines? Do you find joy in the fact that you're trying to kill our only chance of getting out of this damn business and retiring with wealth beyond imagine? Are you really this stupid?" Each question was followed by a more severe kick until the warrior was actually cringing away from his hunter brother. "Look what you've done!"

Alara's eyes were starting to swell shut with the bruising. She couldn't lift her arms, but she managed to turn her head to watch Jarreth seize his own brother by the ponytail and yank him to his feet. A small, still conscious part of Alara's mind laughed victoriously at seeing someone else finally being moved using their hair. She hoped viciously that it hurt Dargatha as much as it hurt her.

"See? Look at what you damn stupid temper has done." Dargatha was pulled by the hair until he looked down at Alara, who groaned and attempted to roll away. She couldn't manage the movement and lay still, shivering. She wished she could understand what Jarreth was saying to his brother, if only for the satisfaction it would give her. She didn't care why Jarreth was so angry. She was pretty sure it had something to do with the knowledge that killing her would result in death by Daveious' blade. Her brother was more powerful than these men and would destroy them if he found her.

Alara found her eyes no longer able to open and stopped trying. A few muscles in her body twitched of their own accord and she vaguely felt herself being lifted from the ground. The air, faint against her skin, spoke of movement. She was being taken somewhere.

"You'll stay out here tonight," Jarreth spoke harshly to Dargatha as he bore Alara towards the Outrunners' tent.

* * *

Jarreth watched Alara sleep as he bandaged what he could of her wounds. He felt broken bones in her body and winched in sympathy as she groaned whenever he prodded a bad injury. Beaten as badly as she was, it was a surprise she was still alive. He shuddered to think what another few minutes would have done if he hadn't have arrived when he did.

Sometimes Dargatha was a complete idiot.

Past basic first aid, Jarreth knew little about healing. He was a hunter. He specialized in tracking and killing game. He was no healer. She would be able to be moved in this condition until she had been healed. He had very little in the way of potions, most of them having already been consumed. Digging in his rucksack, the night elf hoped that he still had a vial hiding in the bottom.

With a grin of satisfaction, the man pulled out a small bottle of red liquid. Holding Alara's head carefully in one hand, he uncorked the bottle with his teeth and tilted the contents down her throat. She glowed faintly for a few moments but did not wake up. With gentle fingers, Jarreth prodded the areas where he had previously felt broken bones. The bone felt solid beneath his fingers. A few moments passed and it was obvious her bruising was dissipating. It would still take her a few days to be back to normal with injuries as bad as hers had been, but the potion had sorted out all the dangerous breaks and healed them.

Making a decision, Jarreth left the tent and announced to his brother that they would be staying put for a couple days, resting the captives as they had been doing when they found Alara. During that time, Jarreth would attempt to restock their meat supply.

"Deigo," he said grimly, "will remain behind to watch Alara. You," his eyes narrowed at Dargatha, "Will not go within ten feet of her while I am gone." With that, the younger elf returned to the tent and settled down to watch his captive.

Unlike his brother, Jarreth saw an attractiveness in Alara the moment she was thrown at his feet. His opinion of her features was similar to Dargatha's, but he did not find her as repulsive as his brother had. Before she had given him a reason not to kill her, Jarreth had felt a little pity at having ordered his brother to slice her head off. She was a pretty little thing, fragile and slender. It was hard to find a night elf female who looked so in need of protecting. As a hunter, that appealed to him greatly.

When he had returned from hunting, overjoyed in his acquisition of the pheasant, the last thing he had expected to see was Dargatha pummeling Alara. Something hideous had rising from the pits of Jarreth's stomach upon seeing the spectacle. He was intent on killing his brother where he stood if it meant keeping Alara alive. That feeling unnerved Jarreth and made him reconsider his motives for keeping the girl alive. It was fine to claim it was because she was worth a lot of money, yet something in the back of Jarreth's mind spoke against offering her for sale.

Shaking his head, the man ran fingers through his hair and continued to gaze down at the young woman on his bedroll. Maybe he'd just been on the road too long.

* * *

AN: Okay, there's chapter four! Let me know what you think and please leave any constructive comments or suggestions that you may have. Thanks! 


	5. Jarreth Slips Up

**AN:** Thank you everyone for the great reviews! I'm sorry this is later in coming. I've been busy.

This chapter is a lot of introspective thought by Jarreth. I'm trying to move the plot along without things getting too boring. I hope it comes out okay!

Additional: I fixed a few grammer errors I saw after posting this... so I'm reposting (althought it is only a few moments later than the original post.) I feel a bit daft for missing some of those things. Oh well. Onward!

**Chapter Five: Jarreth Slips Up**

To say that Dargatha was angry would be a grand understatement. It was one thing to be insulted by his brother. It happened often enough that comments about his inferior intellect rolled off him like water. It was an entirely different matter to be passed over in favor of what Dargatha deemed a traitorous creature. Deep down in places of his psyche Dargatha had never bothered to explore, there lurked recognition that blood elves were really just a different race of the same species.

There was something instinctual that occurred when a member of one race looked at that of the other and experienced attraction. It was a trait not often found in different species. A blood elf would never look at a troll the same way as a fellow elf, be that elf blood or night. Humans were closely enough related, even, that elves could see physical attraction in them where, for any other race, coupling would not even be an option. Night elves and blood elves were essentially the same; physiological differences were the result of hundreds of years in different locations adapting to different habitats. Dargatha, however, could not comprehend a concept quite so in-depth and insightful. His only knowledge of blood elves was that they were traitors and not fit to be elves in the first place. It didn't even breech his braincase that perhaps the blood elves' pact with the Horde was out of convenience of location and resources and not out of the sure will to destroy the alliance.

Regardless of his psyche's deep enlightenment, Dargatha could not see blood elves on the same level as his own people. He was livid over Alara's preferential treatment. He vowed to become even with the pitiful female who dared to cause his brother to behave so irrationally. Jarreth often called his brother a fool but it was Dargatha's opinion that his younger brother was the one acting foolish. He just had to prove it to him.

* * *

'He looks a lot less hostile asleep,' Alara mused silently. It had taken something close to fifteen minutes for the sore woman to sit up and survey her new surroundings. Waking up comfortable, unbound, and warm was befuddling until Alara noticed Jarreth sleeping on the bedroll next to her.

The first few moments of wakefulness had brought a deep sense of relief to the young blood elf. She wasn't dead. That was a plus. On the other hand, she was still a prisoner, which brought a second flood of emotion to cover up the relief with disappointment. After sitting and noticing Jarreth asleep, Alara felt a third, stronger emotion.

Panic settled over her quickly as the urge to flee filled her veins and her adrenaline pumped wildly through her body. A quick motion with her leg brought a stab of pain that lanced through her, distracting from the fear. Alara realized that running away was not going to be an option and would be insanely stupid. She chose, instead, to study her captor. There wasn't much else to look at in the tent anyway.

He looked disheveled and none-too-graceful in the sprawling position he had adapted for slumber. Alara was distinctly reminded of a large housecat laying on its back in the sunshine. His face was lax and had changed his expression into a much softer set. Her no longer looked harsh or, Alara realized, scary. It made her wonder if maybe what Pasanyan had told her was more truthful than she'd taken it for. Jarreth used scare-tactics but very little force. The few times he'd cuffed her were not very hard by comparison to Dargatha. It was the warrior who was the violent one of the siblings. Jarreth, on the other hand, hadn't used force with her since that first day.

Alara looked more closely at the elf lying asleep before her. 'You're not the bad one,' she told him silently, not wanting to actually speak aloud lest she wake him. 'You just scare us into behaving.' Alara shuddered to think of what would happen if Jarreth were really like Dargatha. She would not have survived the first march.

As she made these revelations, a small smile tugged at the corners of Jarreth's mouth. He was dreaming, she realized. A small voice in the back of her mind wondered what he dreamt. A smile of her own started to form as she watched his eyelids flicker in sleep. His face was so peaceful that Alara could not help but lose sight of her predicament. Oddly enough, she felt at ease in the tent watching her warden doze.

A shadow flickered across his features and the night elf turned his head as though upset. A long strand of green fell across his features, obscuring the frown forming on his lips. Without thinking about her actions, Alara reached forward.

His face felt smooth under her fingertips as she brushed the hair back behind his ear. He usually looked so rough that the texture of his face surprised her. Her shocks continued as she found herself unable to draw her hand back, tracing the contour of his jaw lightly. This did not last long, however.

With a speed that proved his agility as a hunter, Jarreth woke and sprung to action. It was not often he was caught off guard while asleep and he'd be damned if whoever was touching him would get away. In one fluid movement, his hands had shot out to trap Alara's wrists, his body rolling over to pin her back down. It wasn't until he was on top of her and heard her gasp of pain that he registered who had been touching him.

Alara stared in muted horror at the night elf above her. He had pounced on her so quickly that she couldn't resist. Not that she could have if she wanted to. Her wrists were pinned above her head and almost his entire weight bore down on her slight frame. Gasping, she fixed her eyes on his and waited for him to either let her go, or strike her. She half expected a physical lashing for her uninvited touch. When he made no move at all, her fear was slowly replaced by confusion.

Jarreth gazed down at the young woman beneath him, a very strange feeling coming over him. He felt something in his chest tighten as though a giant hand had reached in and squeezed around his heart. He watched in rapt fascination as her expression changed from terror to bemusement. She looked so vulnerable lying there. Without warning, the invisible hand gave another tight squeeze and he swallowed.

Alara tried not to squirm when he still had not removed himself from on top of her. He may have been slim for his kind, but he was still a lot heavier than she was. His face was inches from hers and Alara was becoming increasingly distraught over his inaction. Why wouldn't he move? Was he trying to crush her? "Master..." she started, wheezing a bit from the effort of speaking.

The single world Alara had managed to force out despite her heavy load and the warm breath breathed out against Jarreth's face gave conflicting signals to the hunter. For a long moment, the downward motion he had been inching his head in was halted, lips less than an inch from hers.

On one side, she was attractive, young, the same species if not race, and physically irresistible to the man. On the other, she had just made him feel utterly dirty. It was obvious by the way she had whispered 'master' that Alara was frightened and confused by his actions. Just that one word was enough to cause Jarreth to reconsider.

The spell that had come over the hunter was broken and his face hardened. His mind screamed to stop before he committed some sort of treason. It was not right. She was a blood elf. Horde. That much was obvious and Jarreth mentally kicked himself for moving without thinking. The night elf had no conceivable reason to make such an advance.

Rolling off of her, Jarreth decided it was time to take a long walk... perhaps into the next country.

"You," he addressed Alara quietly, "are to remain here." His tone may have been harsh, but his heart wasn't in it. Exiting the tent quickly, he ordered Deigo to guard it closely.

"Where're you off to?" Dargatha grunted from the fire-pit, attempting to cook breakfast. Luckily for Dargatha, the only breakfast food they had left was porridge. Porridge was about the only food the warrior could cook competently.

"Hunting." Jarreth stooped to pick up his bow. He strung it with a practiced hand and slung it across his shoulder. Without more of an explanation, the younger elf spun on his toes and vanished into the woodlands.

* * *

Very little hunting was actually accomplished on the night elf's outing. His underlying purpose was to collect his thoughts away from the cause of his inner turmoil. Brining back meat for their supplies was the furthest thing from his current thoughts.

Jarreth had been an Outrunner for a number of years, working mostly as a gatherer of information and, since it paid well, slaves. Dargatha and himself would leave Darnassus for months on end, gleaning information from whomever they could. Any members of the enemy they did not kill were chained together and dragged back to the elvish island of Teldrassil to be sold in Darnassus or other towns along the way. It had taken Jarreth some time to develop the harsh disposition needed to be a slaver. Being almost constantly callous with the prisoners had not come naturally to the hunter.

Although Jarreth would insult others if they deserved it, he was not a typically violent man. That was the purpose of scare-tactics. Threats, occasional cuffs, until they were subdued enough to follow without trouble. It was Dargatha that followed through with threats and hit the salves without any real provocation.

Jarreth was not fond of slaving. He told himself each year that it was the last run. Dargatha always managed to coerce him into doing one more trip. Jarreth swore never to own his own slaves after dealing in the Trade.

These thoughts aside, Jarreth set out to untangle the new problems that were arising from this particular run. Never before had Jarreth been faced with such a dilemma. He hardly dared to put a name to what he was mentally struggling with.

It occurred to him that if Alara had not called him 'master' in the tent, he would have kissed her. He felt an increasing sense of unease about what else may have happened after that particular contact.

It was painfully obvious to Jarreth that he was physically attracted to her. He felt the physical pull every time he looked at her. That much was unavoidable. He could not force himself not to want her in that manor. Anyone who tried to do such a thing was a fool and would realize sooner or later that they could not control who they felt drawn to.

It was against his personal morals to take her uninvited, however. He refused to force a woman, regardless of her race.

To pursue her, though, could mean his death. Her type were considered traitors. For a night elf to take a blood elf was unthinkable. At least, he reflected coldly, it was unthinkable to do so out of mutual want. Slave owners could do so without anyone thinking twice. It had disgusted Jarreth to watch wealthy night elves prod and grope blood elves for sale in the market, knowing fully what a job these slaves would be used for. A blood elf's 'prettiness' was an unfortunate trait. Almost every blood elf in the market was sold as a bed-toy.

Jarreth found a nice stump to sit on and promptly ran his fingers through his hair. His stomach churned uncomfortably as he pictured Alara being treated like so much livestock. He was torn and frustrated.

After that morning, the hunter felt he could no longer treat Alara as a prisoner. The dream he had been experiencing when she woke him cemented that thought. He could not deny the attraction but he knew he had to continue as though nothing had changed.

Another thought forced its way into his mind causing a dangerous lurch in the man's stomach. "She probably hates me anyway," he muttered into his hands. He had been cruel to her at first, threatening to feed her to Deigo, cuffing her soundly and pulling her around by her hair. Shame washed over him as his mind relived his treatment of the young woman. It was disgraceful.

"And how does she respond? She feeds my cat," Jarreth mumbled, still burying his face in his hands. He had watched for days while she tossed a good portion of her food to Deigo. That simple, selfless act had brought her into his favor. If Jarreth could have, he would have fed Deigo better. Meat was very low and he gave Deigo as much as he could without depleting the stores.

Deigo was ordered to kill Alara if she tried to escape. Yet, the dark haired woman fed the cat to keep him strong. No self-respecting hunter would pursue anyone who disregarded his or her pet as not important.

Alara was not only physically beautiful to Jarreth, but she had a beautiful heart. His stomach reminded him with another lurch that he undoubtedly repulsed her. Jarreth had seen plenty of male blood elves to know what a female's standard of looks must be. He also realized how large and ugly he must seem to her. As night elves went, Jarreth was considered a dashing specimen of elvish handsomeness. To a blood elf where the men were as pretty as the women? "I must be hideous," he whispered. "She'd never want me anyway, even if I weren't her captor." The thought was depressing.

"Why her, even?" He mused aloud, standing from his stump and continuing through the woods, eyes keen for game despite his in-turned thoughts. "Why a blood elf?" Logically, it did not make much sense. He was raised around night elves. Naturally, his preferences would have been trained toward those who looked as he did. His heart had apparently missed that memo. It responded to his question with an emphatic 'why not?'

Jarreth could name a number of reasons behind the 'why not.' Most, if not all of these, dealt with him being hung as a traitor for breaking taboos. Old animosities were strong amongst both their people.

This left Jarreth one of five possible options. None of these were easy.

His first choice was to continue along as planned, get to Darnassus without any more mishaps, sell Alara to the highest bidder, and retire from the Trade into a comfortable life of a merchant or something else a lot less dangerous than his current line of work. His mind congratulated him on his clear thinking while his heart threatened to stop beating if he took this path. He couldn't bear to think about what would happen to Alara if a noble bought her.

Fine. Not a good choice. Next option? Jarreth groaned and rubbed his temples. He could go to Darnassus and keep Alara for himself, breaking his oath never to own another person. He could become what he hated most for the sake of keeping the woman he wanted all to himself. The moral center of his brain reminded him harshly that, should this be the path taken, it would never speak to him again.

The third option was a little more conceivable to both his mind and his body. Ratchet. Displeasing as the thought of living with goblins in the open without the cover of trees, Ratchet was one of the few neutral ports in the world were everyone, even visitors, ignored the normal rules of social conduct and drank with everyone else regardless of species. He and Alara could live in relative peace there or perhaps in Booty Bay. He'd even be willing to move to Moonglade, regardless of how isolated it was.

It was logic that killed this idea. "And be slaughtered by Daveious as soon as he finds us." At least in Darnassus, he had a chance of staying alive. Plus, he reflected, Alara had to be willing to go with him into isolation. He refused to take her unwillingly.

Next option was a plus to logic but his physical responses were painful. He could wait for Daveious and hand her over willingly. Hopefully, the angry paladin would spare Jarreth and everyone would go home without conflict. Yet, the chance of death was not promising. Jarreth did not like the thought of giving up Alara, either.

That left him one more option. It was a long shot and would be difficult, but compared to the other choices, he had less to lose. It would be a challenge but, if it worked, his chance of survival and his chance of having Alara would make the effort worth every painful step. Somehow, some way, he would have to woo her. Jarreth had to show her that he was really a good person, that he deserved a second chance. He had to show her that he could be what she wanted, regardless of his not-so-lovely face and bulky body. If she could fall for him, they could go where they wanted and not have to worry about Daveious' wrath. Jarreth's only downfall was experience.

The night elf, for all his age and ability, had never seriously wooed anyone, let alone a woman. This could be problematic. He knew from non-serious attempts what night elves wanted to see and get from a partner. A blood elf was whole new territory. He would have to start with the same subtle advances one made toward night elf females and hope they didn't backfire. Blood elves were still elves, after all. They were bound to still share some common traits besides general physical and genetic make-up.

In Jarreth's mind, the only possible obstacle to this plan was Dargatha. If he were subtle enough, though, the warrior would never notice. If he was successful and Alara was as bright as he thought, she wouldn't be the one to tell Dargatha of their situation. By the time the older, slower elf noticed anything at all, Jarreth would be long gone with the girl.


	6. Whatever Happened to Fellias?

**AN**: Thank you again to those who've posted comments! As I can't send everyone who's posting a 'thank you' by the respond-to-comment button, I'll leave the thank-you's to those who leave un-signed comments here.

**Cyrius**: That was a good idea. I followed your advice and modified my story summary to add the detail about her being a blood elf. Thanks!

**ReviewerZ**: Thank you very much for commenting on my story! I'm looking forward to Jarreth's wooing as well. I'm going to try and make it at least partially comedic.

**Additional Notes:** I figured it was about time we got back to Silvermoon and see what's been going on! Keep in mind that this is occurring shortly after Alara went missing. It hasn't yet been the couple weeks it has for the Alara thread of the story. I hope that makes sense o.O Onward!

**Chapter 10: Whatever Happened to Fellias?**

Since the moment she found out about her sister's disappearance, Fellias had not slept well. She spent her waking moments seething as she awaited the arrival of her siblings. At night, she tossed and turned fretfully, awake one moment, fitfully asleep the next. It was leaving her with deep bags under her eyes and a very short temper.

She had been granted extended leave from her duties to the regent due to family emergency. In order to appease her mother, who was having vapors so often the behavior was becoming predictable, Fellias had gone to stay with her parents until the rest of the family arrived and decided on a course of action.

Pelia was the first to arrive at the old homestead. She had been the closest to Silvermoon when the call to arms went out. Riding her large, bouncy bird, the woman all but sprinted the creature to the doorstep of her father's house. The pale-haired woman slide off the mount quickly and burst into the house, making as much racket as elvenly possible. "Fellias!"

The older elf looked up from her toast, scroll of the daily news clutched in her hand. Her eyes were blurry and she blinked a number of times to clear them. "Pelia? It's five in the morning…"

"None of that now!" Pelia swooped into the room and snatched a slice of toast from the platter sitting before Fellias. Buttering it excessively, the younger paladin continued in her boisterous way. Of the eight, Pelia was by far the loudest. "In these dire circumstances, one must be prepared to spring into action at any hour!"

"We're not springing anywhere yet. Sit down and take off that ridiculous helmet." Fellias glared up at her little sister and the silly hat the woman was wearing. "Daveious has to travel from the Outlands. We're not leaving until he gets here."

Put out, Pelia tossed her hat to one side and flopped into a chair, causing the wood to creak. She stuffed the toast into her mouth and glared at a pitcher of orange juice before helping herself. "We're the others?" she asked after gulping her juice.

"You're the first one here," Fellias supplied, snagging another slice without taking her eyes off the paper. "Although I think Baraneus is in the area, too, and should be arriving before today is over."

Pelia watched her sister carefully as she ate, deciding silence might be the best course. It was obvious that Fellias was upset. She looked terrible, as though a wild boar had dragged her across the country and back. Hopefully, the others would arrive soon and they could get a move on.

Of the Sunshades, Pelia was the closest to Alara in age. She looked more like Fellias than the others with hair so blond it was almost white. Always boisterous, before she had settled on being a paladin, most thought this girl would have become a bar maid for her loud disposition. Unknown to Pelia, it was she who Fellias was hoping would come home first. She had a task for the younger woman.

"This afternoon, as soon as you're rested, we're going to Silvermoon."

"Hm?" Pelia was brought out of her thoughts quickly. "Silvermoon?"

"Yes. There is a mage I want you to talk to." Fellias gave the younger a level gaze that conveyed more than the words spoken. The younger sister nodded her understanding.

"I shall bring my silliest hat."

* * *

The last thing Belarethil expected as he sat down to luncheon with great aunt Tilminis was Hurricane Pelia. He had figured on this afternoon being dry and routine. Tilminis had been expecting him for months and he figured he might as well humor the hag while she was still alive. It might mean a good inheritance if the witch thought he actually liked spending time with her.

The table was spread with lunch meats, wines, and a number of exotic looking fruits and cheeses. It was high quality and cost Tilminis a small fortune. It was lucky for Belarethil that the woman had more than a fortune stashed away in her banks. He had greeted the woman with a peck on the cheek before helping her into her chair and taking his own seat.

"Now," the woman started, banging a gnarled hand on the table top as they started eating. "What's all this noise I hear about you killing some little girl?

A piece of spiced pork paused halfway to an open mouth as Belarethil stared at his aunt. "I didn't kill her," he replied a bit more grumpily than he had intended. "She fell into a portal I was making."

"Either way, she's dead. My question, boy, is what you're planning to do about it." The woman held her wine glass up for one of her stewards to fill before downing the whole cup. She held it back up and was pleased to see it refill almost instantly.

"I hadn't planned to do much of anything. The Sunshades will take care of the situation. I intend to continue my studies uninterrupted." The conversation was heading away from how good of a nephew he was and down paths Belarethil did not particularly care for. He had no inkling that his day was about to get much worse.

"That will be difficult to do, one would think!"

This interruption halted a slice of cheese from making it to the mage's lips. He spun around in his chair to gape at the woman standing in the doorway of his great aunt's dining room. He was too surprised to see the woman that the question of how she even got into the house to begin with was pushed away.

"Fellias?" he muttered, blinking at the flamboyantly dressed woman.

"Wrong!" The elf bounced into the room and curtsied to Tilminis. "Pelia!"

"Pelia?" Belarethil frowned in confusion. He could see the strong resemblance and could have sworn it was the older of the two. Then again, that silly hat she was wearing obscured her hair.

"You've forgotten me so soon, dearest?" The young paladin, dressed more like a flower-shop owner by the sundress and ridiculous straw-weave hat covered in fake flowers, pouted at Belarethil. "I would think you'd remember little me…"

Belarethil did not remember ever really meeting Pelia before in his life. The befuddled expression he wore was obvious to anyone except Tilminis. The great-aunt was growing addled in her old age, the wine she consumed not helping her pick up visual cues.

"Don't be so harsh, boy!" The old woman rapped on the table with her knuckles. "Invite your girlfriend to sit, be a gentleman! Have I taught you nothing?" She blinked large, owlish eyes at Pelia through the thick, bottle-glasses she wore perched on her nose. "Such a pretty hat!"

Chagrined, Belarethil helped Pelia to an empty seat on his aunt's wishes. "She is not my-" he started. Tilminis cut him off with a wave of her hand.

"No need to be so defensive! She's lovely, I heartily approve." Tilminis snapped to her servants to bring another place setting for her nephew's friend. Pelia thanked the woman sweetly before turning to Belarethil.

"So, why can't you just figure out where that poor child was sent, honey?" She batted her eyelashes at him, playing her part wonderfully. Tilminis bought the whole scene as she swallowed yet another glass of wine.

"I'm not your-"

"Don't skip around the question, dearest," Pelia interrupted, eyebrows drawing in. She was turned toward Belarethil so Tilminis would not see her expression and become suspicious. Although Tilminis would be easy enough to fool if she believed Pelia was one of her nephew's girls, if the old coot found out Pelia was not supposed to be in her house, she would be evicted without a second thought. It was lucky for Pelia that Belarethil had a habit of denying girls he was associated with. Otherwise, her ploy would not have worked. Fellias knew this and, if it wasn't for the fact that Tilminis knew her personally, she would have gone herself. Pelia was the far better choice.

Pretty, girlish, and very good at pretending to be something she was not, Pelia would be able to worm her way into the household for long enough to threaten Belarethil subtly in Fellias' name. The younger paladin was, after all, a spy for Silvermoon and could adapt to situations quickly.

"I…" Belarethil's eyes glowed dangerously as he looked back at the interloper. His aunt didn't seem concerned with their conversation as she was too busy nibbling cheese and taking large gulps of wine. "It would take time to track down the path of the portal. It has been two days; the chance of traces would be unlikely."

"But not impossible," Pelia pressed, selecting a few choice slices of meat from a tray and layering them on bread. Once her make-shift sandwich was complete, she proceeded to eat it with vigor. Remembering her manors enough to thank Tilminis without a full mouth, the paladin returned her gaze to Belarethil. "In fact, based on what you've told me, my sweet, mages are highly accomplished in the ways of magicks. It should be a little feat of your ability to determine that poor girl's location. So, why can't you be a doll and help out that poor family. After all, I heard every last one of those Sunshades are coming to Silvermoon to rally and find that child." Pelia purposefully put emphasis on that fact that all seven of the remaining paladins would be arriving shortly. It would, hopefully, light a fire under this prissy mage's backside. "You wouldn't want to have to face Sir Daveious' full wrath, would you now?"

Pelia's tone may have been honey-sweet and as innocent as a harmless gossip, but Belarethil could hear the threat behind her words and see the darkness in her eyes. He knew that, though Daveious was the famous one of the bunch, the woman who sat next to him and ate his lunch – was even picking it off his tray, he noticed with annoyance – could very well cause him serious damage without more than raise of a finger. Of all the irritating brats to stumble in on his plots, it had to be a Sunshade.

"I suppose you are right, cupcake," he replied tersely, teeth ground together. "I should probably see if I can trace that portal's course. I'll start that tonight, if only for you."

"Now there's a good lad!" Tilminis had been half listening to the conversation, figuring it was merely a good natured quarrel between lovers. She raised her glass to him and was tickled when the steward took it as a sign to refill the goblet. "Don't you worry your pretty head, Pelia. My nephew will locate that poor girl. He's a good boy, you know. Very financially sound."

Pelia tried not to laugh and merely smiled coquettishly towards the great-aunt. By now, the woman had consumed enough alcohol to believe just about anything of Pelia. The paladin could have blown her cover when she realized Tilminis was trying to push her nephew as a good suitor. Financially sounds, indeed! She could almost bet she had more money than the mage sitting next to her. Telling this to Tilminis wasn't her objective, however. She had already completed it.

"Oh, I know," she giggled instead. "He's so sweet and generous, though, you would hardly know what an ambitious mage he is." The insult did not fall on Belarethil deafly as it did on Tilminis, who took the comment for face value. "Only great men would offer to help in such an icky situation." 'Too bad I had to bully you into it,' Pelia added silently, shooting a smarmy look towards Belarethil.

When she deemed that Belarethil had taken about as many insults to his character as he could, Pelia stood and bowed once more to Tilminis. "I really should be going. Thank you for your hospitality. Bye, sweetie-pie," she waggled fingers at Belarethil and, just to cement her role in Tilminis' eyes, leant over quickly to plant a kiss on the mage's cheek. With as much bounce as she had entered the room, Pelia was gone.

"What a wonderful young woman!" Tilminis gushed once she decided Pelia was out of earshot. "Your taste has improved."

"She's not my lady," Belarethil insisted, wiping his cheek with a napkin.

"Nonsense. I won't hear of it. She's a keeper, that one. I will be sorely disappointed if I hear about this relationship dissolving. Now, let us finish this meal."

Belarethil could only groan internally and pick at his plate. There was no use convincing his aunt any differently than she thought. It would only cause the woman to become distraught and kick him from her presence. If he was going to get her support, and her money, he would have to play to her delusions. Chewing a little harder than necessary, the mage swore he would smash the Sunshades once he had finally gained control.

* * *

"You're brilliant, you know that?" Fellias sat with her gaudy sister at a bar in one of Silvermoon's more seedy areas of town. It was easier to be a patron of a lower-class establishment than one where people knew Belarethil, or at least respected him. At the Dancing Cow, it was much easier to talk freely. Most everyone else was hiding from the law or too drunk to care.

"I have my moments," Pelia replied as she inspected her drink closely. Deciding the glass was clean enough and that she'd consumed worse in her years traveling, swallowed the contents with a satisfied swig. "Now, we'll just have to make sure Mr. Prissy-Pants stays on task until Daveious arrives."

"As amusing as it would be to have Daveious deal with him, you're right. Hopefully we'll know where we're heading before Big Brother arrives with Silmania and Presca." Fellias, having frequented this pub for years, did not bother checking her glass. She knew the bartender well enough and he was as honest as he needed to be.

"Presca's coming, too?" Pelia raised her eyebrows at Fellias.

"Are you so surprised?" Fellias shot back. "Assuming that Alara is not only still alive but has moved from her landing site, we will need a competent tracker to find her. A hunter will be handy." The woman held a look of challenge in her eyes that Pelia did not rise to meet.

"In her condition…" The younger woman's voice lacked conviction as she made a vague gesture with her hand. "Are you sure Daveious will even allow Presca to come? How are you sure she'll even arrive here and not stay in Thunder Bluff?"

"I don't." Fellias' lips were thin and her brow was drawn into a grim line. "Daveious, for as little as he really knows our baby sister, cares for her. He knows what we need to do, he's experienced. He'll know that we need Presca, with child or not. He will bring her. We'll have to believe that until we find out otherwise."

Finishing their drinks, the two women left the bar quietly. A small brawl was forming in the corner and they did not feel up to enforcing the city ordinance on fighting. Fellias was, she muttered under her breath to Pelia as way of excuse, off duty.

* * *

Each day, another sibling arrived. Soon, the old house, barely big enough to an average sized family, was overflowing with Sunshades. It was as if they were having a family reunion. In a way, they were. By the end of the week, everyone except Daveious and Silmania had arrived. The stables were jammed with mounts and Milanya Sunshade was finally out of her fits of vapors. Having her children around her helped her better cope with the loss of her youngest.

Darninus, however, was frustrated with the lack of space. As the patriarchal figure, he was not used to having so many people in his way. When they were children, he could pick up the offender and place them elsewhere. Fully fledged paladins, Darninus was discovering, were a lot harder to displace. He and his wife had grown accustomed to their solitude.

The day was hot and he had shooed everyone out into the front lawn. Milanya had gotten herself together and was serving juice and wine while the siblings caught up on adventures and compared their acquired gear. The air, which before had been full of a contented hum, was split by the squeal of Pelia.

"Daveious!"

Heads turned in unison and the Sunshades leapt to their feet. Riding a large, dangerous, black horse down the path, blood-red hair fanning out behind him, was the eldest brother. He looked grim and dirty from travel, but relieved to finally see his family. Behind him rode two women. One was Silmania. The other, to Fellias' great excitement, was Presca.

Presca, her large hound following at a long loupe, looked drawn and tired. This worred Fellias no small bit. She had been counting on the hunter to help them on their journey to find Alara.

As the small group reigned in, Presca waited for Daveious to dismount and reach up for her before sliding into his arms. She looked thinner than usual. Moving toward them, Fellias greeted her brother and his wife warmly before embracing Silmania.

"How is..." the city paladin made a motion to Fresca's flat belly in confusion. The older woman shook her head sadly and did not respond. Instead, the dark haired blood elf moved past Fellias to greet the rest of her in-laws.

"Daveious?" Fellias shot a look to her brother that was full of concern.

"She took ill last month. It was lost..." The pain that flickered across the older paladin's features spoke more than his words did. The couple was still mourning the loss of what would have been their first child.

At a loss for what to say, Fellias placed a hand on her brother's shoulder in a silent motion of understanding. She thought, but did not mention, how lucky it had happened before the child was too far along. Miscarriage was safer for Presca early in pregnancy than later. The young woman only hoped that her sister-in-law was not predisposed to do so.

"Can she travel?" After a long silence, Fellias had to get back to business. A family member who had already been born was lost and, if they did not move soon, Alara would be joining the unborn Sunshade.

"Yes, but not quickly yet. She needs a few days to recuperate here before we can leave. The sickness, coupled with..." Daveious made a nondescript motion with his hand, "..has left her weakened but not incapable. Her mind is still keen. Now, if you will excuse me, I've not seen Mother in years." Fellias stepped aside and returned his smile.

"She will be fine."

Fellias turned to Silmania who, before her brother had been out of ear shot, was silent. "I'm sorry?" Fellias wasn't sure if she caught what her soft spoken elder sister had said.

"Presca. She will be fine in a few days. We rode hard to get here, she is merely tired from the road." Silmania, who was in almost all respects the female version of Daveious, walked with Fellias back to the main group, greeting her sisters and brothers with a wave of her hand. She was the soft-spoken of the Sunshades, the yin to Pelia's yang.

"What makes you so certain?" Fellias poured Silmania a glass of lemonade while they talked. The sisters sat on a blanket spread on the grass, warmed by the sunshine filtering in through the treetops.

"She was devastated by the loss of the child. When she heard that Alara was in danger of being lost to us as well, it was as though a fire sprang to life inside of her soul. I had not seen her so alive since the miscarriage." Silmania sipped at her lemonade, regarding Fellias quietly for a long moment.

"You've not slept for days. You look terrible."

Fellias glared at her sister, wrinkling her nose. "Think how you would feel if Daveious suddenly went missing. Would you sleep?"

"No. I suppose I would not if I knew he had as little experience as our baby." The redhead set her lemonade down and leaned back on her palms, staring up into the canopy. "I truly hope, for your sake if not for anyone else's, that we find her intact."

Fellias drew her knees to her chest, resting her cheek on them, face turned towards Silmania. "Why do you say that?"

"To lose one's best friend is difficult. If I were to lose Daveious, it would be devastating."

"Thank you," Fellias whispered, surprising herself with her words. She had not realized how well Silmania understood the pain the younger paladin was going through. It made perfect sense, in retrospect, that Silmania would be able to relate. She was eternally grateful to have her elder sister sitting next to her, comforting her in this way. It was always easier to bear a burden if someone else told you they understood.

A shadow fell over the women and both looked toward the caster. Daveious stood over them, Pelia hanging on his arm like a giddy monkey. "I've been told the mage responsible is working on a way to find where she landed?" Fellias guessed who exactly had told him and smirked at Pelia. "I'd like to have a chat with this man."

"I figured as much. As soon as lunch is over, I'll take you to visit our dear friend Belarethil." There was no warmth in Fellias' tone and her smirk turned darker at the idea of introducing the whiney mage to her brother. Perhaps that would encourage Belarethil to speed up his attempts.

* * *

Daveious hated Belarethil the moment he set eyes upon the much too congenial mage. The man was a suck up and a snot. The paladin could barely stand the groveling, fake man who stood before him attempting to reassure the man that everything was progressing nicely. If his plastered-on smile was any larger, it would have torn his face in half. People like Belarethil made Daveious want to kill bunnies.

"Now, as I understand," the blood-haired paladin ground out dangerously, "you're saying it will take another week before you have conclusive evidence?"

"Or more," Belarethil lied. He already knew were the girl was having purposefully sent her to Ashenvale.

"Hm." Daveious strode around the workroom, surveying it as if intensely interested in the contents. Standing at the top of the ramp, blocking the mage's only real escape route, was Fellias, Pelia, and Silmania. The three sisters had accompanied Daveious for support as well as morbid curiosity. Fellias, more than the other two, wanted to see Belarethil reamed for his delay. Pelia, too, found Belarethil snivelly and wanted to see the man put into his place. Silmania merely went wherever her brother did. Plus, she did not like the sound of Belarethil and figured an extra set of hands couldn't hurt.

Daveious continued to wander the room, stopping to look at interesting trinkets and bobbles hung on the walls and from the ceiling. He paused at a table full of delicate glass instruments. Reaching a gloved hand out, he knocked one off and watched it shatter on the floor. "Oh dear," Daveious muttered dryly, looking leveling at where Belarethil winced. "I hope that wasn't important or expensive." There was an unspoken threat that hung in the air. Belarethil would have been a fool to miss it. When he said nothing, another trinket joined the first.

It was as Daveious reached for a third that Belarethil spoke, halting the other man's movement. "Of course, I could reconstruct the portal using a directional matrix that would allow a locational tracing. It might speed things up a bit."

"That would be splendid," Daveious replied, breaking the last piece of glass he had been reaching for. "Be sure you do so. I will be back tomorrow." Without another word, Daveious nodded to his sisters and the four exited down the ramp, leaving a very distressed Belarethil to sweep up the broken glass.

* * *

**AN**: There's chapter six! I figured a visit to the Sunshades was in order. I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave a comment if you see anything that could use fixing. This includes but is not limited to spelling errors, grammar mistakes, and the like. Thanks much!


	7. Awkward and Hopeless

**AN:** I just re-read the last chapter and decided that Daveious is one of my favorites, hehe.

Anyway, it's time to get back to Alara, me thinks.

Note: The 'chapter 10' thing from the previous chapter was indeed a typo o.O I have no idea where that came from. I'll fix it eventually here. Sorry about that!

This has a few serious themes. I tried not to get too dark.

Thank you everyone for reviewing. A special thanks to Hawki for the helpful comments. I'll try to keep them in mind as I continue with this story :)

**Chapter Seven: Awkward and Hopeless**

Jarreth decided that the best time to put his plan into action was the moment he walked back into camp from his hunting foray. Elune had smiled upon him and presented the man with a fat, sleek doe shortly after coming to a decision to court the young blood elf. He took it as a favorable sign from his Goddess that his choice was agreeable. If Elune was happy with him over his conclusion, then he had to go through with it.

As Jarreth stepped into the camp, Dargatha glanced up from where he was sharpening his sword. The elder man gave his brother a curt nod of approval at the animal that was dropped unceremoniously near the fire pit. Their meat stores were down to a few cuts and the protein promised by the well-fed ungulate was welcomed. As they had decided not to stop until they reached Darkshore's Auberdine where they would catch the boat across the Veiled Sea, stocking up would be important. It would take them at least another week to get their troop to the town. On the rations they had left, they would not make it. A few days of hunting and drying meat for travel would insure they would not have to stop at Astranaar for longer than it took to rest.

After a cursory greeting – the brothers were still not on good terms after the previous night's incident – Jarreth vanished into the tent to check on Alara.

The young woman looked up from her nails as the hunter entered. She had not gotten much sleep after he left, mind in too much turmoil to concentrate on resting. Instead, she attempted to take her mind off her increasingly confusing circumstances by picking dirt out from under her fingernails. 'Roughing it' had created a build up of grime that did not match her self image. It was bad enough she'd not had the opportunity to bathe since last week. She was pretty sure she was starting to smell like a troll.

"How are you feeling?" Jarreth asked without any preliminary greeting, crouching in front of her to look her over. She definitely looked better. The potion was doing its job, helping her body speed up the natural healing process.

"Stiff," came her reply as she flexed her shoulders a bit and grimaced. "Painful."

"Hm. Can you stand?"

Alara shrugged. She hadn't tried. She started to slowly shift her legs under her to allow herself to stand, surprised when Jarreth offered his hand to help her up instead of grabbing her arm and dragging her to a standing position as he had done when she first met him. Not fully trusting him, she took the offered hand and was carefully drawn to her feet. Standing, she stretched her legs a bit and rolled onto the balls of her feet.

"All things considered, I'm okay," she informed him after a few experimental bounces. She was too wrapped up in her own self-inspection to notice how he forced himself not to stare at her chest as it rose and fell with the motion. As if remembering her situation, Alara quickly added, "Thank you, Master Jarreth," implying that she was grateful for his healing of her.

He grunted in response and motioned for her to follow him out of the tent. That 'master' thing of her's would need to stop if he was going to have his way. He regretted threatening her to use it on that first night, but how was he to know that, two weeks later, he'd be envisioning her as an object of desire and not a product to be sold? For now he ignored it and pushed on with his idea.

He knelt next to the carcass of the doe, pointedly ignoring the glare burning into the back of his head. Dargatha was, as anticipated, not pleased with Alara's presence and Jarreth's lack of physical control over the young lady. Indicating Alara should sit next to him, he pulled a skinning knife from his belt. As soon as the blood elf was settled, he handed it to her hilt first and then pointed to the deer.

Alara took the blade carefully, eyes darting between the shiny metal and the night elf. This had to be some sort of trick, right? Maybe she hadn't actually woken up yet. Then, as he pointed to the deer, it became clear what he wanted and Alara relaxed. Chores.

"I don't know how, Master," she explained when she made no move to insert the knife into the body.

"Then I will teach you," Jarreth responded, secretly pleased it was not a skill she had acquired yet. "Now…"

* * *

Night elf women were as vain as many other species' females. They liked to be noticed and praised as if they were the greatest things on the planet. It was female nature. The difference between the species came in what the females preferred to be praised about. Jarreth, having only tentatively courted professionals before, knew only what a non-civilian night elf female wanted to hear about. For a female of his species, nothing was sweeter than having a generous suitor teach her a usable skill and be congratulated – sometimes excessively – on how well she performed the task.

Jarreth was unsure about what non-professional females wanted to be praised on so his wooing of Alara was based purely on the assumption that she would respond as one his own. When his efforts were ignored, he became highly frustrated. He had assumed Alara was a member of the Horde's fighters and not a by-stander in the cause. He realized, rather stupidly, that he knew nothing about her. For all he knew, she worked in a bakery or was a librarian. Or, even worse, she was too young to begin training.

A sinking feeling tugged his stomach towards his feet when he realized she might not even be an adult yet. It was one thing to go after a girl who had just became eligible. It was another to try to court an adolescent. It made him nervous. She looked like an adult. That didn't mean she was one. It made him feel slightly dirty.

As he watched her separate meat and strip it for drying on near-by racks, the night elf formulated the best way to casually throw this into the conversation. He was almost relieved when she broached the silence first.

"Why are you teaching me these things, Master?" she asked quietly, her eyes not really focused on what she was doing. It seemed as through she had been lost in her own thoughts, moving through the chore automatically. "We both know well what I'll be sold for." She was implying the fact that her kind were usually sex-slaves and not house-hold help. She wasn't stupid. She had heard the rumors back home about blood elves taken as slaves.

He knew he was probably about to insult her, but he had to think of something that would get an answer to his suddenly highly important question of age. "No one is going to buy an under-aged slave for more than menial house chores. Knowing how to skin and cook will make you more profitable." His heart leapt excitedly at the dark look she sent his way. He had managed to rile her with the under-aged comment.

"I'm hardly a child," she snapped, forgetting to add the 'master.' "I'll have you know I was in the academy before I was sent here."

"Ha! Academies are for children." He purposefully continued irking her, hoping her true age would come through. It would be easier to determine if he had a number.

"I'm old enough to be an adult," she growled, slapping a piece of meat into the drying rack harder than intended, blood splattering onto her face. She ignored it.

"Right," Jarreth said, his tone suggesting otherwise.

"I'm eighteen," she replied hotly. "I assure you, I'm an adult." She wasn't sure why it bothered her so much that he didn't believe her. Something about his attitude made her want to slap him with a side of deer.

His mind initially rebelled and his stomach dropped again. She was still a kid. Then, as if the revelation fully hit him, he laughed mentally and his brain gave him the thumbs up.

"Maybe in your race…" He made a vague wave of his hand, continuing to tease her now that he felt comfortable with her answer. "For us, you're still in diapers."

Night elves, on average, lived longer than their smaller counterparts. A night elf wasn't considered adult until into their twenties at least. He had temporarily forgotten, until his brain reminded him that Alara was not a night elf, that blood elves matured younger and lived slightly shorter life spans than the larger race.

According to their life spans, the age shift would place her at about twenty-five by night elf standards. That was well within the acceptable limit. It was no different than with the humans, Jarreth reflected, who matured as young as fifteen in the farmlands. It was not unheard of for a night elf to take a human as young as that without any repercussions. Most humans were pleased if their offspring were accepted by the elves.

Jarreth's major obstacle with Alara would not be her age, regardless of how much older he was than she. His main problem was her race. A few hundred years of racial hatred bred into each generation was going to be a large hurtle they would have to overcome. Jarreth was determined, however, and ignored the taboos forced onto him by his elders. He found himself caring less and less that she was a blood elf. To him, she was just an elf. There was no prefix that put her into any sort of category that made her unacceptable. Alara was merely a small, pretty elf who caused his groin to tighten and his heart to threaten explosion.

Finding out her eligibility had placed Jarreth back on uneven ground, however. He was just feeling as though he was making some ground as he taught her to skin and butcher. She was starting to relax around him as she focused on her task. True, his praise seemed to fall on her ears deafly. That was minor, though. Perhaps her race weren't supposed to show pleasure at being praised. Maybe it was considered too conceited to bask in the praise of others? It was hard to tell for Jarreth. It could be, he reflected silently, that she didn't want to show any reaction for fear of him. He had to admit, his actions probably seemed very strange to her after treating her so badly.

Regardless of the set back he experienced by calling her a child, Jarreth felt he was further ahead than he had been that morning. She openly glared at him. That simple expression of emotion spoke of a shift in their master-slave relationship. She didn't seem to feel as cowed by him as she used to. Good. Jarreth held onto the image of her open glare, that smoldering look in her eyes when he mocked her as he turned back to watching her cut the meat. He had time to deal with her anger, that wasn't going to be a problem. He felt a smile tug the corners of his mouth upward.

* * *

Alara was still adjusting to the new and confusing routine Jarreth had started her on. She was back with the other prisoners at night but spent the day with Jarreth. He had taught her not only how to skin, but also how to prepare and season the meat for proper drying. Although she had taken a course on survival training from the Academy, her skills at making campfires had been poor. Jarreth made certain she improved that skill before teaching her how to smoke the meat dry. Each time she succeeded, he had told her how quick she was and how good of a job she had done.

In all honesty, her curiosity was getting the better of her. Alara realized how comfortable she was becoming around him and started to test the waters a bit. She wanted to see how much she could get away with, if only so she could determine why he was treating her so oddly. She would speak before he spoke to her, a 'no-no' according to her first night when he had bruised her chin for being pert. She had casually started to drop the 'master' from her language, noting how he either didn't notice the absence of the word or simply ignored the fact that she wasn't using it.

Conversation was usually brief, even with her bolder attitude breaking through. It was usually limited to her questions about technique or Jarreth's instructions and praise. He smiled more, too, she realized with an odd twist of her gut. He didn't look nearly was dangerous when his face was split by a genuine grin. Alara recognized that she could tell the difference after a while. He never smiled a true smile at Dargatha. It was his eyes, she knew, that showed the difference. When he smiled at his brother, his eyes didn't express the emotion. When he smiled at her, his eyes glowed warmly, causing her to instinctually return the expression whether she felt happy or not.

It was early afternoon when Alara decided it was time to continue their conversation from the other day. She had asked about the specific skills and wasn't satisfied with the answer she had been given. He had changed the subject and that annoyed Alara. Her anger at his disbelief had faded when she reflected on the tone of his voice. He had been _teasing_ her. That was odd enough as it was.

"So…" Alara started as she slid the blade of what she started to think of as _her_ skinning knife into the belly of a boar. She quickly ran the skinning tool along the ventral side of the animal, gutting it effectively. The innards were unceremoniously tossed over her shoulder to where Deigo sat patiently. The hunting had been a positive experience for the cat, even though he had not been allowed to go with Jarreth. His job was still to guard the prisoners. He had been able to eat his fill of internal organs as the elves were only after the meat and hide of the animals. After near starvation and having to subside on bread – not the most nutritious food for carnivores – the protein rich intestines and liver were torn into with vigor.

Alara chuckled under her breath as she watched the cat attempt to eat the chewy intestines. Deigo appeared comical with a portion of large intestine wrapped around his muzzle. He didn't seem phased by the situation and continued to chew doggedly at the organ before settling for swallowing it whole like one large noodle.

"So?" Jarreth prompted as he checked their lines of meat, pulling off pieces that had finished to make room for what Alara was about to hang. All the meat removed was placed into a parfleche made specifically for porting meat around. Any juices would take a long while to soak through the tough material so that no other equipment would be soiled.

"Why are you teaching me these skills?" She didn't look up from her task as she skinned the boar. Once the pelt was removed, she handed it to Jarreth so the man could start curing it.

"Sellability," came his evasive reply. Did she really expect him to come out with the whole truth? "We have been over this before."

"Hm. You would think that, considering that I'm not a child as previous expected, I would be more useful learning other tasks." She said it before she had really thought through her retort. For a brief moment, her knife stopped and the color drained from her face. She kept her emerald eyes fixed on the flank of the animal she was cutting, not realizing that her breath was being held. Did she really just suggest that he should teach her to, well… The thought could not be coherently formed in her mind but images of carnal acts flashed through her imagination. The thought brought a sudden redness to her cheeks.

Jarreth stared at Alara for a long moment as he attempted to school his face into a picture of calm and not one of the surprise that had temporarily flittered across his features. Her suggestion caught him off guard and he wasn't sure if she was being purposefully evocative or not. Her suddenly ridged posture, however, told him she had not meant for that comment to be so suggestive. He deduced that she must be frightened by the idea and he felt slightly uncomfortable at the idea that she did not find it appealing.

"If that is the course you'd rather take, then that can be arranged," he replied carefully, attempting to measure her reaction. He watched as she swallowed and noted how the knife still hadn't moved. She looked terrified and he wondered if she still feared him. Testing the waters, Jarreth leaned closer to her, reaching toward her with his large hand.

Alara spun towards him, knife pulling out of the boar's shoulder. She held it up between them automatically, as if warning him back from her. For a moment, they sat like that, knife pointed at his chin, his hand held motionless in mid-reach. Then, with a yelp as if realizing what she was doing, Alara dropped the knife with a clatter and bowed her head. She waited for a blow that did not come.

Instead, Jarreth picked up the knife and offered it, hilt first. "I think," he murmured softly, close to her ear, "We will stick to skinning and butchering." He felt her shiver as she took the knife and backed away enough so that he was sitting where he had been before he had leaned in and caused the ruckus. Without any fuss or ceremony, the hunter prepared to cure the hide. He watched her closely out of the corner of his eye, however, and was relieved when she went back to her task without another word. This would need pondering.

* * *

'What the hell is wrong with me?' Alara sat despondently as Jarreth tied her lightly to the slave chain. The sun was just setting and it was time to turn in. They would be leaving soon and she needed rest. If Jarreth noted her suddenly sullen mood, he did not comment on it.

The last few hours had been the most awkward Alara could remember ever experiencing. Even that time when the alarm had been accidentally tripped at the Academy, causing her to run outside wearing bunny slippers and not much else, wasn't as bad as that afternoon had been.

They had worked as usual. After what Alara dubbed The Knife Incident, they spoke little. He still murmured words of praise when she finished her job quickly and efficiently. When he would reach over to correct her, however, or she would accidentally touch him when handing him pieces of meat, they both found themselves reverting their eyes and hastily going back to whatever they had been doing.

Alara blamed herself for the suddenly uncomfortable feeling she had given to their usually relaxed chores. She just had to open her mouth and voice her thoughts without stopping to consider that maybe what she said wasn't appropriate. It certainly wasn't suitable to suggest that a night elf teach her how to act in bed. The very thought brought more red to her cheeks and she buried her face in her knees as she sat in the tent. Those types of thoughts were boarding treason. If any other blood elf found out she had even thought about it, they would call for her instant decapitation. Night elves were hideous monsters. Vile creatures. Disgusting. That's what her mother had told her, anyway.

In all honestly, Alara was starting to challenge that idea. Jarreth, at least, wasn't monstrous. His brother was another story. That elf fit the stereotype without even trying.

Yet, that thought still remained in the back of her head. Did she really want him to school in her more fleshly arts? Had she actually meant that comment she'd made? For a brief instant, she felt her stomach twist. Then fear covered that flash of excitement. He was so much bigger than her. Her curious nature wondered if they'd even fit…

'Stop it!' she ordered her self severely. That was just plain wrong. She silently berated herself for even imagining herself in that sort of situation. It left her with a very dirty feeling, as though she had done something wrong by merely thinking it. At the same time, however, she felt terribly embarrassed for feeling so bad. It's not like anyone else overheard her. The others didn't understand how good he was to her now. They didn't see how nicely he treated her when no one was looking.

Anger followed behind the other two emotions. Why should it matter what they thought of her anyway? It was a slip of the tongue and nothing else. She didn't really want Jarreth to take her in that fashion. She had no desire to bed him any time soon. She had been making conversation when it slipped out. It was a logical error and nothing else. She did not find him the least bit appealing.

'Why then,' a small part of her mind voiced from the dark recesses of her conscious, 'do you feel like this…?' As she drifted toward sleep, her stomach gave another lurch and Alara stifled a sob of frustration.

She just wanted to go home. At home she didn't have to worry about finding a night elf attractive. She didn't have to worry about night elves at all. She was a trainee. One day, when she had been admitted into the Blood Knights, she would worry about night elves. Then, however, she would only have had to worry about how many she could kill before she could cash in on her rewards. She would gain Knighthood, run off to do great things, find a handsome blood elf, and pop out a couple more paladins. That would be a great life. She could live as her siblings did, free of turmoil or strife.

Thanks to Belarethil, however, she was far from home. She was destined to be sold to some perverted night elf that would have his way with her whenever he wanted, or force her to do acts that caused her stomach to churn unpleasantly. She would have no freedoms. She would never see her family again. Alara started to doubt that she would even live long enough to be sold. Dargatha was after her head. She could see it whenever he looked at her. Being born a blood elf was the worst possible sin to that warrior. It didn't matter what type of person Alara really was to Dargatha. He hated her race and would do away with them all if he could.

The past few days had lulled her into a strange sense of ease. It was a delusion and that revelation hit the young girl hard. She knew what would happen to her if Daveious did not find her. She squeezed her legs shut as tightly as she could as images of horrifying proportion sprang across her vision. She was untouched and could imagine being practically ripped apart by whatever wealthy lord decided to buy her. She had the feeling that whoever her new master would be would not be gentle in taking her virginity.

A small thought wished that Jarreth would just do it and get it over with. Maybe then she'd survive through the experience. She wondered if he would be gentle or if he would just take her like the brutes night elves were said to be. She tried to imagine what it would be like but her mind rebelled and she could only think about the harshness of Dargatha. She was starting to believe that her fate would be with someone similar to the warrior. She would arrive in their capitol and be violently taken by whoever had the most gold.

For the first time in a number of weeks, Alara sobbed herself to sleep.

* * *

AN: Well, I suppose that's good for Chapter Seven.

Okay, so I've eaten intestine before. I can relate to this. Anyone who's eaten intestine can. They're chewy and difficult! The pieces I had were cut small and, after grilled, had to basically be eaten in one bite because you pretty much couldn't gnaw it into small pieces without a knife, haha! All in all, though, they were pretty good. I think they had been marinated in teriyaki sauce first? And cleaned before hand, btw. Such is the fun of eating at a 'cook the meat yourself' restaurant in Japan. Mmmmm, now I'm hungry. Dagnabbit!

Anyway, this is slightly different than I had intended this chapter to be... but that's okay because I'm happy enough with the outcome. Again, if there are errors please let me know. Thanks!


	8. Shift

AN: Thank you for reviewing. I really appreciate the helpful comments as well as the ego-boosting ones that I have received from you all. I'm very glad you are enjoying my story.

Channon: To answer your concern: I am considering changing the rating to mature. Currently, the themes I think are mild enough for younger readers (considering what networks will put on TV now-a-days.) Eventually, due to explicit content, the rating will be changed. I wasn't sure when I should make the switch, however. I suppose I will very soon Thanks for reminding me of that. And also, your spellings were correct, btw.

Chapter Eight: Shift

Jarreth moved through the day automatically. He fastened the slaves to their lines, broke camp, and mounted his horse without much thought to the chores. He had more important things on his mind.

Alara, it would seem, had been less and less responsive over the last couple days. Jarreth could feel that something was amiss and it troubled him deeply. She was starting to act like the other slaves now that they were back on the road. For the duration of their break from travel, he had come under the assumption that she was still upbeat and generally okay with life. He felt idiotic for not realizing she would see what her situation was and relapse into despair.

More than once during that morning, Jarreth had forced himself to not go up to her and ask her what he matter was. 'She's in a slave line,' he reminded himself harshly. 'How would you feel if you were her?' His brain replied that he would probably be miserable and not likely to do anything but stumble along in despondency. The one time he had allowed their eyes to meet – he had been tying her hands in front of her body – she looked on the verge of tears and glanced down quickly. That had hurt Jarreth and his fingers faltered on the knot. If she noticed that he didn't tie it completely, she had the smarts not to mention anything.

Dargatha had been cuffing the prisoners into place for some time, enjoying the power he held over the hapless slaves. When he came to Alara, he smacked her harder than the others and reveled in the smoldering look she sent his way. Jarreth's own glare was lost on Dargatha as the hunter sneered at the blood elf before ambling back toward his horse at the rear of the line. He mounted and gave Jarreth a slight salute to indicate that all was ready.

Jarreth nodded back, swept his eyes once more over their line, allowing them to linger on the bowed head of Alara for a moment, then turned and urged his horse into a comfortable walk. On the outside, he was calm and collected. On the inside, however, he felt like the worst smear of pond-scum to ever ooze to the surface. He had to get out of there with Alara soon or his guilt would tear him apart. No self respecting night elf would bind the one they desired to a chain of enemies. It wasn't the first time, however, that Jarreth found himself not being very self respecting.

* * *

The walk was tedious as usual. Jarreth kept himself occupied by going over recent events bit by bit in his mind. He was attempting to muddle out his own emotional feelings toward Alara and find some definition for what he was feeling. True, he was physically attracted to her. How did he actually feel about her, though? Did he like her beyond her body? Was it more than that? He wasn't sure.

'It must be more than pure physical attraction,' he was reasoning. 'If it wasn't, would I feel so bad about this whole damn string?' He glanced over his shoulder at the slaves, playing the motion off as though he was just checking them. In reality, he was watching Alara as she trudged dejectedly on between that male blood elf and the elder druid. His stomach curled in rebellion at the thought of her being there and not riding behind him, slender arms wrapped around his middle, body pressed to his back…

Jarreth had to shake his head to clear it of the path it was heading down. Now was not the time to fantasize. It was a time to plan.

The previous night, he and Dargatha had actually conversed after not talking more than monosyllabic words for a number of days. The warrior, not always as oblivious as he seemed to be, was demanding answers to Jarreth's peculiar behavior towards the female blood elf, or Blood-traitor, as Dargatha was apt to use.

Jarreth's answer had been simple and fairly convincing. He told his brother that of all their prisoners, she was the easiest to control. She was smaller than everyone else and weaker. He could make her do chores like skinning, butchering, and cooking without her rebelling. Jarreth silently thanked Elune that Dargatha had not seen The Knife Incident or his words may not have been taken so easily. To Jarreth's reasons Dargatha eventually agreed. He had also used her to cook for him before for those same motives. Neither of the night elves trusted the larger, more experienced prisoners to actually behave if given enough freedom as necessary to cook a meal.

Dargatha, however, would not be completely trusting of Alara and told Jarreth that, if it made things in camp work more smoothly, the traitor could be taken advantage of. If she got out of hand, however, or had too much freedom, Dargatha would punish her fitly. Jarreth had grudgingly agreed in order to maintain some level of trust with his brother. If he was ever to get any alone time with Alara, Dargatha could not know of the true motives Jarreth had. It was too dangerous.

There was no opportunity to tell Alara to behave herself. Jarreth realized, though, when he brought the slaves out in the morning, there was no need to warn her. She was as cowed as the rest of them. The fire he had seen in her during their skinning lessons, when he teased her incessantly over trivial matters, was gone. Such loss of light from her caused a depression to settle on the hunter as well. Even Deigo, sensing his master's upset, seemed to walk with a little less spring in his paws.

* * *

Alara was lost in her own thoughts, ignoring completely the ache in her feet and legs as she walked obediently behind Pasanyan. She had not yet recovered from the loss of hope that had settled over her. Once or twice during their trek she had glanced up toward Jarreth's back and wondered what was going through his head. For that one week of restocking and rest, they had somehow made a connection with each other. Now, with the onset of travel to a future that held no happiness for the young blood elf, that bond she was starting to form with the night elf was dissipating. She still thought of him when he wasn't around and, when walking as they were, could not help but gaze up at him in a mixture of confusion and curiosity. What was he really like? The gruff, scare-tactician wasn't the real Jarreth. She had learned that after he saved her life. She almost wished that the kind, smiling Jarreth she had learned to be comfortable around was the real Jarreth.

If that was the real Jarreth, however, why was he leading her to her doom? She felt terribly betrayed by the actions he took as they did not seem to comply with the way he treated her when no one else was around. Her mind was full of mixed emotions that were covered by her overall despair.

It took most of Alara's willpower not to break into tears many times that day. The first threat was when she first woke up and saw that she was still a captive. The second was the moment Jarreth looked into her eyes as he tied her into place. She saw emotion portrayed in those orbs that was not guarded as it was usually. He looked positively downtrodden as his fingers moved over her wrists. It was just another case where his expression said one thing but his actions disagreed.

She looked down to her wrists and wiggled them slightly. At least, she noticed dully, the rope was barely on her. He wasn't actually tying her securely. She wondered if Dargatha noticed and decided to leave the bindings as they were and not call attention to them. It was bad enough that the oaf was still hitting her for no reason.

Each step Alara took brought a prayer for Daveious to her lips. She didn't actually speak aloud, but mouthed the words slowly and as discreetly as she could. She watched her feet move below her, keeping her eyes downcast to prevent herself from standing out from the others. Her eyes fell on the old boots she had been given after the second day of walking. Her feet had been torn badly by the rocks she trod on and the slavers had decided it would do them no good to have her incapable of walking.

Pasanyan had commented on them when he saw her wearing them. They had been his, he told her. The captors must have pilfered them from the bags he had worn when he had been captured. She thanked him rather awkwardly, knowing that it wasn't really him who had donated them to her cause.

Alara kicked a rock with the toe of the scuffed and well worn boots and watched it skitter off to the side of the road. Her gaze followed it and then traced the black legs and body of the panther pacing near her. Deigo, it would seem, was still watching out for her. She noticed that he didn't stray from his position to move up and down the line as he used to before Jarreth had ordered him to protect her from Dargatha's rage. Alara didn't realize that's what he had been told to do. She just figured he was making sure she was still behaving herself.

She turned her gaze from the panther to Jarreth's back once more. He still sat there stoically, riding as though nothing was wrong. She glared at the night elf, tempted to demand he acknowledge what he was doing to her. This was neither the time nor the place to do that, she knew. So Alara remained silent and let that small amount of defiance slip past her oppressed exterior.

Her timing could have been better. Dargatha's boot hit her between the shoulder blades and Alara stumbled forward into Pasanyan. The other blood elf attempted to help her right herself without stopping the flow of the line. The female looked apprehensively up at the sneering Dargatha and fell back into place. She forced her face into neutrality and hoped fervently that a second cuff was not forthcoming.

Jarreth's lazy-sounding voice drifted over the prisoners and settled heavily on Alara. "It would be best not to get his ire up today." That was all that he said, although he did glance at the girl.

Alara wasn't sure if she interpreted the look in his eyes correctly. Was he warning her to be careful? Again, Alara's mind received mixed messages from the night elf hunter. His voice was nonchalant, as though he was bored. His eyes told her that he wasn't happy at all about the kick she had received. She decided to act on her intuition and behave herself.

* * *

Dargatha was once again forced to bring Alara out of the slave tent to cook dinner. Jarreth was sitting on the opposite side of the fire with leather spread out all around him. He was busily cutting a hide into a single, long strip of leather. It was a difficult task that took a great deal of concentration in order to have the strip be of equal lengths.

Alara watched from the corner of her eye as Jarreth worked, inwardly admiring his control and ability. For a race with such large hands, he had a great dexterity that was perfect for the smaller intricacies of shaping leather and creating clothing from it. She surprised a smile as Deigo padded silently up to the end of the long strand and gazed at it in consideration.

"Don't," Jarreth growled out around his knife as he worked to straighten the strip with his hands. He shot a warning look to the large cat. Deigo was not paying his master any heed, however. He was watching the end of the leather flip back and forth tantalizingly with his tug Jarreth was giving to the strip.

"Deigo. Don't." The night elf repeated his order, attempting to keep one wary eye on the cat and one on his work. If he wasn't careful, this whole process would fail and he would have to cut his loses and start over.

It was all Alara could do not to laugh as the huge feline suddenly pounced on the tempting end of the leather. Various words left Jarreth's lips as the cat chewed and tugged on the leather, spat it out, and proceeded to roll onto his back and bat at it. With a deft flick of his knife, Jarreth severed the end Deigo was playing with, letting the cat have the scrap and managing to save most of his work.

A cuff brought the girl back to her task and she quickly stirred the stew she was cooking. She had temporarily forgotten about Dargatha. The warrior was once again finding any reason to hit her. She was starting to get better at ignoring him, however. It was only when a particularly sharp blow clipped her mouth and Alara felt her lip split that she yelped in pain.

"Enough!"

Dargatha looked up from the female who was nursing her bloodied lip with her sleeve. Jarreth was pointing to his brother with the point of his leatherworking punch. Alara glanced once to assure that he wasn't talking to her. As he as speaking Darnassian and not her tongue, she figured he was mad at Dargatha for hitting her again.

"She's not cooking fast enough," Dargatha defended, motioning toward Alara and the pot of bubbling, delicious smelling stew.

"Not cooking fast enough?" For a moment, Jarreth stared at his brother as through the elf had spouted an ear out of his forehead. "It has been half an hour! It takes time to make a stew. Damnation, Dargatha, go sit over there and stop harassing her or we'll never eat." The punch swung towards the tent where a large, flat stump sat.

Although Dargatha refused to move away from the warmth of the fire, he complied enough to take out a rag and a bottle of something Alara couldn't identify. The warrior settled for cleaning his weapons, although the murderous look he sent both Alara and Jarreth's direction was not lost on the young woman. It made her shudder and she wondered if maybe Jarreth should have just left it alone.

Returning to the cooking pot, Alara picked her spoon back up and continued to stir slowly, allowing the meal to cook evenly. She glanced at the bloodied sleeve of her blouse and sighed. That was unfortunate. She licked her lip experimentally and tasted the coppery tang of smeared blood. She cleaned it off the best she could with her tongue and hoped the oozing would stop soon. She could only imagine the mess she looked like.

Jarreth watched her for a long moment while she attempted to stop the bleeding from her lip. When she looked up and glanced his way, green met yellow and they sat that way for a moment. Then, impulsively, Jarreth smiled at her.

Alara's heart skipped a beat as one of Jarreth's wonderfully genuine smiles settled on her. That was the Jarreth she had seen that previous week. It was that look she was accustomed to. For one strange moment, the depression that had gripped her dissolved and she felt once more at ease. When he smiled like that at her, she could do nothing but smile back. It was contagious and comforting at the same time. She regretted moving her mouth into a similarly friendly smile when her bottom lip stung and a fresh ooze of blood dripped down her chin. The sleeve snapped back up to her face and the blood elf turned her attention back to the stew as her cheeks flamed red in embarrassment. There was no way she looked remotely attractive all bloody and split.

Jarreth, too, returned to his work. He felt warm and content for a moment when their gazes had met. The smile had come naturally to him as if it was the most normal thing to do. There was no hesitation in her response, either. Inwardly gloating, Jarreth started to punch holes uniformly into some pieces of leather to feed the strip through.

* * *

"Alara," Jarreth called, motioned for the woman to sit next to him as he held out a skinning knife in one hand and a brace of hares in the other. She obeyed and knelt on the ground. She accepted the knife and went to work rapidly.

They had camped next to a small brook for the night. Dargatha was in the slave tent, bullying the other slaves into submission as he fed them their rations. Alara, having camp chores to perform as was now her routine would eat later once she had finished to the slavers' satisfaction. The clearing they sat in was somewhat damp due to the stream and Alara could feel the moisture seeping through her long skirt. Above her, a light breeze rustled the large, leafy branches that sheltered them from the elements and blocked out all but a few beams of moonlight. She thought vaguely that this would be a very romantic place, if she wasn't imprisoned and forced to put up with a brute like Dargatha.

Currently, she and Jarreth sat in one of the beams of moonlight for better light. The firelight tended to turn everything orange. The moonlight bathed the hares in a white light that was much easier to see with.

"Those boots you're wearing," Jarreth started, bringing her attention away from her task. "They're not that good, are they?"

"No. Not really, Master," she replied. After Dargatha's continual cuffs, she had forced herself back into the 'master' habit. It was difficult to use it around Jarreth but she figured it would make things easier when she was sold if she was used to calling night elves 'master.'

"That's what I thought. Here, these should work better." Digging in a bag near him, Jarreth pulled out a new pair of lace-up boots. He handed them to her. Alara merely stared at them in confusion. "I made them last night," he supplied in what he hoped was a helpful tone. "Put them on."

Slowly, as if obeying an order, Alara removed the old, shoddy boots and pulled on the new ones. It took her a moment to lace them up properly. Once she did, she allowed her toes to curl around inside their new captivity. They were comfortable! It took Alara moment to realize that he had lined the inside with rabbit fur.

"Thank you, Master," she said with gratitude, bowing her head in acknowledgement to his generosity. Her hair slipped forward over her ears to hide her face. When she looked up, some of the strands did not move back into their places. She ignored it as she tried to sort out the new set of feelings that washed over her at the gift. Now _that_ was the way to get on a blood elf's good side. Nothing said 'I want you' like a well made gift. 'Maybe he doesn't realize that's what it signifies,' she thought, unsure.

Jarreth took the old boots and stuffed them into his bag before looking back to her. He looked somewhat exasperated and Alara wondered if something was wrong. She opened her mouth to ask when Jarreth cut her off by raising a hand. Slowly, he reached for her face and smoothed a lock of hair back behind her ear, trailing his fingers along her jaw.

Surprised, Alara did not pull away as she had before when he had reached for her in the past. She sat firm where she was, allowing him to trace the contour of her face with his digits as if he had all the right in the world. His hand was warm and Alara felt disappointed when he dropped it from her face to rest on her shoulder.

"Alara," he spoke softly, catching her eyes with his own. "I want you to stop calling me Master."

"Why?" she questioned, keeping her voice quiet as well. Something about the night warned them against being too loud, least the spell be broken.

"Because," he murmured, eyes flicking across her face, hesitating as he made up his mind what exactly he wanted to tell her. "Because… you're not going to be a slave if I can help it."

She did jump at that but not enough to pull away from him. It was more of a start of shock. "Jarreth…?" She watched him carefully, attempting to make sense of what he was saying. "What then?"

"I-" Jarreth swallowed, "I can't allow it."

"I don't understand-"

With a suddenness that seemed to catch both off guard, Jarreth leaned in, pulling her forward with his hand on her shoulder. Startled, Alara did nothing to resist as the older elf seemed to have lost any self control he had a moment before.

The first thing Alara realized was that it was nothing like any experimenting she had done as a young girl. Jarreth's lips were warm and soft, and definitely not mushy and wet. Alara wasn't quite sure how to react to the kiss except to let it happen and secretly enjoy the experience. It ended all too quickly for her liking and she was forced to suck in a breath of disappointment when the warm of his mouth left her's. Flushed, she looked up into his amber eyes and took a few more experimental breaths. Neither spoke for a long moment.

"Dargatha…" Alara finally said, breaking the silence. "What about Dargatha?"

"I will deal with him. Nothing can change, Alara." He squeezed her shoulder as if cementing his point. She merely nodded and looked down to the hares, brows pulled inward as she contemplated the feelings swirling around in her mind. She felt giddy and strangely hopeful. The rubbing feeling of Jarreth's thumb kneading her shoulder seemed appropriate and she wondered at the sudden change in their relationship.

"Are you alright?" Jarreth's low voice rumbled in her ear. She hadn't realized how close he still was to her.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry if I upset you," Jarreth apologized hesitatingly, not sure what exactly his action had accomplished.

"No. I'm fine." She graced him with a look that showed her bewilderment. "Just confused." She wanted to ask him what had brought this sudden change on, what brought him to suddenly think of her as attractive and not just another bag of gold. "What is…" she made a vague gesture. "What is going on? This past week? Was that was it was all about?" She was referring to the kiss but wasn't sure how coherent she was being. Her thoughts were still not fully ordered.

Jarreth rubbed his forehead with the hand not on her shoulder and sighed. "If I knew, I would tell you," he muttered. "Alara." He looked at her seriously for a moment, capturing her eyes once more. "What do you want?"

She thought about that for a long moment. "In all honestly I want to be anywhere but on my way to slavery." Her answer was pert and Jarreth held back a chuckle at her tone. She said it as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Would you leave with me, if there was a chance?" There. He said it. Jarreth felt a weight in his chest lift as he brought the proposition out into the open.

"I…" Alara frowned. "I-"

Their conversation was abruptly cut off at the sound of Dargatha emerging from the tent. The two sprang apart as if burned, the companionable air between them becoming strained. They both attempted to school themselves into less guilty expressions. Alara rapidly started skinning the hares to save face.

"We'll continue this later," Jarreth murmured just loud enough for her to catch. She glanced up and met his eyes, swallowed, and nodded almost imperceptibly.

* * *

Alara lay awake for a long while after she had been put back in the tent. She watched moonlight play across the top of the canvas structure and thought. She had a lot to think on, she realized. It would not be easy to fall asleep with her mind in such a ruckus.

Jarreth had kissed her. That act in itself seemed ridiculous. The fact that she had responded with pleasure made the whole situation seem impossible. Again, she found herself questioning her sanity. What was it about him that made her want him to do it again, even? Something deep inside Alara wished for him to kiss her again and for longer than the momentary brush of lips that they had experienced earlier.

The young woman was utterly confuddled. If she wasn't sure about being attracted to him before, tonight had given her no doubt. There was something between them that was not going to go away. A very adamant part of her mind didn't want it to go away.

'He asked me if I would leave with him.' Alara closed her eyes and sighed. Would she? If he promised to deliver her from this hopeless future, would she follow? To do so would exile her from her people. She knew that for certain. If she went with him, she would never be able to go back to her family without being shamed.

If she didn't go with him and ignored what he was offering and what her heart wanted, she would end up in slavery. If she was ever rescued, she could go home and continue her life with her loved ones. Jarreth, however, would probably be destroyed by Daveious. Her whole body rebelled violently at that thought.

'If he leaves, he leaves everything of his behind, too,' she reminded herself. It was not an easy decision he had made. If only they had more time to talk about this. She knew there would be another time. The interruption by Dargatha's appearance had not ended the issue.

Regardless of their choices, there was one thing that both Alara and Jarreth knew. There was something inexplicable that had shifted between them. Keeping to old routines was going to be difficult.

* * *

AN: There we go. I hope you enjoyed it. As before, please leave construction if you wish. Reviews are appreciated.


	9. Plots

AN: Okay… so I'm reverting to my old fan-fiction writing credits. I realize there is a PM system involved here where I can message members, but I really like giving public credit to those who both to leave a note. So I'll put them up here on each chapter (excluding the last as there are no chapters after that, obviously. Those I will address via email and PM)

So.. credits!

**Zukassi**: Thank you! I shall continue it indeed. Sorry it took so long to update!

**Kenakamatsu:** Thank you very much. I try to keep it interesting

**Fluttercanon:** Thank you very much. I have not stopped with this story and do not plan to until after it is complete

**Badpanda**: Thank you! You're review is greatly appreciated!

**Gators1**: I don't like chapters that end in cliffhangers, either… but I love writing them, hehe! Thanks!

**Strickly-Untalkative:** Thanks very much. I'll continue this with as quick of updates as my schedule allows.

**Will The Almighty**: Thank you very much for your nice review

**Kiariku-Aura:** I'm glad you exploded from happiness… just don't get any on the carpet Thanks for reviewing!

**Hawki**: Thank you very much. You've always been honest and I appreciate your reviews greatly. I actually look forward to seeing if you can find anything to improve. Again, thank you. I'm glad you enjoy it.

**Fluffy: **It makes me happy to see that reader get emotionally involved in my stories Thanks!

**ReviewerZ**: Thanks very much! I appreciate you taking the time to review!

**Someone: **Thanks!

**Channon: **Thanks! To answer your questions: 1. Yes, said sister will show up later in the story if things go as planned. 2. I have heard of fan-insertion before and do not usually partake in it. For this story, I would not do a fan-event. In my humor story RtG? Who knows? It's a silly story. Probably not, though.

**Chapter Nine: Plots**

Night in Ashenvale had always been unpredictable. Dark, clear nights lit by soft moonlight were as common as torrents of rain pelting the canopy and turning the loamy earth into a quagmire. Such a night as the latter was currently taking place.

Pitchy clouds the hue of coal-smoke rolled in above the deep forest, brining with them a hard curtain of rain that swept in waves across the treetops, leaving nothing untouched. The wind whistled through the trees, boughs cracked in the distance, and rivulets of water flowed downhill toward valleys and gullies.

The small encampment of slaves and slavers, moderately protected as it was by the large trees, sagged with the weight of the water soaked into the canvas of the tents. Any waterproofing to the tents had long sense been drowned by the continual rain, leaving the occupants soggy and miserable.

Jarreth, venturing out into the storm when the sky lightened enough to determine it was actually daytime, took a single look at the river that was once their road and groaned. Debris from deadfall floated by on the new waterway running along the sunken road. Nearby, huddled under the boughs of a large tree, the horses stood with their noses brushing the ground. Water dripped in streams from their mains and tails. The hunter took a moment to comfort the beasts and check that they were still securely fastened to the line strung between the trunk of their shelter and another nearby giant. Deigo, as vigilant as ever, sat near the entrance of the slave tent, yellow eyes looking to his master with patience. He was just as soaked as everyone else but was not about to let water get in the way of duty.

The night elf, ignoring the driving rain as he was already as wet as possible, moved toward his beast and rubbed the cat's head in true affection. He could not have asked for a better companion than the jaguar. Motioning for the cat to follow, Jarreth entered the large, soggy tent.

The ground was muddy and squished beneath his feet as he moved through the dim interior, allowing his eyes to adjust to the lack of lighting. It was obvious that they were all awake, too wet and cold to get any sort of rest. The night elf felt a deep stab of guilt when his eyes rested on the miserable, hunched form of Alara as she huddled as close as possible to the large, female tauren. It was a pitiful attempt to maintain body heat and Jarreth wished he could just wrap Alara in his own arms – and in his own bedroll for that matter, where they would at least be warm if not dry.

He didn't dare break protocol at this point, however. If he was to escape with her undetected, he couldn't suddenly embrace her amongst the prisoners. He had to continue treating her like a captive if the façade was to be believable.

Moving around the group, Jarreth rearranged bindings and passed out chunks of jerky. The rest of their bread had disintegrated in the rain. As irking as it was, this meant they would have to stop in Astranaar if they were going to restock. A good deal of equipment and food would be ruined before this storm was over. When he reached Alara, he kept his eyes downcast, refusing to look at her. He could feel her gaze on the top of his head and resisted the urge to look up into them. That would not be good, he knew. It would cause a lot more problems than he needed at the moment. Moving through the motions more than actually doing them, Jarreth left her loosely bound, just enough to appear as though she were secure. Once finished with the rounds, he case one more look around and motioned for Deigo to follow him as he left the structure and headed for the semi dryness of his own tent.

Once the two had exited, Alara gnawed on the deer meat hungrily. She had not slept well the previous night, her mind in too much turmoil to attempt to sleep. When the storm hit in the late hours of the night, sleep became even less of an option. She was tired and frustrated with her situation. At least, she reflected dourly, she would be leaving with Jarreth soon. That much she had figured out during the first hours of the storm, before the conditions inside the tent turned from dry to quagmire. Her options were few and Jarreth was her best – and happiest, her mind conscious added – choice. If he were willing to sacrifice to save her, she would be willing to sacrifice to be saved.

There was something, however, that chipped away at the corner of her mind. It bothered her and it was persistent. Could she live with herself if she left the rest of the captives to the fate she would have shared if Jarreth hadn't taken a peculiar liking to her? Blood Knight or not, she was still a paladin, if one by a different name. She still held a good deal of loyalty to her people and those they were allied to. She was not overly selfish and her generally good nature could not stomach the thought of abandoning her fellow prisoners. They had done no crime save their duties. She could not, in her right mind, leave them behind.

She wasn't about to take them with her, either. The last thing Jarreth needed was a group of angry ex-slaves trailing him with blood on their minds. She could forgive him his actions as she understood vaguely why he did it. It was no unheard of for the Horde forces to do the same. It was just one part of the big game everyone played between the factions. The others would not be so lenient with him. Alara would have to do something to free them before – or during – her flight from this place. The thought of doing something so brash scared the young woman. She had never done anything so daring in her life and the thought both thrilled and frightened her.

Melanda would be her best ally in this venture, she deducted. The cow had been her friend since the moment she was thrown, sobbing, into this hell. The tauren was level headed and intelligent. Plus, she was an Elder Druid. If Melanda didn't know how to go about this sort of thing, no one in their company would.

Finishing her jerky, Alara cast a serrupticious look around before edging toward the tauren. The older creature, noting the motion, scooched over as well, meeting her halfway.

"What is it, Child?" the female asked gently, keeping her voice low, for Alara's ear's only.

"I have a problem, Melanda… and I need your guidance." The hesitant tone in Alara's voice peaked the tauren's curiosity. The urgency present also alerted Melanda that the matter was very serious.

"I will do my best to aid," Melanda replied, leaning her head closely to Alara's to allow them to talk candidly.

"Can we escape?"

The words were simple enough, but Melanda pondered them for a long moment. There was more to them than the girl was trying to convey. Although usually silent, Melanda was not a fool and had seen some very subtle changes in the blood elf over the past month. She saw it whenever Jarreth was around. Her tone now brought a revelation to the cow. Alara was not afraid; so much so to the point of suggesting escape.

"That would depend on our situation," Melanda responded carefully. "Combined, the brothers are more than even the five of us together can handle. They are strong and we have been weakened by these conditions. Our spirits are depleted. We would need some form of rallying hope to spur us into such an action." She was silent for another moment before continuing. "We could not run without being caught by that cat, either."

"I think," Alara started slowly once it was clear Melanda was finished. "I think I can help raise moral."

"How so, Dear?" Those soft brown eyes glimmered with an ounce of hope at the young elf's words.

"I will show you," Alara answered quietly before turning her attention to her wrists. As usual, they were tied loosely as Jarreth did not feel right to bind her tightly. It took only a matter of moments before her slender hands slipped free of the ropes that held her captive. Flexing her wrists, she held them up for the tauren, who made a small noise of approval in her throat that almost sounded like a moo.

"Hey!"

Alara and Melanda turned their head to see Pasanyan looking at them eagerly. "Alara! How did you do that?"

"Keep your voice down!" The paladin trainee hissed toward her country-man.

"They can't hear us in this rain," the fellow elf retorted, moving toward her as far as he could before the chain pulled taught.

"But the cat can," Melanda reminded him patiently. "I think, though, that we all have much to discuss. Closer quarters might be in order."

Her hint was not lost on Alara, who turned quickly to untie the tauren from her bindings. Nearby, the trolls and orc gazed on intently, paying the elf attention for the first time since the girl was brought into their midst.

* * *

There was an undercurrent of excitement once all six captives were huddled together near the center of the tent where the ground was the driest. The female troll was the first to broach the subject after the initial murmurings of relief and rubbing of sore wrists. She, like the others, looked to Melanda as a leader for her age and experience.

"What we doin' now? Can we run?"

The cow shook her head and, looking to Alara, smiled. "Can you guard the entry, Child?" The girl nodded and moved aside, still within earshot, to keep an eye on the tent flaps. If either of the brothers or Deigo came toward them, she would see it and alert the others.

Looking to the troll, Melanda picked up the question and continued. "It would not be wise at this moment. We are but a day or two out of Astranaar. There is no safety nearby and we are weak."

"Then why untie us?" the orc demanded gruffly, to the point as most orcs are.

"To allow you a momentary reprieve from the chains that hold us." The druid looked up as a large drop landed on the top of her head and sighed. "Plus, this allows us to speak unheard and plan for an escape that will, with the Earth Mother's blessing, occur shortly after passing through Astranaar."

"What do you mean? What makes that different than here?" The orc growled and crackled his knuckles experimentally, flexing the fingers to get some of the stiffness out of them.

It was Pasanyan who answered his question as Melanda's reasoning dawned on him. "The Zoram'Gar Outpost," he whispered excitedly. "There are Warsong soldiers there, and a flight master. If we could reach the Strand, we could fly through the air before we're caught."

"Precisely," Melanda replied, pleased at how quickly Pasanyan caught on. The others nodded their understanding eagerly. "Alara," she called toward the girl, who looked back silently. "You have untied us today. Can you do so again?"

The young woman thought of Jarreth, kept herself from smiling, and nodded an affirmative to the group. She hadn't been securely tied for weeks. Unless Dargatha took over their everyday care, it was not likely that she would be unable to escape her bonds the next time she needed to.

"Good. Then we shall plan on that for now. Nothing is to change," Melanda warned the gathered prisoners. "We have tasted a timid freedom today but we must act as before. Remain outwardly downtrodden and yielding. Do not rebel outwardly to our captives lest they expect us of plotting as we are. Am I clear?" Nods and murmured aquience greeted her words. "Good," she repeated. "Then enjoy our momentary retreat from captivity. We will be rebound before long. It would not do to have them come upon us in such a state."

* * *

Fellias stood at the prow of the vessel, wind whipping her pale locks behind her as she glared at the massive expanse of ocean that stretched to infinity in all directions. In these days of magic portals and flying beasts, Zepplin was still the most convenient way to cross the ocean. It annoyed her. She didn't trust that damn mage to port them as he offered and it would have taken longer to find another adept still in the city that would do it without charging them a fortune and make them wait a week for supplies. If they wanted to make any progress, normal means of travel would be faster.

With that in mind, the seven Sunshades dragged their mounts onto the dirigible, stowed them in the holds, and bunkered down for the two day travel across the waters that separated their continent from Kalimdor.

They only had a vague idea regarding Alara's landing site. It was somewhere in Ashenvale. Anymore precision would have cost them valuable time and they could no longer afford to be idle while their sister was lost. Fellias had lit a fire under her siblings keesters in order to get moving. Not able to stand being around their agitated sister more than necessary, they had agreed to take off for Ashenvale, trusting Presca's Bard to find their baby sister's trail once in the massive forest.

Once on the road, Fellias has set a swift pace, driving them quickly to the Zeppelin. The two day journey would allow them to rest before taking off for Ashenvale. With beasts, running would be the best course. They could reach Ashenvale within a couple days if they drove themselves without stopping. Daveious was concerned that that was precisely Fellias' plan.

This may have been Fellias' crusade, but it would not be hers to lead. As ranking Knight among his siblings, he had all intentions of gaining control once they were firmly on the ground. Fellias was too irrational from worry to lead clearly. It was obvious to everyone but herself. He had ordered Silmania to watch over their sister and keep her calm. The soft-spoken Sunshade remained as Fellias' silent shadow, coaxing her into relaxing whenever Fellias was open to talking. It was not often, however, and Silmania did the best she could in such a situation.

The others were edgy as well, Daveious noted quietly to his wife as they sat on the deck near the rear of the ship. Fellias' mood was rubbing off on their siblings. Presca had merely shaken her head and responded with a comment along the lines of 'what did you expect?' Everyone was upset about the disappearance.

Daveious slept little in those two days of confinement with his family. He spent his time pouring over maps of the lands, marking their fasting route and discussing aspects of their trip with his siblings. Although they were all well traveled, they were not all familiar with the same areas as the rest. It was determined that Baraneus was best versed in the lay of Ashenvale, having gone there many times to kill night elves. Daveious did not question the motives behind his blood-thirsty little brother's reasoning for doing what he did. He, too, had taken part in their slaying and cared not for the large, filthy elves that dared call themselves superior. Unlike his brother, however, Daveious did not do it to enjoy it.

Suppressing a shudder at the hungry look in Baraneus' eyes at the mention of dispatching of any night elf they might happen to run into, Daveious concentrated instead at memorizing their path so he would not have to continually refer back to his map. At least he knew that, should they have to invade Astranaar, Baraneus would be a valuable asset to the fight, fueled by his undying hatred of the other race.

* * *

The rain had not ceased and was showing no signs of it. Grinding his teeth tightly together, Jarreth had to make a decision soon or he would risk the destruction of all their equipment. They had to move and move quickly or they would be swamped down in their campsite.

"It's too dangerous," Dargatha growled hotly, wringing water out of his ponytail. "Leave and risk catching our mounts' legs in sinkholes? Do you want to kill us all?"

"We have just as much risk of dying here in these conditions," Jargatha snapped. He had taken to tying his hair up like his brother to keep the soaked locks from matting to his head. It helped only marginally. With a hand, he slicked back the loose bangs and glared at his brother. They stood, dripping, in the middle of the camp, arguing bitterly about what was to be done.

"There is no food left for our mounts, ruined as it was by this infernal weather. If we hadn't gone on this run, we wouldn't be dealing with this lousy autumn weather!"

"Oh, so this is my fault now is it?" Dargatha was tempted to shove his brother into the mud at the thought of it.

"You're the one who bullied me into this damn thing," Jarreth retorted. "We have to move or we'll be in more trouble. Astranaar is not far. We can make it in a day if we push hard enough.

"That group won't move that fast," Dargatha argued angrily.

"They will if we make them," Jarreth replied.

"The fighters, yes. That girl's too weak to keep up at a good pace." The disgust in Dargatha's voice was apparent and Jarreth frowned unbidden. Thankfully, his brother assumed it was because of the situation.

"I'll carry her on my mount if I have to, then. She won't slow us down that way."

The brothers stood in the rain for a moment while Dargatha mulled it over. Finally, the older elf nodded sullenly. "I suppose that would work. You get them ready; I'll pull down the tent."

"I we hurry, we can be on our way within an hour. We'll have to keep to the bank along the road. That road is too flooded to trust my mount's hooves to."

* * *

Working rapidly, camp was broken as quickly as expected with waterlogged equipment. Jarreth apologized quietly to their packhorse for the extra weight the soaked canvas would add. "It won't be far," he whispered encouragingly as he helped Dargatha lash their supplies to the grumpy beast. Patting the creature with a comforting hand, Jarreth hurried to check the empty, muddy space they just cleared and give one final glance at the prisoners.

The Horde members stood dejected in the rain, dripping as heavily as their captors as the rain continued to pelt them with cold water. For the time being, Jarreth had left Alara with the rest. He had confidence in her ability to keep up. If things got hairy, however, he would pull the small elf onto his horse to prevent her from dragging everyone else down with her. The others he wasn't worried about. Even the male blood elf was hearty enough for the trudge.

They set off at as quick a pace as Jarreth could manage, navigating through the bracken at the edge of the river-road that flowed beside them. More than once he felt his line tug as one or two of the captives tripped on hidden roots or got their feet stuck in the mud that sucked at their limbs. Each clop of his horse was accompanied by a sucking pop as the beast trudged through the muck.

The biggest problem they faced wasn't hidden obstacles in the bank of the road. Erosion became their worst enemy. The bank was slowly but surely disappearing as the rain washed it into the brown creak that was the normally well-kept path. The slave-line had the hardest time with the slick, disintegrating path they attempted to take. A splash and a curse would usually indicate when one of them slipped off the bank into the water. Jarreth glanced back each time ensure that it wouldn't slow them down too much. To his surprise, Alara was more sure-footed than he had anticipated. He guessed, belatedly, that her lighter weight prevented her from sinking as badly as the orc or tauren, who easily weighed twice the girl's mass.

It was an hour before Jarreth called a halt to reassess the situation. Dargatha urched his mount up to speak in gruff whispers with his brother, despite the fact that none of the prisoners could understand them. The path along the bank wasn't working. The forest to either side of the new waterway was too thick to plow through with their captives. Chewing his lip, the hunter eyed the watery road with apprehension. The flow moved in the direction they were heading. Sliding off his horse, he motioned for Dargatha to remain with the prisoners as he slowly waded into the road, testing the water for strength and the cobbles for footing.

The road was slick but, thanks to the paving, had not turned into a quagmire as most of the forest had. In places, mud had settled onto the road from the erosion, but it wasn't as bad as he had expected. The biggest problem was the height and the debris. The water came up to Jarreth's thighs. He glanced back at the slave-line and let his eyes fall on Alara with pursed lips. She was short and it would be difficult for her.

Making up his mind, he sloshed back to the side of the road, dragged himself out with the help of his stallion's bridle, and faced his brother. "If we want to move any more quickly, we'll have to go in. The flow shouldn't hinder us much since we're essentially going downstream."

"You said it was too dangerous," Dargatha remined his brother pointedly, not liking the idea of going into that road anymore than the next travelor.

"We'll have to risk it." Jarreth sighed. "If we want to make it to Astranaar by the night, that's road is our best bet."

Dargatha nodded then gazed at their captives. "The blood-traitor?" he asked gruffly, indicating Alara. She was still a full head shorter than Pasanyan and would be hindered the most by the river-esque road.

"We'll make do. Mount up, let's go." Grimly, Jarreth pulled himself into his saddle and turned his horses' head toward the water. The beast hesitated for a moment, not particularly happy about being faced into a body of water he could not see the bottle of. Slowly, the horse stepped down and found footing. To him, it wasn't that deep and, carefully, he started to plod forward.

With a grimace, Alara followed as the line was led into the road. She clenched her teeth as the cold water swirled around her legs and rose to the level of her hips. Her skirt dragged forward by the current, clinging to the back of her legs. She cursed once more her choice of clothing all those days ago when she went to Saltheril's party. That seemed such an eternity ago, however. A slightly more practical side of her was relieved that she was finally getting a bit cleaner in a backhanded sort of way.

She mentally thanked Jarreth time and time again for the boots as she stumbled along, over hidden branches and debris obscured by the water. In those old boots, or barefoot, she would not have faired so well.

Alara noticed him continually checking the line as they moved, trusting his horse to step true. Each time his eyes landed on her, she avoided his gaze, concentrating on the brisk, trudging pace they were keeping.

She didn't know how long they walked. Between the driving rain that slanted into their backs from the wind and the chilly water they pushed through, she lost track of time. The young woman focused on each step she took and went over how she was going to somehow coordinate both the escape of the prisoners and her own escape with Jarreth. It would have to be simultaneous, she realized, to prevent Dargatha from catching any of them.

She needed to talk to Jarreth alone. If she could explain to him what she planned on doing, perhaps he could help to organize her own departure from the rest of the group. To keep face, she would have to run with the rest of the Horde and somehow break away to get to Jarreth before Dargatha caught wind. Something inside told her she should warn Melanda of her actions so the tauren would not become concerned when the blood elf did not arrive in the Zoram'Gar Outpost with the others. She would do so, she decided, that evening if she had the chance. She wasn't sure what lodging they would be allowed in Astranaar or how privately she would be able to speak to her friend. Somehow, she doubted she would even get a chance to talk candidly with Jarreth.

hr

It was nearly dusk when a sudden realization came upon the group. The rain had stopped, replaced only by the wind that chilled them to the bone. The water level of the road slowly receded over time. By the next day, or the day after, it would be a road once more.

As darkness overtook the group, Jarreth kept his keen eyes on the distance. Having been raised in the dark forests of Darnassus, it was easy enough for him to see in the nighttime. When they came around a bend and he beheld the gathering of lights in the distance that marked Astranaar, the nightelf heaved a relieved sigh. They would be indoors within an hour.

* * *

AN: Whew… that took me a long time to write. Sorry about the delay! It's been busy lately! Anyway… this is a couple pages longer than usual with a brief interlude staring the Sunshades… Just incase we had forgotten about them, hehe. 


	10. Chaos and Flight

**AN: **Sorry about the wait. My motivation went out the window for a little bit.

Also, please note that the rating has been bumped to M for safety sake. There is death in this chapter. I didn't want to be finger-waggled for not warning you guys a head of time. Thanks!

**Kairiku Aura: **Just make sure you have that carpet cleaned and back by next week, okay? Thanks for reading.

**Zukassi:** Thanks!

**Strictly Untalkative: **Oh, you'll see very soon what's about to happen. Should be exciting.

**Fgee:** Good luck with the whole 'grounded' thing. Hopefully you'll still be able to read.

**Stara Slashtail: **Thank you very much. It's nice to know that my fic is so well liked.

**Will the Almighty: **Everything will unravel soon enough… and don't fear for Dargatha's demise. I still need him….

**Link N Ivy: **I hope you got your chance to start playing! And I usually really hate Ashenvale. For some reason, that place just gets on my nerves. Which makes perfect sense for it to be the main area in my fic, haha!

**Fluttercannon: **What are families for but coming in at the wrong moment? Hehe.

**Kenakamatsu: **Thanks much.

**Hawki: **Quite the insightful review. The tone has moved more dark than previously and it is due to the events that are forthcoming. What's about to occur cannot be taken lightly and jokingly, so I've started to shade things a bit more darkly to prepare everyone for the change in tone. I didn't want to go 'ladedadeda YAARRRRRGGG!' all of a sudden and throw everything out of whack, hehe. Secondly, the gray-zone shading is showing up a bit, you're not imagining it. I do believe it has something to do with Alara and Jarreth's developments, but also to help develop the personalities of Alara's siblings. The two factions may hate each other (for their individual reasons) but I suppose I'm starting to try to get the idea across that the level of hate varies from person to person and sometimes it's more like mild annoyance, hehe. Anyway, thanks for such a nice review!

**Abyssus Canis: **Why thank you! Good luck with your fics!

**Someone: **Thanks!

**Chapter Ten: Chaos and Flight**

Jarreth's train was met by a gathering of armed guards who looked overly relieved at the sight of a night elf riding into town. The hunter frowned as he took in their appearances, seeking to find the one in charge. He moved across the bridge slowly, leading the line into the sparkling town.

Near the back of the gathered guards stood a man in slightly better armor than the others. An insignia recognizing him as a captain stood out on his breast and Jarreth made a B-line toward him, motioning over his shoulder for Dargatha to continue on with the slaves.

Jarreth dismounted quickly and made a gesture of greeting to the captain that was vaguely respectful. Jarreth did not belong to any form of military unit in the Alliance armies and, if he did, would probably outrank this other night elf. Regardless of that information, this man was an officer and deserved at least an once of recognition for that.

"Are you in command here?" the hunter questioned once within comfortable speaking distance.

"Yes." There was a bitterness in the man's voice that took Jarreth by surprise, although he hid it well.

"It looks like you are taking raiding precautions," Jarreth continued when the man didn't offer any more information. "Care to elaborate on the extra security?"

The captain shot the shorter elf a sharp glance. "That's Alliance business, Slaver. Do I question your job?"

Jarreth's eyebrows drew inward tightly as he attempted not to get his temper up too much. This whelp was probably barely out of training and had very little right to be so condescending. If Jarreth didn't have more important things on his mind, he would have said so.

"You probably should," Jarreth replied instead. "Elune knows I do." They met eyes for a long moment and the hunter could tell he was being sized up more closely. The harried captain may have been preoccupied, but a closer inspection of Jarreth's equipment was probably in order. The slaver was well outfitted and, irritatingly enough, his weapons were far superior to anything the captain had ever owned.

With a deep sigh, the Astranaar elf rubbed his forehead and held out his other hand. "Fenrin Deepnight."

"Jarreth Nightglade." He clasped the hand of the captain firmly and watched the flicker of recognition at his family name move through the captain's eyes. The Nightglades were not an unknown clan among their people. His ancestors had made sure of that, as did his sister. That was neither here or now, however. Jarreth pressed on after the exchange. "Now, what is all this?" He swept his hand toward the defenses and obviously nervous soldiers.

"We received word from a scout earlier today that there's a raiding party heading this way. Thankfully, they seemed a bit bogged down by the weather but that will only gain us a little bit of time before they get here. We lost one scout to them already so they know we're expecting them. The other made as fast a run here as she could manage. Poor thing refuses to come out of the inn…" The captain sent a glance toward the building he mentioned before looking back at the shorter man.

"What raiding party is it?" A small prickle was forming at the back of Jarreth's neck as the hairs started to rise.

"According to her, there are eight of them, all blood elf. She said their leader looked like a demon-spawn and they have a wolf that's taking them on their path. Like they're tracking something."

Jarreth paled and he felt his heart skip a beat. "Are they paladins?"

"Illriah thinks so. She's pretty sure she saw Blood Knight insignia on most of them. One's obviously a hunter."

They stood in silence for a long moment and the captain watched the Nightglade's face carefully as it processed the information. Something wasn't right. With the sheer number they had in Astranaar, they should be more than prepared for a raiding party, even if they were paladins. Why did the slaver look ready to vomit?

"Evacuate. Do it now." Jarreth's eyed the woods near the path as if he expected to see them at any moment.

"What?" Fenrin took an involuntary step backwards. "Why?"

"Because that group could only describe one raiding party with any reason to be heading in this direction. If you want to live, you will evacuate the entire town, including yourself." Jarreth started to turn and grab for his reins, but a mailed glove on his shoulder halted him. Fenrin was still looking dubious.

"Who the hell would cause such an evacuation?"

"Sunshade."

Fenrin stood still for a moment, letting his mind wrap around that single word. "What?" was about all he managed to get out, followed by a strangled, "Why?"

"Because we have their sister."

Fenrin stared at Jarreth, mouth working but no sound coming out. He looked reminiscent of a carp, although the hunter decided now was not the time to make jokes. "Evacuate to the woods to the North or South, whichever you feel safer in. It is us they are after. We will leave as soon as we have enough provisions. When Fenrin still made no move, Jarreth reached out and took a firm grasp on the taller man's collar, giving him a very rough shake. "_Now!"_

"Right!" Gathering himself the captain turned and beckoned a couple of on looking guards.

Jarreth did not bother to stay long enough to hear the orders. He had to go see this Illriah.

* * *

It had been hours since they had been unceremoniously dumped in the stable and Alara could feel the electricity in the town. They could hear the commotion outside as she wondered what was happening. Something did not seem right and she was on edge. Struggling against her bonds – Dargatha had tied them rather firmly – Alara attempted to free herself. The sound of panicked voices from beyond the stable door brought urgency to her motions. She felt her fingers become slick as the coarse ropes bit into her wrists, sending rivulets of blood dripping down her hands. The slippery surface the blood created, however, was marginally helpful. She could feel her hands start to slip out of her bindings.

One hand was free. Quickly, she shed the bindings of the other hand and rapidly untied her ankles. Dargatha had apparently found it fit to tie the slaves' legs together as well. Standing, she hurried to the door, glancing only briefly at Melanda to nod an understanding as the tauren warned her to be careful.

Inching the door open, Alara peeked out into the streets of Astranaar, attempting to make sense of what was going on. Voices raised in panic as people raced by, clutching their possessions. A child stood off to one side, crying as no one claimed her. An overly emotional woman was wailing as she attempted to carry too many chickens that flapped and 'bocked' uncooperatively. Night elves were running every which way as, all the while, a mounted soldier attempted to yell over the din to bring them to order.

Shutting to door firmly, Alara raced back to Melanda to report what she saw. Her eyes were wide with fright, the panic from those she had seen rubbing off on her. The other slaves leaned in as closely as they could to hear what was being said. Many exclaimed in mixtures of hope and panic at the news.

"Calm yourself," Melanda murmured soothingly and, although her words had mainly been for Alara, the others took some comfort in the elder cow's voice. "It sounds like an evacuation. Something has really riled these night elves. I thought they seemed overly fortified when we arrived."

"What should we do?" Alara asked, attempting to get her breathing back to normal.

"Well, it sounds like they're expecting some really powerful company. We will probably be saved, if they bother to check this stable before lighting it on fire."

"Fire?" Alara's eyes widened again.

"Raiders enjoy lighting things on fire, Child. It is expected. Stables burn nicely with all the dry straw." Melanda smiled at the bewildered look on the youngster's features. "Anyway. Untying us might be a good idea. We can always flee during the confusion when whoever is on their way arrives."

"Right." Alara's fingers reached for Melanda's bindings.

The stable door banged open and Alara's body froze as her head whipped toward the entrance to stare at the intruder like a frightened rabbit.

Jarreth looked harried and still a bit soggy from the journey. He apparently did not take any time to dry off and his somewhat damp clothing clung to his body. Alara had to remind herself not to stare as his shirt was plastered tightly to his chest. She forced herself, instead, to focus on his face. His eyes were unusually wide and she could see actual panic in them. For a long moment, he stood there staring at her. The gathered horde held their collective breaths while they waited for him to realize Alara was not tied to the line.

He was torn. He knew he was supposed to play his part as the good little slaver and throw a fit. There were, however, far more important things happening at the moment and somehow, the whole slave-slaver gig was not on the top of his list of things to worry about.

Illriah, it turned out, was new. She had fled in panic when her comrade was brutally torn apart by the wolf and misjudged how close they had been to the village. She lost all track of time in her flight and only knew fear and urgency. When she had made her report, it was through strangled sobs and was only partially coherent. The raiders were a lot closer than anyone had imagined. They had basically been riding on the slavers' heels and no one had known. They would be there as soon as within the hour and as late as two. The town was in shambles and no one had any idea when the terror would arrive. The evacuation would probably not be in time and the reinforcements sent for in Auberdine would not arrive before the town was effectively slaughtered.

Jarreth cursed fluently in his native tongue, his indecision causing a ripple of confusion to pass through the captives.

"What's going on?" Alara demanded suddenly, standing quickly from where she crouched. The panicked edge to her voice was brought on by the unsettled look of the male. If _he_ was worried, something was definitely wrong. She had never seen him look so scared before.

"Daveious is less than an hour away," he replied, cursing again. "Your whole damn family is following him. You do what you want but I'll be dead if I don't get away." Jarreth strode forward quickly, slamming the door behind him, and ignored the sudden murmurs from the prisoners.

"What's he talking about Alara?" Pasanyan called in Thalassian, frowning. She ignored him completely, taking a couple steps toward Jarreth.

"You know my decision," she informed him with more strength than she truly felt. "Go. I will come shortly." She placed her bloody hands on his chest and pushed him back gently. "I will not leave them to die like this."

Jarreth glanced at the bewildered slaves then nodded. "As you will." He left quickly, shutting the door behind him.

"Alara!" Pasanyan yelled again, struggling against his bonds. "What the _hell_ is going on here?"

She didn't answer, going instead to Melanda.

"Child?" the druid questioned softly.

"I don't expect you to understand," the young elf started. "I must go…" She looked helplessly at the tauren.

"I understand much better than you think, Young One. This raid will be our salvation but not yours. Do as your heart bids and the Earth Mother will bless you."

"Thank you." Alara bowed her head for a moment before quickly unbinding the druid. "Untie the others. When the raid hits, you can escape in the chaos. I hope to meet you again."

With arms free, Melanda embraced the blood elf. Pulling her close, she murmured a single wood into the girl's ear before releasing her. Alara looked into the tauren's deep brown eyes and nodded once, understanding. Then, refusing to look at any of the others, she stood and ran to the doorway, slipping through it and into the chaos.

Hoping she was unseen, the young elf following the building to the back end, facing the water of the lake that surrounded the village. She wondered briefly how she would find Jarreth in the mess that was the town. It wasn't safe for her to just walk through the panicked crowd. Someone would notice she wasn't a night elf. Still, lurking in the back alleys wasn't really getting her anywhere.

The panic that was attempting to take over was lurking at the edge of her mind as she wandered quickly behind buildings toward what she believed was the western side of town, away from the direction they had come from.

A movement from an alley to her left caused Alara to dive quickly behind a stack of crates, waiting with bated breath for whatever it was to go away before it could detect her. She almost cried in relief when the silhouette of a giant panther emerged from the darkened space between the buildings. Standing, Alara climbed over the crates and threw her arms around the cat's neck. "Deigo!" The panther responded with patience, waiting for her to cease before rubbing her middle with his massive head. "Jarreth?" she asked quietly. The cat blinked up at her for a long moment before turned deliberately around and headed back the way he came. Taking that as her cue, the blood elf placed her hand on the beast's shoulder and followed quickly.

* * *

The city was only half empty when an alarm call split the air. Jarreth, mounted in order to be heard above the noise to direct the evacuation, spurred his mount to the Eastern entrance.

Arriving, he wheeled the beast around and cried for those stationed guard to hold tight but the sight before them quelled their courage. The defense, too green to face down a charging legend, broke and fled amongst the panic-stricken citizens.

In the near distance, Jarreth could see Daveious' red hair spilling from beneath his helm like streams of fresh blood. Those behind him were garbed for destruction. A cold sweat broke out over Jarreth. He was not geared for fighting. Pulling his horse back, the night elf spun and plunged toward the center of town where Dargatha was attempting to rally the troops. He was doing better than Jarreth had and the soldiers were starting to look more confident, gripping their weapons tightly and grimly.

A sudden shriek filled the air, followed by a hallow silence. The noise of the evacuation died instantly as those left froze in place. As if in slow motion, Jarreth turned his gaze to the entrance bridge to see one of the Sunshades pull a head of Daveious. There was a flash of steel and a spatter of crimson sprayed the air. A woman – civilian – staggered backwards, clutching her throat as red poured beneath her fingers, staining her green frock a dirty brown. The sword arched and swept down again, cleaving the woman twain down the front. No one moved as the Sunshades reined to a halt on the bridge. The man hefted his sword, tilting his head back. The blood dripped off in thick drops and Jarreth felt himself retch to see the blood elf's tongue flick out to catch a few. A shrieking laugh erupted from the helmed Blood Knight as those nearby sudden broken in panic, running for their lives. Baraneus had struck first.

The blood elves took his cue and suddenly surged into the town, swords and pole arms sweeping dangerously around them as they hewed a path through the terrified night elves.

"Come on!" Dargatha drew his swords and lurched his beast forward, egging on the soldiers. "This is what you were trained for, it's time to make good. Think of the glory of taking down a Sunshade! They bleed as much as the rest of us!" The soldiers at Dargatha's mount's legs cried fiercely and followed their ringleader toward the invaders.

Jarreth watched, torn. He was a night elf, but he was a traitor. All he wanted was to take Alara someplace quiet where they could live peacefully for the rest of their now-mortal lives. He truly doubted he would be able to get away from this slaughter, however. He watched numbly, unable to do more than sit on his shifting, agitated horse, as citizens and soldiers were cut down where they ran or fought. Some of the villagers had taken up weapons or shovels or just about anything that could cause damage in order to protect their families.

His mind was made up for him when he watched the first blood elf hone in on a child. Eyes narrowed, Jarreth moved automatically. He wasn't sure how his hands found his bow so quickly but, before he could register his own movements, an arrow flew from his fingertips and found the hole in the plate below the armpit that was exposed during that brief moment when Baraneus lifted his sword.

The blood elf fell sideways from the impact, barely righting himself on his horse in time to save himself from being unseated. Jarreth had already readied another arrow on his bow and was taking aim for another exposed section of the Knight. They were difficult to find, but they were there and Jarreth was an excellent shot. He released and Baraneus was marked by a second arrow sticking out of the flesh where his neck met his shoulder. It wasn't a fatal wound, but it was a wound.

Knowing that his bow would do him sod-all in close combat, he quickly threw it down and pulled twin axes from the attachments on his horses' saddle. It would have to do. If he was going to die, he would do so fighting. Almost lazily, Baraneus pulled the arrows from his flesh and tossed them to the ground.

"What sort of man kills small children for fun?" Jarreth called in Orcish, distracting the blood elf from the family that grabbed the child and ran.

"The kind that knows abominations when he sees them," Baraneus snarled back, hefting his sword once more.

"If that were the case, I would have starting slaughtering innocents long before now," Jarreth shot back, lips curling in disgust at the blood elf that starting circling him. Using his knees, Jarreth nudged his beast around, not allowing Baraneus to get behind him.

"You talk big for such a little night elf," Baraneus mocked, eyeing the hunter. Size had always been a bit of a sour note with Jarreth. He was well aware that he was shorter than average.

"I'm still larger than you," Jarreth returned, stalling effectively. Baraneus was apparently one of those who, when faced with an equal, attempted to gain an upper hand through insults and intimidation. Jarreth, scared through he was, was not going to give this man the satisfaction cowing the night elf before effectively beheading him.

Jarreth knew the stalling wouldn't work forever and braced himself as the paladin surged forward, sweeping his sword down. Jarreth's beast reared and turned as Jarreth brought both axes up to block the sword in a cross before shoving Baraneus' arm away and aiming a backhanded slash for the man's middle. The plate defended the blood elf effectively, but a large gash was left in the armor. If Jarreth had been able to see the other's face, he would have seen the utter surprise Baraneus showed. He was not expecting the night elf to have weapons capable of cleaving his armor. Baraneus, of course, had not expected to meet any night elves high enough ranked to do such damage.

"I should have expected the peasants to bite," Baraneus scoffed as both backed and circled, ignoring the chaos around them.

"You should have expected more than peasants," Jarreth growled. "I will not be as easy to kill as children."

"We'll see about that. Only fools go into battle dressed in leather and cotton!" Baraneus came forward again, sweeping down in an ascending arch. Jarreth realized too late that the man was aiming for his unprotected mount.

The shriek of a horse split through the air but Jarreth laughed harshly as he watched Baraneus holler in surprise, tumbling sideways. A black streak had appeared out of nowhere, latching onto the enemy horse's throat, gouging long rips in the horse's chest. Jarreth dismounted quickly, slapping his horse to be rid of it. He didn't want his beast in danger if the blood elf was on foot. He would be in better ground if he wasn't mounted on an unarmored horse.

Diego made quick work of the horse and ran off again, staying out of harm's reach. Baraneus stood rapidly, bringing his weapon up before Jarreth could strike.

"Only a fool," Jarreth started, repeating Baraneus' mocking words, "doesn't remember that hunters rarely fight alone. Even unarmored as I am, a smart man would have recognized me for what I was."

Enraged, Baraneus flew at Jarreth, sword moving rapidly. Backpedaling, Jarreth kept his axes moving, deflecting more than attacking. If he was going to survive this encounter, he would have to outlast this man's strength.

* * *

Alara watched in horror from the shadows as Baraneus slaughtered the woman then proceeded to cut his way through the crowd. She could see each of her siblings hacking down soldiers and civilians alike as if it their prey were nothing more than manaworms.

She had shut her eyes in disgust when Baraneus moved toward that little crying child Alara had seen earlier. When she heard a male grunt, her eyes flew open to settle on the arrow protruding from her brother's side. Another joined it in his shoulder and Alara heard a familiar voice yell over the noise. Jarreth!

She watched, stomach sinking, as her bloodthirsty sibling attacked her beloved. Without thinking about it, she released Diego with a shriek that was lost on the terrified screams of those near her. The cat needed no second bidding as it mauled the mount of the blood elf.

There was nothing Alara could do, she realized, as she watched Baraneus slash at Jarreth and drive him backwards. She saw the fierce determination in Jarreth's eyes as he attempted to find openings and managed to add a few more gouges in Baraneus' armor, but not inflict any actual injuries.

Blood ran down Jarreth's arms from where the Blood Knight's sword had nicked him numerous times. He hadn't sustained any serious injuries but the sight of the blood caused Alara to feel ill. Blood didn't usually bother her but knowing that Jarreth was losing was not sitting well.

The sound of metal hitting stone caused her to focus again on the battle before her. One of Jarreth's axes had flown from his fingers. He was defending himself only with one and had received what appeared to be a more serious wound on his forearm. It was bleeding freely and his arm was clutched to his middle to attempt to staunch the blood. A flash of white among the red showed Alara that Baraneus' sword had bit to the bone. She moved without thinking.

The second axe was knocked to the side and Jarreth felt his back hit a wall. He could see the Blood Knight's green eyes glowing darkly through the slits in the helm. The sword swept up in a wide arch, descending diagonally to slice him neatly open. A sudden weight landed on his chest and Jarreth stared down in disbelief at black hair.

"STOP!" Alara screamed, throwing her arms wide as if she could block the strike. She spoke her native tongue automatically, screwing her eyes shut as the blade had not halted. She realized this was a mistake after arriving against Jarreth. She didn't have to die. She could have just gone home and tried to get over this terrible experience, but her heart wouldn't let her. Not thinking clearly, her mind screamed for her to go with Jarreth, _wherever_ he ended up.

The blade never met her flesh. Opening her eyes, Alara stared through a haze of yellow-gold at her bewildered brother. "Devine Protection….?" Alara murmured in amazement and confusion at the same time. Jarreth said nothing, breathing heavily and leaning back against the wall in exhaustion. Alara glanced over her shoulder at him worriedly before looking back at Baraneus. It was obvious by the way he was slashing at the shield that he didn't create it.

A rough hand suddenly grabbed Baraneus and yanked him around. The second hand ripped off the paladin's helmet while the first, releasing him, backhanded him across the face.

"What in the name of the Sunwell do you think you're doing?! Do you want to kill Alara?!" Fellias had descended on her brother in a vengeful wrath, berating him with obscenities and continuing to strike him with her gauntleted fists. The half-crazed male Sunshade blinked blankly at Fellias.

"Alara?" Baraneus glanced back at the golden bubble of protection that housed both the gasping night elf and his little sister. "I… I didn't see her…" It was a lie and Fellias could see it clearly.

"No kidding?" Fellias hit her brother again. "I couldn't tell-"

The paladin was suddenly cut off as a cry rose from the western end of the town. Storming down the path was a gathering of alliance of various races. Apparently they had been in the area when the scout had rushed by on her way to Auberdine. Hearing her plight, they chose to race for Astranaar to assist against the invaders. Their arrival had suddenly spurred the Astranaarians into new vigor. Baraneus and Fellias watched grimly as the new party rode into town, seeking out the Blood Knights.

Turning back to the wall, Fellias reached out to grab for her sister only to have her fingers hit the wall. Alara, and the night elf, were gone.

* * *

Apologizing silently to her sister for her actions, Alara took the moment when Fellias and Baraneus were distracted to run for it. Weakened but still able to move quickly, Jarreth had followed her rapidly around the building to the alleys behind. Diego met them there and they doggedly followed the edge of the lake. They would not be able to escape from either bridge, not with the new allies arriving.

"Can you swim?" Alara examined the deep gash before pulling off her silken shirt and ripping it to shreds. She wrapped his arm firmly, hoping to staunch the blood flow.

"I'll damn well try," he growled, clenching his teeth as she attempting to tend to the wound. "Are you sure about this?"

She looked up into his eyes, lips pressed into a thin line. "Too late now. I've attempted to interfere with your death. I'm a traitor now. I go home and they kill me."

"I doubt your siblings would allow that," Jarreth replied dryly but Alara shook her head firmly.

"You saw Baraneus. He would have killed me right there if it weren't for Fellias. Come on, we have to get out of here." Wading into the lake, Alara took a few experimental stokes, treading water until Jarreth was able to join her. Progress was slow as he could not use his right arm. With her help and that of Diego, he managed to swim most of the way before needing rest. Alara bit her lip as she watched the line of red streaking out behind them. He was losing too much blood for her liking. She had very little healing ability, having not actually graduated from the Academy yet. She would be about useless in healing this wound.

Painfully, they started inching their way across the water again. The opposite bank was in site and Alara could have cried in relief when she felt her feet touch the gravely bottom of the lake. With more strength that she knew she had, she practically yanked Jarreth out of the water and onto the bank. The night elf collapsed there, breathing heavily into the loam.

Diego licked his master's face a few times before looking at Alara. The blood elf sat next to Jarreth and buried her face in her hands. What now? What was she going to do? Jarreth's eyes were closed and his breathing was raspy. A sudden sense of helplessness washed over the young woman. She didn't even feel the cold as she shivered where she sat. Staring blankly down at Jarreth, a strangled sob broke from Alara's lips. "What am I going to do?" she whispered to him. He didn't seem to hear her and Alara truly doubted he was even conscious.

Hoof beats. Alara looked around in panic. She could hear them approaching from the East. Holding her breath, she stood and stepped protectively over Jarreth's body. She felt a mixture of relief and fear as Fellias' steed galloped out of the woods and reined in some feet from her. Her sister dismounted with deliberate slowness, removing her helm to allow her yellow hair to tumble free.

"Alara," the older woman started carefully, eyes flicking to the prone form of Jarreth behind her sister. The panther shifted into a jump-ready stance and Alara unconsciously placed a hand on the beast's head to still him.

"Fellias," the younger squeaked quietly, breathing heavily from the adrenaline.

"Are you… okay?"

There was an awkward silence between the two for a long moment before Fellias moved rapidly forward, pulling her little sister in a fierce embrace. Off guard, Alara did nothing for a moment before returning the hug. Another sob erupted from the younger woman's throat as she clung helplessly to her older sister.

"What in the world has happened to you? What's… well…" Fellias pushed her sister back and motioned to the night elf. "What's with the dirt-elf?"

Alara frowned deeply and become defensive once more. "His name is Jarreth," she said tightly. "We're going away."

"I see this," Fellias replied dryly, frowning. "You are aware that he's one of those filthy-"

"He is no such thing," Alara suddenly snapped, hands fisting at her sides. "He saved my life more than once."

"Come on, Alara. He's basically dead. Let's go home and no one will know what you did back there." Fellias jerked her thumb toward Astranaar. The sounds of battle could still be heard. The younger woman looked back to her sister and shook her head, wet strands of black plastering against her face.

"He's not dead," she muttered. "He just needs rest. Then we'll go far away and no one will have to worry about us. Just leave me, Fellias. Please."

The older woman's eyes flicked down to Jarreth's body. "Don't fool yourself, Sister. He'll be dead in an hour. Come on." The blonde grabbed for Alara's arm but the other elf evaded her fingers.

"I'm staying with him," Alara replied, voice quivering dangerously. She felt hot tears spill from her eyes in large, wet drops to splash down her cheeks.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Fellias snarled suddenly, grabbing Alara tightly with one hand, attempting to drag her toward her horse. A hand encircling Fellias' ankle cut off the movement and the older woman looked down in surprise at Jarreth.

"Don't… take…" He took a deep, rattling breath and attempted to lift himself with his bad arm. His motioned caused him to cringe, but he managed to lift his body a few inches off the ground. His eyes, usually golden, were the color of early morning sunlight and were very slowly becoming lighter. "Alar.." He looked up at the distraught young elf as she struggled to be free of her sister.

"You're really serious," Fellias murmured, looking at Alara with surprise. "You're actually trying to go away…" She released Alara who instantly dropped to her knees to shush Jarreth. She helped the man roll onto his back and studied the bloody rags covering the arm. They were doing absolutely nothing. "Why?"

"Because I want to be with him," Alara replied quietly, not daring to look at her sister. "I understand if you want to kill me. Just do it quickly so I can die here with him." Her voice hitched and Fellias' own throat tightened at the sight of her sister fussing uselessly with what would be Jarreth's fatal wound.

The woman stood there for a long moment, listening to the sounds of battle to her right with one ear and her sister's barely muffled sobs with her other. Unbidden, Fellias felt a tear of her own slide down her cheek at the look of suffering on her little sister's face.

"Can you live with all of their lives on you?" she asked quietly of the unfledged blood elf.

"Can you?" Alara asked stiffly, wiping her face on her arm.

"Move."

Alara felt herself shoved unceremoniously to one side as Fellias knelt in her place, pulling the silk off the man's arm and examining the injury critically. She closed her eyes for a long moment, seeking an answer before opening them and looking at Alara. "Do you love this man? Enough to ostracize yourself forever from your people and his? Enough to no longer be able to see those you love and hold most dear?"

Squaring her shoulders, Alara met her sister's gaze and Fellias saw the answer. Turning back to the arm, Fellias covered it with her hands and took a deep breath. She did not specialize in healing, but she could still manage well enough. Alara watched, her heart rate increasing, as the flesh started to knit together under her sister's palms.

"He will still be weak," Fellias informed her sister, talking with an urgent quickness. "Take Belfa and get as far away as you can. Do you know where you're going?"

"Yes." Alara nodded firmly, remembering Melanda's word clearly. As Fellias stood, so did Alara. The younger took her sister's forearms in her hands and looked earnestly up into her sister's yes. "Why?"

"Because I love you more than my own life. You're my little sister but to me you're like a daughter. I would not be able to live with myself if I caused you as much pain as I saw in your eyes a moment ago. So flee and quickly. Know that I keep you in my heart." Fellias started to move off but Alara kept her for a moment longer.

"Fellias, come with us."

The older woman shook her head. "I must return to our people, Alara. I can't leave everything behind. If I go, everyone will follow. If you go, I can prevent them from following. Go. Now."

Alara pulled her sister into another embrace and kissed her cheek fiercely. "Remember the Sunwell, Sister, and may the Earth Mother bless you."

Fellias turned and ran, glancing back only once before disappearing into the woods. Alara raised a hand to bid her a final goodbye. Something in her gut told her she would never see her sister again. Another tear ran down her cheek as she turned herself toward Jarreth. She had more important things to worry about at the moment and could dwell on her fears later.

* * *

AN: Ha! And don't think I've forgotten about Belarethil… We shall be seeing him again soon.


	11. Parting Ways

**AN:** This is a bit of a short installment, I'm afraid. It sort of gets us all set up for the splitting of the plots and refusing of others, etc.

**Hawki:** You're very astute, although way off with Baraneus It would have been a nice plot twist, though… Thanks again for all the great and thoughtful comments.

**Fluttercannon**: Jarreth should be just fine . Thanks!

**Kenakamatsu:** Thanks. I hope this chapter is up to standard.

**Link n Ivy:** Not only we can't message in other realms, but I'm Horde, hehe. You wouldn't be able to message me if we were in the same realm anyway. Thanks for reading! And no, they're not living in Booty Bay.

**Channon:** Whoot! Stars! Thanks for making me smile and reading this!

**Strictly Untalkative: **I'm glad I moved you, thank you.

**Spiteful Mage: **It looks like part of your post was cut off! Oh well. I do appreciate your words very much. I'm glad you found it very exciting. I hope the rest is just as exciting for you.

**Kiariku Aura: **But my carpet was brown! Now there's a big whitish-yellow splotch on it! I know where we're putting the new chair… hehe, anyway, thanks for reviewing. I'm glad you liked it.

**Chapter Eleven: Parting Ways**

The blood elves stood among piles of bloody corpses, un-phased by the faces that contorted in fear and pain at their feet. A gurgle from one brought a great sword point downward; the sound was cut off with a squelch. The gathered seemed to be waiting for something. In the distance, sounds of panicked retreat could still be heard if one listened hard enough. The reinforcements had done nothing but clog the exit and create more chaos. Whatever elf seemed to be in charge finally decided that they could do nothing more and fled.

"Say it again, Baraneus. Slow yourself and repeat." Daveious stood, exhausted, next to his wife, arm around her as she leaned wearily against his side. He eyed his blood-hungry brother as he attempted to make sense of what the other was trying to tell him.

"It was Alara," he was repeating, rubbing his hands together as if they were cold. "She was behaving irrationally. Saved some dirt-elf from my blade. I couldn't possible swing if she was in the way…"

"That's bullshit."

Baraneus looked over his shoulder to see Fellias stumble over a body before righting herself. She wiped a hand across her brow, leaving a red streak in it's wake. Daveious' eyes flicked from brother to sister before sighing and looking to Fellias. "Continue, Sister."

"I had to throw a bubble on her to keep this lunatic from slicing her in two," Fellias growled, giving Baraneus a dark glower.

"Well, if she's alive, then where is she?" the eldest cut in quickly, not wanting the sibling's animosity toward each other to get everyone sidetracked.

"She escaped with the elf while I was dealing with brother-dearest," Fellias snapped, not bothering to hide the anger she had toward the culprit.

"Then we must find them." Daveious, releasing his wife, made a motion to call for his horse. When Fellias' hand fell heavily onto his wrist, preventing the motion, the elder could only blink at her in confusion.

"Don't bother. They'd be long gone by now." The younger woman looked drawn, as if she'd seen too much battle. A closer scrutiny of her, however, told Daveious that she was hiding something.

"Then we must make haste to catch them up. According to Baraneus, the elf was highly injured. He wouldn't be moving quickly. Get your horse, Fellias. Let us go."

"My beast was lost in battle," the woman replied, still concealing something behind her weary exterior.

"So was Baraneus'. Get a new one from the stables here. I'm sure these creatures have suitable beasts." Daveious stared at his little sister, she returning his gaze. "_Now_."

The command was not lost on Fellias and she, with her angry brother in tow, trudged toward the stables to sequester some mounts. She only prayed that Alara had taking her orders to heart and was as far away as Belfa could get in the time they were given and that she could get to that safe haven of hers before Daveious caught up.

* * *

Alara had some difficulty helping Jarreth into the saddle. He was _heavy_. Belfa, bless her, knelt onto her front legs to give them a little aid. Between that, Alara's panick-induced strength boost, and Jarreth's half-hearted attempts to stand on his own, they managed to get the night elf seated properly. Alara quickly scrambled onto his lap. It was a tight fit, but it would do.

Taking Belfa's reins firmly into her hands, Alara glanced once at Jarreth as he wrapped his arms around her waist and leaned against her back. His eyes told her that he trusted her to do whatever she had to. Taking a deep breath, the young woman spurred the beast into a dead run, plunging into the surrounding forest.

They would have to stay off the path the best they could if they were going to get anywhere quickly and undetected. She thanked any god listening that Ashenvale was a dense forest and not grassland. She was certain escape would have been impossible if they didn't have the foliage to hide them.

It seemed like they had been going for an eternity when Alara swore she head voices and hoof-beats that did not match Belfa's pace. Reining in, the woman directed the beast behind a large thicket of tall bushes. "Stay put," she whispered into the mount's ear. Holding her breath, Alara leaned toward the bushes and, using a very careful hand, parted a section enough to peer through.

At first, she saw and heard nothing. She was about to laugh at herself for being silly when hoof-beats came again. They were hesitant, as if someone wasn't sure they were going the same way. Or, her mind added as a cold fear gripped her, like they were tracking something and needed to pick up the trail. A long, piercing howl split the air and Alara clamped hands over her mouth to keep her from screaming at the sound. That had to be Bard. They were being followed.

"Hold on," she whispered frantically to Jarreth. The male's grip tightened only slightly as he was still too weak to do much else. Taking a deep breath, Alara dug her heels into Belfa's sides.

Tress passed on either side like a blur. Alara could barely register which direction they were going. She hoped Belfa knew enough not to unseat her riders. Knowing this was Fellias' horse, however, Alara was pretty certain that the beast could manage in the toughest conditions without bringing any real harm to her rider. A black blur to her side told Alara that Deigo was having to trouble keeping up.

There was light a head but Alara didn't have time to register it before they broke into the clearing. A quick yank backwards on the reins pulled the horse to a skidding halt. Alara, eyes the size of saucers, stared across the distance at Daveious, flanked by the others. Behind her, moving almost casually from the woods, was Presca and Bard. They had herded her here.

Belfa, sensing her new master's fear, pranced nervously in place. She knew these others but the one rider her did not seem pleased to see them.

"Alara." Daveious voice boomed across the clearing, ringing in her ears. "What in the name of the Sunwell are you doing?" His tone was dangerous and none-too-pleased. A glance toward Fellias told her that her sister had nothing to do with it. The older Sunshade looked ready to panick herself.

"Leaving." Alara found her voice replying before her mind had registered a response. "You?"

The pert response caught Daveious off-guard and he faltered a moment before regaining his composure. "We're here to take you back to Eversong."

"I'm not going back."

"Come on, Alara." Presca appeared at her side, casting a disgusted look at Jarreth. "Drop that dirty thing and let us go home."

"He is not dirty," the younger blood elf growled with more venom than she realized she could muster. Pulling back on the reins, she steered Belfa further away from the huntress.

"How did you get Fellias' mount?" It was Baraneus who spoke now, pointing an accusing finger at their little sister. When Alara refused to answer, Baraneus looked to Fellias. "Well? How did she get your horse?"

"Beats me," the other grumbled, ignoring the looks now being sent her way by their other siblings.

"Well, if you're not going to come peacefully, we'll just have to kill that creature and take you by force. You're coming home, Alara." Daveious urged his horse forward into a walk. His hand reached almost lazily for his sword, inching it out of the sheath.

Alara's eyes widened and she licked dry lips. Her voice failed her as she opened her mouth to halt him. There was nothing she could do against Daveious. A sense of unending pain hit her when she realized what would happen when he reached them. A groan from the figure behind her brought a small sob to the woman's lips.

"Enough, Daveious."

Alara glanced toward the voice and saw Fellias move rapidly toward them. In a maneuver denoting her expertise in the saddle, the blonde sister placed herself in Daveious path. In a flash, her own sword was drawn and held up in a guard position.

"What are you doing?" Daveious hissed. He had had too many surprises for the day and was rapidly losing his temper.

"The right thing," Fellias said, mentally adding 'I hope' to the end of it. "Let them go."

"You can't be serious-"

"Let them go," she repeating, interrupting the older Sunshade. "There has been enough killing for today. She doesn't want to come with us. Let her go and be happy."

Daveious, openly glaring at his sister, urged his beast a few more steps forward. Fellias held her ground.

"If it means my death that she can be happy with what she wants, then I will fight you, Brother." Fellias hefted her sword experimentally. "She cannot help what fate has handed her. Let Alara go."

"This was your quest!" the elder shouted, losing all grip on his temper. "You brought us all barreling across the world to find her. Now that we have, you say 'Enough, let's go home without her?' What the hell is the matter with you?"

"I've seen something that you wouldn't understand." Fellias' voice trembled, on the verge of breaking. "Just let them go and we can all return to our homes." Turning her head toward Alara, Fellias gave her sister a pleading look. "Go." She mouthed, jerking her head toward the woods at their left.

"Just kill him and have done with," Baraneus' voice joined the argument from the sidelines. The other siblings, various levels of confused, gazed on mutely at the confrontation. This was not what anyone was expecting.

"You'll have to kill me first," Fellias snapped.

"Might as well," Baraneus snarled, urging his new mount forward. "You're just as much of a traitor as Alara."

"Now just a moment! That was uncalled for!" A hand grabbed the back of Baraneus' collar and shook him firmly. Pelia had heard enough at that point and wasn't going to be silent any longer. The others broke into a chorus of voices, creating a tumult of noise that drowned the sounds of the forest out completely.

"Enough!" Daveious voice cut through the clamor once more, bringing an uneasy silence upon the clearing. "I want to talk to Alara. Alone. Now." His gaze was deadly as he glared at his siblings, daring them to interfere. With slow, almost reverent motions, those previously hollering melted back into the woods around them. In a breaths time, only Daveious, Fellias, and the night elf were left with Alara. "I said 'alone'," Daveious reminded the older female almost gently.

"This is as alone as I'm letting her with you," Fellias replied hotly. "I told you before. I'm not letting you have her or the man. You'll have to kill me first."

"No one is killing anyone else," Daveious replied, lowering his voice to normal conversational tones. There was no use yelling. That tactic hadn't worked at all. "I want to know what is going on and why the hell you're protecting it."

Alara, finding her voice at last, coughed slightly, bringing attention to herself. With the eyes of her brother and sister on her, the girl nearly quelled and fell silent again. Another groan from the nearly prone figure of Jarreth leaning heavily against her back brought a renewed strength to the blood elf, however. Straightening the best she could under Jarreth's weight, she met her brother's gaze.

"We're leaving for a haven were we can live as we please," she started, voice quiet despite the strength in it. "We wish to be together and you will have to live without me either way. If you kill him, I'll go with him."

"Why?" Daveious stared at his baby sister in confusion. "He's one of those-"

"Don't even say it," Alara interrupted. "He's as much of an elf as you or I. He's just from a different type."

"Arrogant, dirt-eating-"

"Are they any more arrogant than our kind?" Alara was gaining steam now that she wasn't being threatened by her whole family. "How many of our people are wasting away because they're addicted to magic? How many of our people make it their life goals to suck the earth clean? I've heard the stories of our kind killing theirs just for the fun of it, because they're different. Well, I've just spent the past month or so traveling with this 'dirt-elf' and apparent from appearances and language, they're no different than we are. He saved my life more than once. He's kind and caring and he would never murder innocents like you just did in that town."

Daveious flinched, much to Alara's surprise. She didn't mention how he was going to kill her initially until she gave him reason not to. She was referring more to the Jarreth he had become than the Jarreth he had been. Seeing her brother's discomfort spurred her on, however, and she plowed ahead.

"How many children were killed in that town just now? How many elderly? I heard the screams of the first woman killed. They could not defend themselves and you cut them down like butter. Which race is more arrogant and unclean, Brother? His or ours?"

"No one is perfect, Daveious," Fellias added, entering back into the conversation. "Alara has a safe place to go and friends when she gets there. She's not our baby any more. We have to let her go."

"I…" Daveious sat undecided for a long moment, looking at his littlest sister in disbelief.

"Let's go back, Daveious. I take full responsibility for anything that happened here today. You and the others are clean. This was my crusade. You said it yourself. Let's go." Turning slightly in her saddle, Fellias smiled at Alara, eyes glistening. "Be careful out there."

Taking her cue, Alara nodded and, wheeling Belfa around, spurred the beast into the forest.

"Come on, Daveious. We have a long way to go before we reach the zeppelin." Fellias moved her beast slowly past the stunned elder elf, making her way toward the forest where the others waited. She would have a lot of explaining to do but they had plenty of time for stories on the road.

* * *

Belarethil stood in front of the shimmering patch of wall in his workroom, smoothing down his robes with nervous fingers. In a few moments, he would have Steelgrope on the wall and he absolutely could not stand that dirty cave dweller. Any dwarf, for that matter, disgusted the sensitive tastes of the mage. It made the man shudder at the thought of so many of them running around his city. He would have to deal with them once the throne was his. That's what the blood knights were for.

Speaking of blood knights, Belarethil double checked the crystal set into the far wall that revealed the location of the crusaders. He had watched with great interest the events unfold that led the Sunshades to return without Alara. That would be handy. He could wait until they had all returned to their perspective outposts before beginning his coup. With only Fellias to deal with, it would not be difficult to take over. Plus, as he watched her prevent them from killing that night elf, he could always call treason on her and have her executed. Now _that_ sounded like a fun time. That weird, crazy brother of theirs might be a good assets in convicting her. He'd remember that for later.

Now, however, he had bigger problems. The wall before him started to swirl and, in a matter of seconds, a dwarven face filled the whole screen.

"Well?" it ground out in gruff Orchish. "What's taking so long?"

"Complications of the nosy variety. We have to wait a bit longer. Once the Sunshades have been completely removed, we may proceed." Belarethil gave Steelgrope what was usually his most winning smile and attempted to change the subject. "How are the preparations on your end?"

"We're ready. We'll be in your woods within the next couple weeks. Does that give you enough time?"

"I'll let you know. For now, once you reach the woods, stay in those havens I've created where you won't be detected. I'll send word when I am ready." With a wave of his hand, Belarethil dismissed the swirling air and sank into a chair in the corner. He hated dwarves but they were so easy to manipulate. He also hated having to wait. Maybe he would go ahead with the treason charges. That would help kill the monotony.

* * *

**AN**: Well, as previously mentioned, it's a little short. Other than that, I hope it worked well for everyone. I'll be putting more of Daveious' internal reactions to Alara's chastising in the next chapter during their journey home. See ya!


	12. Of Barrens and Bickering

**AN: **After an extended leave for personal reasons… I'm back! I do apologize. Between work and being sick (and temperatures above 100F) working in my sweltering office has been impossible. Anyway, onward with credits and UV fun-ness!

**Kairiku Aura**: True.. that new chair does cover the bleach spot wonderfully! And I am quite grateful you haven't thrown up on it. I might be forced to rub your nose in it and whap you with a newspaper, hehe. Thank you for the review! Hopefully things will get better for Alara and Jarreth.

**Owl of Night:** The lemons are growing on the trees? I haven't decided if I was going to get explicit yet. Erm… I don't think I write that very well, hehe.

**Hawki: **If I remember correctly, I sent you a direct reply. I don't remember though, so I'll say it again, hehe: I did feel like that last chapter was a bit redundant but I really couldn't think of a better way at the time to wrap things up like that and set Fellias up for what's to come :) I look forward to doing more with Belarethil. Thank you again for your always honest opinions!

**Channon: **He's still out there… somewhere… waiting… watching… bwahahaha! Erm… Yeah, sorry. Dargatha will be back, along with an explanation of his retreat. Maybe not this chapter, but soon.

**Kenakamatsu: **I have this funny ability to make a story feel like it's going to end.. then do something unexpectedly non-ending..ful… uhm… Hehe, I'm not sure how many more chapters this will be. We're at least 3/4 of the way through.

**Zephyrsky: **Eventually? We can assume that, unless there's something wrong with them, children will happen? I doubt in this fic, though. I hadn't planned on making it that far along in their lives before ending the story, hehe.

**Draknal**: Thank you very much! I've tried to 'keep it real' the best I can. I appreciate your review!

**Ector: **I think I sent you a private response.. but I can't remember if I dreamt that or what, hehe. I've never heard of that other story. I don't spend a whole lot of time reading fics from this genre and none of the ones I have been reading are the same paring type I have here. I'm glad you're enjoying it and I hope you don't think I've taken any ideas from that other fic since I obviously haven't read it :).

**Crimson Lotus: **urge to be worshiped rising… I'm not entirely confidant in my ability to write explicit love scenes. I usually use more round about subtle implied ways than 'bow-chika-bow-bow-BAM hehe. It's rather assumed that some sort've hanky-panky will occur eventually. Whether I actually detail it or hide it behind closed doors is another matter entirely. Sometimes the imagination is more vivid than my crap-tastic ability to write love scenes! Lol!

**K Bond: **I pretty much covered everything in that email, but I just wanted to say 'Thank You' again. That email you sent really did lit a fire under my bottom and it's the reason I'm sitting here typing this right now. I hope you keep reading and good luck on your ficcy-adventures!

Now! Let's get back to the story! Thanks everyone for being so supportive and patient! I've been terrible for being away! Bad me!

**Chapter Twelve: Of Barrens and Bickering**

It's a peculiar thing, the mind. It could be the coldest day in the season and one would wish for summer. Yet, when that sweltering heat finally arrives, all one can wish for was that chilly breeze of that previous season. Wishful thinking never led the happiness.

The Barrens were known to be one of those lands where you really did wish for such rapid changes in temperature, but hated them once they arrived. Like most arid landscapes, the days were blistering and the nights frigid without the rays of the sun beating down on the land. The ground, cracked in places, told tale of where old waterways once cut through. Occasional patches of green in the distance were a welcoming sign of oasis, until the unprepared traveler met the territorial Kolkar that guarded the water as their own. It was an unfriendly land but it was the safest path for Jarreth and Alara's southern flight.

They traveled mostly by night, although late dusk was also utilized if they could. Only a fool would not recognize Jarreth for a night elf and Alara was far to small in build to be anything but a blood elf. During the day, they sought refuge in the cover of the hills that sprang from the earth throughout the Barrens' landscape. If a small cave could be found, they would take it. Those, however, were few and far between so they often settled for huddling in the shadow between the clefts, hoping no one would happen upon them.

They kept watch in shifts, allowing the other to sleep for a goodly amount before switching. Deigo, as well, carried his weight in the matter, taking the earliest shift so his exhausted masters could rest after the long haul. Belfa, being only a horse, rested the most but needed the most. She had carried the double burden for many nights, subsiding only on the grassy forage the Barrens offered its wild, four-legged herbivores.

As they moved through the starry nights, Deigo would often bring down small, nocturnal rodents and prairie creatures that their diet was consisting on. Alara longed for a fresh piece of fruit or glass of juice over the stringy, tough meat of ground hogs and squirrels. Their water supply was fairly low and they filled up at any sign of moisture. Dirty water was better than dehydration and, swallowing her pride, Alara resigned herself to doing whatever it took to survive.

Being constantly on the move afforded them little time to do much else but survive. Talk was limited to the necessary words of communication that allowed them to function as a cohesive team. It only took a few days before they had settled into an automatic routine. They would travel, settle, sleep, travel. Eating was done on the move. If either saw sign of water, they would stop only long enough to fill their bags – empty or not, one never knew when they would find water next – and continue on their way.

Although Alara found herself missing their conversations while on the move, just being near Jarreth was enough to keep her going. They were almost always in physical contact with one another, Jarreth riding behind her with one arm wrapped around her waist and the other gripping the reins. It kept the chill of the night off of their bodies to be pressed so closely. If their situation wasn't so dire, the blood elf would have let her mind wander to other cases where they might be so close to one another. Now, however, was not the time. While Jarreth steered their course it was Alara's job to keep an eye out for any danger from beast or man.

There had been a few close encounters that, thankfully, they had managed to wriggle away from before they could be detected. The further reaches of the Barrens were not heavily populated. As they approached the center of the vast grass-and-dirt expanse, however, travelers on the roads become more common and the two run-aways had to be extra careful with their concealment.

"The Crossroads lies about half a day a head of us," Jarreth muttered as they tethered Belfa behind a large outcropping of rock near a decent sized patch of plains-grass. Working in concert, Jarreth and Alara removed the tack and rubbed the beast down with practiced efficiency.

"We should give it a wide berth then," the female replied logically, making sure the gear was still serviceable before setting it on a snag growing nearby. Any breaking in the leather work would mean Jarreth wasn't getting any sleep for a while. She was relieved to see no fraying in any of the saddle straps or on the bridal. Wherever Fellias had bought the tack, it was high quality and wasn't likely to break any time soon. Regardless, Alara routinely checked it. To be careless could mean injury.

"Easier said than done." Jarreth signed as he sat down, leaning his back against a smooth part of the outcrop. Alara joined him and the night elf automatically lifted his arm to allow her to press herself to his side. Dropped his arm around her shoulders, the elder elf gave her a slight squeeze and, turning his head, pressed his face into her hair. "This area will have a lot more traffic at all times of day and night."

"Well, what do you propose we do then? We can't just go barging straight through Crossroads and expect to be fine. I can, but you would have a problem." Leaning her head against Jarreth's shoulder, Alara sighed deeply, taking in the musky, travel-worn smell he exuded. They couldn't exactly afford to use water to maintain cleanliness but, somehow, that didn't matter. The old Alara would have balked at such a thought, but after everything she'd been through, Alara was happy enough to just be with him. She didn't give a rip if the both of them smelled like harpies.

"We'll just have to careful. Ratchet lies beyond to the South-East. If we veer too far, we'll have to deal with pirates. Alone, they aren't bad. But if they swarm us… well…"

"I get the picture," Alara replied before Jarreth could finish clearly. "Then we'll just have to tiptoe."

Jarreth found himself chuckling at the mental image Alara gave him of them merely sneaking by the village. He hoped it could be something that simple. They would just have to more watchful that they didn't run into the wrong people.

"Try to get some sleep, Alara. Deigo will keep first watch." He felt her head nod against his shoulder and shifted so she would be more comfortable.

The night elf could barely believe where they were or even that they were actually "them." A month ago, he would never have imagined this was where he would be. He was still amazed at the whole ordeal. Alara, despite her size, pulled her weight surprisingly well. If he hadn't been for her, he would not be alive to be fleeing with the woman as it was. He was still slightly confused on what had happened.

He remembered fighting her brother and watching in horror as the maniac's sword swept downward toward the unprotected head of the woman he loved. Then the other showed up and saved them. He could vaguely remember swimming, but he didn't remember reaching any ground. From there, it was only snippets of sound and image. His next coherent memory had been of watching the ground move below him. He had awoken, leaning heavily on an exhausted Alara who was pushing their doggedly tired horse further and further through Ashenvale.

When he had questioned her about it later, she had looked at him with no little shock and replied that she thought he'd been awake. He merely shook his head. "If I was," he had told her, "I wasn't really conscious of what I was doing." When she told him about the confrontation with her family, the blood had drained from Jarreth's face. He truly hoped that she was right to trust Fellias to not go back on her word and hunt them down.

Although they did not have much time to talk, what little they did get was spent learning more about each other. Everything Jarreth heard made him want to know more. He was fascinated by her stories of growing up in a large family without actually having to be around the large family. It was almost amusing that she was basically an only child for all intents and purposes of her childhood. He, in turn, told her about having to grow up the youngest among two rather headstrong siblings. Soon, the two of them would be able to talk candidly as much as they wanted without worrying about attracting attention to themselves. They would be in Ratchet tomorrow.

* * *

As the sun set over the Barrens, taking with it the heat of the day and casting the land in the dark shadow of night, Jarreth and Alara mounted Belfa and turned her nose to the East. They had decided in a few, concise words, that they would veer across the northern face of Crossroads, then take a southern turn, following the curve of the small mountain to that side that would drop them into Ratchet.

Taking a deep breath of the cool, night-time air, Alara kept her eyes sharply peeled to either side to make sure their way was clear. Although Melanda had told her to head for the port-town, she wasn't actually sure what to do when they got there. At least the neutral town would allow them time to figure out their next move.

The night seemed to pass with painful slowness as they approached the hub of Barrens activity. Lights burned brightly in the distance, signaling that Crossroads was awake and lively. Jarreth murmured into her ear to relax when he felt her stiffen when the city came into view. "We won't be close enough for them to clearly see us. We'll just be another random traveler."

Even with those words, however, Alara did not relax. There were other people out that night. One, on his way to Crossroads, passed within ten feet of them. He didn't bother to give them more than a passing glance, however, and the blood elf felt her whole body quiver with pent-up fright at what would have happened if he'd recognized Jarreth for what he was. They were, after all, unarmed. All they had was Deigo, although Belfa was a trained war horse and could probably inflict some serious damage if needed.

After an eternity crept by, they were finally out of range of the city. Whatever gods were watching over them smiled that night and Alara let out a deep breath when Crossroads receded in the distance. They would most likely reach Ratchet by daybreak.

* * *

It was raining when the Sunshades finally approached the gates of Silvermoon. Fellias grimaced at the fitting weather. No one had spoken much on their return journey. As it was, Pelia was the only one that actually acknowledged that Fellias existed. As the city materialized out of the haze of drizzle, the group of paladins took a leftward course, skirting the capitol. They would go home first before making any reports. They had a lot to discuss that needed quiet.

Once the stables were crammed full of their various mounts, the Sunshades filed sullenly into their mother's living room. Any words of admonishment for getting mud on the carpet died on Milanya's lips as she saw the expressions gracing her childrens' faces.

Once everyone was settled around the room, their father cleared his throat, taking stock of them. "Where is Alara?" he asked tightly. His wife, clinging to his side, looked ready to feint. They were expecting the worst. As their childrens' eyes turned to Fellias, Mother and Father Sunshade took their cue and looked to their daughter as well.

"She's alive but she's not coming home," the blonde replied quietly, leaning forward on her knees heavily. A light hand – Pelia – rubbed the woman's back comfortingly. Slowly, with a pain expression not helped by the hardening looks of her family, Fellias explained why their little girl was not coming back.

"That's ridiculous. Why didn't you just kill it and take her?" Darninus demanded.

"We tried," Baraneus snorted, sending a death-glare at his sister. Fellias met his eyes with just as much venom.

"We are not monsters," the woman snarled at her brother, slamming her fist into the arm of the chair she sat in. The wood creaked in protest but she ignored it. "If you have even an ounce of mercy in your soul you'd understand why I couldn't allow that."

"I wouldn't be so sure about all of us not being monsters," Pelia growled under her breath, attempting to get Fellias to sit back in her chair and stop abusing the furniture.

"You're as much of a traitor as that filthy brat was," Baraneus continued, ignoring the suddenly gasp from some of his siblings. "We should have done away with both of you when we had the chance."

"Yeah, you proved that when you aimed to slice Alara in half!" Fellias rose to her feet, dragging Pelia up with her. Fellias was, if anything, a very strong woman. "I may be a traitor to you, but at least I'm not a murderer!"

Baraneus was up in a moment, surging toward his sister with teeth bared. The next few moments were pandemonium as siblings flung themselves onto both angry knights, dragging them backward. The house of bursting with noise as angry voices mixed together into one grand squall.

"ENOUGH!"

A sudden dizziness washed over everyone in the room and more than one of the Sundshades hit the carpet, hacking and moaning. Looking up through spinning eyes, Fellias stared in disbelief at Silmania. The quiet woman, hands fisted and shaking at her sides, stood above the rest of her family. She had apparently clambered up on to the coffee table and managed, in her outburst, to stun her entire family. Fellias had never heard of using the Hammer of Justice as a voice-attack. If it were possible for Fellias to respect Silmania more than she already did, she would have at that moment.

"Are we animals now, snarling and snapping at it other for the best scrap? Or are we the Sin'dorai?" Silmania berated from her perch, sending sharp looks both Fellias' and Baraneus' ways. "When did we descent to such despicable standards? What are we dong here?" The woman swept her arm over her siblings, indicating their current situation. "We need to talk civilly about what we will do about this and I'm ashamed to say that we're handling this situation like children. Let's be adults about this and think! Now…" The woman slipped off the table and sat on it's edge, surveying her brothers and sisters with a critical eye. "Let us listen first to our elders and see what they say."

Utterly chastised, the Sunshades disentangled themselves from the floor and each other, taking their seats once more. Their faces turned, with no little guilt, to look at their mother and father. The two elders stood, dumbfounded at their childrens' behaviors.

"Nothing we do can bring her back?" Milanya asked quietly, still gripping her husband like a lifeline tossed to a drowning person. Her question wasn't directed to anyone in particular, but Fellias answered anyway.

"She said they were heading somewhere safe but did not tell me where it was. If she refused to come with me, she won't come for anyone."

"Then what can we do?" the mother continued, looking hopelessly at the floor. She still looked in shock and Fellias could feel her pain well enough.

"Move on with out lives," Daveious supplied much to Fellias' surprise. She had noticed him brooding for long hours on their journey but didn't dare approach him. Looking around the room, the younger Sunshade caught Silmania's compassionate gaze and could have sworn she nodded almost imperceptibly. She wondered if perhaps her older sister had something to do with Daveious' train of thought.

"I... don't understand." Milanya gazed at her eldest, lips pressed into a thin line.

"We move on, we live." Daveious sighed and rubbed his temples. "We have to be sound in the knowledge that Alara is alive somewhere and she's okay. In the meantime, we move on. We go back to our lives."

"That's the last thing I thought you would say," Fellias spoke before thinking about it. Her brother glanced her way and sighed again.

"Someone put it in perspective for me," he replied tiredly, looking toward Silmania.

At questioning looks, the eldest daughter tilted her head to one side and met the gazes with her usual quiet demeanor. "I asked him what he would do if it were me and not Alara. We all must think on that. If it were your best friend? Your closest companion?" She was quiet for a moment while her siblings contemplated that. "I, for one," she continued after the pause, "would, after some pain of loss, move on and try to wish my friend the best. It will be difficult for us, knowing that our little sister is out there somewhere with one of those… other elves. But how many of us really knew her well enough to judge or feel the pain of her loss besides Fellias? I did not meet her until ten years after her birth.

"How many of you are actually upset over Alara's actions in themselves? Are you angry because _Alara_ ran off with a night elf or because a _Sunshade_ ran off with one? If you ask me, I believe most of you are more upset over the slight to our family name rather than upset over the loss of a sister you didn't even know. You feel indignant for your own pride and not for the loss of a girl you met once or twice and wrote off as just another child. I suggest we sleep on that thought and come back tomorrow, when we're all more civil and in the right minds to deal with this situation. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go lie down." Not more than one of the Sunshade children flinched at the disgusted look on Silmania's face as she slipped off the table and vanished up the stairs.

Fellias could have hugged her.

* * *

**AN: **Well, it's a bit of a short chapter, but I seem to be doing that lately. I'm excited about the prospect of where this is going, personally. The next chapter will feature Alara and Jarreth in Ratchet (ooooo) as well as some more Sunshade fun and, if I play my cards right, lovely old Belarethil will make an appearance, too! How exciting! Okay, so perhaps I'm being slightly sarcastic, hehe! I do hope you enjoyed this chapter. Let me know. 


	13. Three Paths

**AN: **Let's do this thing!

**Owlofnight: **Thanks! I'm glad to be back.

**K. Bond: **Thanks you, I will try to keep it coming at a decent pace and volume.

**Ector: **Just keep trying! I'm glad you enjoyed my descriptions in the Barrens.

**Liesie:** I have no problem if you wish to beat Dargatha with his own leg. And keep a hold of that leg, actually. You'll need it for Balarethil…

**Link'n'Ivy: **There are so many servers. Too bad we're not on the same one. Oh well! I'm glad you continue to read this!

**Kairiku Aura: **Welcome back! I don't mind if you don't review first. I'm just happy you review!

**Illidan182: **I'm glad you decided to continue to read and can relate somewhat to what's happening. Thank you.

**Hawki: **As usual, my sincere thanks for your honesty and your interesting thoughts on the story. It's always a pleasure to read your reviews.

**Chapter Thirteen: Three Paths**

The subdued air that permeated the House of Sunshade continued through that night and throughout the next day as well. Very few words were spoken between the family after Silmania's surprising berating of their behaviors the night before. The bleary, baggy eyes of many of the siblings told tale of a very restless night as they contemplated their elder sister's words and felt the guilt that her wisdom brought.

It was true. That was what hurt many of them the most. How well did they know their littlest sister? How many of them went because it was their duty as Sunshades to uphold their own reputations? Fellias was perhaps the only one who could say she had truly gone because she loved her little sister and wanted to see her safely back home.

Their parents had not spoken a word to any of their children, either. Milanya seemed to be taking the news only slightly better than her husband, who wandered around the house, glaring at nothing in particular. Their mother tried to remain composed but the littlest things set her off into quiet tears; there wasn't enough orange juice for everyone, she burnt an egg, and other such things that would not normally have caused the woman to become upset.

It was mid-afternoon when Daveious determined that they had mulled over their situation individually long enough and needed to hold a family council. Cramming everyone into the living area once again, Daveious saw to it that Baraneus and Fellias were seated as far away from each other as elvenly possible without actually placing them in separate rooms. That thought had occurred to him, but the eldest son decided that everyone should at least be able to see each other's faces and sticking their blood-thirsty brother in the kitchen would just cause more problems than it was worth.

After a considerable about of maneuvering, the Sunshades had finally settled themselves into the various chairs and pillows brought into the room. Fellias, using her seniority, managed to secure one of the overstuffed armchairs. Pelia, thinking it best for her to be near her older sister incase she needed to restrain her, perched herself on the arm of that same chair, hand on her elder sister's shoulder comfortingly. With nine people to seat, three were forced to squeeze themselves onto a loveseat barely made for two. Daveious took up his position by dragging a kitchen chair to the fireplace and sitting in what designated the focal point of the room. Silmania reclaimed her table, crossing her legs and the ankle and leaning forward slightly on her palms.

A very cranky Baraneus found himself squeezed between the very tall Mirgrania and the always fidgety Jelasan. His mood was worsening as his sisters forced their way onto the loveseat with him. Not able to take the lack of space, their brother hoisted himself up until he sat on the back of the small couch. He glared at the woman and they ignored him pointedly.

Mother and Father Sunshade sat themselves at their own stuffed chairs. The children knew better than to attempt to sit in those. That left Presca to slide onto the table next to Silmania. Bard lounged beneath the table, looking entirely unconcerned about the serious proceedings about to take place.

Daveious stood from his chair once everyone was settled and sighed. "Well, I hope everyone has had time to think about our situation and will be brining something of value to this discussion. We need a plan of action and it would be best if we all follow the same one." He gazed around the gathered faces before continuing. "This is what we have to work with and what we must accept." He turned his eyes to Fellias and gave her a nod to repeat her story. "Leave nothing out," he prompted when she hesitated.

"Right." Fellias took a deep breath and launched into her account of the fight at Astranaar, of stopping Baraneus from killing their sister, of how she found Alara with the night elf and, after the girl refused to go with and gave her reasoning, how she had healed the night elf on her sister's behalf. She told them how she gave her horse to their cause and then prevented Daveious from forcefully taking Alara back and allowed for her sister to escape with the other elf. She kept her eyes riveted on Daveious the entire time, not trusting herself to look at anyone else in the room. Pelia's hand on her shoulder was a comfort and Fellias was thankful for her little sister's support.

When she had finished, Daveious nodded his thanks and swept his gaze back to his other siblings. "Of all of us Fellias has the best knowledge of what Alara was thinking or behaving, although we all witnessed her determination when we cornered her in that clearing. Unless anyone has any objections -" at this Daveious sent a challenging glare at Baraneus, who held his tongue "- I think we have to come to the conclusion that Alara has moved on from us and we can no longer assume that we have any importance in her life."

No one spoke but Daveious could see the feelings of defeat and regret move across most of his siblings' features. A glance at Fellias was almost too much for the eldest to bear. She looked as though Death stood in front of her. Thinking back to Silmania's words, Daveious imagined what it would be like for him if it was Silmania who ran off, never to be seen again. With that thought, his heart ached in sympathy for what Fellias must be feeling.

"We now have another issue we must address," Daveious plowed on after the moment of grieving was deemed long enough. "We must decide what we will do now that our quest was a failure. We, as Blood Knights, are sworn to fight for the cause of our people against our enemies. Although we succeeded in wiping out a town of the enemy, we did allow one to escape. This elf that Alara ran off with is a dark stain on our otherwise spotless execution of the raid. Any thoughts?" Daveious sat back in his chair, opening the floor for the heated discussion he knew was coming. One did not have to guess to know that Baraneus would get things rolling.

"We're traitors, obviously," the younger male snarled, punching the back of the couch he sat on. "We should have killed him and anyone that got in our way. We didn't. You let him go. By that reasoning, you're as much of a blood-traitor as Alara or Fellias, and you've dragged the rest of us into it."

"Harsh much?" Pelia shot back before Daveious could reply. "If you were so dead-set on killing everyone you think is a traitor, why not just kill us all right now and have done with? You're such a coward, talking big and never following through." The loud Sunshade hopped down from the arm of the chair to point an accusing finger at Baraneus. "Do you ever actually think about what you say before it comes blathering out of your mouth? Say you had managed to kill Alara because you said she was a traitor. What then? I'm sure Mother and Father would welcome you back into the family with open arms for slaughtering our baby sister!" The sarcasm was thick and Pelia looked to her parents for confirmation of her thoughts. She received a sob from her mother and a nod from her father. They sided with her on that account.

"Better to be a hero to the people," Baraneus replied, ignoring his parent's reactions. "I'm an adult now and can make my own decisions."

There was silence for a moment before Mirgrania spoke, giving her brother's leg an unmerciful pinch. "Last time I did the calculations, Alara was an adult capable of making her own decisions." The tall Sunshade brushed back her light hair and gazed up impassively at her angry brother. "As far as I'm concerned, she's done with us and that's that. The issue here is what we're going to tell everyone."

"Someone has to take the blame," Baraneus snipped back, eyeing Fellias. "Someone has to own up to letting the traitorous Dirt-elf go."

"If it'll make everyone happy, I'll take that blame for that," Fellias replied stiffly. "I'm no traitor though."

"I don't see any reason to tell anyone about the dirt-elf," Jelasa muttered, half under her breath. She was not exactly an outspoken member of the family. Dark, little Jelasa tended to stay in the background and, when she did speak, it was hard to hear her. She tended to mumble. "Let's just say Alara found herself a nice little hermit and decided to forsake all her teachings and live a life of solitude with him. End of story. Back to our lives."

"Am I the only sane one here who thinks someone needs to be punished?" Baraneus growled, contemplating kicking Jelasa.

"You're the only _in_sane one here who thinks someone needs to be punished," Fellias snapped hotly. Pelia slid back onto the arm of the chair and put a restraining hand on Fellias' shoulder when the older woman made to rise.

"Enough," Daveious put in firmly when Baraneus opened his mouth to retort. "As much as it pains me, I think Jelasa is on the right track here. No one knows what happened out there but us. If we just fail to mention the race of the one Alara ran off with, we can leave it at that. Besides Baraneus, are there any objections to moving on with our lives and leaving any fault on Alara? She was the one who made the decision. Like Mir said, she is an adult now. We must remember she can make her own choices in life."

There were general murmurs of consent amongst the Sunshades. Not mentioning it might be the best course of action they could come up with. It certainly wasn't the worst possibility.

"I intend to leave at the end of the week for Mulgore. Presca and I wish to return to our home. I suggest the rest of you do the same and move on. Hopefully the next time we gather it will be for much happier reasons." Daveious stood and, taking one last look at his family, hefted the kitchen chair into his arms and carried it back to where it belonged, leaving his siblings to organize their thoughts and make their own decisions.

* * *

Fellias sat above the falls on a large rock, gazing down over the cascade of water that landed in the pool many feet below. After the family split up to prepare their plans, she needed some time alone. Grateful though she was for the decision they had come to, something nagged at Fellias. She had a sinking feeling that this wasn't the end of it.

The sound of feet behind her brought Fellias out of her reverie. Turning slightly, she watched as Pelia carefully picked her way across the large boulders until she was one the same one as her older sister. Sitting next to her, Pelia, too, gazed into the water depths below.

"What will you do now?" Fellias asked after a moment. She was surprised at how tactful her little sister could be, considering Pelia's pension for making noise.

"I figured I'd stick around for a little while. The city will understand that we're in mourning. I don't have any pressing work at the moment. Plus, Mom and Dad could use some company. Mother is taking it seriously hard and… well… you know how Dad gets."

The elder sister nodded absently, looking back to the pond far below. Their father did have a tendency to withdraw into himself when upsetting things happened. It was difficult to pull him out of such a slump and having more of his children around would help him recover.

"I'll be going back to the palace in the morning," Fellias started after another moment of companionable silence. "I've been gone too long and I'm sure they need to know that our family is dispersing once more."

"Did you want me to come with you?"

The elder sister contemplated the offer for a moment before shaking her head. "No. I'll be fine. You know me well enough for that." Fellias never was the one who needed her hand held in a difficult situation.

There wasn't much to say between the two so silence descended once more. Most of what needed to be said had already been said. For now, it was just company that they sought. Slipping back into her own thoughts, Fellias didn't realize that Pelia had spoken again until the younger woman poked her sharply in the ribs. Gazing at her sibling, Fellia raised her eyebrows and made a grunting acknowledgement.

"I was saying," Pelia repeated, looking only slightly exasperated, "Why do I get the feeling this thing isn't over?"

Fellias frowned deeply. She had been thinking much the same before Pelia had arrived. She merely shook her head in response and sighed. "Because I doubt that it is. Baraneus isn't going to just tootle off to his own world again. He'll want to see some kind of action. I just hope he doesn't try to go off and find them."

"Why did you do it? Let that elf go, I mean. I'm not challenging your choice," Pelia added quickly when her sister sent her a sharp look. "I just want to know what it was that turned your mind."

Fellias looked up toward the sky, blinking at the sunshine that filtered in through the treetops above them. "Because I love Alara more than anyone else. She's my best friend and like the daughter I will probably never have. And because of what she said when I tried to take her away from him. There was a look in her eyes, one that spoke of more than any words could ever say. Something told me that if I took her, she would slowly die inside until her body followed suit. Could you do that to a person?" Her eyes returned from their upward gaze to settle on Pelia.

"I don't know." The younger went silent for a long moment. "I have never had to make that choice. I think, in your situation, I would have done the same thing. I would like to think that I would have done the same thing, anyway."

"Thank you." Fellias reached out and placed a firm hand on her sister's shoulder. "You've been a blessing through this ordeal and I'm grateful you're here."

"Anytime." Pelia leaned across the gap and pulled her sister into a hug. "Just call me if you ever need me. That's what family is for."

* * *

The goblin eyed Jarreth shrewdly. He asked no questions of the woman sitting near the fire, warming her hands. With a slight nod to the night elf, he handed the man a key in exchange for the coin. He saw all kinds in this town and wasn't about to get himself in trouble by knowing too much. If two elves wanted to shack-up, who was he to question their motives? Very few words were spoken during the exchange and he watched quietly as the man touched the woman lightly, indicating she should follow. They vanished up the stairs without a word to each other. The goblin merely shook his head and went back to his mug of mead. So long as they paid their bill, he didn't care who his patrons were. It was none of his business.

The room Jarreth unlocked was small but warm. The fire in the common room seemed to heat the entire building. Alara preceeded him into the room and placed their saddle bags in the corner near the small window at the far end. She picked up an unlit candle from the nightstand and slipped back out the door while Jarreth took stock of their surroundings. The blood elf returned quickly, the candle flickering with light she had taken from the hallway braziers. Setting it on the small table the room also held, Alara sat in one of the two chairs and sighed.

"Well," she said quietly once Jarreth had locked the door. "We're here."

"Yes," he replied, taking the other seat and reaching a hand for her. She automatically reached back and they sat there for a moment, fingers entwined on the tabletop. "What are we waiting for now?"

"Melanda, I think." She saw him flinch slightly and gave his hand a squeeze. "We can trust her. I've told you this before," Alara murmured soothingly.

"I still don't see how I can be forgiven," Jarreth responded, squeezing back slightly.

"Melanda is a very understanding woman." Alara stared at the flame dancing on the wick while they talked. It was mesmerizing and she couldn't help but watch it dance and quiver with their words. "She knew something was going on and I think she guessed what it was before Astranaar. I'm pretty sure she's already forgiven you."

"That aside, we need to figure out what we're going to do now that we're in Ratchet. I'm not terribly comfortable with the idea of living in the Barrens. Especially not near a port that pirates use. The goblins are safe enough, but elves might be seen as easy targets."

"So long as we stay in town, we'll be okay, I think. How much money do we have?"

Alara watched as Jarreth stood, releasing her hand. He moved to the saddle bags and dug around for a moment. "Your sister left us with somewhat near fifty silver, besides the travel clothing." He nodded at Alara, who was garbed in her sister's leather tunic and breeches. She had been eternally thankful that Belfa's bags had contained clothing more suitable for travel. Her skirt was so ratty it was almost rags and her shirt had been ruined when she used it to bind Jarreth's arm. "That money will be enough to get some basic supplies. Nothing fancy but we should be okay. There's also a bank here." Jarreth stood from where he crouched and gazed out the window at the moon. They had a few more hours before it would set.

"How long will it take to transfer your stuff to this bank? Will that be a good idea?" The younger elf stood and joined her beloved at the window, leaning against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

"A few days to get everything portaled over here through their system, probably. The bank can't report that sort of information unless they have a good reason. The fact that I'm missing isn't a good enough reason. I truly doubt anyone on my side knows what I've done. Dargatha, if he's alive, probably thinks I just took off. He knows how sick I was of slaving."

"Then why did you do it?"

The question hung there for a long moment before Jarreth found himself answering. "The money was good, honestly. I didn't care for the slaving but it was nice to have a solid future. Plus my brother is a bit of a bully, if you'd believe that." He felt her muffled snort and chuckled. They both knew well about Dargatha's temper. "He always managed to drag me into it. As bad as it was, it did bring me you." He tightened his grip for an instance before releasing her to look down at her face. "I'm sorry, again, for everything I ever did to you. I truly regret it. I know now that I never should have treated you so harshly. Every time I think about how I hit you…" His features contorted in guild and shame. Alara reached a hand up to cup his cheek.

"You were forgiven a long time ago, Jarreth. Let's move on from that, it's in the past." In a gesture becoming more familiar the more time they spent together, Jarreth dipped his head down to claim her lips. When they pulled apart, Jarreth pulled her back into the circle of his arms, rubbing her back with gentle fingers. She set her cheek against his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing and the listening to the comforting thrum of his pulse.

"We should get some sleep," he murmured into her hair, kissing the top of her head lightly between words. "We've had one hell of a long week. In the morning, we can get ourselves better provisioned and prepared for whatever is next."

The bed wasn't the best quality in the known world, but to two elves who had spent the last few months sleeping in bedrolls and on the ground, it was the softest mattress in the world. Curling up together under the blankets, Alara and Jarreth lay that night, holding each other in their sleep. That was all they needed. After days of frightened half-sleep and mindless travel, they were safe.

* * *

"Please be careful," Jarreth warned as he handed Alara a small pouch of coins pulled from the saddle bags. "I'll go to the bank and get the transfer started, then I'll get the food. You concentrate on finding some more suitable clothing. The nights here are quite cold. Take the pack and sell anything you think we don't need." He handed her a hip-bag found among Fellias' things. "Are you sure you'll be okay by yourself?"

"Thank you, Mother, I'll be fine," Alara replied sarcastically before standing on her tip toes to kiss him soundly. "This is neutral land. No one here will know me. You need to be more careful than I do. There are considerably more Horde here than Alliance."

"I'll meet you back in the common room this afternoon. You take the key." Jarreth pressed the small, metal object into her palm and Alara slipped it into the pocket of her breeches. "Be safe." One more embrace and the two left their room, locking it behind them. "Just be sure to save the copper for the room," he reminded her as they came down the stairs and left the inn.

Alara watched Jarreth head down the hill and into the larger part of town. The bank, a prominent building, could be seen from her vantage point. As could most of the rest of the town, she noted as she leaned against the ramshackle wooden fence in front of the inn. Taking a good look, she located the shops she needed and headed that direction. Her first priority, regardless of what Jarreth said, was not more clothing. They needed weapons. If it would take a couple days for Jarreth's possessions to arrive in the Ratchet banks, they would need something in the mean time. At the very least, she would get herself a serviceable sword.

The arms dealer blinked at her when she entered, taking in her appearance in a practiced glance. He noted the Blood Knight insignia on the tunic and dismissed any other idea of what she was. Alara hadn't bothered to remove the patch when she put the top on. Both she and Jarreth figured it might be easier if everyone thought she was fully fledged. She had almost gained her first pips, anyway. A month more, perhaps, in the Academy and she would have graduated with the primary ranking. True, she would have spent the next three years, at least, developing a specialty and would not have left the school right away on more than short errands. Regardless, she did have most of a basic Academy education and could pass as a paladin in a pinch. She knew a couple spells, at least, although she was terribly out of practice.

That aside, she greeted the goblin with a bright smile before moving to a far wall where a display of swords hung. The shopkeeper, always looking for a sale, hustled over to where she was and stood attentively. At last, Alara pointed to a one-handed, sleek blade and requested to see it more closely. The goblin happily agreed. She checked the balance and weight, as she had been taught, and took a couple practice swishes. It would do, although it wasn't the best. She wasn't the only one who thought so, apparently.

"You'd do much better with that one there." A gloved hand pointed over her shoulder to another sword, similar in size but with a more tapered blade that ran with duel blood channels. The hilt looked less bulky as well. "Especially for one your size."

Turning slightly, Alara met the green eyes of a tall, well build blood elf. His strawberry blond locks tumbled over his shoulders in silky waves and his eyes glowed appreciatively as he took in her appearance. "A bit young, aren't you?" He asked conversationally.

She figured he must have noticed the insignia. It was hard to miss, after all. "I just graduated," she lied, although convincingly. "And I can't really afford that sword," she motioned to the blade he had indicated.

"Ah yes. The poverty of the fresh." He smiled as if remembering a fond memory before shaking his hair back and offering her the same gloved hand. "Bemarthas Evenglow," he introduced, giving her yet another winning smile.

Alara, having grown up around her own kind, found him rather normal looking and nothing overly exceptional. But in the Barrens, he must've looked like a jewel amongst the dirt of the rest of the Horde. She wondered if he'd gotten a big head from being around the uglier races. Probably. She returned his handshake. "Alara Starblaze," she supplied, pulling the name out of her rear. It would not be wise to give her real family, nor would it be smart to give him Jarreth's surname.

"Anyway," she continued, still sizing up the sword in her hand. "This one will do just fine until I make some more money. My old one broke." Another lie. She was getting good at that.

"Fighting those brigands?" Bemarthas asked as he perused the store himself. She took a moment to size him up. By the garb, he didn't appear to be a Knight. He did know about swords, however. Just because one did not wear the insignia, however, did not mean they weren't of the Knights. The way he moved suggested he was a seasoned fighter.

"No. Just in town to meet a friend." Alara set the sword on the counter and, just for curiosity sake, asked to see the one Bemarthas pointed out. The goblin handed it over, attempting to smile in a friendly fashion. It looked more like a constipated grimace to the blood elf but she kept her face neutral while she examined the blade. It was superior to the other one, which would explain the price tag.

Checking her purse, Alara sighed. She really couldn't afford to splurge yet. Maybe once Jarreth's bank account was transferred over, she could buy the better one. For now, the first sword would do. She paid the goblin, strapped the sheath to her waist, and held a hand up in farewell to the other elf. She moved quickly from the shop toward a clothier. She did need a good cape.

What she didn't need, and hadn't counted on, was Bemarthas following her. Once in the clothier, the process of picking the right cloak started again. Her little shadow commented on the qualities of each she looked at and continued to suggest alternatives. At one point, he mentioned how the red one really didn't go well with her complexion and she almost socked the other elf. Were here kind really this annoying and self centered? What the hell did he want?

Almost out of spite, and the fact that it was the best one she could buy for the price she was willing to pay, Alara purchased the red cloak, clipped it around her shoulders, and strode out of the shop without a word to Bemarthas.

The sot still followed. Finally, halfway to the docks – she could smell cooking fish and wanted to see if she could perhaps buy a fish on a skewer for lunch – she spun around and confronted the blood elf. "May I help you with something?"

He had the gall to look taken aback. "A young lady by herself in a town like this… I figured you'd like a friend to keep you company."

"What part of 'meeting a friend' didn't you get?" she grumbled, folding her arms. "Listen, I appreciate the gesture, but you're starting to creep me out a little and I don't appreciate _that_ one bit."

"My apologies." Bemarthas bowed with a sweeping gesture. "Perhaps we should start again. Would you care for some company while you explore this town? I've been here before a number of times and could show you around."

"Thank you, no. I'm fine," she replied tersely. What in the world was wrong with this guy? "Good day." She spun on her heel and marched off toward the docks once more. A glance over her shoulder proved he was still following her. A prickle started to form at the base of her neck. Maybe he hadn't seen another blood elf for a while and was lonely? Or maybe he had some ulterior motives. That thought did not sit well in her stomach.

Reaching the docks, Alara found the fish vendor and bought the treat she was craving. There were a number of other people, all races from every area, milling around waiting for a boat. She watched them curiously as they jockeyed for position and scuffled amongst the different factions. Eating her fish, she didn't really notice that Bemarthas stood beside her until he offered her a drink from a flask he carried. She declined, the skin on her neck standing up at attention. Why wouldn't he just leave her alone?

"I have to get back to my friends," she murmured and left quickly, throwing her skewer in a box next to the fish-stand filled with similarly chewed sticks. Moving quickly through the crowds, the young woman attempted to ditch the parasite that kept following her.

Ratchet, although not big, can be a little confusing if you take a wrong turn. Alara, doing just that in hopes of shaking the leech, managed to find herself in a series of back alleys that were in no way familiar. Words that would have made a sailor blush left her lips as she turned a corner and ran right into Bemarthas. He grabbed her upper arms to steady her and laughed at the startled and indignant look on her face.

"Let me go," she growled, pulled back slightly. When he didn't release her, she felt a knot form in her stomach. This was not a very good situation to be in.

"Now. I've been nothing but cordial to you, young lady," he replied lightly, gripping her a bit harder than she thought necessary. "And you've managed to shun me at every turn. I can't imagine why someone like you would be so unwilling to make friends."

"I like to keep to myself. Now release me or you'll be in some trouble."

"Empty threats don't become you," he replied, smirking. "I think you'd do better to just do as I ask. You're not in any position to be making requests."

"And you're not in any position to be manhandling my wife."

Bemarthas' expression would have been comical if the situation wasn't as it was. Alara watched with an amused expression as the blood elf was lifted off his feet by the back of his collar by a taller Jarreth. The night elf may have been small for his race, but he was still a head taller than any blood elf Alara had ever met.

The male blood elf spun slightly in the grasp of the other man and, flailing a bit, managed to get a hold of Jarreth's wrist. Shifting slightly, the hunter's other hand came to grip the blood elf by the throat and slam him backwards against the side of one of the buildings creating the alley. Holding him up against the wall, Jarreth, who was now cloaked, glared out from the shadow of his hood at the confused and slightly terrified man he held aloft.

"Mind telling me," Jarreth asked in low and dangerous orcish, "what you think you were doing?"

Cloaked though he was, it was obvious to an observant person what he was. "None of your business, Dirt-Elf," the other spat, struggling against the hand at his throat. "At least not any more. She's spoiled anyway."

"Oh, that was the wrong thing to say," Jarreth replied darkly, squeezing his hand a bit and causing the other to wheeze.

"Filthy, dirty creature," Bemarthas snarled, spitting at Jarreth. A hand came up and wiped the spittle away from where it landed on the night elf's cheek.

"Hm. You're not very cooperative. Oh well." With a swift, strong movement, Jarreth pulled the man away from the wall and slammed him backwards, clonking his head on the bricks. Releasing the body, Bemarthas slumped to the ground in an ungainly heap.

Alara, hands over her mouth, stared at the body then at Jarreth. "Is he…?"

Studying the blood on the back of the blood elf's head, Jarreth pressed his lips together and then checked for a pulse. "Dead? Yes. And we're better off for it. Pirates are not exactly liked around here. No one will miss him."

"Pirate?" Alara gazed down at the corpse and swallowed thickly. "How can you tell?"

"Unless he likes to play dress up, those clothing and that sword, and the tattoo here on the back of his neck, indicate he's part of those low lives that lurk at the edge of this town." Jarreth showed her what he meant and she breathed out a low breath.

"What is it with people trying to take me in as a slave?" she asked darkly, feeling the urge to spit on Bemarthas' body.

"You're attractive and young." Jarreth dug through the dead man's pockets quickly, looting him. Alara didn't say anything except to avoid the waterskin.

"He offered it to me on the docks. I wouldn't trust it."

Jarreth nodded and pocketed the money the man was carrying but left everything else. "We'd best get back to the inn before any of his friends find him. This might not bode well for our stay. You're not going out alone anymore, either."

Alara didn't argue as they left the alley and stepped back into the light of the town. Ignoring anyone around them, the two made their way together back to the inn. As they walked, another thought occurred to Alara.

"So…" she started as they ascended the hill that led to the inn. "Wife?" She gave him a sly look and raised an eyebrow.

"Sounded good at the time?" He smiled meekly back and reached for her hand. She obliged with a smile of her own. "Maybe once we're settled wherever we settle?"

"If you behave yourself, maybe," she replied, teasing. They had more important problems on their hands, however, than future plans of that sort. They had to find Melanda and figure out where they were going. Bemarthas was too close of a call for their liking. If one pirate found her enticing, more surely would.

* * *

Dargatha was angry. That wasn't unusual for him, but he was still angry. Most of Astranaar was destroyed. His brother was missing, presumably dead. He had helped the survivors clean up the town and bury their dead but he still could not find a body for his brother. He feared that the Sunshades had taken it as a trophy. More than once he came across a headless body that may well have been his brother. He couldn't tell.

Dejected, the slaver headed home. He had to report his brother's disappearance to their head of household. Ashanil would not be pleased. He'd not only lost his brother, but he'd lost his entire line of slaves. At least, he reflected as he traveled toward Darnassus, that orc hadn't made it alive. He was the only one, however, that they'd found and he had been dead for a long time.

The journey home was, in itself, uneventful. Dargatha spent the days yelling at nothing and slicing small trees into little pieces as his anger vented. He was not at all looking forward to having to tell Ashanil that he managed to lose their brother.

When the boat brought him into site of Darnassus, Dargatha's stomach sank into his feet. On the docks, standing tall amongst other members of their kin, was his sister. She had apparently heard he was coming. That witch knew everything and it was unnerving to have her standing serenely there, white hair billowing around her ankles as her robes fluttered against her legs.

The creak of wood and calls of the sailors rang through the air as the boat bumped lightly against the side of the dock. Dargatha, already standing, made his way to the gangplank and stepped down onto the warf where his family awaited. Ashanil's eyes were passive and cold. He bowed to his elder sister and waited with held breath for her to speak first.

"Where is Jarreth?" The words left the woman's lips like a whisper of breeze, falling on Dargatha like a lead weight.

"I think he's been killed by blood elves," Dargatha replied, looking anywhere but directly at Ashanil. He heard her sharp intake of breath and studied his boots as if they truly did intrigue him.

"You _think_ but do not know?" came the next question. "Look at me." The command was not lost on Dargatha and the night elf lifted his gaze to look into the pearly orbs of his sister. "How can you not know?" Before he could say another word, however, the woman turned on her heel and strolled through the crowd, which parted immediate to allow her passage. Still feeling rather queasy, Dargatha followed behind her. "I can tell there is much we must discuss," she continued as they walked. "We will retire to our family estate and you will tell me every detail of what you remember and know. Leave anything out and I will be forced to retrieve it. Are we clear?"

"Yes, my lady," Dargatha mumbled, terror creeping up his spine to settle between his shoulder blades. The last thing anyone wanted was Ashanil digging through their minds. It was a hideous experience and left most too weak to move for a good couple days. Dargatha had never undergone one of her scans before and did not like the idea of having it done to him one bit.

* * *

**AN:** I do hope you enjoyed this chapter. I took more time on it and I think it came out rather nicely, personally. Please slide your comments under the door. Thanks for reading! And we finally see Dargatha again… and Jarreth's sister Ashanil! Yay! And sorry about the crappy title... my mind just couldn't come up with anything better. 


	14. Set Backs

**AN:** Well, sorry about the long wait. I've been letting the story stew for a little bit in hopes that I get some good inspiration on how to say what it is I want to say in the story. I have the ideas there, just not the vocab to get it across, hehe. Hopefully the hiatus has helped and I'll be able to clearly get across this next chapter.

Also, between being pregnant (I'm due in Feb  ), working, and school, I'm in a perpetual state of exhaustion. So I just haven't had to will to sit down and work on any of my stories. Anyway….

Credits!

**Ector:** Thank you. I'm glad I rank up there with your list of more experienced authors. I'm glad to hear that you're improving.

**Illidan: **Thank you and good luck with your story! I'll read it soon as you send it.

**ReviewerZ: **Thanks very much!

**Kairiku Aura: **Yeah, Jarreth's sister is a little bit scary, isn't she?

**Draknal: **Yes, Ashanil is not a force to recon with. However, I have even more devious things up my sleeve besides more family bickering.

**Fluttercanon: **Thanks much, hope you enjoy this next chapter, too!

**Hawki: **I do so enjoy reading your reviews. I realize that the bank system is still a bit game-ish, but I really couldn't think of a better way for them to transfer items long distances. I suppose I thought goblins, being the inventive sort, would have figured out some sort of teleportation device, hehe. But other than that, the transfer is indeed more of a plot device than a commentary on game play. And yay! I'm… average…? Hehe, just kidding. I understood exactly what you meant about the middle ground. I don't want to throw them into any sort of physical scene as the time is not right for that sort of expression. I don't write smut for smut's sake. I like to take my time. There's more to life than snogging! Hehe, anyway. As usual, you're comments have left me with more to think on and have helped me develop my story better. Thanks! And we'll see about Ashanil…

**Bigshiro: **Thank you very much. I'm glad you like it!

**Kenakamatsu: **Oh, don't worry. There is still much planned on this fic. It's not nearly over yet!

**Attonlover and BunnyChan Moody: **I think I'm going to abbreviate your name for future credits… I'll just call you A&BCM. That'll save a lot of room, hehe. Thanks for reviewing! I'm glad you double checked and decided to leave a note!

**Xoroth: **Why thank you! I appreciate your comment and I'm glad you're reading! Things are, indeed, heating up.

**Crimson: **Your review reminded me of what I used to eat way to many pixie-sticks, hehe. Thanks for the comment and there may well be more pirate bashing to come!

**K.Bond: **Hope you had fun on your vacation! Thanks for reading!

**Channon: **When I originally created Pasanyan, I had more ideas for him than I've shown. I have been thinking about him, though, and I'm fairly certain we will be seeing him again, hehe.

**Inkheart: **Thank you for reviewing! I'm glad you decided to check out my fic. I suppose I was being slightly hypocritical about not giving more description of the surrounding areas so readers who have never been to these places would have a better visual, hehe. Oversight on my part, indeed! As far as length, I don't believe I have ever had a request for a _shorter_ chapter before! That's definitely a first. Unfortunately, my chapters tend to be however long my fingers make them. I try to get at least ten pages in before I post, but sometimes it's more like eight and sometimes it's upwards to fifteen. I can't promise any sort of length but I appreciate your suggestions greatly! Thanks again for reviewing; I'm really glad you like it!

**Namine:** Thank you for your review. I'm glad you like it. You will see Melanda again very soon. And, except for small roles, I haven't planned on using many Forsaken in major spots. Maybe one. I hadn't really planned for it, anyway.

**Whitedragon254: **Thanks much! I appreciate it.

**Soranda: **Anytime I can make someone purr over my writing is a good day. Thanks!

**Teh Tawney: **Thank you for the very enthusiastic review, hehe.

**Chapter Fourteen: Set Backs**

"I don't think it's a good idea for you to leave the inn any longer."

Alara looked up from a map she was studying on the small, round table. Jarreth, standing with his arms folded, gazed out the window across the room, not looking at the woman who's questioning stare met the back of his head.

"Excuse me?" she asked after a moment. She was pretty sure she had heard him correctly but wanted to make sure she hadn't imagined it.

"It's getting too dangerous the longer we stay here. I don't want another incident like the one last week." Jarreth finally turned his head to meet her emerald gaze and sighed. "The number of pirates in town has increased since I killed that creep and, even if you were out with me, I don't know if I'd be able to protect you well enough."

"You're being paranoid," Alara replied, pulling a face at him. "Melanda should be here soon and then we can move on."

"You keep saying that, but where is she?" Jarreth's eyes turned back to the town below them. He furrowed his brow as he watched people from all different races mill below on their ways to and from the docks.

"She'll come," Alara murmured stubbornly, returning to her map as he had to his window. '_If she doesn't, we'll figure something else out,'_ she added silently.

Alara had decided that it would be a good idea to get a better mind for the lay out of the area they were in. She had never been to this continent before and had very little knowledge about the countries or terrain therein. For all navigational purposes, she figured it would be smart to know where they were going and how best to get there. When she had expressed her idea to Jarreth, he had readily agreed and pulled a map out of his backpack. The few items he had transferred had arrived a few days ago and apparently he had thought a map would be a wise choice as well.

Erring on the side of caution, Jarreth decided to only transfer a few vital items that would be helpful to them. Having all of his possessions would do him little good. What use was a medal in archery when it was just more weight to carry? Instead, he opted to withdraw just the money he had saved and the weapons he had banked for emergencies. Everything else, they could buy or make as they went along.

Alara's stomach growled, disrupting her memorization of the spires of Thousand Needles. Looking around their small room, Alara noted that their food store was pitifully low. Standing, the chair scraped lightly against the rough floor boards. "If it's okay, I'm going to get something from the innkeeper."

Jarreth glanced over his shoulder and gave her a small nod. Their inn seemed relatively safe as Diego prowled outside.

Moving quietly, the young woman passed along the hallway toward the stairs. She could smell roasting pork and figured the nightly meal would probably be some sort of spitted boar. With a little bit of copper, she would be able to secure a chunk of it. She paused, however, when her feet touched the top stair and a voice reached her ears.

"…so if you'd kindly tell us if you know of these strangers, we'd be greatly obliged."

Crouching on the top of the stairwell, Alara peered over the railing far enough to get a glimpse of the common room below. A few men, humans by the look of them, leaned across the counter, attempting to stare down the bored-looking goblin. They were dressed similarly to that blood elf, causing Alara to suppress a shudder. Pirates.

"I don't know what you're talking about," the innkeeper was replying, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. "Don't have many patrons anymore. Would know if I saw them."

"C'mon, imp," the ring leader growled, leaning even further across the counter. "They wouldn't be hard to miss, now would they? A blood elf lass with a night elf?"

Alara saw the innkeeper's eyes narrow at being called an 'imp.' "Well, then. If I did see such a thing, wouldn't you reckon I'd remember it? You seem so keen on finding these folks that you think you can threaten me into telling you I've seen them when I haven't? Ain't none of my business why you're getting so worked up but take it out of my inn." The goblin pointed toward the front doors with a thick-nailed finger. By the way he said it, it was obvious it wasn't a suggestion.

Pushing himself from the counter, the man glowered at the goblin before beckoning for his men to follow. Turning once at the door, the ring leader called back. "If I find you're hiding these fugitives…"

Alara didn't wait to find out what he was going to do before creeping back up to the landing and moving as quickly as she could back to their room.

The moment she entered and quickly latched the door, Jarreth knew something was not quite right. Firstly, she hadn't returned with anything and, since obtaining food had been her goal, it seemed a little odd that she come back empty handed. Secondly, she was white as a sheet.

"What-?"

"Pirates," Alara cut him off with a grimace. "That goblin is a lifesaver, covered for us. We really need to get out of here." Jarreth, moving quickly from where he leaned by the window, took a firm hold of the woman and pulled her against his chest.

"Tell me what you heard and we'll go from there."

Nodding against his shirt, Alara related the details of her spying. A new plan was going to be needed and soon.

* * *

Melanda could have sworn, if she ever did that sort of thing. The last few weeks had been nothing but one set-back after another. First, upon reaching the small gathering of dwellings and businesses in a remote reach of Mulgore that she called home, she was bombarded by questions about her disappearance and her terrible state of attire. When she had explained what had happened they had, of course, been appalled. 

An initial few days of recovery were followed by the usual demand for her services by the townsfolk. She obliged readily but reminded them that she would be leaving in a few days to retrieve some new members of their community. Although curious, the townsfolk refrained from asking too many questions. They had all come to this place to escape and knew what it was like to have secrets and want privacy.

Melanda lived and worked in a small town simply known as Peace. It was, perhaps, a play on words as many of the villagers wanted only to "live in peace" and chuckled at the old joke that they now truly did. It was an odd conglomerate of species mixing their cultures and styles together into a mess that seemed to somehow work and add charm to the village. This, Melanda often told herself, was how everyone should live: With each other in harmony.

Peace was often interrupted with groups of species or faction-specific warriors looking to cause a little trouble for the townsfolk. Their pestering was often met with hostility and the local militia did a fair job of keeping them at bay. Thankfully, most of the higher ranking soldiers in the world either didn't know about them, or didn't care. Peace was a small community and not really worth the trouble.

When enough time had passed to allow Alara to reach Ratchet, Melanda decided it was time to head out. Peace had two flight-masters, thankfully. A long story involving their meeting and agreeing to move together to a more friendly location was another tale but either way they both ended up in Peace. When Melanda went to book a flight to Ratchet, however, her second bit of misfortune hit. The only beast large enough to fly her out of there was currently suckling young and couldn't leave.

Shrugging it off, Melanda went to the stables instead. Her kodo would be well rested and probably wanted the chance to get some exercise. Saddled and ready, Melanda waved goodbye to her people and took off toward the south-east. She returned to Peace about an hour later when the kodo, not having been maintained in her long absence, severely cracked a nail that had been too long. She would have to hoof-it.

Long walks and druids went hand-in-hand so, shouldering her backpack, Melanda resolved herself to walk to the nearest town with a flight path and a beast large enough for her. Even with that plan, she would be walking for a few days.

She was terribly behind schedule when she finally reached Thunder Bluff. As far as anyone knew, this was the only port close to Peace that had enough beasts to support the weight of more than one bulky tauren. Most places only had one wyvern or such creature capable of taking the mass and if it was already out flying someone, you could have a potentially long wait ahead of you before you could leave.

Seated atop the large lion-esque creature, Melanda shifted uncomfortably as it prepared to take flight. Of all methods of travel, this was perhaps her least favorite. Knowing she would be in the air, the druid had made doubly sure to eat a very light breakfast. Airsickness atop a living creature was not such a good idea when it could dump you should it find such an action more preferable to carrying you.

The flight itself went relatively smoothly. Aside from some turbulence upon arrival to Camp Turajo, it was not all that exciting of a flight. Switching beasts at the camp, however, did not run as effortlessly. Their fliers were all out at the moment and Melanda, even though she had a fully paid ticket all the way to Ratchet, would have to wait until one returned and was rested enough to carry her the rest of the distance to the port.

Grinding her teeth, the cow went to the inn to have a sit and a drink. She contemplated walking the rest of the way, perhaps even transforming for part of the journey. She wasn't too keen on that idea, however. It took a considerable amount of concentration to maintain her alternate forms and she didn't want to arrive in Ratchet completely exhausted.

After a few more jugs of mead, Melanda made the executive decision to stay the night and hope that her original mount was rested enough by the morning to continue the flight. Or, perhaps, that one of the others had returned and would be equally ready to carry her.

Easing into her hammock, Melanda stared up at the ceiling and pondered what lay ahead of her. She hoped that Alara had made it safely to Ratchet with the night elf. If they were smart – and Melanda knew Jarreth to be intelligent enough if he was able to learn Orcish without the atrocious accent most had – they would be laying low and keeping themselves on a low profile. She really didn't want to arrive in the middle of some sort of drama.

* * *

"We could take a boat across the ocean to Booty Bay," Alara suggested, tracing her slender finger along the map, lips turned down in an unconscious frown as she poured over the countries with Jarreth that evening. Once things had cooled down a bit, Alara had returned to the common room and bought a few cuts of the pork as well as a bottle of wine. The innkeeper had said nothing to her about the earlier encounter so she as well played dumb and pretended that she had no idea the pirates were looking for her. 

Now, as their candle burned lower, the two elves murmured in low tones about what exactly they planned to do next.

"Probably not a good idea," Jarreth was saying, sipping thoughtfully on his glass of wine. "More pirates there than here. Although I doubt their affiliated, I'd rather stay away from any sort of brigand after what's happened here."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Alara nodded and looked at the map again. "Gadgetzhan? That's mostly neutral."

Jarreth shifted uncomfortably as he digested that suggestion. "Could you stand living in the desert for the rest of your life?" he asked finally once she raised an eyebrow at his fidgeting.

"No," she answered honestly, relief apparent on her face that he felt the same as she about that idea. Elves, regardless of the kind, were typically more at home near trees than sand. "I'm just saying maybe it's safer than staying here. We could fly there and then try to figure out a better plan. There's got to be more places where we could go."

"Well..." Jarreth set his glass down carefully and leaned forward across the table to scan the map. "There is also Moonglade, although we wouldn't be able to live there permanently, I don't believe."

Alara furrowed her brow as she followed his hand to a northern country far above where they currently were. "I haven't heard of that," she admitted after looking over the small, mountain-bordered country.

"It's a bit like a hidey-hole for druidic hermits. I have an uncle that has spent half his life up there studying some rare flower. I'm sure you've seen the circles of light during the Festival when the elders walk again."

"Well, of course." Alara sighed and put her chin in her hand. "I wasn't old enough during the last Festival to gain access to the lights."

"Ah." Jarreth shifted again, ignoring the reminder of her youth. "Well, those circles of light take you to Moonglade where you can basically party in peace with any other faction you wish. The druids of Moonglade are peaceful so they gladly host the event in one of their groves so long as everyone remains amicable toward one another. You can even buy part favors and festival dress from them if you've gotten enough tokens from the elder spirits. When it comes around again, I'll take you. As druids, however, getting to Moonglade may be more trouble than it's worth as we're not part of the Circle."

"I see. Then how do you suppose we get up there?" She raised her eyebrows at him, indicating she thought it silly that he brought up the idea without thinking it was actually an option.

"I could send a letter to my uncle," the night elf supplied. "He's be ostracized from the family for years for living with the tauren druids. One of those black sheep every family has."

"Two in your case, it would seem," Alara teased, poking him lightly on the arm before looking back to the map. "Anyway, it wouldn't hurt to see if he can put us up for a little bit while we get back on our feet and find a better plan. Almost anywhere has got to be better than this place."

Jarreth nodded and picked up his glass again. Swirling the wine around, the elder elf sighed and closed his eyes. "I'll write the letter and mail it tomorrow. I'll try to do so at some ungodly hour so I can escape the eyes of our pirates. As persistent as they were to come here looking for us, they obviously aren't that dedicated to our deaths or they'd have stormed the inn and just taken us already."

"You probably just shook the hive up by killing that elf," Alara agreed. "It's more of a pride issue to find us than an actual goal. They're probably bored."

"Let's hope they find something else to occupy themselves then while we make our escape." Jarreth opened his eyes and downed the rest of his wine in a single gulp. Setting the glass back on the table with a light clink, he held his hand out to the younger elf and smiled. "I do believe it is much too late for either of us to be up now, don't you think?"

She returned his smile willingly and allowed him to help her up from her chair. Feeling a bit light headed from the wine and content that they'd come up with an alternate plan than waiting around for a cow that may not be coming, she followed him eagerly to their warm, inviting bed.

* * *

Dargatha sat uncomfortably in his sister's study. Everything smelled of age and dust and he wondered why she didn't hire a maid to take care of the dwelling. It bothered his nose and he felt himself on the verge of sneezing many times while he nervously awaited his sister's arrival. He hated having to visit her private rooms for this reason. She always made some sort of ordeal out of it and he was pretty sure she did so just to see her victims squirm. 

After what seemed like an eternity to the warrior, the door to the study creaked open and Ashanil swept in, her robes billowing around her ankles as she moved swiftly. She latched the door after closing it, allowing the ominous click to be heard by her brother before turning to him. Eyes half hooded, she stood with her hands folded into her sleeves and merely watched him as he attempted to look anywhere but directly at her.

"I don't hear you explaining," she murmured after the silence seemed to stretch to unbearable lengths.

Dargatha swallowed and, bracing himself for any sort of outburst he may receive, related to his sister the story of their most recent slaving. "Last time I saw him, he was racing toward the center of town. Then, I lost track of him in the fray and couldn't locate his body afterwards."

The study descended into silence once more as Ashanil contemplated his words. "Not a single clue about his whereabouts?" Her voice cut through him and he shivered involuntarily. "Not a shred of clothing or foot print? Did you even look?"

"I found his axes and his horse," Dargatha supplied weakly. "There was blood on his weapons."

"Did you find Deigo?"

Again, Dargatha flinched. "No. The cat was not there either."

"Is that all the details you can give me?" Ashanil walked toward her seated brother with slow, deliberate steps. He could feel a chill coming toward him from his white-clad sister. There were reasons besides ages that she had gained hold as head of their family. She was, by far, one of the most intimidating people Dargatha had ever known. "You're certain you haven't left any possibly important bit of information out?" Towering over him, Ashanil looked down her nose to where he sat trembling. "Do you wish for me to extract the rest of the information?"

"No!" Dargatha held his hands up defensively, racking his brain to think of anything he may have left out. "I swear that's all I know."

"Hm." Ashanil moved slowly away from him, wandering around her study in what seemed like an aimless manor while she thought. "I truly doubt, Brother-Dear," her quiet voice cut through him as she used the endearing term in sarcasm, "that Jarreth is no longer living."

Dargatha said nothing, watching her carefully out of the corner of his eye. He was certain she would elaborate in her own time if he remained mute. His prediction proved true after another agonizingly long bout of silence.

"Tell me, Dargatha." Ashanil spun on her heel suddenly and stuck her brother with a piercing gaze. "If Jarreth were dead, why wouldn't you have found Deigo or Deigo's body? Did it ever occur to you that the cat would not just run off if his master was killed?"

The warrior opened his mouth as if to reply but found nothing coming out. That had not occurred to him. It had been said that he wasn't the smartest of the night elves.

"I didn't think you'd be able to come to that conclusion yourself," Ashanil scoffed. "That's why you come to me, Brother." Walking back to him, the woman patted him condescendingly on the head as if he were a puppy. "You wouldn't have been able to make the connections necessary." Ashanil continued her pacing.

"Now," she murmured as if musing aloud, "You mentioned that all this trouble was caused when this blood-traitor was captured. Did you find her body?"

"No. Her family rescued her." Dargatha growled slightly under his breath at the thought of Alara.

"How did Jarreth treat her?" Ashanil asked next, spinning again in place to face her brother.

"Too nicely," he replied darkly. "Damn near pampered her compared to the others."

"Hm." Ashanil placed her slender hand to her chin and gazed over the top of Dargatha's head. "This is a most perplexing problem we have come up with. Don't you agree?"

Although he did not know what she was talking about, he agreed none-the-less. Ashanil ignored him. She knew well enough that he had no clue.

"If they had captured him to make him suffer for her capture, Deigo would have been killed. I truly doubt those raiding blood-traitors would have taken the cat. So that leaves us with the question of this: If no evidence of his body or his companion animal was found, where did he go?" For the first time since entering the room, Ashanil sat. Arranging her robes around her so they did not bunch or wrinkle, the night elf took her time before talking again.

"I knew he was discontent with your trade but I did not think him capable of running off without coming home to settle his affairs or tell us where he was heading. What could have caused him to leave without a word?" The pale gaze of the elder elf settled itself on Dargatha. She raised a silver brow and waited for some sort of input from her brother.

"I don't know?" he offered weakly. If Jarreth were here, he'd be able to discover where he'd gone. That frustrated Dargatha. Even though he tried, he could not muster enough brain power to figure the question out.

"I'll tell you what we must do now," Ashanil spoke, the contempt in her voice not hidden. "You will go about your business as if nothing has changed. For now, let them believe what they will about your brother's disappearance. Meanwhile, based on his assumed death, we'll send scouts to better search the area around Astanaar for clues to his absence. I will send my personal hunters to do so. If they find anything, we will at least be a step closer than you were able to bring us. Meanwhile, you are not allowed to leave the city until I tell you so. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly," Dargatha replied sullenly. He did not much like that idea but knew better than to disobey his sister.


	15. The Unlucky

**AN: ** Feels good to be back at this whole writing gig. Here's to those who commented after chapter 14 was published! I hope you continue to read after this. For those confused about the lack of my presence, my husband and I lost the baby in October, which put me off of writing for a long time. Then, recently as of December, we became pregnant once more. This has definitely upped my spirits and my will to write has more or less returned. Hopefully I haven't gotten too rusty in my absence. Forgive my craptastic title. I couldn't think of anything better. 

**Illidan182: **Thanks for the enthusiastic review!

**Xoroth: **I wonder much the same myself from time to time… hehe, just teasing. You'll see…

**Link'n'Ivy: **To answer your questions: 23, thanks, who knows… my updates are sort've sporadic. The best way to find out why and when is by checking my profile. I'll usually put something up there regarding how far along I am on the next chapter.

**Inkhart37: **Thanks much, they should be meeting up pretty soon.

**Leisie: **Ashanil has definitely gathered a following (positive and/or negative that it may be). I'd be careful about glomping her, though. I'm sure she wouldn't like it much.

**A&BCM: **(You know who you are!) Hehe, with an extensive name like that it's easiest for me to abbreviate! Now that I'm more or less back, I'll try to take a look at your story.

**Hawki: **(Opens mouth to explain time issue… snaps it shut… bangs head on keyboard). You know, I very much overlooked the time-elapsing error when I wrote that. I feel a bit silly now but I think I'll mostly ignore that individual lapse and attempt not the let it happen again. Thanks very much for pointing it out! I don't believe I would have noticed it on my own for a very long time. As usual, thank you for your frank and helpful reviews.

**Ride4Ruin: **Ashanil is a worry, isn't she? I hope she continues to get people's attention.

**Alyssa Raven: **I hope you keep reading. Thanks for the kind remarks.

**Zamiel Talone: **I sent you a message but I'll kind of repeat it here, too. It is quite a coincidence. I'm sure we don't share a server however. Actually, my main (whose name I did not use a random generator for) shares her name with at least six others on different servers. Gotta love overlap, hehe.

**Saggaroth: **Thanks! I hope you'll still read it.

**Ranko Lina Inverse:**Hey, thanks a bunch!

**Moose: **Love that name! Thanks for reading.

**Feareth the Kitty: **I love thesauruses. They are a great tool for any aspiring writer, so long as they don't get too carried away, hehe. Thanks for the lovely comments. Actually, that is part of the reason why I started writing again. It kicked me out of my slump to get a random review after months of hiatus. Thanks again, I hope you keep reading.

**Chapter Fifteen: The Unlucky**

Belarethil stood in the center of his work room, staring with a dark scowl at the scattered pieces of parchment that covered the central desk. His chair sat, forgotten for the moment, to one side as if he had pushed it away quickly in his disgust. He was, to be blunt, in a very bad mood.

The return of the Sunshade family had posed a particularly annoying problem to his current plotting. The mage had planned for months and now the fruits of his endeavors were about to be squashed like overripe plums. Steelgrope's dwarves had not moved as quickly as anticipated and were just now at the edges of Eversong Woods. They were _supposed_ to already be in position. Belarethil had hoped that the Sunshades would have taken a lot longer to find the brat and would not return until _after _Belarethil had gained control of the armed forces of the city.

Now his options were limited to waiting until Daveious and the others dispersed again before staging the coup. He would have to rely on the efficiency of the dwarves to overthrow the city before the Sunshades could be alerted to the attack and come racing back.

Or – and this option left a bad taste in the back of Belarethil's mouth – he could try to eliminate the Sunshades before they could cause any problems. That was a lot easier said than done. There were a good number of them, all of which were competent fighters. He would need a lot of help and no one beside the dwarves would be able to aid him in such a task.

His last option was to possibly create a diversion that would allow the dwarves to attack Silvermoon whilst most of the city guards were preoccupied elsewhere. He had no clue what event could cause such a lax in watchfulness. He would have to go over his notes and find something useful in there.

Belarethil hooked the leg of his chair with a foot and dragged it quickly beneath him. With a soft 'fwumph' the mage landed squarely on the seat and started shuffling through the pages. When was the last time that the city was left mostly unguarded? He frowned deeply and tossed a few pages to one side. Festivals, usually, he admitted. Well, that wouldn't work. The mage had no reason to suggest they throw a large block party within the city walls, or even outside of them. His cousin may have had his gatherings constantly, but it wasn't large enough to draw the entire army out of the city and leave it defenseless.

Setting his forehead against the table, Belarethil dropped his pages and rang fingers through his hair. He had a week to figure something out before the Sunshades dispersed. If that happened, he would be forced to go through with the first plan… unless he could find a way to keep them in the city until he had a breakthrough. Groaning, Belarethil banged a fist on his desk and sat up. What he really needed was a drink.

* * *

Baraneus was no happier than Belarethil. If the two of them had been in the same room, their dour expressions would have lit the curtains a-fire. Currently, Baraneus strolled through the woods near the city, glaring at anything that dared look his way. He had long since grown tired of slaying weak creatures to vent his rage. It hadn't helped anyway.

That morning, Fellias had gone to the city to report their findings to her superiors for official record. She had told them exactly what the rest of the family had decided: Alara had left of her own free will and, as an adult, decided not to return with her family. Fellias had also reported the successful raid on Astranaar. She had not, of course, mentioned that Alara had run off with a filthy dirt-elf, flaunting the ways of her people and disgracing her family.

Baraneus spat into the grass with an angry grunt. Of course she wouldn't have told them about her traitorous part in the whole charade, or how the rest of their family had agreed not to mention the night elf. It made Baraneus' blood boil at the very thought of what they were getting away with. Someone needed to be punished. Why couldn't they see that? Fellias was just as guilty as Alara and they were all just going to ignore it as though it never happened.

More than once Baraneus was tempted to call Fellias out on it, but he knew that would be impossible. Even if he went behind her back and tried to tell one of the officials, they would never believe him. It was his word against the rest of his family. Plus, his blood-thirsty nature would be used against him. It wouldn't be the first time any of his reports had been dismissed due to that particular personality flaw. His higher-ups knew very well that the Blood Knight had a bad temper and could blow things way out of proportion.

If he dared to try and tell the rest of the world what Fellias had done, Daveious would undoubtedly come to her rescue. Between the two brothers, Daveious was far more trusted. His word would never be doubted.

Another wad of phlegm hit the grass with a gooey splat as Baraneus trudged toward the gates of Silvermoon. He needed a stiff drink and a dark corner to brood in. Perhaps an idea would come to him if he could get away from his family long enough.

* * *

The bright sunlight glinted off the spires and rooftops of Silvermoon causing the top of the city to glow like fire. To anyone who could view the spectacle, it would have been a beautiful sight. Although his window was high enough to see it, the elf who sat on the ledge ignored it as though it wasn't there.

Pasanyan had been back for about a week and, after a trip to the hospital to determine that he was more or less whole enough to function on his own, had retired to his apartments. For a long time he did not speak to anyone. He had no reason to. Pasanyan had never been overly sociable and detested the company of others. He found most people to be annoying.

However, after spending over a month strapped to a line with other creatures, he missed the silent company they had offered him. He found himself missing Melanda and her consistent, solid presence. He thought often of the cow and of Alara. Whenever his mind turned to Alara, though, it was with mixed emotions.

Alara had helped them escape. Without her ability to get out of the bindings, they would not have had much of a chance of fleeing during the raid. It had definitely subjected him to shame as his own escape abilities had been sub par. He had never been good at escape tactics while in training. He was forever grateful for her contributions to the morale of the slave line. Seeing someone of his own race had boosted his spirits, if only momentarily. Her behavior during the raid, however, left a knot in his stomach.

She had run off without them and had treated that damn slaver with familiarity. He hadn't ever thought about what happened when they had untied Alara to have her work around camp. Pasanyan had assumed some other ulterior motive on Jarreth's part, something more fitting of his ugly, cruel nature. Every time they had taken Alara, Pasanyan shuddered at the vile images that had flashed through his mind. Now, after having seen the way she acted when Jarreth burst into the barn, the blood elf had second thoughts.

He couldn't fathom why Alara would choose the slaver over her own freedom. There was no good in that creature. Perhaps Jarreth had enchanted her or coerced her to stay with him. For a long time, that had kept Pasanyan from complete bafflement. That had been shattered that very morning when news of Fellias' report filtered through town.

According to the reports, Alara had left of her own will. She was happy and had no intentions of returning. Furthermore, there was no mention of Jarreth as a night elf. There were some whisperings that she met an elf and decided to stay with him, but the type of elf was not expressed and the omitted information left a lump in Pasanyan's throat. The Sunshades were lying, deliberately covering up for their sister.

Sliding off the window sill, Pasanyan headed for his door. He definitely needed to get out for a little bit. He wasn't sure what exactly he was supposed to do about this situation but there was a measure of guilt lurking at the back of his mind. He had pertinent information that he was sure no one would believe. Not against the word of a Sunshade anyway. Maybe he could start a rumor around town about Jarreth's true identity. If there was reason for the officials to look further into the Sunshades' story, then maybe Pasanyan could come forward with the proper information and set the record straight.

Walking briskly down the stairs that led from his flat on the top floor to the residential street below, Pasanyan pondered the best way to start the rumor flowing. He knew it would have to involve interactions with others, but he would have to do what he must. That was, after all, what rogues did. By whatever means necessary, they would do what needed to be done. Reaching the street, the elf adjusted the sash tied around his head so that the empty socket of his left eye was completely covered. At least such an injury did lend him more notoriety among his kind. Nothing said dark and devious like missing an eye. At least, he reflected as he headed down the street, he could always take advantage of it and dress up as a pirate for Hallows Eve.

Pasanyan's feet took him to where he knew he needed to go, although he loathed the idea of it. A pub was the most fitting environment in which to spread tales of just about anything. Plus, with enough alcohol, people will believe anything you tell them and have no problem passing it along. In a matter of days, the rumor about Jarreth being a dirt-elf will have reached all the right people and Pasanyan could finally put his own guilt to rest.

Slipping into a seedy, dark bar near the edge of the city, Pasanyan allowed himself a moment for his eye to adjust to the dim before moving up to the bar and ordering himself a mild ale. He may be depending on the drunk to pass his words along, but there was no reason for him to get three sheets to the wind in the process. Sipping it lightly, he turned and leaned back against the bar, surveying the gathered dregs of society for the best possible options.

Among the patrons of the back alley business were a number of high born who chose to do their dirty dealings in the privacy of a place that didn't care. That was usual so Pasanyan didn't pay them much more heed than to note their attire and ponder the contents of their pockets. Perhaps, once his work was done, he would make a visit to those contents and see if there was anything worth pawning. He had money but no one was really opposed to getting more if the opportunity showed itself.

Pasanyan let his eye rove over more patrons and noted a number of whores chatting against the far wall. That had promise. Lips were usually loose when money was involved. Just as a prostitute could be hit up for useful information about his or her patrons, they could spread news to those patrons in casual conversation. Glancing at the state of these one's clothing, however, Pasanyan doubted they catered to the people that would really matter. Moving on.

A few merchants sat near the center of the bar playing a drinking game of stones and cups. The rogue turned to the tender and ordered a round to be sent to that table before moving forward to watch the proceedings of the game. Merchants were a good bet. They sold to just about any sort of patron and keeping up with current gossip was a great way to make a sale. They would be an excellent choice if he could get in with them.

He stood just close enough to acknowledge them when the waitress told them he had sent the drinks, but said nothing. With a wave of his hand, he indicated they should continue to play. He watched with a display of great interest. It was a game he had seen played before by goblins. They must have picked it up in one of the ports.

After some time, one of the merchants made a noise of disgust, threw his hands up, and pushed away from the table. Apparently, he had gone broke. That was the moment Pasanyan was waiting for. Quickly, before the others could figure out their next course of action, he moved to the vacated chair.

"I've been watching for some time and this looks fun. May I?" He placed a hand on the back of the empty chair and smiled in what he hoped was a blurry smile at the others. He took another swig of his ale for good measure. He watched through half lidded eyes as the merchants exchanged glances.

"By all means, Friend," one replied once they had come to a silent agreement. "Buy in is 1 gold in silver coins."

The coins hit the table with a cascading tinking and Pasanyan called for the wench to bring another round of beer to the table. He took up his cup and swept the small pile of bi-colored stone disks into it as the others did the same. With a count of three, they cupped their hands over the top, shook the stones, and turned the cups over so they covered the stones on the table. Pasanyan, being the new-comer, went first and declared there to be two white-tops in his cup and three black. Each of the three other merchants guessed if they could beat, tie, or did not have as many white-topped stones as the declarative guess. If they were right, they took a coin. If they were wrong, they lost one to the declarer. If Pasanyan guessed correctly about his stones, he gained an extra two coins from everyone else. There was no penalty for being wrong. It really was a game of chance but Pasanyan had very quick hands and when they didn't notice, flipped his stones as he unveiled them. He purposefully lost the first few rounds.

Monitoring his drinking, the rogue consumed much less alcohol than his compatriots but acted as though he had downed at least as many. Their table was becoming rambunctious as Pasanyan's careful efforts kept everyone more or less in the game. Each time cups were removed, yells of 'huzzah' or 'bullux' were shouted with much good humored laughing. They were starting to gain attention of some of those around them. The whores, sensing a possible business opportunity, had already moved within earshot and were cheering on the winners and calling condolences for the losers.

Conversation flowed freely around the table as money passed from hand to hand between rounds. With little nudges, the rogue shifted the conversation to current events from the discussion about cotton prices. When one demanded why he wasn't interested in cotton, the rogue laughed and said he couldn't make a bandage much less a dress. With a good humored slap to the merchant's shoulder, Pasanyan asked him about any gossip he had heard in his shop lately.

"Well," the merchant mused as he shook his cup. "The Sunshades are back in town," he offered, slamming the cup to the table as the others did. "Although it hasn't affected business any."

"Shame about that girl, eh?" another muttered, crossing his eyes to think for a moment before declaring four and one. "Probably a pretty thing, too, if her sisters' are anything to go by."

"Cha. Just up and left her family like that. Ungrateful is what I'd call her," the third grouched, staring at his cup as though he could look through it. "Less."

Pasanyan hid a smirk in his mug as he took another drink. They fell right into it without much effort on his part. "More," he guessed before continuing. "Do you believe what they told everyone?" he asked innocently as the last merchant also guessed more.

"What's that?" the first asked. He took a deep gulp of beer and counted to three. Cups were lifted. "Bullox," he growled. "Less." Coins were passed around again and the next round began.

"Well, just heard a rumor is all," Pasanyan muttered, shaking his cup with vigor. "Probably nothing serious."

The merchants looked interested but Pasanyan didn't elaborate on his own. A few more rounds passed before one of them finally broke and prompted the rogue for more information.

"Come off it now, Pan," the merchant cajoled in good nature. "You're not going to just leave it at that, are you?" The others agreed as Pasanyan's silver passed into their hands at his loss. "We get nothing but house wives in our cloth shops. We need a good one to pass along to them. Sales and all." The three shared a knowing smirk that Pasanyan mirrored.

"Well… this is what I heard but you didn't hear it from me…" Like candy from a baby.

* * *

The night wore on and, having lost his silver in a very calculated way, Pasanyan stood from the table, swaying slightly for good measure. He bid his fond farewells to the merchants, secure in their ability to pass along the juicy new information. Plus, other patrons had been listening in on their conversations once they had turned more interesting than trade negotiations. He left the bar as if drunk and stumbled along the alley a few feet. About to shake off the façade of inebriation, Pasanyan thought twice. He was being followed.

Stopping, Pasanyan leaned heavily against the side of the alley, feinting dizziness. Whoever was following him stopped as well, biding their time. If they were looking to take advantage of him, they had picked the wrong elf. Carefully, so as not to draw attention to the action, Pasanyan pulled a thin knife from his sleeve and held it carefully in his hand, hidden from view.

Slowly, as if still dizzy, the rogue used the wall for support and started making his way along the alley once more. The foot steps behind him were not those of a practiced thief or mugger. Whoever it was did not tread lightly.

Slipping quietly into another side alley, Pasanyan crouched in the shadows and waited to see if the not-so-successful stalker followed. When the figure turned the corner into the alley and took a few steps past the rogue's hiding place, the elf stood silently and threw his arm around the neck of the other elf, knife held tightly to the soft skin of the stalker's throat. "And what," Pasanyan breathed into the other elf's ear, "Do you think you'll accomplish by following me?"

A strong hand moved rapidly to grip Pasanyan's own, bending his hand down so that the knife no longer pricked the assailant's neck. Swiftly, the larger elf swung Pasanyan around and slammed him backwards into the wall of the alley, knocking the wind out of the rogue.

"The truth," was the stranger's reply. The knife dropped with a dull clink to the ground as Pasanyan felt his wrist start to creak under the pressure of the other's fist.

Blinking hazy dots from his vision, the rogue looked up at the taller elf with a mixture of fear and anger. This wasn't going as planned.

"Who's asking?" Pasanyan spat despite the panic that started to creep up his spine. If he could reach one of his knives with his free hand, maybe… The thought did not come to fruition as the other elf smirked darkly and dropped Pasanyan's wrist. He did not move enough to allow the rogue to escape, however.

"An interested party," came the low, dangerous tone. "Tell me where this rumor came from and maybe I'll let you go without too many scratches."

Pasanyan said nothing, trying to gauge who this was based on appearance. There wasn't much to give him away, however. He was dressed, as far as Pasanyan could tell by the poor lighting, in every-day garb. Taller than the rogue and more heavily built, Pasanyan guessed this man was probably some sort of city guard, or perhaps a hired goon? Weighing his options, the rogue decided that perhaps being curt wouldn't be the best way to go.

"It's not a rumor," Pasanyan said at length when he judged that stalling any longer would probably not allow his body to remain unharmed. "I was there, okay?" He realized his tone was defensive but couldn't help it. When he felt threatened, the rogue tended to get snippy.

To the smaller elf's surprise, the larger figure dropped him and took a step back. He had the feeling, although he couldn't see the other's face, that he was being studied more closely. "Explain," came the gruff command.

"I was in the slave line with that Sunshade girl. I saw the whole thing, okay? Not like you'd believe me," he added testily, rubbing his wrist in irritation. "So go on and report me if you'd like."

"I think I understand," said the stranger. His reactions were becoming more and more intriguing to the rogue. This wasn't what he was expecting at all. "Everyone would think you crazy for coming right out and saying it. But if you spread it to the right people, then word would get out, and perhaps an investigation. Yes. Yes, I like it." The shadowy head nodded slowly as the plan dawned on him. Pasanyan could have sworn he saw a brief glint of teeth in the dark.

A moment more passed before a hand landed heavily on Pasanyan's shoulder. The rogue winched, waiting for some bodily harm to follow the shoulder. "Come. I think we have much to discuss, you and I. Are you hungry?"

Pasanyan was steered away from the alley by the firm hand. There was nothing he could do to prevent the stronger elf from moving him, save stabbing him with yet another concealed blade. That course of action, however, didn't seem like a very bright move. Even though Pasanyan trusted just about no one, he felt that this person actually believed him. Perhaps he had found a new ally.

The stranger dropped his hand after a few feet and motioned for Pasanyan to follow him. Curious, the smaller elf did as he was bid. Caution was temporarily shoved to the back of his mind as they passed out of the more slummy part of town and into the brightly lit streets of a wealthier region. Pasanyan had never really been in this part of town and he took it in rapidly, noting every detail he could as they passed.

His new 'friend' led him to a restaurant set against a barrier wall at the eastern side of the district. The host seemed to recognize the man and seated them right away. Pasanyan felt greatly out of place but said nothing as a menu was plopped into his hands. The waiter didn't look too impressed by the rogue, but smiled amicably at the other elf.

"Sir Baraneus. Well, it is a pleasure to see you again. Your usual? A drink, perhaps?"

"Yes, whatever." Baraneus waved a hand at the waiter in annoyance, shooing him away. Rolling his eyes at the foppish server, the knight then settled his gaze on Pasanyan. He noted how the blood seemed to have drained from the smaller elf's face. Apparently he hadn't known who he was before now. The reaction pleased Baraneus. "So, what's your name? And no lies, Rogue. I'll be honest if you will."

Pasanyan stared at the beefy hand offered him across the table and took it with some trepidation. Releasing from the gesture, Pasanyan took a drink of the water sitting in front of him to wet a throat that had gone terribly dry. "Pasanyan," he said once he felt his voice would be steady enough. He gave no surname. Baraneus gave no indication of needing one.

"Good. As you've figured, I'm Baraneus. Now, tell me exactly what you saw in as quiet a voice as you muster." The knight toyed with a butter knife as he watched Pasanyan from behind a curtain of black hair. The Sunshade brushed away the locks in an unconscious motion as he waited for the other to speak.

Pasanyan spoke carefully, choosing his words with a renewed sense of caution. He told the knight everything he was able to witness in the slave line and eventually of how Alara was able to untie them but ran off before they could all escape together. Wary though he was, Pasanyan was constantly caught off-guard by Baraneus' understanding nods and grunts of affirmation.

"Well," the knight said at last as a fat, steaming bird of some sort was placed in the center of the table. He indicated with the butter knife for Pasanyan to help himself. The Sunshade pulled a leg from the bird and chewed on it thoughtfully. "That certainly falls into place with what I saw."

Pasanyan nearly choked on a piece of meat. Through watering eyes, fist slamming against his chest to clear it, the rogue saw Baraneus watch him with mild amusement. "What?" Pasanyan gasped after a moment.

"I think," Baraneus said once Pasanyan had gotten himself under control, "We have both just made a new, important ally." He smiled darkly into the bird-leg he was consuming. Fate was smiling on Baraneus this day to have deposited Pasanyan into his hands. An eye witness, someone not related to the Sunshade family and someone without a bad reputation for being insane, was just what he needed right now. "We must take more of this, in private."

"My apartment is in the next sector," Pasanyan suggested before he'd thought about it. "No one will bother us there."

"Perfect. After dinner, then, we shall find a way to remedy this injustice." Baraneus lifted his glass and clinked it against Pasanyan's.

* * *

Belarethil could not believe what he heard in the pub that evening. There was some gossip buzzing around that, if proven, could put the Sunshades' reputations in a much different light.

True, he had not actually expected the Sunshades to return with Alara. He figured she would have been eaten by some wild animal long before she had a chance to survive. The slavers had been a rather convenient coincidence at the time.

The story that Fellias had reported seemed logical enough to most people. Belarethil knew better than to believe it, he had watched their proceedings carefully. This rumor made a whole lot more sense to the mage and he wondered how it had spread.

Now perhaps things were starting to look up for the hapless usurper. If this rumor led to an investigation, perhaps he could supply some useful information. He could scry, after all. It was one of his gifts that had given him such good connections to the power he needed to overthrow the reagent. Finding Alara now, though, without any idea where she had gone, would be almost impossible. What sort of proof could he offer that would put the Sunshades on questionable terms with the rest of society? He wasn't supposed to spy on people and if he let know that he had been watching them and had known what had happened? He would be in a lot more trouble than it was worth. He would have to be more sly about it than just coming out and saying that he'd seen it happen through a mirror.

Bemused, but a bit more hopeful, Belarethil retired from the pub and returned to the woods. He could think more clearly in the quiet of his own study. His rambunctious cousin was thankfully out of town visiting another of their obscure relatives elsewhere in the world. He had time to formulate more ideas while the noise level was null.

* * *

Alara was restless. More than once that night she stood and paced the dark room, pausing every so often to gaze out the window at the town below. She moved as quietly as she could so as not to disturb Jarreth, but something told her he was probably awake.

The previous day had not been promising. After lengthy discussion about what to put into the letter to his uncle, they had come to the realization that they couldn't really tell him where to send a reply. Any return address could give them away to anyone looking for them. Mail was not safe.

Alara was also getting cabin fever from being cooped up in their bedroom without being able to go outside. Her annoyance at not being able to move freely was almost outweighing her fear of being jumped by pirates. More than once she thought of sneaking out when Jarreth was asleep just to get some fresh air, but she dismissed the idea as rapidly as it came. She was not stupid, after all, just inexperienced.

Currently, the young woman stood in front of the window, watching the eastern sky lighten over the ocean. She would be deadly tired later this day but that didn't seem to matter at the moment. She just wanted some answers and a secure future. Was that too much to ask?

Alara was also feeling very homesick. She missed Fellias with a terrible ache in her stomach that not even Jarreth could completely assuage, although he tried. She knew he must feel the same for his home and people. That thought kept her from getting too drawn into her own remorse. They were together in this and would remain together. That made her content. Their current situation did not.

Gazing once more at the golden sunrise, the blood elf hoped some sort of savior would arrive and take them away. She didn't really care to where, so long as it was away from this fishy-smelling, pirate-infested, goblin-run hell hole that was Ratchet.

A light knock at the door caused Alara to jump. Jarreth was immediately out of bed, a dagger clutched in his large hand. He glanced at Alara and motioned for her to move toward the bed, the furthest point from the door.

Stealing quietly across the room, the half-clad night elf readied his weapon and, with deliberate slowness, eased the door open a crack.

"Good morning, Jarreth," a soft, low voice murmured from the other side. "Although I know we're not exactly on the best of terms, I do ask that you put down that knife so we can discuss much more important matters."

The night elf threw the door open swiftly, hardly daring to believe his eyes. Alara, seeing the visitor from her vantage by the bed, let out a barely constrained squeal.

"Milanda!"

The small elf launched herself at the tauren, throwing slender arms around the cow's neck in a tight hug. The druid returned the gesture before pushing the girl back and stepping fully into the room. She closed the door behind her with a soft click. "We have much to discuss," she murmured softly as she moved toward the table. She took one of the chairs and sat carefully. It creaked under her weight but held firmly. With a sigh of relief - Milanda had had issues with furniture made for smaller creatures before - the cow looked expectantly at the others.

Alara took the other chair obediently. Jarreth stood behind her chair with his hands on the back of it. He did not feel like sitting and was slightly uncomfortable about being at ease with the druid. He had, after all, imprisoned her for months.

"I apologize for being so late," Milanda started after they had settled themselves."A series of set backs kept me from getting here before now. I trust you had an uneventful stay?" At the sour look on Alara's face, Milanda raised a brow. "No?"

"We had a little tiff with some pirates," Alara said shortly. "Jarreth took care of it, but they are a bit upset with us at the moment."

"Ah." The cow nodded knowingly. "Well, we won't have to worry about that much longer.As soon as the wyvern I rode in on is rested, we can set off for our destination."

Alara frowned briefly."We're flying?"

"Yes, I assumed that would be the fastest way home as my mount is currently indisposed."Milanda looked from one to the other in curiosity. They didn't seem too keen on flying by the concerned look on Alara's face and the furrow of Jarreth's brow.

"That will be tricky with Alara's horse and my panther," Jarreth said at length.Although losing Belfa wasn't the worse that could happen, leaving behind Deigo was not an option.

The corners of Milanda's lips turned down. She had forgotten about that. Kicking herself mentally, the cow could not believe she had overlooked that issue. Hunters had a difficult time flying with pets larger than carry-on size. She doubted highly that the massive cat would be able to sit on Jarreth's lap for the duration of the trip.

"Well, that does put a damper on that plan, doesn't it. Any thoughts?" She looked imploringly at the other two.

"Well." Jarreth pursed his lips as he thought. "If you tell us where we're going, Alara and I can travel there on foot and meet you once we get there. Could you draw us a map? Where are we going, anyway?"

A low mooing sound came from the back of Milanda's throat. She must be getting old. Why hadn't she thought of that? It was so simple. "Yes.I could draw you a map. The directions are simple enough, though, even without a picture. Do you have paper?"

Alara jumped up from her chair, face alight with excitement. "Even better!" She moved quickly over to Fellias' old saddle bags and pulled out the map she and Jarreth had been studying for the past couple days. She spread it out on the table with a grin before taking her seat once more.

"Excellent!" Milanda accepted the charcoal pencil that Alara offered her and drew a circle around Ratchet. Then, very deliberately so as not to mess up, she drew a line from Ratchet, along the road, then south to Camp Turajo, through it into Mulgore. Her line continued North through the tauren land to the very North where, in the mountains boarding Mulgore and Stonetalon, she drew another circle. There was no town marked on the map at that point.

"Nestled in the foothills of these mountains is a small community known as Peace," she told them as she set the pencil down. "It is a haven for those who wish to live outside the influence of the factions. The citizens know of you and know you will be coming. I assure you welcome when you reach it."

"Even for me?" Jarreth growled, his voice full of self-disgust.

Alara tutted slightly at Jarreth's tone, half turning in her seat to look up at him. "I've forgiven you already and you did worse to me than to her."

Melanda ignored Alara's comment. "Even for you," she assured Jarreth. "There are those there who have done more horrible things than you, if you'd believe it. We mainly keep to ourselves. No one's past is anyone else's business unless they wish to share it with the whole.We have no reason to believe that what we have done in the past should dictate who we are to be in the future. If you have repented your deeds, then you have been forgiven them." The cow and the elf matched gazes for a moment. Despite the tauren's words, Jarreth still did not feel completely forgiven. It would have to be something that would come in time.

"Now, I have not yet eaten. Do you suppose there is any food left downstairs?" Melanda made to rise but Alara jumped out of her chair again. 

"I'll go get some," the younger elf offered readily. "You've been airborne for a long while, you should rest." Before either of her companions could argue, Alara was out the door and moving down the hallway for the stairs.

"She is noticeably happier," Melanda noted as Jarreth rolled up the map and put it away in the saddle bag. 

"Yes," the night elf replied tersely. He felt awkward in the same room as Melanda without Alara to ease the tension." She is opening up more."

"You do her good." The cow paused before continuing in a gentle voice. "She does you a lot of good as well, Jarreth. Your brother was too ignorant to see it, but the change was noticeable on our journey." 

Jarreth, who had been rummaging in the saddle bag without really looking for anything, paused. "I am sorry," he muttered after a brief silence. "I… never liked what I did. But the money…" Green hair hung across Jarreth's face, obscuring his features. Melanda could hear the truth in his voice, however, and did not need visual cues to tell her Jarreth was not lying.

Jarreth straightened, running a hand through his hair to move it away from his face. "I wanted to be a tanner," he admitted. "I didn't even want to learn how to fight when I was a child. My brother bullied me into it. He always did."

"And yet you feel to blame," Melanda assessed, nodding her head in understanding. She was considerably older than the elf and had lived a rather interesting life. There were reasons the people of Peace often went to her for advice or an attentive ear. 

"I never told him no. I… He always convinced me to go along with it." Sullenly, Jarreth sat down in Alara's vacated chair. "So many innocent lives traded away by my hands." The elf stared into his palms as he placed the backs of his hands onto the top of the table. "There is too much blood here to forgive."

"What has been done in the past cannot be changed." The druid reached one of her massive hands toward the night elf and placed it on his. Squeezing lightly, the tauren looked into his bright eyes with her own doe-brown ones. "But it is your actions in the future, and your actions now, that make you who you are. Come to Peace and find your forgiveness."

"We have no where else to go," Jarreth replied honestly. Some of the weight on his chest seemed to have lifted at the cow's continuing understanding. He was amazed at how easy she was to talk to, even though their past experiences with each other were less than friendly.

"Good. Then, in the morning, we should all depart. I will make sure you have a place to stay when you arrive-"

The sound of loud voices from below cut the druid off. For a long, tense moment, neither of them moved. Then a long, piercing shriek filled the air around them. Without wasting any breath, Jarreth sprung from his seat and out the door, his chair clattering to the floor. Melanda was hot on his heels, moving surprising fast for such a bulky creature.

Jarreth almost jumped the entire length of the stairwell to land in an empty lobby. Looking around wildly, the elf spotted a green hand on the floor, protruding from behind the front desk. In two steps he was beside the innkeeper. Kneeling, Jarreth checked for a pulse, his eyes roaming the body for some clue. A large, growing patch of red was spreading from the goblin's belly.

Melanda appeared next to Jarreth, her nostrils flared at the scent of blood. "Is he?"

"Not yet." Jarreth moved to one side as the druid took his place. Laying one of her hands over the wound, the woman started the laborious process of closing the gash. 

Moving from behind the desk, Jarreth moved swiftly across the lobby to the front door. Exiting the building, he looked around. The area was deserted. A sharp whistle brought no Deigo, either. A keen sense of panic suddenly gripped Jarreth's heart as he started searching frantically for his panther.

Quickly, his hunter's instincts took over. There, to his right, was a series of mixed up foot prints from countless passer-bys. On top of those prints, however, were a distinct set of large paw prints. Deigo must have followed whoever killed the innkeeper. Jarreth's lips curled into a snarl. He had a damn good idea who it was, too. 

Moving swiftly into the inn once more, Jarreth glanced only briefly at the healer before racing upstairs to grab his weapons. He felt foolish for having raced downstairs with nothing more than a skinning knife but all thought had left his mind when he had heard Alara scream. Returning to the lobby a moment later, he paused to speak with Melanda.

"It is no use," she reported, laying the goblin's head back onto the floor. "He is too far gone for me to be of any use."

"Are you armed?" At the affirmative, Jarreth turned to the door. "Diego is tracking them. They can't have gotten far. Let's go." Without looking to see if she was following, Jarreth left the inn and turned to his left. The innkeeper wasn't the only one who would die this night. Jarreth was going to make sure of that.

* * *

**AN: **I know it's not terribly long, but I'm going to leave it at that for this chapter. We'll get back to Dargatha soon, no worries! I hope you enjoyed it. Also, I apologize if the formatting seems off. Due to some really irritating problems between and my computer, it would not allow me to load my story. It kept telling me it was an empty document. So, I had to cut and paste it into the edit documents box. Anyway, enjoy! 


	16. In Which Many Things Are Stolen

**Chapter 16: In Which Many Things Are Stolen and Alara Fights Back**

Alara had been effectively trussed up and thrown across the back of a horse before she could blink. They had managed to gag her but not before she had let out a piercing scream to alert Jarreth of the danger she was in, and also not before she had gotten in a few good bites to her captors. Cursing, one of them backhanded her but she felt it was worth the pain to see the rivulets of blood running across the back of his hand. She barred bloody teeth at him while he had tried to get the dirty bandana between her lips.

Once she was secured, they set off at a rapid pace. She couldn't believe how quickly they worked. These people were professionals. They had mounted and were heading away from Ratchet at a full gallop before Jarreth and Melanda had set foot on the staircase.

From her vantage point, slumped belly-down over the rear of a horse, Alara was quickly disoriented. It was obvious they were taking her to the outskirts of town where the pirates had laid their base-camp. As the horses rounded a corner, a burst of sea-air hit her nostrils and Alara realized they were riding alongside the ocean now. They were moving south.

A quarter of an hour later, the horses were reined sharply to a halt. Alara felt herself hoisted roughly off the horse and onto someone's hard shoulder. She took the chance to look around and saw a large stretch of grassy plains nestled at the foot of a large set of hills that blocked Ratchet from view. The grass was flattened in places were tents had once set. Empty fire pits dotted the terrain and a jumble of refuse had been tossed into a large pile in the middle, abandoned by the pirates. They were striking camp and, by the looks of it, they had done it very quickly.

The man holding her was moving again, racing toward the ocean. Those with him followed, pulling the horses with them. Alara could not see to the front but heard when his foot-falls turned from the soft thump of boots on dirt to the hallow thunk of boots on wood. He raced up the gangplank and onto the deck of a large, wooden ship.

"All are aboard. Shove off! We're followed for sure, they got Jacks." The man whose shoulder Alara occupied hollered the moment the horses' hooves met the deck. Alara was dropped unceremoniously onto the deck only feet from the prancing hooves of the horses. Fearing she would be trod upon the young woman tried to scramble backwards. It was difficult to do with her arms bound. Thankfully, the pirates were pulling the horses to the far end of the ship, leading them down a ramp into a holding bay. The sound of whinnies drifted up from the hold as the horses already settled greeted their herd-mates.

While the crew scurried around to hoist anchor and sail, Alara glanced around to get her bearings. She wasn't surprised to see other women of varying races tied up on the deck looking dejected. She tried to catch anyone's eye but none of the other girls lifted their heads at the sound of the ship pushing off for deep water. Alara stole a glance toward the shore and bit back a discouraged wail as she saw the shore slip further and further away. That would make escape a lot more difficult. She couldn't imagine how Jarreth and Melanda would reach her now. She refused to feel hopeless about the situation, not after all she had been though.

Her thoughts were interrupted however as a human man yelled for silence among the crew. He strode across the deck with an air of self assurance so obvious there was no mistaking that this was the pirate captain. That and he wore a ridiculously plumed red hat. The black feather was long enough that Alara guessed it must have come from a blood elf's bird mount. He wore a simple white shirt that was much cleaner than any of the other crews' gear and brown breeches that disappeared into giant black boots. His beard, as black as the feather, was trimmed neatly to his jaw. Alara supposed he would have been considered handsome by human standards but the young woman had learned a long time ago that looks weren't everything.

"Good day!" the man shouted over the rush of waves against the side of his ship. "I am Captain Morganis Smythe! You may call me Captain Morgan. My fine young ladies, you are embarking on a grand adventure this day! If there is anything you may need on our journey, you have but to ask-"

"How about freedom?" Alara interrupted. Jarreth had been slowly teaching her the common tongue of the alliance – as well as some of his own language - ever since the beginning of their journey to Ratchet. She already knew two much more complicated languages and had been picking Common up easily enough. After all, if one could learn how to pronounce and understand the most guttural grunts of orchish, one could learn any language where words are actually spoken and not hacked out like a hairball. She, in turn, tried to teach him Thalassian.

Alara braced herself to be struck for her remark but no blow came. Although Captain Morgan glared in her direction, no one moved to touch her. Morgan turned away from her and jerked his head at his lackeys. "Show these ladies their new abode."

The women were pulled to their feet and led to a stairway set near the door to the cabin. Alara did not struggle more than to let herself be dead weight. If they wanted her below the deck, they would have to drag her there. Drag they did and she was satisfied to hear them swear profusely when she managed to hook her boot on a length of rope coiled on the deck. She smirked as they tried to untangle her. After what seemed like an eternity, they managed to pull the woman down the stairs and throw her into the hold with the other females. Once in, they were untied and left to their own devices. The solid door was securely locked and one of the pirates set up watch outside.

Looking around the room, Alara noted it was filled with a few piles of straw, a couple of chairs, some boxes, and a few buckets whose purpose Alara could easily guess but didn't want to think about. High portholes, covered in thick iron bars, let light stream down into the room. The other captives had already separated themselves into distinctive groups. A couple humans sat with a night elf on one side of the room. A rather young looking troll sat with a blood elf on the other. And, to Alara's great surprise, a lone draenei sat in the corner on a box, trying her best to blend in and failing miserably. Feeling a pang of pity for the odd looking creature, Alara moved instantly toward the horned, purple-skinned woman. With her hoofed feet and solemn look, she reminded the blood elf of Melanda.

"Hello," Alara greeted softly in Common.

Startled, the draenei looked up from her hands, glowing blue eyes wide. She obviously wasn't expecting anyone to speak to her.

"Hello," she replied, her Common thick with a strange but not unpleasant accent.

Alara sat on a crate next to the stranger and tried to smile comfortingly. "I am Alara." She held out a hand.

"Mildred," the other supplied, taking the offered hand and shaking it slightly.

Alara blinked. "That is a human name?"

Mildred lowered her head again. "My father, he is obsessed with human culture. I have a brother who is called Bob."

The blood elf couldn't help but smile at the thought of someone as exotic as this having such a mundane name. "In your land, Mildred is… new name. Not shared with any. I have name of Grandmother."

Mildred smiled in return. "Yes, that is true. I won't be confused with any other of my kind." She paused for a long moment. "How do you speak the common tongue? I am not meaning to pry but it is not usual."

Alara hesitated at the question. "I have friend who is teaching me. I am not good yet. Understand more."

Mildred nodded her agreement. "You do just fine."

They sat in silence for a moment, listening vaguely to the quiet chatter of the other groups. Alara could understand bits of what was going on amongst the alliance women and wasn't too pleased with what she was hearing. It was mainly about her and her fraternizing with the draenei. The orchish hum from the other side of the room had started along the same vein but changed rapidly when it was obvious that the troll was not interested in gossiping about other peoples' business.

"Where they taking us?" Alara asked after a while. "Do you know?"

"Yes. We go to Gurubashi. We are prizes for a tournament being held there in a few weeks." Mildred didn't conceal the fear in her voice as she said it. "If my father knew where I was these pirates would be dead so quickly." Her face landed in her hands and she shook her head slowly back and forth. "He has to know I'm gone by now but it is too late. We've left land far behind by now."

"How did you get here?" Alara asked curiously, putting her hand gently onto the Draenei's shoulder.

"I live in Ratchet. Father sent me down to the dock to check on a supply of rare herbs he had ordered from Booty Bay. Before I knew what had happened, I was grabbed from behind. They put a cloth on my face. I woke up here." She wiped a few tears from her eyes. "Father kept telling me I should learn some spells. Maybe I would not be here if I had listened."

"Is your father magic user?" Alara pressed. She knew that talking was a good way of keeping morale high if subjects were friendly and familiar. She didn't want the poor girl to break down in hysterics.

"He is a mage, yes. We live here for the port so he can do his experiments and get materials. How about you? How did you end up in Ratchet? It is a far way from your kind's land."

Alara considered what to tell the young woman for a moment. She glanced at the others who seemed to have disregarded her as not worth their time. "I come with friend, friend who teach me Common. We wait for other friend, Tauren. She will take us somewhere safe. Somewhere we can be us and not fear. He is…" Alara flicked her eyes toward the female night elf at the far end of the table. The draenei followed her gaze and nodded knowingly. "We travel to town long time from north. We wait for weeks in Ratchet, pirates look for us. Melanda, the Tauren, come today. I go to get food from inn keeper but pirates kill him and take me. Melanda and Jarreth come for me now… somehow."

"They killed the inn keeper?" Mildred gasped, covering her mouth with her hands. "That is terrible!" The draenei shook her head slowly and dropped her hands to her lap once more. "How do you think they will get to us? We are too far away now."

Alara fisted her hands and thudded them onto her thighs, face set to grim determination. "Maybe we slow ship down some. Do any others know magic?"

"I do not know. They do not speak to me. I think I am too different." Mildred tugged self consciously at the skirt she wore.

The blood elf thought for a moment, lips pursed into a thin line. "I have plan. Might work but I need help." She paused and tried to think of the words she wanted to say. "If we get out, can you help me? Favor, I think word is."

"Anything in my power," Mildred replied in a somewhat perplexed tone. "What are you planning to do?"

"For now, wait for dark. Need diversion and I need talk to others. Can you try talking to humans? Maybe they agree to help if it mean escape?"

"I can try. What should I tell them?"

"That we only win together." The two women stood simultaneously. Alara tried to give the draenei a confidant smile before moving to toward two horde on the far side. She didn't watch Mildred move toward the alliance but heard the soft clop of her hooves that indicated she was walking. The troll and elf looked up as Alara approached. "Hi," she whispered in orchish. "How badly do you want to get off this thing?"

* * *

As Jarreth rounded a bend in the path that brought the sea into full view, a large, black something streaked toward them. Deigo stopped just short of his master and snarled in unmistakable frustration. Blood was smeared across the cat's jowls and chest but he didn't appear injured.

Jarreth didn't stop, though, and raced on past the cat. Deigo quickly followed alongside his master. Melanda thundered barely a pace behind them. No one gave the crumpled body of a pirate more than a cursory glance as they passed what used to be Jacks.

Moments later they emerged onto the deserted campsite. The night elf moved quickly to the water's edge where the ship had once been docked. Prints made by both hoof and foot covered the ground and there was an unmistakable indentation in the ground where the gangplank had rested. There was no one around and it looked like the camps were freshly packed up. Cursing fluidly, Jarreth scanned the horizon for any sign of the ship that had once docked where they stood.

"Melanda, can you see that?" He pointed toward the Eastern horizon with a frown. The cow moved up beside him and squinted into the distance.

"Yes. I do believe it is a vessel." The Tauren let out a deep groaning moo. "We must find a solution and quickly-"

A sudden clamor interrupted Melanda. The small troop looked around hastily for pirates but there was still no one around.

"What is…" Jarreth listened carefully for a moment before pointing to a large hill jutting out into the ocean. "It's coming from other there."

Melanda's frown suddenly vanished. "That's it! Brilliant! Islen!" Before Jarreth had the opportunity to ask her what she was babbling about, Melanda made for the hill and started to climb it. He didn't seem to have much choice but to follow.

"Islen Waterseer. She and I worked together when we were young," Melanda explained as they rapidly climbed the rise. "I forgot she set up an observatory south of Ratchet!"

The night elf's brows furrowed but he said nothing. The cow's explanation hadn't really answered his unspoken question of who she was speaking about. They topped the rise and looked down onto the top of a kodo-hide tent set up on a small shelf of land jutting into the water. In front of the tent, trying her best to pin down a struggling troll was a tauren about Melanda's age. The troll was shrieking words in her own language, flailing long limbs in an attempt to budge the even larger tauren off.

Without much pause, Melanda launched herself off the rise and scurried down into Islen's camp. Jarreth followed closely behind. The two of them managed to peel the tauren and troll apart, although Jarreth did end up with a few elbows to the gut as he clung to the strong she-troll.

"What in the name of the Earth Mother is going on?" Melanda huffed once Islen realized who had intervened and stopped struggling.

"This troll was stealing my boat!" Islen bellowed, pointing a thick finger at the glowering troll.

"I need it!" The troll tried unsuccessfully to disentangle herself from Jarreth's grip. "My sista on dat ship!" She jerked her chin toward the dot in the distance. "I need a boat!"

"How were you proposing to get across the ocean in a row boat? Paddle fast?" Islen snapped, folding her arms across her middle. "Didn't even ask for it, just tried to take it when I wasn't looking."

"I toldja I'd bring it back," the troll retorted. "Lemme go, elf. I be good."

Jarreth glanced at Melanda, who nodded solemnly. "Fine," he gritted out in orchish and released her.

"Honestly, a row boat versus a pirate's ship," Islen continued with a derisive snort. "You might as well just swim after it."

The troll bristled under the tauren's scornful remarks. Melanda intervened before things worsened.

"What was your plan?" she asked calmly, keeping any doubt from her voice. "We need to get to that ship, too. Perhaps we can work together."

"I be good with da waters, mon," the troll explained while she glared at Islen. "I make dat dingy go fast, catch da ship, free my sista."

"Without help?" Melanda asked, hardly concealing a moo of surprise.

"That's rather gutsy," Jarreth added before the troll could speak. "We would have a better chance as four to capture the vessel."

"I'm not goin' anywhere with dat cow," the troll snarled, pointing a thick finger at Islen.

"_I _wasn't offering to go," Islen retorted blowing hard out of her nostrils.

"And _I_," Jarreth said sternly, "was referring to Deigo." He laid a hand on the panther's bulky head.

"Do you think you could power that boat with the four of us in it?" Melanda pushed on before another argument could break out. Time really was pressing and all the bickering was wasting what little chance they might have had.

"Ya, sure." The troll shrugged. "Not be dat hard."

Melanda turned to Islen. "As a favor to an old friend, I must borrow your craft. There is too much to be lost on that ship. We must reach it."

"For you, yes." Islen nodded her head. "Just try to bring it back in one piece."

"Thank you." Melanda embraced the other tauren briefly then moved to the boat tied to the shore.

Although the troll had called it a dingy, it was a sizeable craft. It did, after all, have to fit a tauren and all her gear comfortably without sinking. Once the women and Deigo were on board, Jarreth untied the craft and stepped in. Planting a foot firmly against the bank, he shoved the boat out into deeper water.

"Go with the Earth Mother!" Islen called from her camp, raising a hand. "And make sure that troll doesn't hurt my boat!"

"Now, get on with your voodoo," Jarreth ordered, taking up a sitting position near the bow of the vessel.

The troll barred her teeth at him. "It not be voodoo, Elf, but I be getting' on with it anyway."

The woman sat at the back of the boat and sunk her hand into the water. Slowly, her entire arm started to pulse a faint, light blue. The craft started to inch forward. Soon, however, it picked up some speed until they were zipping over the water at a decent pace, the waves breaking against the pointed bow with enough force to send a salty mist into Jarreth's face. His lips curled at the sticky feeling the salt water left behind but he said nothing.

"How is it you do that?" Melanda asked after a moment of watching the troll.

"No idea," the troll shrugged. "My motha do it, and her motha before. My motha teach me before she die."

"Are you a shaman, then?" The tauren seemed genuinely interested so the troll answered.

"No. I not be good with other elements, just da water, so no shaman train me. It do me good, though. I find plenty of work for Thrall's armies, especially finding water in da deserts."

"That would be handy," Jarreth admitted. "Odd talent, though."

"You speakin' orchish be an odd talent, too, Elf," the troll countered with a smirk. Now that they were heading for the ship, her mood seemed to improve.

"It came in handy in my previous line of work," Jarreth replied evenly although he did not elaborate. "My name is Jarreth, by the way. I'd prefer if you would use it."

"Ta'daja," the troll supplied then looked to Melanda expectantly. The tauren obliged and gave her name.

"You said your sister is on that ship," Melanda said. "The pirates took Jarreth's Promised. Do you know if there are any others?"

Ta'daja shrugged. "My sista and I heard some mutterin's about Ratchet yesterday. Dey be sayin' a couple girls go missin'. Be'ja be with me so we think dat she be fine and we don't listen to da stories." The troll's lips curled back from her short tusks. "Ta'daja be stupid."

"No more so than myself," Jarreth murmured, looking out over the bow of the ship. "I should've gone down to the inn keeper and left Alara safely in the room."

Melanda shook her head slowly. "That is enough of this remorse. It has been done, there is no changing it. Now we must think of a plan. If I am not mistaken, that speck has gotten bigger. We must use this time wisely and not drown ourselves in self pity."

"Right," Ta'daja agreed. "Dat be an entire boat of pirates and we be a dingy of… whatever we be."

"One quarter shaman, a leatherworker, and an old cow?" Jarreth supplied as he was hit with the realization that they were quite the rag-tag group.

"Watch it, youngling," the druid warned, waggling her finger at him. "I may be old, but I'm not yet out to pasture." Her tone was light, however. "Now, this is what I propose we do when we reach yonder boat.."

* * *

Through some miracle of translations and a lot of patience, Alara and Mildred had gathered the other women into the center of the hold and explained to them what they were trying to do. It helped some that Alara spoke rough Common.

Alara was relieved to learn that the troll, Be'ja, knew a few basic spells. She was apparently a novice shaman. Her sister, as Alara found out, was what Be'ja called a Water-Caller – although Alara had never heard that term before. Be'ja had come to Ratchet with her sister to seek out a tauren named Islen who was spiritually close to the water. They were hoping she could teach them both. Be'ja had been kidnapped when the crowd in the town had managed to separate her from her sister.

The other women were the daughters of merchants that had been visiting Ratchet to peruse the shipments of goods coming off the boats. Apparently there was a large Market Day that was to be held in the next few days that was drawing a lot more people to Ratchet than normal. It was the perfect time for the pirates to grab their own merchandise. The girls were pretty in appearance and pretty much useless as a fighting force. That didn't deter Alara, though. She was stubbornly determined to get out of this mess.

She had basically been a paladin when she had been ported to Ashenvale. She reminded herself of this whenever her situation on the boat seemed hopeless. They may have been inexperienced but this blood knight and shaman could manage to do some damage if desperate enough.

"Do any of you know anything about boats?" Alara asked once they had gathered together. She repeated her wording twice for the benefit of everyone, once in orchish and once in pigeon-Common.

"My father and I go sailing, but on small boats only," one of the humans said, looking dejectedly at the planks of the floor.

"But know how to steer smaller boat?" Alara pressed in Common.

"Well, yes."

"On ocean?"

"Yes."

"Good. You in charge of that, then." Alara said matter-of-factly and then repeated the gist of the conversation in Orchish for the other blood elf and the troll.

"Here is what we are going to do." Alara flexed her fingers and licked suddenly dry lips. "We are going to first get ourselves out of this hold. As soon as it is dark, one of us will pretend to be terribly sick. In order to check, one of them will have to open that door. There are seven of us and only one guard. We can take him down. Then I'll have a sword and we'll be one step closer. Who'll be sick?"

The girls glanced at each other tentatively. "This sounds a bit crazy," the other human voiced when no one else would say so. "What makes you think we have a chance?"

"She is a paladin," Mildred explained patiently, although this information had already been given to the group. "And the troll is a shaman."

"Yeah, and a lot of good that did them. Last time I checked the little blood-traitor and her freakish friend are in the same prison we are." The night elf sniffed huffily.

"Together they can be stronger. Together, _we_ can be stronger," Mildred insisted. "But if you want to stay here and be given to some troll as his new bed toy then you do not have to help us." The night elf's eye twitched. "What?" Mildred continued with some scorn. "Did you think only night elves would be trying to win you? I bet a troll would be welcomed if it were an orc vying for your body." Mildred's eyes were harsh as she glared at the night elf.

"We are together or not at all," Alara added. "You think me dirty. That is your choice. But I know better. We are not different, we can do together." The young woman growled under her breath in momentary frustration at her incomplete grasp of the language. The night elf was still not showing any signs of cooperation. Alara mused for a moment then tried a different approach, one that the other elf was not expecting.

"I been here before. Captured. Head to fear, pain. I trust elf like you. Now free. Now, you trust me and you free." The night elf's eyes widened slightly at the words spoken in a halting but clear Darnassian. "We _can_ work together. _Must_."

"You are better at Common," the night elf said at length. "I will listen for now but I give no promises that I will help on this foolish crusade."

It wasn't what Alara had hoped for but it was better than an outright refusal. She had hoped that speaking to her in the woman's own language – however butchered it was with Alara's poor grasp of it – might sway her to realize that they really weren't that much different. Alara marveled at how the ages-old discrimination between their races could interfere in such a dire circumstance as this. Why couldn't she see that working together was the only way? If she refused to help then the others would just have to do it without her.

"Once we have the guard disposed of, Be'ja and I will creep up the stairs first to make sure there are no more guards in the way. Once the coast is clear we will motion for you to follow. On the right hand side of the boat," Alara paused here to look at the first human in question.

"Starboard," she supplied.

"Yes, starboard side. There is a smaller boat tied on the deck. It is big enough for us all but we need to untie it and somehow get it into the water before they notice. This is where Be'ja comes in handy."

The troll nodded eagerly at the mention of her part in the scheme and took up the thread while Alara choppily translated for the other half.

"I be goin' to da front part. Lotsa rope dere strung up." She made some motions with her hands to indicate the rigging. "I be usin' my fire, make dat rope go whoosh!" The young troll made animated gestures while she talked in an attempt to help the others understand her. "Den all dem pirates be runnin' to da rope callin' 'Fire! Fire!' and be distracted for a while. I keep dem busy."

Alara picked it up again from there. "While Be'ja has them occupied, Helen and Darcie will start the process of getting the boat ready to be lowered into the water. I think it is on some pulleys so once we figure out how to unsecure it, it should be easy enough. The rest of us will be look outs and I'll handle anyone who comes our way. Hopefully most of the ship will be preoccupied with the fires. Once the boat is ready to lower, we'll signal Be'ja and load up. By the time they realize we're gone, we'll be out of their reach."

"I think Darcie's right," the night elf said once Alara had finished. "Only 'a bit crazy' isn't the term I would use. Insane would be a better choice."

Alara's eyes narrowed at the night elf. "If you so set on staying, stay. I go myself if you no want to. _I_ have things to live for." The two women stared in unmasked hostility at each other for a long moment before Mildred stomped a hoof onto the planking, breaking the tension.

"Enough! If Elori wants to be raped by taurens, that is her prerogative. I, for one, am with Alara! Let us get out of this pit!"

The others glanced at each other tentatively while Elori fumed at the draenei. At last, the other blood elf cleared her throat lightly. They turned to her. "Yes?" Alara asked hopefully.

"I'll be sick," the other offered quietly.

Alara's face split into a grin, relief washing over her. "Wonderful. Thank you."

"Right, let's be breakin' these boxes, den," Be'ja suggested, moving to one of the crates. "We can use da planks fer whackin' da guard!" She grinned mischievously, the blood of a prospective battle already boiling in her veins.

* * *

Dargatha glanced down at the long list clutched in his hand, lips pushed out in a definite pout. Ashanil was impossible to live with at the best of times. In light of his incompetence, she was a downright tyrant. She took any chance she had at hinting that he was incapable of the slightest coherent thought. She constantly interrupted herself when musing to him with mutterings about why she bothered. Dargatha was even angrier that he really didn't know what she was talking about half the time.

Currently, the night elf had been sent into the city to complete – "If you can, that is. I realize how much of a stretch this must be for even you," – a series of errands for his sister. He double checked the list with a curling lip. He muttered it aloud to himself as he walked vaguely towards the bank.

"Hn. 1 dozen small eggs. 10 bolts of linen for new robes. Key for idiot brother who lost his." 'Did she really need to write that?' he wondered irritably. "Bank – Get Jarreth's things into my account. Tailor – fix your pants, they're ratty." Dargatha growled under his breath and looked down at his pants. There was nothing wrong with them! They were just well worn.

Shaking his head, the warrior moved toward the bank. He figured it might as well get that part over with since it might take a while to transfer Jarreth's goods between the accounts.

The Temple Gardens were quiet in the early morning. Dew glittered on the trees and shrubs as he crossed the bridge between Warrior's Terrance and the center of Darnassus. Dargatha approached the bank quickly, intent on getting his errands done so he could finally eat. Ashanil had told him that his breakfast would have to wait until after he had finished his chores. He knew he could just grab a bite from a vendor if he really wanted to, but if that witch of a sister found out about it he would be in a world of hurt. He was too frightened of her to disobey.

"Good morning," the banker greeted as Dargatha stepped up to the counter. "What may I help you with?"

"I need to transfer some items between accounts." Dargatha fished in his belt pouch for a moment and withdrew another sheaf of paper Ashanil had given him. On it was written the account information of his siblings.

"Alright," the banker said as he accepted the slip. He scanned it briefly then disappeared into the back of the large, hollow tree. He dodged piles of gold with ease and vanished behind them. Dargatha always wondered what was back there. There didn't seem to be enough room for an entire civilization's possessions but who was he to question it in depth? He bet his sister knew but she wouldn't tell him.

The elf returned a moment later with a slight frown on his face. "I'm sorry, Sir, but I cannot make this transfer." He handed the paper back to Dargatha.

"My sister gave me written permission to access her account," Dargatha protested, hand disappearing into his pouch again in search of the note.

"It's not that, Sir," the teller interrupted. "I literally cannot make this transfer. These items are no longer in the account."

Dargatha stared dumbly at the man for a long moment. "Then where are they?" he said at last. "Did someone steal my brother's things?" The warrior's face became quite angry. "I thought these places were supposed to be secure!"

The teller, considerably smaller than Dargatha, put his hands up defensively and glanced around. There was no one else on duty and the nearest giant guardian was out of ear shot. Gulping, he gathered himself. "I assure you that our facility is solid. Our records show that that those missing items as well as the gold connected to the account were transferred last week."

"But no one has access to this account!" Dargatha protested, teeth barred in a mixture of frustration and impatience.

"I do beg your pardon, Sir, but I believe the one whose account it is has access to it."

Dargatha paused in his rage and looked long and hard at the banker. "Where did it transfer to?"

"I'm afraid I can't give that information, Sir, as you are not listed on the account holder's information. I would have to speak either to a Mister Jarreth Nightglade or the co-signer Ms. Ashanil Nightglade."

Dargatha nodded curtly. "Be assured that you will," he informed the hapless banker gruffly. "But you would have been better just to tell me." With that, Dargatha turned on his heel and headed back over the bridge. His pants could wait. Ashanil would want to hear this.

* * *

The night was still on the ocean. A cloudless sky filled with stars winked brightly down on the pirate vessel as it clipped its way through the deep, dark waters that separated the lands of the east from the lands of the west. It was unaware of the smaller ship gaining rapidly on it. It was also unaware of the turmoil about to erupt in its belly.

The guard on duty at the door of the captives roused himself from his sleep with a snort. Had he just heard something? He had been dreaming of the loveliest chocolate cake and was about ready to go back to his snooze when he heard it again. A low, achy moan drifted to him through the door. Frowning, the guard stood from his stool and pressed his ear to the door and listened for a long moment to make sure he really was hearing the noise. Just as his ear touched the door, though, a loud banging sounded that jarred him considerably.

"Bugger! What's all this?" he called through the door. One design flaw of the vessel was its lack of a brig. It was meant to be fast and light so the pirates cut down on anything extravagant. Thus, the door had no window to watch the prisoners. Being that their captives were seemingly weak and incompetent, the pirates had never worried before about this issue.

Mildred's panicked voice sounded from the other side. "She's really sick! We need help."

The guard frowned. The sound of retching could be heard now through the door. "Probably just sea sick," the guard replied and turned back toward the stairs, ready to ignore them.

"Can't you do anything for her?" Mildred called again desperately. The entire plan hinged on him opening the door. The man didn't answer and Mildred ground her teeth. She motioned behind herself for the elf to keep up the sounds of sickness.

The guard rolled his eyes and tried to plug his ears. Mildred pounded on the door again. "Please give her something! You must have some kind of sea sickness cure. All this vomit is making me feel queasy, too!"

One of the human's, taking Mildred's cue, started retching as well, adding a second voice to the sickness.

The sounds were a pretty good facsimile of the real thing. The guard started to feel thick in the back of his throat imagining what was happening in there. "Hold on," he grouched. "I'll get some of our special brew from the cook. Just try to keep it in the buckets while I'm gone."

Alara grinned as the sound of footsteps ascending stairs met her ears. She nodded at the draenei and took up her place next to the door. Those being sick ceased their noise and waited. It seemed like an eternity before boots slapped against stairs again. With a quick motion, Alara signaled them to pick it up again. Moans filled the air of the small hold, an occasional 'hurk' added in for good measure.

"Alright. Stand back, I'm comin' in." The lock clicked softly and the pirate opened it with one hand. A large flask of something else was clutched in his other hand. He had barely glanced around before he felt a sudden dizziness, a sharp impact to his head, and then blackness.

Alara held back a whoop of glee at the sight of the prone pirate on the floor of their hold. It had been so long since she had used her Hammer of Justice she wasn't sure if she would pull it off. Be'ja's club to the head was more than effective. Two of the others grabbed him and dragged him inside, tossing him in the corner. Alara quickly searched his body and took his sword.

While she had been salvaging a weapon from him, Be'ja had snagged the stool and was dissembling it as well. "Betta' club," she supplied at the curious looks. She hefted the thick leg and took a few experimental swings. "Good enough," she grunted.

"Okay, let's go." Alara shifted the sword in her grip, lips set into a grim line. They had killed one pirate today and, if she could help it, more would die before they left this ship.

With Be'ja close on her heels, Alara alighted the stairway and crept to the deck.

Moonlight shone brightly down on the wood planks, illuminating the ship with the sharp, white light. It would make their own stealth all the more important if visibility was up. Glancing around quickly, Alara didn't see anyone and slipped onto the deck. Be'ja emerged beside her. With a nod, the troll stole off toward the front, crouched low to the deck and dodging behind crates and barrels. Meanwhile, the other girls were appearing around Alara looking both terrified and excited at the same time. Mildred tapped the blood elf on the shoulder and pointed sharply toward the right side of the ship. A pirate was standing by the railing, urinating off the side into the water. With a bit of a shake, the man pulled his trousers back up and continued on his patrol toward the front of the boat.

Alara indicated they should stay where they were, hidden behind some crates near the side of the cabin's outer wall. She slinked toward the small stair the led above the cabin and quietly crawled up it. Peering over the top she couldn't help but roll her eyes. The pirate who was on duty steering the ship was sitting on a keg, his feet up on a box. The wheel was tied securely to another keg, keeping the course straight ahead. The pirate's chin rested on his chest, eyes shut. A soft snore met Alara's ears and she returned to the others. Putting her hands together, she motioned that the helmsman was sleeping before moving toward the spare dingy set upside down at the right hand side.

The small group surrounded the boat, looking it over for a way to flip it without causing a ruckus. Eluni, whose eyes were sharpest, pointed to the pulley system Alara thought she had seen before. It looked as though they would have to turn the boat over and attach it to the pulleys to get it into the water. Alara motioned for the girls to lay low in the shadows by the cabin. They would need Be'ja's troll-strength to accomplish this by the looks of it.

A sudden shout went up from the front of the boat as Alara was trying to creep across the deck. She could see an orange glow flickering near the prow. Be'ja had accomplished her goal sooner than Alara had anticipated. The blood elf scrambled toward a crate near the far side of the deck as more shouts were taken up and men started to emerge from hatches leading below deck to their quarters. She was only halfway to her hiding spot when the cabin door burst open and Captain Morgan strode out. The long, yellow beam of light that spilled from the open door lit up Alara's face like a beacon.

"I knew you'd be trouble!" Morgan hollered as he moved forward, drawing the curved blade at his waist. "Tend to the fire!" he ordered his men as he advanced on the small elf. "I'll handle this troublemaker."

With a flash, Morgan's sword swept down at an angle intending to cut her across the chest. With muscle memory Alara didn't realize she had gained from those days of sparring her fellow Blood Knight trainees she brought her own blade up to block, deflecting the strike away from her body. In the same motion, she swept down and around in a crescent aimed for Morgan's middle. The look on the captain's face told the young woman that he hadn't expected her to know how to use the weapon she was carrying. He thrust and she dodged, returning with a strike he parried easily.

Alara felt sweat trickle down her forehead as she fought to keep up with Morgan's blows. He was obviously a practiced hand at the sword. Although she was holding her own, it was only just barely that she was able to block and attempt an attack. She cursed herself for not having practiced harder. She had been a fairly adept hand at the sword but she was untried and considerably out of practice.

A shrill scream reached Alara's ears as some of the pirates discovered the other captives hidden beside the life boat. In that brief moment of distraction when Alara's eyes flicked to where Mildred was attempting to fend off fully armed pirates with an oar, the elf felt her sword leave her hands. She watched in disbelief as it flew across the deck and landed with a clatter out of her reach. She whipped her head around to stare at Morgan over the point of his sword.

"As nice a price as you'd fetch I've already lost some good men to your foolishness, Girl. And your ideas poison the minds of my other maidens. I am not a man to trifle with. You shall pay dearly for your crimes against myself and my crew. I should hang you from the crow's nest and let you slowly die, picked apart by the birds. Or perhaps I should tie you to the prow. Or we could keel haul you, let you be scraped apart if you don't drown first. Whatever I decide, it will be slow and torturous, you little b-" Whatever Captain Morgan was about to call her was cut off abruptly. Alara stared, wide-eyed, at the green fletched arrow that protruded from the man's eye socket. Without so much as a gurgle, Morgan fell backwards onto the deck, dead before he hit the wooden planks.

"Dat be one long-winded bastard," an unfamiliar troll's voice said as Alara turned quickly to face the front of the boat. Standing on the deck, a pile of dead pirates at their feet, were Jarreth, Melanda, Be'ja, and another troll Alara had to assume was Be'ja's sister. The pirates trying to catch the other girls stopped when they saw what had become of their shipmates. Quickly, they put their hands up in surrender, their weapons clattering to the deck.

Alara couldn't believe what she was seeing. With a whoop of glee, she charged across the deck. Jarreth met her halfway, sweeping her up into his arms and spinning her around. Then he was kissing her, kissing her forehead, her cheeks, anywhere he could reach. She laughed, not knowing what else to do as all the pent up emotion of the last day rushed from her. Tears leaked out of the corner's of her eyes and she gripped him tightly, returning his kisses viciously.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Eluni muttered as she and Mildred marched the pirates out in front of the cabin with the swords the men had dropped. She eyed the displayed affection with a curl in her lip.

"Shut up," the draenei replied cheerfully. "I think it is sweet." She prodded a pirate with the point of her sword. "They are elves, the both of them. I see nothing wrong."

Eluni merely shook her head in disgust. She hadn't expected this strange, horned woman to understand. Once she was safely back in Darnassus, Eluni would be among people who would agree with her.

Melanda made a deep noise of amusement at her friends. "I know you two are eager to catch up but we really must figure out how to turn this thing around and get these girls back to their families."

"Right," Alara nodded, finally moving back a pace from Jarreth. She smiled up at Jarreth before turning to the other girls. "I think one of these pirates could probably help us with that. Perhaps in exchange for his life?"

* * *

"If you eva be needin' any ting, you be callin' Ta'daja." The troll shook hands with Jarreth firmly. "You be alright for an elf."

Jarreth grinned back at her. "Coming from you, I'll take it as a compliment." He watched as the two trolls climbed into Islen's boat. With a glowing hand, Ta'daja sent them skimming over the water towards the tauren's camp.

They stood on the dock at Ratchet, the pirate boat moored not far away. The local guard force, a rather grim looking company of goblins with spiked clubs, were boarding the life boat tied to the dock. They had commandeered the vessel as soon as Melanda had explained what had happened. The pirates had been turned over to those same authorities. Jarreth did not know, nor did he care, what was to become of the vagabonds.

Standing beside him, clutching his left hand tightly, Alara was chatting with the draenei girl they had rescued. Something they were saying caught his attention.

"So, that is favor. I mean, even though I did not get us off that boat, you still can do it for me, right?" The blood elf was looking hopeful.

"I can ask Father, yes. I think he can do it. If you are set, please follow me."

"Can we get stuff from inn first?"

"Yes, of course. I will go with you then take you to my father."

Curious what they were talking about, Jarreth allowed himself to be led up to the inn. Although it was considered a crime scene and was crawling with Bruisers, they were allowed into their room to gather their belongings. It did not take long before they were gathered once more in front of the inn.

"Care to explain?" Jarreth asked finally as Melanda joined them from the dock. The cow looked as curious as the night elf.

Alara grinned. "Mildred's father is a mage," she said matter-of-factly as though that explained everything.

Melanda smiled as it dawned on her what Alara was getting at. "A portal! Does your father know how to portal?"

"I think so," Mildred replied. "We will go and ask him now."

"That would be solve our entire problem of getting there with everything in tow," Alara said excitedly as she took a firmer grip on Belfa's reins. They started down the hill with Mildred in the lead.

As it turned out, her father did know how to portal. He was so ecstatic at the recovery of his daughter that he was more than happy to set up the spell. As the swirling vortex appeared against the side of his house, Alara turned to Mildred. She impulsively hugged the draenei.

"If you get chance, come visit? We would be friends if we had time, I think." Mildred embraced her back and agreed.

"I am going to learn how to portal from my father," she stated. "When I master it, I will come and visit."

"Good. Now, let us go home!" Melanda said. She thanked the mage and stepped through the portal eagerly. Alara hesitated only a moment before stepping through with Belfa. Her last experience with a portal had not been pleasant. Finally, with a nod at both draenei, Jarreth and Deigo crossed the threshold of the vortex, his head held high. On the other side would be the start of his new life. It was about time!

* * *

AN: Finally an update! Thank God! Whew! Hm… all these new developments with Dargatha. How will Ashanil react? Something tells me trouble hasn't ended for our star-crossed lovers, bwehehe.


	17. Now What Was That About A Dwarf?

**AN: **Sorry this was so long in coming. I got distracted by an Underworld fic I'm writing. It has been foremost in my mind for a while and Lucian was threatening to garrote me with my own intestines if I didn't write another chapter for it soon. So anyway, here is the next installment of Unwanted Vacation. I'm making an honest attempt to move the plot along!

**Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing! **

**Chapter 17: Now what was that about a dwarf….?**

"Fine! Whatever. When you finally decide to come back to reality, let me know. I'll be at Melanda's."

The door to the modest cabin slammed shut, leaving Jarreth staring blankly at the place Alara had been standing a moment ago. A sheaf of parchment sat on the dining room table next to him where they usually ate their meals together. Dumbstruck, he found himself plopping into one of the vacated chairs. He glanced at the sheet of paper that had started this argument. It was headed "Dearest Fellias."

Alara had been writing a letter to her sister when Jarreth had returned from a hunting foray with Deigo and some tauren. He commented in what he thought had been a casual tone that it might not be a good idea to mail anything personal from Peace in the off chance that some unhappy relative would find out where they were and disrupt the peaceful co-existence they were trying to create. What happened next was probably the biggest 'disagreement' they had had.

Jarreth wasn't really sure what had happened. Until they had started settling in, they hadn't had any arguments. They hadn't had any sort of strained feelings toward each other. It had been a few weeks and suddenly they seemed to be at each other's throats.

A furry head rubbed against Jarreth's hand and he looked down at Deigo, still in a state of shock. Not ever having had a serious relationship before Alara, he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do now. Small arguments had always been resolved with clear discussion. This was the first time she had ever stormed out on him with the issue still unresolved. Was he supposed to go after her? Wait here? Find something else to do? What was the protocol for this sort of thing?

With a grunt of frustration, Jarreth stood and left the cabin, holding the door open just long enough for Deigo to follow him out. He paused on the threshold to gaze out at the cluster of cabins around him.

Peace was small enough that he could see the entire community from his doorstep. Behind his cabin, which was situated at the northern end of town, was the wall that surrounded the village. Beyond that he could see a collection of shops. Beyond that was the gate. A single main road ran from the gate to about the center of the gathering of residential cabins.

On the other side of the gate, which currently sat open in the early afternoon sunlight, he could see the grassy expanse of Mulgore. The hills on either side of the valley Peace was nestled into were dotted with trees. It was more open than what Jarreth was used to but it was starting to feel more like home with each day.

Jarreth moved through the series of cabins toward the main road. He paused near Melanda's cabin, wondering briefly if he should go in and get Alara to come home. As he moved up to the door, however, he could hear the unmistakable sound of his love's raised voice. He couldn't make out any words but he decided against braving that storm yet. Instead, he turned and made for the shop district. It was still early enough that Derrai would be in her store and he needed someone to talk to that knew a lot more about relationships than he did.

He found the blood elf balanced on top of a very tall stool, trying to place some potions on a top shelf. She turned and smiled a welcome as Jarreth walked up beside her and took the box she was trying to prop against her hip. She quickly slid the last few bottles onto the shelf before hopping off her stool.

"Jarreth, good to see you," she greeted once back on solid ground. "You are either bored or in need of a pep-up potion to come here so early in the day."

"Neither." Jarreth's mouth turned down at the corners as he followed her over to her workbench set against the back wall of the shop. Potions of a variety of colors bubbled in bottles and vials over flames. Twisty-turny glass tubes ran between some of the glass beakers. It looked complicated and Jarreth didn't pretend to understand what she was doing.

Hearing his tone, Derrai raised a red brow, twisting her head to glance at him over her shoulder as she poured a test tube of green liquid into a beaker filled with something purple. It puffed briefly and turned orange.

"Trouble brewing on the home front?" she guessed, setting down the concoction and picked up a mortar and pestle. Grinding some dried leaves vigorously, she spun and leaned back against her workbench.

"You could say that." Jarreth plucked at another flower sitting on the bench until she smacked his hand away.

"That runs five gold a pop on a good day," she informed his sternly. She resumed grinding her leaves, regarding him with serious green eyes. "What's going on?"

Jarreth explained the best he could what had happened then waited, his nerves on edge, for her to speak.

"You've been together how long?" she prompted after absorbing what he said.

"A few months."

"Consider yourself lucky then that this is the worst it's been. Be'jak and I have been to the point where I seriously considered poisoning him. This'll pass." She dumped the powdered leaves into the orange liquid. It bubbled dangerously although Derrai didn't seem too concerned.

Jarreth shook his head. "I don't know. I could hear her outside Melanda's home. She seems really angry. She was very close to her sister but I don't know if I want to risk us being found if she sends a letter to her."

The blood elf tilted her head to one side, regarding him. "She's probably homesick. I was. Of course, no one in my family wanted to speak to me after I ran off with Be'jak so I never wanted to write home. It doesn't mean I didn't miss Eversong. Give her some time, pick her some flowers, and treat her like a princess for a few days."

"Somehow this wasn't the advice I was expecting," he murmured.

"What were you expecting?"

"I don't know," he admitted, rubbing his forehead. "Should I let her write home?"

"Yes." Derrai took a thin glass rod and stirred the wildly bubbling orange liquid briskly. It made one last blurp and turned lime green. She snagged a bulbous vial and poured it in, corking it deftly. "Perfect!" She set it down on a second table next to an assortment of others.

"If you're that concerned about her family raiding this place, have it sent under Melanda's name from Mulgore. That's what many of the people here do if they want things sent anonymously."

Jarreth's eyebrows raised. "That's a good idea. If she wants to talk to me when she gets home, I'll suggest that."

The bell at the door of the shop jingled. Jarreth peered around a shelf at a troll laden with baskets of flowers. "Little help, mon?" the blue-skinned man asked upon seeing Jarreth.

"Afternoon, Be'jak." Jarreth came forward and took half of the load, carrying it to Derrai's workbench. She squealed upon seeing the herbs and hugged her odd husband, planting a kiss on his cheek near his massively jutting tusk.

"So," the troll started, dusting off his hands as Derrai started happily sorting the loot. "I see your little missus out da gates a moment ago, hackin' away at some o'dat firewoods out dere. Seemed a bit upset."

Jarreth grimaced. Derrai snorted into her flowers and shook her head.

"Now may not be the best time to talk to her, then," Jarreth groaned. He looked down at the piles of flowers. "Need help?"

Derrai looked pointedly at Jarreth's large hands. "I'll manage somehow." She smirked as Jarreth made an indignant grunt and Be'jak snorted in laughter.

"See if I buy your wares," Jarreth retorted in mock indignantly. "Anyway, I'm going to get back to the cabin and do some cleaning. It makes her happy when I do the dishes and I could use all the help I can get."

"Here, mon. Da bloody-elves like dis kinda thing." The troll snagged a handful of the herbs he had picked and shoved them at Jarreth. They were pretty white and purple flowers although beyond that Jarreth had no idea what they were. He thanked his friends none-the-less and headed back to his cabin. Deigo, who had been lounging in some late afternoon sunshine outside the store, followed obediently when his master beckoned.

* * *

Alara dumped the last load of firewood outside their cabin's back door, sweaty and smelly from an afternoon's hard labor. She had grumped and yelled and cried as Melanda watched patiently for her to run out of wind then suggested she take her frustrations out on a necessary chore. When she had calmed down, her mind would be clearer and would be in a much better state to discuss the problem. Nothing, Melanda said gently, was ever easily solved when passion was involved.

The young blood elf had trusted her friend's advice and, hefting an axe, had headed out to the small lumber yard outside the eastern wall of Peace. Piles of logs littered the barren earth that served as their lumber yard. Alara had been told that they imported the firewood from places like Feralas as needed. Part of the taxes they paid went to support the importation so they could take what they needed when they needed it.

Jarreth had been meaning to gather wood as their stock was starting to get low but hunting had become more important as they were running out of fresh meat. Luckily there was plenty of game in Mulgore so a few trips out was enough to fill their larder. It meant, however, that Jarreth had to spend a number of days processing the meat, and then working the hides to prevent them from stiffening. Then he would have to spend some more days turning the leather into just about everything they needed around the house from boots to blankets.

Alara, however, had very little to do besides keep house. She helped him process the meat, of course, but other than that she cooked and cleaned. They had only been there a few weeks, though, so she was running out of things to do.

Working on the firewood turned into a good activity. She had felt her anger whoosh out of her with each downward swoosh of her axe. The methodic task was soothing and, before she realized how long it had been, she had heard the bell in the town hall toll the hour before dusk. The gates would be closing soon.

Back at the house now, she brushed splintered wood off of her tunic front before opening the back door of her cabin. Stepping into the kitchen, Alara caught the scent of cooked stew. Her mouth watered as she turned her eyes toward the kitchen hearth and the black cauldron bubbling over the flames. She didn't see Jarreth in the kitchen as she shed her outer layers, hanging them on a set of hooks near the door. She pulled off her boots – muddy from tromping around the lumber yard – and went to the sink pump to wash her hands and face. She started to lift the lever to pump in water when the kitchen door creaked open.

Alara looked calmly at the night elf without saying anything, pump half lifted. She could clearly see he wanted to say something and she waited for him to spit it out.

"Don't worry about that," he started awkwardly, indicating the pump. "I have something to show you first."

She raised her dark brows. "I'd rather be clean first," she snapped, a prickle of her original anger running up her back.

"This actually requires you to be dirty," he replied quickly, holding the door between the kitchen and the living room open. "Please," he added softly.

"Fine."

Alara walked through the door and glanced around the living room. The only difference she saw in there was a vase of pretty flowers on the dining table. She didn't see how that required her to be covered in sweat. About to say so, she was interrupted as Jarreth opened the door to their bathroom.

Frowning, she moved to look inside. The tub was filled with steaming water and, much to Alara's amusement, flower petals. The light from the candles reflected their flickering light in the still water. She realized how much effort it must have taken to fill the tub with hot water.

Their cabin was still new and still only partially finished. The inhabitants had helped them build it once they had arrived but it was not completely finished. The bathroom, thankfully, was plumbed for water. However, their piping would not be finished until sometime in the next week or two when a goblin from Ratchet arrived to install a heating tank outside. Until then, all the water in the house was cold. Alara had been looking forward to the day when she could run hot water into her bathroom.

In order for Jarreth to draw her a hot bath, he would have had to heat buckets of water in the kitchen hearth and lug them into the bathroom. Because of the sheer amount of bother it took to do this, they had both forgone full baths. Usually they would heat a single bucket of water and briskly scrub themselves before it cooled too much.

"I thought that after all your work you might want a good soaking. By the time you're done, dinner should be ready. There's a clean towel and robe there on the rack. Call me if you need anything." Before Alara had a chance to reply, Jarreth shut the door with a soft click.

Alara stripped down and gratefully climbed into the tub, sighing as the hot water enveloped her. She let herself submerge fully before dashing water from her eyes and searching for the soap. Jarreth had set it on the small table next to the tub within easy reach.

"How the hell am I supposed to stay mad at him after this?" she complained as she proceeded to thoroughly scrub the dirt and grime from her body.

* * *

Alara emerged from the bathroom right as Jarreth carried two bowls of stew from the kitchen. He set them in their places and disappeared back into the kitchen. He returned with a loaf of warm bread and a glob of the butter Alara had recently learned to make. He motioned for her to take her seat as he poured some liquid into the goblets set next to their bowls.

The woman sat, arranging her robe comfortably around her. She waited for him to take his own seat before taking up her spoon to sample his cooking. It was good but that didn't surprise Alara much. Although she did do most of the cooking since they arrived, he shared kitchen duties when he wasn't knee deep in deer guts.

They ate in silence for a long moment, the tension thick in the air. Usually they filled dinner time with chatter about what they had accomplished that day and what they intended to accomplish tomorrow.

"When you finish your letter, Derrai can take you to Mulgore to mail it," Jarreth tried to say casually as he dipped his bread into the stew.

"I'm sorry?" Alara managed after a moment.

"I spoke to Derrai today when you were gathering firewood." He refused to mention the reason for her chopping wood. If she noticed, she didn't bring it up. "She said a lot of the people here send letters anonymously through someone else. Makes it harder to track. I'm sure Fellias is smart enough to figure out who it is really from once she starts reading it, just don't use your name. We can work on composing it when we're done eating." Jarreth spoke into his stew, not really wanting to make eye contact.

Alara chewed slowly, considering his words. On one hand, she was miffed that he ran off to that alchemist to discuss his personal life, even though she had done much to same with Melanda. On the other hand, she was coming to the realization that she could write Fellias and Jarreth would support her.

"I would like that. Thank you."

The rest of dinner passed in the same strained and civil manner. Jarreth cleared their dishes while Alara found a fresh sheaf of paper and a quill. By the light of the candles on the table, she sharpened her quill and dipped it into the ink well. Jarreth returned and settled down beside her to help her compose a letter that didn't give too much away while at the same time letting Fellias know that they were alright and doing well.

* * *

Alara had never been to Thunder Bluff. At first she wasn't sure if she should even go considering it was where Daveious had decided to live. What if he actually ran into her there? What would he do? Would he pretend not to recognize her or would he steal her away to Eversong as if that would solve everything? Naturally, she didn't mention this to Jarreth for fear that he wouldn't allow her to go to the city to mail her letter.

Derrai, as promised, accompanied her on her trip. They flew double since they were so tiny compared to the giant flying lions the horde tended to favor. Plus it was cheaper fare if they shared – not that Peace's flight masters would have charged them if they couldn't afford it but everyone had to make a living somehow.

Alara kept the hood of her red cloak up as they wandered through the rises of the bluff, Derrai pointing out interesting stores or landmarks. They found a mailbox readily enough as there were many dotted all over the city. Once that task was done, Derrai headed for an auction house to put some of her potions up for sale. Alara, not having much else to do, followed along behind her like a shadow.

Going to the auction house, which in reality turned out to be merely a couple of tents guarded by severe looking tauren auctioneers, made Alara think about how she and Jarreth were going to make any money living in Peace. Jarreth had spoken about opening a shop of his own that sold leather goods to the towns folk since there were not any professional leather workers residing in the village. That was all well and fine but it would not make a lot of money.

While Derrai waited in line to set up her goods, Alara wandered around the groups of people bidding on items, watching with interest as they shouted and waved their arms at the auctioneer to get their bid in before it closed. Her eyebrows shot up almost under her bangs when she saw a pair of leather boots not nearly as nice as the ones Jarreth had made her in Ashenvale sell for a tidy ten gold pieces. It wasn't terribly expensive but ten gold pieces would pay their taxes for more than a month in Peace where cost of living was pretty cheap. She made a note to suggest trading some of Jarreth's products on auction when she got back.

A hand on her shoulder made Alara jump and spin violently around. It was only Derrai, though, and Alara fought hard to regain her breath and slow her heart down.

"Jumpy much?" the woman asked, using their racial language. "If you'd actually finished your training, you probably would have slammed me with some spell with how touchy you are right now. Everything alright?"

They walked away from the auction tents toward the tower that housed the flying mounts. "My brother actually lives here most of the time," Alara replied as they went, making sure her hood was snuggly over her head. "I'd hate to think what would happen if I ran into him here."

"I see. Maybe I should give you a nickname, then, so I'm not overheard using your real one." Derrai mused for a moment. "I'll call you Allie when we're here. How's that?"

Alara wrinkled her nose at the name but agreed. "I doubt Daveious could conceive that I would let anyone call me that. It'll do. Just don't start using it in Peace or everyone will start calling me that."

"Agreed. Is there anything else you need to get while we're in town before we head back?"

Alara shook her head and followed Derrai up the long, spiral ramp that led to where the beast from Peace waited patiently for them to return.

* * *

Jarreth liked Alara's idea of selling on the auction and told her that as soon as he got a shop set up in town, they could start doing that. There was no need at this point, however, to rush as they were paid up on their taxes and had time to get organized.

"What do you want to do now that we're here?" he asked over supper that night. "If I have my shop, what do you intend to do with yourself?"

"Someone has to run things while you're out getting materials," she said shrewdly. "You can't close as often as you need to hunt and I'd rather you didn't pay someone to man the shop for you if I can do it just fine."

"And when I'm not out hunting?" he prompted. "I don't want you to feel as though you have to stay in the house all the time. Lately that's all you've really done. If you want to, though, that's fine," he added hastily, not wanting to seem like he was forcing her to find a hobby if she didn't want one.

"Actually, I've been considering joining the patrol. My combat training may be rusty but at one point I did know how to wield a sword. With some practice, I'm sure the spells I knew will come back to me. Plus patrolmen usually get a small stipend for their time."

Jarreth nodded slowly as he considered what she said. "That would be a good way to use your time, I'd say. I can plan my hunting trips around your patrols so you can be in town when I leave the shop. We can practice arms together, if you'd like. I'm not much with a sword but it would be good to train against someone wielding axes if you want to get your skills back up."

Alara flashed him a grateful grin that filled Jarreth with a very warm, fuzzy feeling. He was glad she was taking interest in her training again and her look of gratitude for his approval was well worth the feeling of panic he originally had at the thought of her endangering herself by joining the local militia. He quickly scolded himself for being silly. No one ever really attacked Peace. The patrols were more a way to keep ex-soldiers busy and trained so they didn't go crazy with idleness. Who in their right minds would ever think to attack this insignificant village?

* * *

Ashanil stood at the flight point of Astranaar, nostrils flared in rage as nearby villagers scurried out of her way. The flight master had taken a knee before her, holding his hands up in a pleading gesture.

"I'm very sincerely sorry, My Lady. We have none to spare at the moment. Most of them were killed during the raid those months ago and we've not been able to afford replacements. All the others are out on other flights. I assure you that as soon as one comes in we will send for you."

The pale-haired elf glared down at the simpering man, resisting the urge to kick him. It would be her luck to be stuck in this bumpkin of a town with her idiotic brother overnight until a new beast came in.

"See that you do," she said instead to the coward, turning briskly on her heel to face Dargatha. "Go to the inn and alert them that we shall require rooms for the night, dinner for tonight, and breakfast for tomorrow. I want a fire in my hearth by the time I arrive and my dinner hot on the table ready to eat. Do I make myself perfectly clear, Brother-Mine?"

Dargatha nodded grimly and left without a word. He didn't bother asking her what she was intending to do since she obviously would not be coming with him to make the arrangements. He figured that he probably wouldn't want to know anyway.

Ashanil left the flight master and slowly walked a circuit of the town, murmuring under her breath as she did. She kept the water to her right hand until she reached the north-western part of the waterfront. There she paused and frowned. Crouching behind the buildings, she squinted at what appeared to be dark brown specks on the cobbles. If she was correct, and she knew she was, it was old blood she was looking at. It had been protected from the elements by the building's eves. Examining the wall of the building, she saw similar splatters on the planking. The blood could have belonged to anyone.

Ashanil placed her right palm over as much splatter as she could, closing her eyes. A jolt ran the length of her arm and the mage took an involuntary step backwards. "Jarreth," she hissed through her teeth, rubbing her palm with her other hand. It hurt to delve into magic she wasn't supposed to use but it was the only way she could determine if it belonged to a relative. The numb tingling in her hand slowly subsided as she massaged it, thinking quickly.

Striding back through town, Ashanil made her way to the inn. She whisked in without a word to the innkeeper and headed up the stairs. The smell of hot food led her to the rooms she assumed were hers. Entering them she saw Dargatha sitting near the fire sharpening his sword. He had not touched the food on the table. Good doggy.

She did not speak to him until she had finished eating, and then it was only to tell him he may have whatever was left. Dargatha didn't comment out of fear of his sister. Thankfully he had made sure that the innkeeper sent up more than enough so that he would be able to eat his fill. In some things Dargatha was not an idiot; just in most things.

"Not that it matters in the slightest to our plans, but I did find some of Jarreth's blood."

Dargatha felt a chill run down his back as she spoke.

"He was injured when he left this place. That might make him easier to find once we reach Ratchet. The goblins would notice an injured elf. Those disgusting little creatures are rather observant."

Dargatha grunted a reply, gnawing on the leg bone of a game-hen.

"Why in the entire world he would choose to go there…" Ashanil stood by the window, looking out over the darkening streets of Astranaar. The sun would be down soon and the forest would be blanketed in a comfortable dimness that night elves found so alluring. "Did he ever mention anything to you about wishing to live in barren wasteland?"

"No," Dargatha replied automatically although the question was a sarcastic one.

"Of course he didn't. Even those little blood traitors hate the openness of the plains. Any sane elf would steer clear of that wretched country."

"Maybe he got charter to Stranglethorn?" Dargatha tossed the bone aside and took a drink of mead.

"Do you think I had not already considered that? Leave the thinking to me. You're only here for your muscles." Ashanil dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "I am tired."

"Sister." Dargatha bowed his way out of the room. As soon as the door latched behind him, the dark elf allowed himself to let out the breath he had been holding. Although Dargatha could not conceive why his brother would abandon them, it was times like these that he didn't blame Jarreth for doing it. Ashanil was impossible.

* * *

Fellias yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. She strolled lazily toward the mailbox outsider her parents' home, the late afternoon sun shining golden through the tree tops. The mail carrier was disappearing down the path, his bouncy bird steed kicking up dust behind him.

Taking the mail, she thumbed through it without really registering any of the letters. Blinking rapidly to clear her sleepy mind, Fellias repeated the thumbing, stopping when she realized that the letter with the imperial seal really was addressed to her. Frowning, she tucked the other letters under her arm and broke the seal of the envelope. Why was this sent to her parents' house? Obviously the palace knew where she lived. Perhaps they just assumed she would be there to support her family through this difficult time.

With a flick of her wrist, she let the sheaf of paper unfold before her. This was probably just a notice when she needed to return to work. They had waved off her attempt to return to work, sending her on a forced vacation in order to recover from the emotional shock. She skimmed the opening formalities without much interest. Only when her eyes hit the bulk of the letter did she feel the overwhelming urge to sit down. The ground seemed as good a place as any.

She plopped onto the grass next to the mailbox, dropping the pile of mail beside her as she clutched the letter in hands that shook. What the hell was this? She snatched up the envelope and scrutinized the seal as if she suspected it to be falsified. It looked official. She had seen too many in the past not to know a real seal when she saw one.

For a long time, Fellias sat there in the grass, staring blankly at the letter and pondering its significance. She knew she had no choice in the matter but the urge to flee was creeping up her back. She read and re-read the letter thrice before letting her head fall into her hands.

Foot steps behind her caused the woman to lift her head and glance over her shoulder. Pelia was walking briskly across the yard, face creased with a worried frown. "What in the world are you doing?" she asked, looking down at her sister.

"I'm… getting arrested?" Fellias replied vaguely, gazing up at Pelia through eyes that were suddenly even more tired than before.

"What?" Pelia met Fellias' vague expression with a blank one.

"Arrested. Relieved of duty. Forced temporary suspension. Under investigation." Fellias held the letter up for Pelia to read.

The perky sister snatched the paper and quickly read it. She frowned. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"If it is, I'm going to strangle the one who did it." The elder sister stood shakily and took the paper back. Pelia stooped and grabbed the rest of the mail and the two made their way back into the house. The deposited the rest of the mail on the entryway table and sat down in the living room to read the letter yet another time.

"How could they suspect you of treason?" Pelia whispered, running fingers through her hair nervously. "I don't get it. We're the only ones who know what you've done."

"I can think of someone who would try," Fellias ground out between gritted teeth.

"Baraneus can't be that stupid," Pelia replied. "He'd be in just as much trouble as the rest of us if he told."

"I suppose I'll find out. The summons is for today." Fellias shook her head slowly, rubbing her knuckles into her eyes. "I need to go get ready."

Pelia stood with her sister, who shot her a questioning look. "I'm going with you this time," Pelia said firmly, folding the letter up nervously and tucking it into her belt pouch.

Felias merely nodded and disappeared up the stairs.

* * *

Felias stood rigidly in the antechamber of the Blood Knight citadel in Farstrider Square. Pelia stood at her back and slightly to the side, looking stony despite the feeling of panic welling up in the pit of her stomach. Behind them stood a contingent of Knights, blocking any possibility of escape. Before them stood another imposing group of Knights. At their center was Vranesh, looking as dour as usual. Apparently this affair was important enough for him to get off his high horse and come indoors for once.

"Sir Fellias Sunshade," Vranesh began, looking at a long scroll he clutched in his hand, his dark hair falling into his face as he read. "You have been charged with treason to both the Crown and to the Throne." He glanced up at her through the curtain of black as if trying to gauge her reaction. He received nothing but hard silence. "How do you plead?"

"I make no plea," she replied tightly, her voice echoing in the oddly quiet citadel. "This is no trial; I have no obligation to speak to you." She saw the corner of his eye twitch ever so slightly.

"You are aware of the severity of these accusations?" he continued tersely.

"Of course," she replied evenly. "Only a fool would not realize that treason is a pretty hefty charge. And only a fool would charge one with it. I demand to see my accuser. It is my right as the accused to face those who have made the accusation."

"Actually," Vranesh murmured eyes hard as they gazed out of his hair at Fellias, "In cases of Treason, you have no rights."

"I have been accused, not confirmed," the woman shot back hotly.

"As far as the courts are concerned, it is the same thing." He rolled up the parchment and brushed his hair back from his handsome face. "Admit defeat now and it will save everyone a lot of time and headache."

"Swivel on it," Fellias spat back, making a very rude gesture to the Champion. "I have given this country and this Crown years of loyal service. I don't deserve to be treated like a criminal because some random person decides they don't like me."

"I can see why they felt that way," Vranesh said drolly. "I'm starting to share their sentiments."

The two Knights made an honest attempt to stare each other down before another of the gathered guards cleared her throat delicately. She looked pointedly at Vranesh, trying to convey to him without words that both his and Fellias' behavior was bordered childish and that they really needed to move things along. Vranesh rolled his eyes and turned back to Fellias.

"Anyway, it isn't like you have much of a choice in the following proceedings. As per the law, which you know very well, you will be confined for the duration of the investigation. All parties involved will be called to testify individually, etcetera, etcetera and so forth. At the end of it all, if you are somehow miraculously found innocent, you will get a full pardon from the reagent and compensation for the time spent away from work. If, more likely, you are found guilty of this act, you will be publically executed one month from the day of the verdict to give everyone time to come and watch. Any questions?"

Fellias shook her head stiffly, hands clenched at her sides. She imaged spitting on him but decided that wouldn't help things any, although it certainly would make her feel better. Two guards came forward and grabbed her roughly by the arms. Fellias shot a look over her shoulder at Pelia, silently apologizing for this mess, before she was born away toward the stairs that would lead down into the prison below the citadel.

The younger woman was left standing alone amongst the other Blood Knights, wondering what the hell she was supposed to do now. She guessed the first thing she should do was find Daveious. With barely a glare at Vranesh, she spun on her heel and left the building.

The bright sunshine outside the building was a blaring contrast to her mood as she made her way quickly through the town to the nearest mailbox. Digging around her belt pouch, she quickly found some letter material and jotted down the situation in the most succinct manner and popped it in the mailbox addressed to her eldest brother. With that completed, she retreated for the Sunshade home outside of the city. As much as she was loath to be the one to break the news to her parents, they needed to know.

* * *

About a week later, in a small clearing in the southern reaches of the Eversong Woods, Belarethil resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose at the small, dark dwarf that stood nearby. Steelgrope was talking to a unit of dwarves in their native tongue, directing them or something of the sort. They eventually nodded and trudged off for wherever it was that Steelgrope had told them to go. Finally, the disgusting little man turned back to Belarethil.

"And you are certain things will go to plan?" he asked darkly, his orcish accent horrendously thick.

"I don't see why they shouldn't," Belarethil muttered snippily. "Hopefully no more than a month or two should put us in control of the city. My men inside have promised me that we have some new allies in our cause, even if those allies have no idea how helpful they are being."

"And the Sunshades? I heard they have mostly left but if this deals with one of them?" The stocky creature leaned heavily on his axe handle, the large double blades shinning in the late afternoon sun.

"Well, one is detained, others are probably heading back this way to testify within the week, and one is on our side so we do not have to worry about him at all. Listen, I have Vranesh's promise that this trail will go to execution. The hanging of a Sunshade will be a big event. All but a few guards will be attending this affair and even then the ones that were unlucky enough to be on duty will be too distracted to notice us until they're too dead to do anything about it."

"Very well. Just let me know when to move my men into the ruins." The dwarf hefted his axe up over his shoulder and regarded Belarethil through his small, beady eyes. "Just remember what you owe us and do not fail on your end."

The blood elf nodded curtly before turning to walk toward the swirling vortex situated at the far end of the little glade they stood in. The portal led back to his work room and as soon as his feet hit the floor of the small circular room, he banished the gateway and heaved a heavy sigh of relief. He hated dwarves and was very impatient to get rid of them. As soon as he had control in Silvermoon, he'd make sure each and every one of them was slaughtered.

Belarethil had worked much too hard on this to actually follow through on his promises to the dark dwarves. And he'd be damned if he was going to give them those powerful jewels in the royal vaults. If this plan succeeded, those would be _his_ precious gem stones. He wasn't very inclined to just give them away to whatever little tunnel-dweller wanted them.

After all, once regent Theron was killed and he, Belarethil, saves the city from the invading dwarves, what choice would they have but to name him their new Regent. He already had the support of a good deal of people in high places, such as Champion Vranesh and many of his cronies. Baraneous' unknown support was also helpful. Now all Belarethil had to do was figure out how to deal with the Sunshades during all of this. He didn't doubt they would be in attendance when their sister was executed. If not, they would probably in at their parents' home, comforting the family. That would be even better. Once the Sunshades heard about the attack on the city, they would come charging in, killing dwarves right and left. They would inadvertently be helping him take over. Somewhere in the fray, Theron would tragically die and Belarthil will avenge him in some heroic way. He hadn't figured out the details yet but he knew it would all come together in the end. It had to.


End file.

Warcraft, Drama, Romance