#...wait i figured out the secret to avoiding culture shock. you have to absolutely despise the place youre currently living in

[justanothertraveller42]

Why is the US (insert derogatory statement here)

[happyorogeny]

The Gossip Chapter 6

(~4,400 words)(Illidan, Rommath, Maiev)(tw injury, field medicine, mention of spouse death) 

Read from the Start

Rommath had considered the entire situation in excruciating detail and come to a firm conclusion:

He did, indeed, hate everything.

He did not, however, hate everything equally. He was an egalitarian man. The main target of his vitriol varied from moment to moment. But as of now it was this rain. Outland’s rain was different to that of Azeroth. He was quite sure it was sapient enough to know malice, for it hammered down as if angry and had leaked through the one loose stitch in his right shoe.

He despised how cold he felt, stiff and weary as if he’d walked day and night in driving rain. Kael had been warming the air around them for the past day and he noticed the absence more keenly than he cared to admit. 

He hadn’t commented on Kael’s interference. No need to embarrass both of them. Instead he organized Kael’s papers and saddlepacks, knowing well that he tended to live in a state of barely organized chaos. No wonder he’d lost the last report. Rommath had found it crumpled in his bed between three blankets. Doubtless he had told himself he would read it before sleeping and then immediately dozed off.

He hated the workload that left Kael so weary that shadows haunted his eyes, that his voice had developed an edge like a rusty razor.

He also hated this cough, a wretched thing that sat on his throat and caught him out at the worst moments, such as after climbing this entirely ridiculous staircase. It took him far too long to get back to Kael’thas’s chambers. He probably had a room of his own somewhere, but he would hear nothing of that. He needed to be where Kael’thas ought be, to carry this deception off.

It couldn’t take more than a day, right?

It was absolutely going to take more than a day.

He decided he hated Illidan also, given that he was a flashy braggart with too much hair and a ridiculously husky voice who appeared out of nowhere to give folk a shock. Who walked around with magic rippling off them like that, preening and showing away? He was worse than Kael’thas after he cast his first fireball, an event that had had the prince strutting like a cockerel for six weeks.

Was this honestly the same Illidan that had saved arcane magic, that had planted the seeds for their culture? Rommath had some serious concerns, and-

He paused a moment to take a deep breath. The healers had said to avoid stress, as if that were possible, had told him to rest and recuperate from his illness. They’d looked worried when he laughed, wondered if the illness could lead to minor hysteria.

Well, he didn’t quite have a solution to the greater problem of Kael’thas is in danger and I can do nothing but he did have a way to calm himself.  Somewhat. A number of travelling merchants had set up in Quel’Thalas, selling anything and everything at reduced prices to the desperate Sin’dorei. He had picked up some exceedingly ugly green wool from an enthusiastic goblin saleswoman. While he waited, he would cast on a scarf and order his thoughts as he worked. And by the end, he would have something useful.

He would gift it to Aethas, he decided in a fit of spite. Somewhere public so that he would have to pretend he appreciated it.

Ah, what a relief it was to be petty again. Surely all other problems were small and manageable if he had time to be petty.

His knitting went well for three hours, while the rain hammered down relentlessly. He kept time by his stitches. Inspiration struck him by the 35th row. He wasn’t the only one here with the interests of the Prince at heart.

Do’rai was late with breakfast. He opened the door only a crack so that she couldn’t see into the room.

“Ah, excellent. Could you be so kind as to call Mei’le? I think she’ll be in the morning garden.”

“Oh!” Do’rai looked a little taken aback as he took in the tray. “Of course!”

Mei’le, at least, appeared with due speed. Perhaps a little too much speed, for she was clearly out of breath when she knocked. She almost managed to make it look elegant, leaning against the doorframe in a draped ivory gown that alternated between loose and figure hugging. He was briefly impressed by the tight weave of the fabric.  

“Why, good morning Grand Magister, fancy meeting you here.”

“I asked you here.” Daft creature.

She had also brought that nice man from the Den, Xi’an. He had some interesting if indistinct ideas about the combination of varying schools of magic, and a very pleasant voice. Rommath froze briefly. Mei’le nodded in understanding.

“Too much?”

Rommath managed to steady himself.

“Can I talk to you alone, a moment?”

“Of course!”

Xi’an straightened, inclined his head with much elegance and sauntered off. Mei’le paused the moment she stepped inside, but had the good grace to wait until the door was closed before turning on him.

“What have you done with Kael?”

“Excuse me?” His hackles went up instantly – how dare she accuse him of doing anything to Kael’thas?! And threaten him with that tiny knife while she was at it! “Put that silly thing away! I need your help!”

She gasped suddenly, big brown eyes going even wider.

“Oh my goodness, they’ve eloped haven’t they?”

What? Kael’thas had said nothing of a paramour! That explained amount of crumpled paper in his wastebasket. Kael was a dreadful romantic, who pined and sighed and developed an alarming tendency towards maudlin poetry.  

“Who!?”  

She pursed her lips, somehow without smudging the red lipstain.

“Why, him and the Highlord, obviously.”

“What? No!”

“Don’t lie to me! Illidan’s enchanted with him, never shows his face in the Den unless the prince is there.”

For Sunwell’s sake- although Kael’thas was very beautiful and that might explain all of his idiot prancing on the balcony last night- Rommath shook himself.  

“No, that isn’t the case. Illidan is- away on a mission and Kael’thas has gone to aid him.”

She nodded with a wise air.

“A good cover story. Somewhat uninspired perhaps, but-”

“I need your help keeping an eye on things while they are gone, and keeping the fact of their absence a secret.”

“Of course! We can say he’s sequestered in council with yourself, and I can act as witness.” She plopped herself onto the divan with an alarming lack of decorum. “How long must we spin this out?”

…

Illidan’s magical display turned out to be mostly show and little strength. As if a fall of twenty foot would do more than irritate them! Maiev hopped upright and dusted herself off, indignant at the loss of her gauntlet.

Her ears twitched inside her helm as she listened to the watchers calling to one another, counting each voice. Her heart slowed as she heard them, one by one. 

He’d almost killed Ki’ra. An arrow from one of her sisters had drawn his ire instead, distracted him away from the fallen watcher. A second more and she would have died. Maiev had been too far away to reach her.

She found herself clenching her fist so hard the metal buckled. She had tackled him directly to distract him from the others. She had been certain of it, that he would focus on her beyond all other threats. 

Foolish of her. She had been certain of many things. All had come to change.

Maiev closed her eyes a long moment.

In any decent world she would be at home in the forests. All of them together. They would forsake their armour for mourning veils and their hunting songs for laments. She would spend her night making cairns, drowning in her grief. That was the way of sorrow. It swallowed a person, became a part of them. In any decent world they would be enduring the process together, in peace, in darkness.  

Instead she was here with those who hadn’t been murdered. Instead of grieving they suffered anew. Instead of drowning, she burned. They were denied peace and place to weep because no one was inclined to do their duty.

Irrelevant. Soon enough she would have his head, and could finally set down her weapons.

Limestone crunched underfoot as she trotted over to the edge of the chasm to squint upwards.

Those sisters who had escaped the collapse were tying rope to their sabers and throwing the coils down into the crater. Those still stuck in the shallow collapse were digging one another free, or forming stacks so as to climb out. Truly this was a cursed place, with the flesh beneath the surface rotting away like a months-old carcass. One day the whole thing would collapse in upon itself.

Swift’s head appeared over the edge of the cliff. She mewed upon spotting Maiev and started to purr loudly. Relief swept through her. Swift sported a nasty gash upon her forehead but seemed well enough aside from that.  She had feared Illidan would kill her out of malice.

Though the greysabers had performed well, their personality still needed work. She had had neither the time nor the generational effects to encourage the stoic attitude befitting a wardens mount. And so Swift was anxious as a kitten and tried to reach for her with gigantic grey paws.

Maiev continued hammering a handhold into the rock. It was porous and weak enough to yield to her as much as it yielded to magic. Swift paced anxiously atop the cliff, head bobbing as she sought a safe place to jump down to. She eyed her briefly and then whistled, calling the saber down. 

She disliked asking the sabers for vertical leaps except when absolutely necessary, for fear it would strain their spine. But Swift seemed hale enough.The foolish beast had even fetched her gauntlet and now deposited it proudly at her feet, then rolled over for a belly scratch.

She took a moment to comb the burrs out of her fur and checked her over visually for injuries. Swift had lost her saddle somewhere in the fight, but her fur was thick enough for Maiev to cling to her back as she leaped upwards out of the crater.

Maiev ran a quick eye over her fighters. She’d seen no fewer than three occasions where the greysabers had whisked their riders away from a deadly blast of magic or a lethal kick. Illidan had knocked a few of them senseless but everyone was up and moving.

They hadn’t escaped completely unscathed. Pia was in the process of setting a badly broken leg while the watcher in question held on to Ki’ra for comfort. Maiev knew at a glance the woman would never run again. 

One of the greysabers crouched over her warden, nuzzling at her. A rider badly injured, but not dead. She had to tense herself so as not to move forwards. She had been a healer once, but that wasn’t her role here. She would interfere with the work of the skilled medics.

Leaning back, she searched through the women again. Lyr, Cai and Lief all moved with the stiffness of wounds that would get them killed. She urged Swift over to Lyr and dismounted so as to take a coil of rope out of her hands.

"Go back to the camp."

Maiev was already turning away as the warden startled upright.

"What?"

"Illidan didn't kick you in the head. You heard me. Back to camp. Send up Zia and Ni'lya as replacements."

"But-"

Maiev didn't quite turn back. She had not invited discussion. An order was an order. But she did pause. She had asked only for volunteers to come to Outland. With half their sisters dead, the other half were enraged enough to follow her without hesitation.

Lyr was a steady woman if perhaps overly sedate, good with sabers and meticulous to a fault. She had lost a lover in Illidan’s initial escape. She had every reason to stay, every reason to want Illidan’s head. No wonder she was stubborn.

Maiev schooled herself to patience and took her by the elbow, towing her away from the group.

"Sash wouldn't want you dead out here. Neither do I. I have neither the time nor the earth to bury you."

Lyr looked away, flushing indigo. Perhaps she thought Maiev hadn't noticed them, that she would disapprove. Maiev noticed everything. She simply didn't care. Why would she? The wardens weren't statues of marble, though they were often treated as such. As if they were cold and hard as their armour, devoid of every heartfelt longing.

“Go back. Rest. And send up a talbuck for the greysabers.”

Lyr finally relented and went to her sister companions. They were injured, but not so badly that they couldn’t return to the travelling camp.

She restrained a brief twitch of irritation at the thought of the train following them. As well as her elite fighters and their mounts she had collected a few independent druids, a scattering of Broken fighters and camp hands and no small amount of dranaei varying from rangers to healers to madmen. 

She felt as if she were at the head of a travelling circus rather than leading a stealthy hunt in search of a monster. But she couldn’t deny that the range of skills was useful to them in this dreadful place.

Pia had been one of the first healers to join them, against Maiev’s express wishes. She had smuggled herself along under one of the talbucks they brought for meat and milk. The act of stealth had been impressive enough that she allowed her to remain. Maiev was something of a healer herself, and she knew enough to realize Pia outclassed her. The wardens were low on allies at the moment. She wasn’t one to disdain a knife just because she fought best with the glaive.

Pia trotted over to her now, blue hair tucked neatly around her horns. She carried a small earthenware pot and began to daub its sticky contents carefully onto the gouges Illidan had left on her shoulder.

"It's quite alright Pia, please tend the girls." 

Pia blinked at her with huge purple eyes and pointed. Sure enough they already bore the green bandages that advertised her work. She had learned early that Maiev would refuse treatment until everyone else was seen to.

Maiev relented and extended her hand for examination. She’d often enough ended up with fel poisoning after fighting Illidan, for even stray flecks of blood or spittle seemed toxic enough to harm a normal creature.

“Where did you go, during the fight?”

Pia closed her eyes as she often did when translating something back to herself, then wrapped her brown cloak around herself and lay flat on the ground. Maiev was almost impressed. The dranaei would indeed to invisible to a casual inspection. 

“Good. Be sure to keep a greater distance next time. He grows more wicked with fear.”

She’d done this dance before. For all his cowardice Illidan had only grown stronger over time, and more vicious. It usually took three encounters before he was tired enough that they could actually drag him down. Even then he was hale enough to fight them for hours, and had left many a warden so crippled as to be beyond fieldwork.

Had left many dead. Too many.

She would challenge Tyrande over this when she returned. She would have satisfaction from the woman who usurped her as High Priestess, even if it killed her.

Pia glanced up at her anxiously as the rage swept through her, quick as a forest fire. Maiev shook her head.

“Continue your work.”

All her anger could be held in abeyance. What she needed now was patience. And afterwards, she could grieve. But not now.

That first clash had been informative indeed. She closed her eyes to replay it back, image by image. Her memory had always been ironclad and acute, like a series of paintings laid out one after another. Hateful as it was to see Illidan in her mind, there were important things to note. He’d put on weight, a tricky thing for someone who flew everywhere. So this Temple of his wasn’t on the verge of starvation. What a shame.

In addition to that he had powered through injuries that would have stopped him in his tracks before this nonsense with the skull. And the wings were a problem. Fast and sharp, with a long reach. A risky move on his part, but one that had carved a deep grove into her chestplate.

They would weave iron fibers into the ropes, so that he couldn’t cut himself free so easily. And someone or something to act as a constant distraction so as to protect them from magical attacks.

Well, she had always thought of herself as very diverting.

She lifted her head to peer towards the clouded mountain peak and cursed this wretched sun that left her half blind. Clair and the others had gone ahead to lie in wait upon the mountain. By now the lack of smoke signals surely told them they must be ready. They might even be fighting him already. But she could hear nothing, see nothing…except…

She was a stranger in this place, but something about the slope of the mountain made her wonder. Those could be rugged paths, long ago carved and now abandoned. She lowered her head and closed her eyes briefly as they watered in protest from the light.

“Pia, tell me, is there anything up there that someone might fly to for shelter?

…

Illidan climbed into the sky until the wardens were swallowed by silence and distance.

Three times he almost turned around. Many a grievance he had to visit upon them. Three times he wrestled all his violent instincts back. There was work to be done elsewhere.

Satisfaction sat warm in his chest. Over a dozen of them couldn't capture one blind man? For shame. Maiev was getting slow in her dotage. In a sudden surge of energy he tucked his wings in and dived, twisting in a corkscrew spiral as he went. The laughter that echoed back off the mountain was unfamiliar to his ears, though it burst from him like music from a harp.

How pleasing the knowledge that a castle with thick walls and strawberries awaited him. It had been long and long since he'd had a home to be sick for. He rolled onto his back to feel the sun on his face, letting himself dip backwards through the sky.

Kael’thas would have a fit if he saw that, convinced he would crash. A very elegant fit containing phrases such as have we considered and please bear in mind.

Spreading his wings once more he flipped over and glided to a light landing upon the mountainside. His left knee almost folded beneath him, so that he briefly stumbled and had to flap most inelegantly to remain upright. Insects squirmed out of the scree around his hooves and wriggled away from the felblood dripping off his wings, trickling down his leg. It hissed and smoked upon loose stone as he studied the harpoon yet wedged into his thigh.

Somewhat clever, he allowed. It had been simple enough for him to stitch the restorative abilities of fel onto the sensation of pain. The brands etched into his chest and shoulders combined with his own sheer stubbornness allowed him a near-impossible level of control over fel energies. By the time he killed a demon they were usually covered in his blood, and his injuries already closed.  

Maiev had seen this new skill and adjusted her tactics. How to harm a creature that healed as quickly as she hurt them? Weapons that shattered, shrapnel, poisons. Always this was the way with them. She could run him into the ground so he sprouted wings. When he could fly she created nets of wire, greysabers, harpoons. He fought alone, she brought a mob.

The harpoon had cut right into the thick arteries of his leg. It needed to go. Hypocrite that she was Maiev could likely use some form of druidic magic to track him through it. He wasn’t so blind as to miss the druids in cat form amongst them, glowing emerald around the edges.

Vashj would sigh at him for returning with injuries and hide her frown behind a fan. Even after all this time she retained the mannerisms of a noblewoman. Kael’thas would pretend not to notice a gaping wound- drawing attention to pain and weakness seemed a gauche act amongst them- but he would stay nearby while discussing trade opportunities and scouting reports, radiating heat. Later, Illidan would receive an entirely coincidental invitation to a party with a variety of restorative herbal teas.

This could be done slowly or it could be done with speed.

The result was a burst sizzling blood upon the stones of the mountain and decision to take a few moments rest upon the rocky slope. It was peaceful up here, without wardens or demons to harass him. He flex his left wing carefully, feeling for stiffness that might affect his maneuverability. Once he had returned to – home - he would go down to the drying room, startle all the laundry workers and borrow a few warm towels so as to loosen the sinews.

How odd to find himself suddenly wistful. Though the mountainside was beautiful and solitude was often bliss, he missed the noise of the temple. Long and long ago he had enjoyed isolation and the peace it brought. But he had had his fill of it. He wanted to be blinded by light and life, deafened by sound. He wanted to sit like the moon surrounded by stars, with voices just on the edge of his hearing, with wisps of subtle perfumes and bright flecks of arcane experimentation.

What a strange twist of fate to have all the best parts of Highbourne existence returned to him. What a curse that they might be dying.

He could do with their company now, truth be told. Imprisonment had left a hollow place inside him, a place of echoes in his chest, a hunger. It was satiated near the brightprince. Their conversations were brief, but Illidan had never spoken so freely to anyone in so long.

He would betray him eventually. He would grow desperate. Illidan knew what desperation did to a person.

He could limit that desperation. He just needed to...closing the portals had given him time, but not infinity. Kil'jaden had realized he was more than a mere nuisance. An army was massing to deal with him. He needed something to push them into retreat. Retreats became routs.

Fortunately he had had time to prepare a plan. Demons replenished themselves. That had always been the ineivitability of it. They mocked you as they died and returned to hunt you down. It might take centuries but they came again and again, wearing their targets down by persistence. Not unlike the watchers, really. 

Demons renewed. But not in the Nether, and their worlds were fragile. If he could destroy their resources, he destroyed their ability to wage war. A portal backlash would do it. He had studied the structure of world crusts, the delicate balance of rock upon magma, shamanic writings on the structure of planets and the birth of worlds. As with all things they were marvels and yet delicately made. He didn’t have to rely on brute force. Set one thing askew and all others would falter. Such was the way with planets, with bodies, with societies.

A thing off-balance was easy to push over.

Finding them ought to be the simple part. The Legion was hardly subtle. But they kept the location of their portal hub planets a secret. He'd almost had it out of Ma'niqu, dragging it from the demons mind.

No matter. He would find the demon again. Or another would be sent after him.

Vashj knew his ways, had known him before the time of wings and scales. She understood he kept his plans close to his chest. Kael’thas did not. All he knew of Illidan was stories, his actions in Felwood, the fact he’d fallen to the wardens once before. That type of thing didn’t tend to engender faith.  

He wanted to tell Kael'thas, more than anything. Already the Prince doubted him. But such knowledge would make him a target. Could scupper them all should he turn coat.

A shadow flickered over his face, too large and too close to be a bird, too quick to be a cloud.

He had lingered too long.

…

Rommath was under siege. Kael’thas hadn’t been joking about the determination of some of the noble families here. He’d had to use a teleport spell on a particularly determined healer to stop him from getting in the room.

The word was out that the Prince had fallen sick. While everyone had their own pet theory, the favorite now was mage-flu. In a way he was relieved. For about an hour there had been talk of the plague coming through the portal and he had wanted to bite his knitting needles in half in frustration. That was a hysteria he did not wish to calm.

But the plague was marked by a long incubation period, by bloody coughing and paralysis. It wouldn’t have struck Kael’thas with such speed or such silence.

Rommath’s instincts served him well for Mei’le had great knowledge of the temple and its intricacies and rapidly proved herself invaluable. Everyone would talk to her and even those that didn’t trust her could be persuaded. But she was one woman. She reappeared to Rommath around midday and whispered that Akama had vanished.

“Perhaps he has gone to work in privacy, with Illidan gone.”

“Perhaps. The orcs also seem…tense.”

“Aren’t they always?”

“Not like this. I think- folk are talking of a meeting between the Prince, Akama, Vashj. They’ve noticed they were left aside.”

Rommath supposed that did look quite grim from an outside perspective. He would have suspected foul power plays, if it were him, he would have suspected alliances made against him.        

And now he heard footsteps hurrying towards him. As if he hadn’t enough to worry about. He opened the door before Do’rai could knock, causing her to almost fall in once more.

“What is it?”

“The orcs. They heard tell of secret meetings. The elders want a council with the Prince.”

Of course they did. Rommath pinched the bridge of his nose. 

Thank you for reading <3