Archive of Our Own

"Bolvar?"

"Hmm?" Bolvar tipped his head towards Darion, though he watched the Lich of Thornhill. She was playing cards again, laughing with members of the Alliance.

"You haven't taken your eyes off that one in a month. Not since that fuss in Revendreth. What is it?"

"Recognition."

Darion stepped close enough that his echoing whispers rang through his helmet and Bolvar's pauldron. "Is she dangerous?"

"I don't know. There's--it's like a fragment of the Lich King." Bolvar rubbed his armour over his chest. "Do you know anything at all about her?"

Darion shook his head. "She's quiet. Forsaken. The young ones like her. Old, I think. Very old."

"Lordaeron old."

Darion nodded. "I've heard her called the Prince's Weapon. Only, I sometimes wonder what prince she serves."

They glanced at each other. "A time bomb," Bolvar said, and Darion nodded.

"Do you think Prince Renathal has considered it?"

"I hope so." Bolvar folded his arms. "I hope so."

#

Nathrezim. In Sinfall.

Renathal paced his office. He needed a bigger one, what with everything happening all around. Younger brothers or not, the nathrezim had come as spies and enemies, not penitent family, and Denathrius-in-Remornia was gone.

Just as the sigils of four realms were gone.

A knock at the door. Renathal looked up. "Enter."

Theotar peeked in. He carried a laden tea tray. "I thought you could use a spot of tea, my dear."

A knot at the back of Renathal's neck relaxed. "How do you always know exactly what I need?"

Theotar grinned. He set his tray on the desk and fixed a cup with milk and sugar. The air filled with the scent of tea, real tea, not strange plants and unidentifiable pieces scrounged from the Ember Ward. Theotar took Renathal's hand and pressed the cup to his palm. "I thought you would appreciate the real thing. You are ever so rude in your opinions about my concoctions!"

"We do use some of them as weapons." Still, Renathal smiled. "Thank you."

Theotar stepped back. Their soulbind constricted as though fighting to draw them together. Renathal turned away and sipped his tea. He could not watch Theotar walk away again and expect to remain whole. Even the Maw's horrors had no comparison to---

"My dear, what do you think of Gwennit?"

"Eh?"

Theotar ran his finger along the rim of his cup. "I asked what you think of Gwennit. Your honest opinion."

"Erm. That's really not what I expected to hear from you today. We did just eliminate four spies from our trusted ranks."

"Which is why I am asking now. I cannot bear to lose you, especially to such deception."

"... Are you asking if I would fuck her?"

Theotar shrugged and sipped his tea. He refused to look Renathal in the eye.

Renathal sat on his desk before his legs could fold. "That's not a question I ever expected to hear you ask."

Theotar hesitated, but pulled himself onto the desk next to Renathal. "It seems I am doing many things neither of us ever expected. Eugh!" He folded his hands in his lap. "My manners have evaporated like a soul in the Maw!"

Renathal chuckled. He kissed Theotar's cheek. "You are completely ridiculous, you know."

"Gwennit says this, too."

"At least she knows you. Erm, in answer to your question, what does she think of me? I hardly know a thing about her, except I could probably scruff her like a kitten."

Theotar laughed. "She could fit in your pocket."

"And you expect me to fit in her pocket?"

"Renathal!"

"You're the one who brought it up! Sire's mercy, I'd split her in half!"

"She is not that small! Besides, she is, er, fond. Of size."

"Really. How fond?"

"No complaints so far. Any number of, erm, statements. She does not need to breathe, you know."

Renathal cleared his throat and shifted closer to the edge of the desk. "I really don't know. I'm sure I could bring myself to---"

"I don't want either of you to 'bring yourselves,' my dear." Theotar took Renathal's hand, though made no sign of closing the distance between them. "I love you, and I love her. All I am saying is that the idea has come up, she seems open, and the more I think about you, the weaker I become. Assuming you would also have each other. Forgive me, my prince, this is---"

Theotar slid off the desk. "I should go. This was a bad idea. A very bad idea. The two of you are not even friends."

"Please don't go."

Theotar stopped. He closed his fists at his sides. "You think I am not torn?"

"Why the change of heart?"

"War changes the world." Theotar picked up his tea tray. "And the world has changed me."

"Have you told her about Antolen?"

Theotar flinched. "I don't like that name."

"She deserves to know your part in her people's history."

Theotar looked back, his eyes dimming. "My brother had more to do with that than I did."

"You were part of Scholomance, my love. You can't change your past, as much as I know you wish you could."

"But I can forget it."

"I know you'll tell her." Renathal stood from the corner of his desk. "Just like you told me."

Theotar took his tea things and closed the door behind him.

#

It started after Tubbins and Gubbins returned unharmed from their reckless jaunt into Korthia. Gwennit ran to them and hugged them, and might have got on at them about vanishing into the wilderness, and grinned the whole time they performed part of Bird Bog. People stared, but they always stared at the Lich of Thornhill, whether she was playing cards with Alliance members, or kissing her dredgers on their squishy foreheads and telling them to behave as she sent them home.

Next thing she knew, Jennie had come to her with a comb, a piece of beeswax, and a muttered story about her father braiding her hair and wishing he was there.

"Hold still." Gwennit tugged her comb through a young goblin's hair. "You've got knots."

"I know I got knots! Why you think I asked you to comb 'em out? I don't want to get mad at myself!"

"Sassy!" Gwennit shook her head. "I mean it, hold still. You'll only hurt yourself if you keep wiggling."

"Fine, Mom." Sassy folded her arms. "You know, I spent some time in Maldraxxus, and you are like no lich I ever met."

"I will be if you don't sit still!"

Sassy huffed, but kept still long enough for Gwennit to finish combing her hair and putting it back in its boar tails. Sassy ran off with Lothtar, who had no hair, and Gwennit set to picking pink strands from her comb.

"You're good at that." Draka knelt in front of her. "The Countess told me you used to have children."

Gwennit shook her head. "I really don't know. I don't remember anything from that time."

"You have them now." Draka looked around the camp. Any number of Maw Walkers had returned from their daily duties, and they sat about, talking or playing cards or, in one pair's case, joined at the lips. "The young go to war, while the seasoned elders stay behind. It's always the same."

"The seasoned elders know better." Gwennit dusted pink hairs from the knees of her robe. "Do you want your hair combed?"

Draka chuckled and shook her head. "I've got a son of my own. He needs his braids fixed once in a while." She held out her hand. "Show me what you've learned since the Theatre of Pain."

"Margrave?"

"The Countess told me what happened in Sinfall."

"Ah."

"She's not going to forgive you."

Gwennit nodded. "I don't think she forgives anything."

Draka laughed. "Not easily, no. She's particularly protective of your beau."

"He's a little fragile. It's not his fault."

"So I've heard. Get up. I want to see if you've improved."

Gwennit looked at her. Still, she stood, brushing the last of Sassy's hair from her robe. Draka led her behind the rocks, to where Gwennit used to keep her camp. Gwennit leaned on her staff, looking around. Draka looked her in the eye.

"Don't repeat this, but we're storming Torghast in two days. Bolvar doesn't want you there, but those kids out there aren't going to die alone on my watch, and you're the closest thing to a parent they have here. What do you know about domination magic?"

"Margrave?"

"What do you know?"

Gwennit shook her head. "I've never even heard of it."

"The Lich King is domination magic. The entire magical form exists to exert one person's will over another. From what I've heard Bolvar say, you absorbed a piece of that thing. I don't know how or why it happened, but it may make you vulnerable to the Jailer. We won't know until we see you face him."

Gwennit hunched. "Then I should go back to Undercity."

Draka caught her shoulder. "Do you have any idea how difficult it is to overcome domination magic? Even a fragment? But you did it, and you've found a way to keep it in check."

"I didn't have a choice!"

"There's always a choice! You could have become another willing tragedy in the Lich King's history, but you didn't! You subverted the Jailer's own power. No wonder he sent Mawsworn to find you. You're either a weapon to rival Anduin Wrynn, or the symbol of Zovaal's failure."

"No." Gwennit stepped back, shaking her head. The lich chuckled. "Shut up," she whispered.

"I'll keep saying this until---"

"I wasn't talking to you!" She went to the edge of the cliff, close enough to silence the lich. "Shut up, shut up, or I will kill us both. You know I will."

"The Lich King?" Draka said, and Gwennit nodded. "You need to focus it into something else."

"What am I supposed to do? Exert my will over myself?"

"I've heard worse ideas."

"So I can be the Lich Queen? I'd rather take my final death."

"So you can look after those kids out there. They're too young to be here alone. Even in Maldraxxus, compassion is a strength, and child soldiers are tragedies."

"They're old enough to make their own decisions."

"Did you know the youngest one is fifteen years old? Dwarf, carries that hammer as big as she is. I didn't know until she told those friends of yours, the humans and the worgen."

Gwennit looked back. Draka leaned against the rocks, her arms folded. "Mirgreth? How did her family let her go?"

"I don't know if she has one. But she asked you to fix the braids in her beard."

"She needed help, that's all. They were crooked."

"Dwarves consider their beards sacred. She gave you an honour because you let her be her age. You let all of them be their ages for a few minutes while you look after them."

Gwennit stepped back from the cliff edge and leaned on her staff. "That doesn't mean I'm stronger than the Lich King."

Draka cocked her head. "Step off the edge."

"Sorry?"

"Step off the edge. Show me what happens."

"I'll die!"

"You didn't before."

"That was---"

"Step. Off. The edge."

Gwennit drew herself tall. "No."

Draka smirked. "Why not?"

"I don't want to! I'm not going to kill myself because you say so!" Gwennit set for camp. She stopped at Draka's hand on her arm.

"The Lich King won't let you die. You need to keep using it to your advantage. This situation won't end with Sylvanas's death, and you need to be in control if you want to get to the end of it alive."

"You know damned well I'm not going to get to the end of it alive." Gwennit squirmed. "I've known since I came to the Shadowlands that I would die here."

"So why did you stay?"

"So I can die doing something worthwhile. Not rotting while the Undercity succumbs to blight." Gwennit pulled free and went to the camp. Maybe someone needed their hair combed, or a hug, or a wound kissed. If she was mother to every Maw Walker that needed her, then so be it.

"Lich!" Heirmir called. "Mail!"

Gwennit sighed. She went to see what Renathal wanted.

The letter Heirmir handed her bore Theotar's handwriting. Gwennit relaxed. She tore the letterlock before she even got to her tent and unfolded the paper.

My duchess,

I need to speak with you regarding a matter of great importance. Please meet me at Absolution Crypt, just north of the Halls of Atonement, as soon as possible. I will be staying at the inn there until I see you. Please come. I only hope that what I have to show you will not break your heart, or your trust in me.

Ever so much love, my dear,
Theotar

Gwennit folded the page and tucked it into the pouch at her hip. She packed a few things and went to the Oribos waystone---

"Are you all right?" Jennie said.

Gwennit flinched. "I have to do something."

"You're leaning on your staff again. What's wrong?"

Gwennit shook her head. Jennie came closer, frowning. She narrowed her eyes.

Gwennit gasped when Jennie hugged her. "You're coming back, right?" Jennie said.

"Of course I am."

"All right. Good." Jennie let go and stepped back. "Just, y'know, Leo's got mats on his back, and he won't let anyone else pick them out."

"I'm only going to Revendreth. I'll be back."

"I'll tell Leo to stop scratching, then. He's so whiny sometimes."

Gwennit smiled. "I thought he didn't like undead."

Jennie shrugged. "He's coming around. Go on."

"I'll see you soon. Stay safe, my daughter."

Gwennit touched the waystone before Jennie could do more than gape.

At Absolution Crypt, she spoke to the innkeeper, one of Rendle's dredger friends, who directed her to a small room at the back of the inn. Gwennit knocked, and her knuckles landed on Theotar's chest on the third knock.

"Dowsabel," he said, his shoulders taut, eyes wide and wild, hair a lopsided mess. "You came."

"What's wrong?"

Theotar shook his head and ushered her inside. "Forgive me, my dear. This has bothered me since Renathal mentioned it. Days!" He set to pacing without even hugging her. "You remember I said you would not have liked me when I was alive, yes?"

Gwennit went still. "Arthas?"

"What? No, no, no! I was unconscionable, but not that terrible!"

Gwennit arched her eyebrow as she set down her bags. "You're not tired of me, are you?"

"My dear." He lifted her from the ground in a hug, and kissed her. "Never, my dowsabel. But you are going to be tired of me when I show you what you need to see."

"What did you do?"

Theotar set her down. "Come with me. First, I need to show you my brother's sinstone."

"All right? Who was your brother?"

Theotar sank. He took Gwennit's hand. "You will know him by his name."

They skirted the edge of the Halls of Atonement to avoid attention. Theotar took her to a spot by the wall, where a sinstone stood. Gwennit's dead heart clenched as she read.

Theolen Krastinov.

Once respected, admired, a noble physician.

Yet Krastinov succumbed to a dark lust for knowledge and power.

In his madness, thousands of innocents were tortured and slain.

In his madness, their blood was used for a plague that killed thousands more.

Thus the Doctor became the Butcher.

Madness is no excuse for sins as grievous as these.

Repentance is the only answer. Purge his greed, his lust for power, and perhaps he can be redeemed.

"My brother went to the Maw," Theotar said as Gwennit sank to her knees. "He was beyond redemption. As you can see, madness runs in our bloodline."

"You can't be serious. You're not a Krastinov."

"Theolen was my elder brother. I worshipped him." Theotar hugged himself and looked away. "I was known as Antolen Krastinov." His voice broke on the name. "My sinstone is hidden where no-one will ever find it."

Gwennit stood, her joints more stone than flesh. The plague. The blight, the weapon her people wielded for so many others. The noose around their necks, used by the Alliance to declare them filth, and again to destroy the Undercity. A loyalist venthyr came running, fangs bared and hands poised to cast, and she slammed him to dust with lich fire.

"Show me your sinstone," she said.

"My dear, please---"

"Show me your sinstone, or I am going back to Korthia and aligning with Maldraxxus. We will never see each other again."

Theotar sagged. "You really mean that?"

"What I feel for you is not greater than what Theolen Krastinov did to my people."

Theotar covered his mouth with his hand. "Come with me to Thornhill. You'll want your things first."

It took only a few minutes for Gwennit to follow Theotar through shadows and get her bags. Neither of them spoke the whole way to Thornhill Manor. Bogdan greeted them. Gwennit nodded and followed Theotar in silence. He took her down a hidden staircase to a cellar paved with sinstones. She scowled at the floor.

"Which one is yours?"

Theotar shook his head. He went to a corner and, from a slot at the bottom of the wall, took an iron bar. It glowed at his touch, and he set to levering sinstones from the floor. Gwennit bit her lip at the tremble in his hands.

"Wait," she said.

"No. You must see it for yourself. I cannot hurt you for the sake of my own cowardice."

He pulled up four stones and gutted the soil beneath until he came up with a key. He took a few hopping steps across the floor, a crazed pattern too broad to follow. A red glow, a keyhole, formed in the air in the furthest corner. He unlocked it. The key hung in the air.

A piece of wall evaporated. Behind it stood a single sinstone. Theotar stepped back, shaking.

"I have only ever shown it to Renathal, but he is not of your people. He is not the one with a right to judge me."

Gwennit rubbed the burn in her chest where their soulbind twisted to the edge of tearing. She crouched to read the stone.

Antolen Krastinov, brother to the Butcher, Theolen Krastinov.

Who used wit and charm to entrance others, and draw them into his circle.

Who cared not for a person's wealth or status, only for their character.

Who followed his brother to Scholomance, using his reputation to collect fodder for the Butcher's experiments, without concern for wealth, or status, or character.

Loyalty is no excuse for such betrayal. Family is no reason to commit such sins, and love no justification for leading hundreds to their deaths.

Perhaps with time and effort, he can redeem himself, and use his wit and charm and loyalty for good.

"When the people of Gilneas and Lordaeron realised what I was doing," Theotar said as Gwennit stared at the stone, "they set a trap. A party. As I was dragged to the city square, I cried out for my brother. He never came. He never would have come."

"Right."

"You have to understand, I would have done anything for him. I had to reach Revendreth to realise just how much he asked of me. It is why I will not ask more than others are willing to give, but even that is changing. I do not wish to once again be the monster I was, least of all for love. Not again."

"The people you tricked. They were used to test the blight."

"I am so sorry. Not only to you, but to everyone."

Gwennit stepped back. Theotar took his key from its hole in the air. The wall reappeared, solid and cold in front of his stone. He set to work burying the key. Tamping the soil with his foot. Knocking the sinstone floor back into place.

"I will miss you, my love." Theotar dragged his arm across his nose and shoved the last sinstone into place. "I have been so happy to know you. I understand. Even Revendreth cannot erase the past."

Gwennit sat on the floor. She stared at the wall hiding Theotar's sinstone.

"You love too much," she finally said.

"You are not the first to say this."

She looked back at him. "What would you do if you had to live your life again? Brother and all."

Theotar shrugged. "Not what I did. But I would find you, if I could. Perhaps before Arthas came. Save you from everything you have suffered for so very long."

Gwennit nodded. She held out her hand. Theotar helped her up, and she put her arms around him.

"You bastard," she said against his chest. "You complete bastard."

"I know this."

She pulled him down and kissed him. Theotar returned it as though she was tea. He picked her up.

"Will you stay a while, my dowsabel?"

"I can't for long." Gwennit traced his cheekbone. "I think I have children to look after."

Theotar stared. "My dear, you are not---"

"No! No. Sire, no, that's not--I don't think that's even possible. I'm dead. You're dead!"

"Oh." Theotar scowled at nothing. "That is more of a disappointment than I expected."

Gwennit huffed, though it turned to a laugh. "I'm a lich, and you helped create the blight. I don't think we'd win any parenting awards."

Theotar kissed her head. "What did you mean, then?"

"Erm." Gwennit squirmed until he put her down. "You've seen how young some of the Maw Walkers are. They, erm, I think they adopted me. Sort of. Not all of them, but a few. It's like with the dredgers."

"My dearest!" Theotar hugged her. "That is wonderful news! I will have to visit! If you wish me to." He watched her. "Do you wish me to? Knowing what I have done."

Gwennit patted his chest. "I need time to get used to this. But, yes. Please come. You did less than I have."

"That was Arthas. I will say it until you believe me."

"You weren't there. You were never part of the Scourge."

Theotar sighed. "And to think, Renathal calls me stubborn!" Shaking his head, he carried her up the stairs. "Will you stay? Only a little while."

Gwennit nodded. "But not...."

"I will ask no more than you are willing to give."

Upstairs, in the master bedroom, Gwennit cuddled against him. Theotar stroked her hair and listened while she told him about the young Maw Walkers, the ones who came to her to have their hair tidied, or tell inflated tales of the terrible creatures they battled, or once or twice to ask about that person, the one over there, the one with the nice smile, and what she did to "land a duke." Theotar laughed at the phrase.

"What did you tell them?"

Gwennit shrugged. "It's not as if I went fishing and you ended up on my hook."

"What did they say to that?"

"I think they were confused. I told them to remember their manners and make friends first."

"Two things that drew me to you, I must admit."

Gwennit smiled against Theotar's chest. Theotar cleared his throat until she looked at him.

"My dear." He shifted on the bed. "I spoke to Renathal."

"About?"

"Erm. You. And us. And him."

Gwennit drew back. She stared. "What?"

"Oh, dear. Should I not have done?"

"I didn't expect you to actually do it! What, er, what did he say?"

"Nothing promising. He mostly expressed concern for your safety. You are rather small."

"Er."

"He said he could scruff you like a kitten. I did not disagree."

"I am not a kitten!"

"Are you not?" Theotar scratched Gwennit's head. "You are small and cute and cuddly, and you enjoy being petted. Is that not a kitten?"

"I'll show you a kitten!"

Theotar laughed as Gwennit tackled him and sat on his waist. "Dowsabel! I thought you did not want...." He trailed off and wiggled his eyebrows.

"Do I need to bite you?"

Theotar grinned. Gwennit hid her face in her hands.

"It is all right, my dear." Theotar took her hips. "I tease."

"Were you like this when you were alive?"

He shrugged. "Rather more evil, but yes."

Gwennit shook her head. She stretched atop him, and rested her head on his collarbone. "Why would the prince worry about my safety? I'm the Lich of Thornhill. People are terrified of me."

"He was talking about, erm...."

"Oh."

"You have seen his height, yes? His breadth? The rest of him is much the same, if you take my meaning."

"That might not be so bad."

"My dear, I know you have a taste for handsome venthyr, but you are tiny. I would rather you not be hurt."

"I barely know him. But, I mean, if it would make you happy---"

"As I told him, I would rather the two of you not have to force the issue. There will be no 'making me happy' or 'bringing yourselves' to do such a thing, especially for my sake."

"But you love him." Gwennit sighed as their soulbind pulled. "I can feel how much you do."

"I will never go behind your back."

"Then I'm giving you permission to do anything you want with him. Especially when I'm not here."

"My dear. You cannot know what---"

"Love him every way you want. I won't be here forever, but he will. I won't stand between you."

"You are not between---"

"Theotar."

Beneath her, he tensed. His fingernails, blunt and short, bit through her robe. "But you are here now, my dowsabel. Assuming Antolen Krastinov is not enough to frighten you away."

"Antolen Krastinov is dead. Just like Arthas is dead."

"Oh, my dear." He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her head. "My dearest little duchess."

"I still need some time."

"You may have eternity if you wish, my love."

"I don't think I need that long."

Theotar lifted her chin and kissed her. Gwennit returned it, long and slow and careful. She stroked his lopsided hair.

"Could I comb your hair?"

"Why would you want to do that? It is a bit unruly today, that's all."

Gwennit looked at him. He sighed and eased her to the side.

"Yes, all right, you may comb my hair. Oh, it is such a terrible mess! I am a sight!"

"Have you always been this vain?"

"In truth? I was worse in life."

"Seriously?"

Theotar huffed. "You and Renathal, so terribly rude! Why do I give my heart to the rudest people?"

Gwennit giggled and shook her head. Theotar fetched a comb from the bath, and he sat on the floor next to the bed so Gwennit could sit on the edge and undo his braid. With each pin she removed, a piece of tension eased from her back, until the last of Theotar's hair fell free. She drew her fingers through his elaborate braid so all four strands fell loose.

"Do all venthyr have hair as nice as yours?" she said as she drew the filigree comb through the first small section.

"Of course not! Mine is special, is it not?" Theotar leaned against her legs. "But Renathal's is very soft. Very fine, like the heaviest of silk. You would enjoy playing with it, I think."

"Tell me about him."

Theotar looked up at her, his hands folded in his lap. "The good or the bad?"

"Both."

"Ah, both. Well. He is loyal in his heart, if not his body, and very funny when he wishes to be, but don't tell him I said so. He is ever so rude!" Theotar chuckled. "He takes my teacup from my hands and drinks it! Can you imagine?"

Gwennit grinned. "Yes."

"Please don't take after him, my dear. One Renathal is enough to put up with. Oh, but he is proud. He is prince, after all. And kind, and so very tender in private, but so proud. If he had a sinstone, pride would be writ large at the very top. And he is selfish. So painfully selfish. Before Denathrius changed, before the rebellion became necessary, he coveted the Sire. They were the first soulbinds. The oldest, and Renathal was so jealous that others might want the same. When Sire Denathrius forged a soulbond with the Stonewright, oof, as I understand, Renathal went into a rage. That was his father! No-one else's! It did not matter that the Stonewright is his sister, or that the Curator is, or even the nathrezim. The Sire was his father and his alone."

"He sounds lonely."

Theotar nodded, his hair moving against Gwennit's comb. "So profoundly lonely. He has so many lovers, and so many that would follow him to the edge of everything, but I sometimes think I am the only one that is truly his. Even Kassir is not his in the way I am. Kassir has never forgiven me for it. He loves Renathal like the moon loves the night."

Gwennit set her comb at her hip and put her arms around Theotar's shoulders. He gripped her elbows.

"I could be his, too," Gwennit said. "If you want."

"You would have me make that decision for you? He is too selfish, and you are too selfless, my dear. I lose my heart to extremes, it seems."

"I wouldn't expect anything less." Gwennit kissed the peak of his cheekbone. "Given who you are."

Theotar's skin shifted against her lips as he smiled. "How is it you have read my sinstone, yet still see good in me?"

"Like I said, Antolen Krastinov is dead. You're Theotar."

"Renathal said something similar when I showed him my sinstone. For such different people, you are eerily alike."

"But he's a prince. I'm only---"

"You are my Gwennit. My dowsabel. My twice-steeped pastry. That is as great as any prince."

Gwennit pressed her face to the crook of his neck and breathed the scent of his skin, his hair, the bittersweet fragrance of whatever concoctions he used to look like himself. Theotar gripped her hair and held her close.

"We're facing Sylvanas in two days," Gwennit said against his skin. "Going into Torghast."

"Ah." Theotar took her hand. "And you will not return, will you?"

"I have to. I've got children to look after."

"Will you stay the night? In case. I will not ask---"

"Yes."

Theotar turned his head and kissed her. "My duchess."

"My duke. I can't promise I'll want to---"

"I know. The shadow of the blight hangs over us both."

"Could I keep combing your hair?"

"My dearest." Theotar turned and kissed her, cupping her face in his hands. "It would be an honour."

#

Before Renathal could even ask where he had been all night, Theotar said, "She is going to Torghast. For the Windrunner. She knows about Antolen."

He shuddered as he said the name. In the quiet and safety of Renathal's office, it was easy to pull him close. Too easy, given with whom Theotar spent the night.

"I'm sorry," Renathal said into his loose hair. "We knew this day would come, but I am so, so very---"

"She has children to protect. She will return."

Renathal blinked. He drew back. "She's---"

"No, no, not like that. As she so eloquently stated, we are both dead. Life cannot come from death, at least not our deaths."

"I am very confused right now."

"The Maw Walkers have claimed her, much as Tubbins and Gubbins and the other dredgers have done."

"Ah. Right. So, er, she's taken over the camp."

"I think it is more akin to being adopted by a pack of wolves. Some more literal than others."

"I thought worgen hated undead."

Theotar laughed and sat in one of Renathal's chairs. "My dowsabel is very charming."

"I should say so, if that's the case." Renathal sat on his desk and chuckled at Theotar's scoff. "I know, I know, rude. My office, remember?"

"I should make you come to my parlour more often! See that you remember your fine, princely manners." Theotar folded his arms, smiling. "I told her a great deal about you, my dear. She thinks you are lonely."

"I'm the furthest thing from---"

"You are the loneliest man I have ever known, my love. I think you know it, but refuse to acknowledge it lest you feel just how profoundly lonely you are."

"... Damn you. You know me too well."

Theotar shrugged. "Forgive the lack of tea. I wanted to speak with you before anything else."

"So you could make me feel like something a sinrunner left on the side of the road?"

Theotar motioned to the chair to his left. Renathal sighed but sat. "You and your fucking manners."

"You and your language! There is a time and a place!"

"I can think of one time and place you would say 'fuck'---"

"There are at least two!"

"Oh?" Renathal turned in his chair to face Theotar. "Naked in bed, and what?"

Theotar stuck his nose in the air and refused to look at him, especially when Renathal laughed. "And when a fucking infuriating prince is on my last nerve!"

Renathal laughed harder, and harder still, until he bent, only his armour stopping him from folding double. "Really. I'm the infuriating one. You're the one feeding me bloody roots and insects and calling it tea!"

Theotar harrumphed. "You have exceeded all boundaries of rudeness, my prince! You ought to be a stable boy, with your wretched mouth."

"Oh, my mouth is incredibly wretched. Just ask Mona."

"I will not, thank you! She may be a dear friend, but there are things about her I do not need to know." The anima rose in Theotar's face so he went pink. "Oh, dear. That is an image I did not need."

"What, my mouth and Mona?"

"No...."

"Not---"

"Gwennit, yes."

Renathal shook his head and pushed himself up from his chair. "I'd hurt her. I told you this."

"She disagrees. I think she rather likes the idea of two handsome, virile venthyr having their way with her."

Renathal slumped. "Not this again. I barely know her!"

"You could change that. Speak with her about things beyond souls this, and the Jailer that. Treat her like a person, not a tool in your great rebellion."

"You really want this, don't you?" Renathal scowled. "You actually---"

He shook his head. Theotar. Again in his bed, joined in every way from their bodies to their heart and souls, as they always should have been. And not alone, despite every single time Renathal pushed him away by demanding such a thing, the only edict being the identity of the third person.

Theotar raked his hands through his hair and stood. "Forgive me. I should never have suggested the idea to either of you."

"Please don't go." Renathal put out his hand. "Don't leave me. I can't bear to see you walk away."

Theotar stopped. Looked back over his shoulder. "You don't even know each other."

"I would learn to know the Jailer himself if it means I can have you again."

Theotar watched him. Renathal stepped closer, closer still, until he drew Theotar into his arms and held him, held him, his eyelashes tangling in Theotar's hair, the smell of him rich and warm and everywhere. Theotar shivered and returned the embrace. He clung as though they had never parted.

"When she returns," and Theotar's voice turned soft, "speak with her. Not as the Lich of Thornhill, but as Gwennit. If she does not return, look after me. I can't lose either of you, but I know better than to pin my hopes on impossible things."

Renathal lifted Theotar's chin and kissed him. Theotar returned it, his mouth gentle and slow. Worshipful. Renathal gripped his hair, opened their mouths. He shivered at Theotar's whimper---

Theotar backed away, shaking his head. "No, my dear. Not here. Not--I do not know. Please. I want you so very much, but--I do not know what is happening to me, except that I understand why you always demanded more. How can you bear to be this way? It tears me, knowing how impossible it is."

"I love you. Theotar, please, I love you so much it hurts every time I look at you."

Theotar kissed Renathal once more and stepped back. "Not while you have others who are not Gwennit. Do not break my heart. I would rather have you only as my dearest friend. Do not make me imagine the taste of you on Mona's lips as she kisses my cheek, when I taste you on my own." He touched Renathal's chest and walked away. Always away.

Renathal slumped on his desk. He rubbed his face with both hands. "Damn it all."

The Maw Walker. Gwennit. She stood perhaps a metre and a half, and could not weigh fifty kilos. Renathal could carry Vrednic without a thought, and he was close to a hundred. Someone so small, so fragile-looking was unsuited to bedding venthyr, never mind the first of them, taller than houses and broader than the ancient trees at Waynecrypt.

But Theotar.

Anything for Theotar.

Renathal slid to his feet. He had excuses to make, four of them, to Fane and Mihaela and Mona and Kassir. Even his Kassir, who paled beside none save Theotar. He stepped through shadows to change from his armour to his good court suit.

If he was to do such a thing, he would do so as a gentleman.

#

Gwennit arrived at the Respite to find her fellow Maw Walkers in military formation. Admiral Proudmoore paced before them.

"... Plans have been accelerated. We must go today. This will be dangerous, even under my hand, and that of Lord Fordragon---"

"Lich!" Lord Fordragon called, and Gwennit went still.

"My lord?"

"Stay behind."

"No, my lord." Gwennit took a spot at the end of the front row of Maw Walkers. "I refuse to stay here while my children go to war."

"Children?" someone said in Orcish.

"What children?" Fordragon said.

Gwennit motioned to the Maw Walkers around her. They looked at each other. One laughed. Fordragon tensed.

"I'm nae leaving me mummy behind," Mirgreth said. "Ye can take that attitude, me lord, and---"

Gwennit could not understand the rest, but a few Alliance members sniggered.

"Silence." Admiral Proudmoore shot them all a look. "Lich?"

"I'm not a lich, Lord Admiral. I'm a Maw Walker."

"Isn't she the Duchess of Sinfall or something?" Ben said, and nudged Jennie. "That's what you said. She's a nob. She can do whatever she wants."

"Prince Renathal trusts her," Lothtar said. "I stand with my prince."

"You would stand with the Lich King?" said a blood elf in Sinfall's colours, and shut her mouth when Lord Foldragon turned to her.

"Lich," he said, staring at the elf. "Will you speak with me a moment?"

"At ease," Admiral Proudmoore called to the Maw Walkers as Gwennit followed Fordragon to a small, isolated cave in the rocks. He gazed at her, as tall as a venthyr, his stance impassive.

"Draka told you, didn't she," he said. "You understand why we don't want you anywhere near the Jailer."

"I'm not leaving them, my lord."

"You would risk all of them---"

"You're wasting time. I assume there's a reason the attack has been pushed forward. They know, don't they? The Windrunner. The Jailer." The lich giggled. In silence, Gwennit ordered it down.

"Is it speaking to you?" Fordragon said, and Gwennit nodded. "Then it's got power over---"

"It knows I'll kill both of us."

"You'd send it back to the Jailer that easily. Finish what his Mawsworn tried."

"I'd destroy its vessel. The Lich King needs a body. Without that much, with the helm gone, it's nothing but a ghost." Gwennit lifted her chin. "You controlled it. What makes you think I'm so much weaker than you?"

"Nathria."

Gwennit winced. "Would you have denied an order from your prince, my lord?"

"Yes, if it meant harming---"

"I will not harm my children."

"They're not---"

"I will not. Harm. My children. Where they go, I will find a way to follow, and I dare you to stop me."

Inside, Gwennit grabbed the lich and forced it to lift her on a bed of flame. She rose, and lifted her hand as Fordragon reached for his hammer.

"I am Gwennit of Revendreth," she said, her voice echoing. "Arthas holds no power over me."

#

Fane had grinned and hugged him. Mihaela asked if he had lost his mind. Mona promised eternal torment if he hurt Theotar or Gwennit. Kassir turned away as the fire in his eyes ebbed.

All four.

Lovers no more.

Outside Theotar's door, Renathal straightened his coat's sleeves and his ludicrous cravat. He lifted his hand to knock. To ask to court him.

The wards fell, and the door unlocked.

#

Outside the portal to Torghast, they stopped to make their final preparations. Gwennit crept to Jennie.

"Could I ask you something?" she said, and Jennie nodded. "What's a gwennit?"

Jennie stared. "How do you not know? It's your name."

"It's what people call me. I don't remember my name."

"Oh. Erm." Jennie finished winding a bandage and stuck it in her bag. "It's a, er, a grass wren. Little dark brown bird. Ben and I grew up at Light's Hope Chapel, in the Plaguelands, and Leo did, too, after his father died. The grown-ups, they trapped gwennits to use as bait for larger prey. Fishing, thinning predators, things like that. Ben and Leo and I got in so much trouble for springing the bird traps. But all the gwennits wanted was their nests and a little bit of grain. They'd hop right into our hands if we fed them."

"Ah. Thank you."

"You remind me of one. A gwennit. You're little and dark, and all you want is your nest and a warm hand."

Gwennit smiled. "Is it that obvious?"

Jennie stood and brushed cave dust from her arse. "Yeah, Mama." She hugged Gwennit, who returned it. "It's that obvious."

#

"Renathal." Theotar squirmed on his sitting room couch, his cock in his hand, eyes closed. He squeezed and gasped. "My prince."

The air shifted. He could almost smell Renathal, the warmth of his skin and hair. He took a deep breath and drew his hand up and down---

Someone touched his head.

Theotar yelped and thrust his hands in his lap. Renathal recoiled, staring. He wore courtier's dress, not armour, and between his short coat and the cut of his trousers, his reaction to walking in was more than evident.

"I'm sorry! The wards let me in!"

"My prince! What are you doing here?"

Renathal swallowed, gaze fixed on Theotar's groin. He shifted his weight, though it did not diminish the distortion in his trouser falls. For the first time since he entered the Ember Ward, Theotar needed a shirt. Mihaela and Mona and Kassir and Fane would not appreciate Renathal staring at his nakedness. Gwennit could not be terribly happy about it, even if she gave permission. Then, she was Gwennit, and surprised him again and again.

"I did it." Renathal licked his lips. "All four. Even Kassir. I think I broke his heart, but I'd rather have you, no matter the circumstances or the company."

"But you love Kassir."

"Not as much as I love you."

"My dear." Theotar sat up and rested his hand on Renathal's belly. The muscle twitched beneath his palm. "You mean it. You will not have any others but me and Gwennit."

Renathal ran his fingers through Theotar's hair, loose from Gwennit combing it once more before she left that morning. Theotar returned the kiss Renathal pressed to his lips, slow and easy, as though they had never stopped. He opened his mouth, and shuddered at the taste, the sweetness they had shared aeons ago. A bitter edge lingered, regret rather than betrayal. He cupped Renathal's face and returned the kiss over and over.

"Only you," Renathal murmured. "I'll have to get to know your Maw Walker before I say anything about her."

"My dear. Oh, my dearest prince."

Theotar drew his fingers down the buttons on Renathal's velvet waistcoat. He must have dressed to deliver his news to his lovers. Theotar broke the kiss. "Please, my dear, I have missed the taste of you."

Renathal went still, his eyes burning. "Oh," he said, his voice coarse. "Oh, er, yes. Yes, please. Right to the point today, aren't you?"

"We have got a bit of time to make up for."

"You're sure your Maw Walker won't mind. I'd, ah, rather not face her when she's angry."

"She gave her permission. Only with you, of course."

"She--really?"

"Yes, and her name is Gwennit, not 'lich', and not 'Theotar's Maw Walker'. You of all people need to remember."

"I--yes, yes, of course, Gwennit. She really--really?"

"Venture to Korthia and ask, if you wish. Though I'd rather not wait so long to get my mouth around you."

"Only, she told me to--when she's gone, and I wasn't---"

"You didn't know if she meant while she is away, or when she is dead?"

"How do you put it so clearly?"

Theotar shrugged. "My manners have always been better than yours."

Renathal laughed. He bent once more to kiss Theotar. "I should call you rude for saying such a thing."

"Yes, well, I am in rude company. When in Bastion, yes?"

"You are the most ridiculous creature."

Theotar stroked Renathal's hair. "Please, my dear, may I taste you?"

Renathal nodded. He looked dazed, as though Theotar had struck him over the head. Theotar kissed his belly through his waistcoat and shirt and unbuttoned his trouser falls. Renathal whimpered when Theotar rubbed his cheek against the skin of his belly, smooth and yielding despite the tension of his muscle beneath. Theotar nudged the trousers down far enough to kiss the length of muscle at the top of Renathal's thigh.

"My dearest prince, the smell of you. It is finer than tea."

"Don't tease," Renathal whispered.

Theotar glanced up to find Renathal gazing at him. Renathal got a handful of his hair and wound it around his fingers. Theotar drew him into his mouth. Renathal shuddered. He shuddered again, and covered his face with his hands as he shook all over, tears slipping between his fingers.

"Oh, my dear." Theotar drew him down to sit on the couch. Renathal pressed his face to the crook of Theotar's neck. The skin grew hot and prickly and wet. Theotar held him with both arms. "What is it, my love?"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Only, I've missed you so much."

Theotar kissed his head. "As I have missed you."

"Could I just hold you for a while?"

Theotar kissed Renathal once more and got him to his feet. "I think we shall be more comfortable elsewhere."

Renathal wiped his face with his sleeve and nodded. Theotar led him to the bedroom and sat him on the bed, and set to work removing his court clothes. He folded each item, coat and waistcoat and shirt and trousers and smalls, and set Renathal's boots together on the floor. Despite Renathal's skin beneath his hands, despite his own hungry cock and the sight of Renathal's erection, he got them both naked, and urged Renathal up the bed. He cuddled against Theotar, head under his chin, and clung. Theotar sighed. Renathal's warmth, his size, the hesitancy in his touch as though he could not believe they were really together, all of it settled over him, a blanket of old comfort and the clean scent of skin and hair. Theotar stroked his back. Something in their soulbind loosened, like a wall crumbling and the soil beneath relaxing into springtime.

"Don't leave me," Renathal said.

"Never. My dearest prince."

"I should have married you."

Theotar smiled and hid his face in Renathal's hair. "There is still time."

"What about your--what about Gwennit?"

"She is mortal, and as she has said, she will go to the Maw. You and I will not." He sighed. "I wish she would come here, but her soul is too bright. Her greatest sin is cowardice, and she has made up for it in so many ways."

"So Bastion."

"Bastion would not have her, and she would not have them. She and I know this. Only, I hope it takes a very long time for her to find her death. Her second death. After that, you may marry me."

Renathal shifted. Tightened his grip. "Tell me about her."

"Now? When we are naked and alone for the first time in far too long?"

"If you want me to be naked and alone with her, I'd like to know what I'm in for. Sire's mercy, I don't want to hurt her."

"I do not believe you will." Theotar nuzzled Renathal's head. "For such a rude prince, you are quite gentle."

"As I recall, you used to shout at me for being gentle."

"Yes, well, there is a time and a place."

"So, not when my cock is buried in your arse."

Theotar huffed, though his cock twitched. "I am not as fragile as a mortal."

"You went through the Ember Ward more or less intact. Theotar, apart from the remains of your sanity, there is nothing fragile about you."

"How rude!" Theotar tilted Renathal's head and kissed him. "Such a rude prince. Why did I ever bother with you?"

Renathal grinned. Theotar kissed his nose. "I forgot how beautiful you are," he said, not quite meeting Renathal's gaze.

"I forgot how much you shine. Your soul. It's brighter than the Ember Ward. I could bask in your light forever."

"Please don't burn to ash, my dear."

"Never." Renathal kissed him, long and slow. "Never," he said against Theotar's lips. "Never, ever."

Theotar gripped two handfuls of Renathal's hair and opened his mouth to the kiss.

#

They stood to attention. Allonii watched the lich, who stood between a human paladin, and a goblin holding Sinfall's pennant. So young. They did not know the horror of Kel'thuzad's wrath, or the chill of Icecrown. They knew nothing of liches. They knew nothing of the Lich King, or the power of his blade.

"In twos!" Lord Fordragon shouted. "Move out!"

The Lich King.

Allonii closed her eyes and prayed they were not walking into a trap.

#

Renathal jerked Theotar against him. Damn manners, and damn being gentle.

"Have you got any oil?" he said against Theotar's throat, and nipped the skin. Theotar gasped.

"Yes. Yes, always. In the--" he flailed at the bedside table "--in there. Don't let go."

Renathal rolled him onto his back and groped for the drawer-pull. Beneath him, Theotar shivered and held on with his arms and legs both. His cock pressed against Renathal's belly. Renathal kissed the underside of his chin.

"Don't go," Theotar said. "Don't let go of me."

"I won't."

"I mean it." Theotar tightened his arms and dug his blunt nails against Renathal's skin. "Stay here. Don't fuss about. Stay exactly as you are."

"What about the oil?"

Theotar went quiet. Renathal opened the drawer and groped until he found a vial with a rubber-tipped dropper. "Is this it?"

"I don't need to be in you, and I don't need you in me. All I need is you, my prince."

Renathal kissed him. With one hand, he got the vial open and, after a fashion, squeezed a bit of oil into his palm. Theotar would fuss about the mess on the bedside table, but he could face it later. He rubbed his fingers over his palm and brought his hand between them.

Theotar whimpered when Renathal stroked his cock. He lifted his hips for more, but Renathal let go and ran his oily hand over himself. He shifted until their cocks pressed together, and, as though Theotar was made of spun glass, settled atop him. He gripped Theotar's hair in one hand and worked the other beneath the small of his back, and kissed him. Theotar returned it, long and slow, deep as shadows, warm as anima from the vein. Renathal rested his forehead against Theotar's ear and rolled his hips. Theotar tightened his legs and rolled in return.

Even through Renathal's eyelids, his soul glowed.

He nuzzled Theotar's cheek. "You're shining. I think you're brighter than you ever were."

"There is reason." Theotar gasped. "Keep going, my love. Don't let go."

Renathal bit his ear and pressed against him again and again. Theotar whimpered and tilted his head to bare his neck.

"Bite me."

"Are you---"

"Yes."

His skin broke beneath Renathal's teeth, a snap and the crunch of tissue. Theotar gasped as Renathal sucked anima and blood, swallowed it, pressed for more. A hot ribbon plunged to Renathal's belly and between his thighs, and he shuddered and yanked Theotar's head further to the side. Theotar clawed his back, his nails dull and blunt. Dull enough to push inside a mortal and bring her to peak. Dull enough to leave venthyr skin whole. The spice of anima and steel of blood filled his mouth and nose. Filled his belly. His breath, his bones. Filled what served as his soul.

"I've missed you so much." His lips grew sticky against the wound on Theotar's neck. "No-one will ever taste like you."

"My prince. My dearest prince."

Renathal drew one more precious mouthful and pressed his tongue to the wound to slow it. He ground his hips, oil spreading between them with every move he made, every echo of Theotar's body. Theotar turned his head for a kiss. Renathal bit his own tongue and opened their mouths to share his anima. Theotar sucked, yanked Renathal's hair, thrust his tongue forth as though still anima-starved from the Ember Ward. Renathal trembled at the surge within him, the quake of lonely aeons crumbling like the edges of Revendreth herself. He squeezed Theotar's shoulder until his fingernails broke the skin, rutting and rutting and rutting as Theotar rose against him.

"Don't--don't stop---"

"Never." Renathal bit Theotar's lip. "Never again."

He pressed his face against the crook of Theotar's neck and panted. Their soulbond tightened, and drew taut the deepest part of Renathal's belly. Not yet. Not yet. Not first. Theotar deserved as much.

"My prince," Theotar whispered, and cried out. His cock jerked against Renathal's, and Renathal groaned as he followed, his face and Theotar's shoulder wet with blood or tears or both. He cried out and shuddered, and the oil smeared between them grew wet twice over.

Neither moved. Theotar loosened none of his grip, neither his hands in Renathal's hair nor his legs wrapped around him. Renathal worked his arms beneath Theotar's back and held him, held him, held him until he could not tell where he ended and Theotar began.

#

Gwennit held Mirgreth's hand between both of her own. "Mirgreth? Mirgreth, look at me. Look at me."

Mirgreth bit her lip so blood stained her beard. Her left arm lay at a terrible angle. Lothtar leaned on her shoulders with all his weight, and Jennie did the same with her arm above the elbow.

"I'm sorry." Ben wiped his forehead on his sleeve. "This is going to hurt. Hold her. Tell the orc to hold her."

"Lothtar," Gwennit said, and he nodded.

Ben yanked Mirgreth's wrist. She screamed. Only Lothtar and Jennie kept her from breaking free. Ben muttered something over her arm, and the skin glowed. He let go, and Mirgreth curled on her side, sobbing and clutching her swollen arm.

"Good girl." Gwennit ran her hand over Mirgreth's head. "Good girl. That was so brave."

"Two minutes," Admiral Proudmoore called. She kicked the last of Ner'zhul's remains.

Gwennit shuddered as the kick echoed deep in her soul.

#

Theotar rubbed his eyes as he woke. A fragrance of blood and sex and anima hung in the air of his dim bedroom. He snuggled back against Renathal, who pulled him close.

"She kept you up last night?" Renathal kissed Theotar's head, and Theotar smiled.

"Only talking. She, er, was uncertain of my former self."

"Ah. Right."

"She assured me it is temporary. Only, her people."

"Will she be angry?"

"No." Theotar paused to pull her with his soulbind. "I think she is battling some mighty foe in Korthia. She is not paying any attention to me."

Renathal chuckled. "We can't allow that. So rude of her."

"I know, but what can one do when one loves a soldier?" Theotar stretched and turned over. He snuggled against Renathal, who laughed.

"You understand I'm Chief of Armies, right?"

"As I said. It seems I am doomed to love those who take up arms in my defence. Such a terrible fate, all those tales of great valour told over tea, and being held in strong arms." He nuzzled Renathal's shoulder. "Such as these."

Renathal smiled. Theotar kissed him, lacing his fingers through Renathal's hair, as white as Gwennit's, but far finer.

"Tell me about her?" Renathal drew a piece of hair from Theotar's face. "She must be more than she appears for you to have lost your heart."

"Ah, my dear." Theotar put his head beneath Renathal's chin as they used to do. "If she could, she would remain in Sinfall forever, fussing over dredgers and taking tea. You would be astounded at how much she has changed since we met. The first time she came to tea, she said nothing but 'please' and 'thank you' and 'yes, Your Grace'. She has wonderful manners."

"Given her race, they may have kept her alive. Even some of the Horde mistrusts undead, or so I understand."

"Yes, well, Kael'thas would do well to remember his place."

"I don't only mean him. But go on."

Theotar glanced at Renathal. "I must speak with her about it. I will not tolerate anyone treating her as less than the duchess she is!"

"Oh." Renathal's arms loosened around him. "Duchess. You were serious about that."

"She is my duchess, and you are my prince. A prince and a duke are allowed their consorts, yes?"

"I'll need time to get used to that. I'm sorry."

"Do not be, my love." Theotar drew his finger down Renathal's nose. "This is new for all of us."

"I still don't know if...."

Theotar pressed his finger over Renathal's mouth. "The both of you are stubborn and foolhardy and easy to love. You have more in common than you think."

Renathal narrowed his eyes. "Are you sure? Only, she's so quiet most of the time. She's like a doll. You know what I'm like, especially if I've got drink in me."

Theotar laughed. "Yes, I do! And I have seen her drunk as well, if you'll remember. We danced."

"She can dance?"

"Not properly, but she does like to hold on."

"Really. Erm. Hold on to what?"

Theotar grinned. "I will leave that to you to find out."

"Ah. So I should, er---"

"Ask her to dance."

Renathal shook his head. "I can't believe I've finally got you in bed, and we're talking about someone else. Am I drunk? Did Mona slip me some of that awful stuff she makes?"

Theotar kissed him. Renathal returned it and squeezed his arse. Theotar moaned and pressed his thigh between Renathal's legs. "My dear, you are rather frisky!"

"Call it making up for lost time."

"Yes, well. Whose fault is that?" Theotar sighed. "Mine, probably."

"No. I pressed. That you'll have me back is--I don't even know what to call it."

"Any paladin but you would call it a miracle, I expect. Which is not exactly the case."

Renathal pushed Theotar's hair back from his face. "May I have you? Please? Fully and completely."

Theotar kissed him and turned over in his arms. "Hold me during, my love." He shifted until Renathal's chest, broad and strong and familiar, pressed against his back. "Keep me safe."

A flicker of the first time he lay with Gwennit went through his mind. Protect me while you can, she said. He hugged Renathal's arms around him and whispered, "Protect me."

#

Gwennit fell still when she stepped into Kel'thuzad's chamber. His laugh echoed. He turned to her and bowed.

"My lady."

Gwennit drew the lich to her hands and thrust forth with fire and frost.

#

Oil. Once again, oil. Renathal held his breath as he pressed forth with one finger, one sharp-nailed finger, as suited a venthyr. He would have to cut them if he laid with Gwennit--such a mortal thing to do--but the idea of ripping her open with his cock was enough terror already.

Theotar pushed back on his finger. He whimpered.

Renathal kissed his head. "How long has it been since...?"

"Apart from with myself? The Countess. She likes her--oh!--her toys."

"Really. I wouldn't say no to watching that."

"I shall have to men--nn!--mention it to Gwennit. Oh, my dear, keep going. Oh, there!"

Renathal drew his finger along the soft tissues just inside Theotar. Theotar squirmed and jerked his hips back and forth.

"Please, my prince, now."

"I only just---"

"Please, please, please, don't tease me."

Renathal pulled his finger free and added a bit more oil on Theotar, and ran his hand over himself. He held his cock and eased inside. His eyes closed as he did. A great shiver ran through his body and settled as an ache in his heart. He pulled Theotar as close as he could, nuzzling his hair.

They lay there for a long minute, Theotar clutching Renathal's arms, his breaths quick and sharp.

"Are you all right?" Renathal said, and Theotar nodded.

"I have missed this."

"I'm not hurting you, am I?"

"Only in the best of ways. More. Now. Please."

Renathal could only obey.

He pulled back, and pushed in as far as he could. Theotar cried out, a high, soft sound. Renathal took his cock in his oily hand and stroked with his thrusts.

"Once," and Theotar caught his breath, "Gwennit asked what I, oh, what I wanted most in the moment. It was you fucking me, and making me fuck her in turn. Mmm, my prince, please!"

Renathal upped his speed. Theotar writhed for more. Renathal sucked the tip of his ear. "Tell me more."

"My dearest prince! Oh, there, just there! Nn! Mmm, yes, please, yes, oh, I would have you fuck me like a wild sinrunner, pushing me into her over and over. Force me to match your pace. Make her cry out until the wet sheets clung to my thighs--ah, there, there!--and I had no choice but to follow her! A bit tighter, my dear. Your hands are stronger than that!"

Renathal shivered at the image, of making Theotar peak inside Gwennit, the Duchess Gwennit, even as she cried out. "What else?" he said, and his voice had gone coarse.

"Mm, my dear, you are going to make me come. Ah. Oh, I would watch you--you take her until both of you peaked, then suck your cock clean and lick your spend from--hngh, my dearest prince, please, please, fuck me." Theotar hid his face in their pillow and cried out, thrusting back on Renathal.

Renathal panted. His hips moved of their own accord, hard and fast, Theotar hot and squirming against his chest and belly and around his cock. He threw his head back and moaned as his cock twitched in Renathal's grasp and spurted over his fingers.

Renathal thrust again, again, eight more times, and went rigid as he broke and the smell of them filled the air, thick and warm, his vision going dark on the edges. He ground against Theotar's arse until the wire twisting in his belly snapped and he fell limp, catching his breath, his mouth pressed to Theotar's head.

Theotar turned his head and kissed him. Renathal returned it. Neither tried to move, to become their separate selves again, their soulbond wrapped around them like silk and shadows.

#

"The little wren," the Windrunner said when she saw Gwennit. "You were so loyal. A shame to see you fall so far."

Gwennit rose on a cushion of burning ice and followed her through Torghast. Led her children. Made a barrier between them and the thing she once called her Dark Lady. Summoned the lich, demanded it serve her, thrust her power forth again and again.

She laughed at the shock in the Windrunner's eyes.

They spilled into Oribos. The Arbiter hung before them, a living corpse, just like Gwennit herself. She rode her flames from platform to platform, the boy-king grey and blue and freezing, a mote in her eye. Just like Arthas. Just like Arthas.

An arrow struck Jennie's shoulder. She fell with a cry. The world turned blue with lich fire, and Gwennit thrust forth the Lich King's shadow so the Windrunner tripped. Fell. Stared in horror at what her little wren had become. The lich screamed to claim them all.

Gwennit laughed in reply and lifted her staff to end it---

The air turned thick and sour as the world ripped wide and the Jailer stepped onto the platform. Gwennit's children fell still. A few raised their weapons.

"Stand down!" Admiral Proudmoore called. "Step back, prepare for retreat!"

The Jailer lifted his hand, and the Arbiter jerked, jerked again. A ball of sigils lifted from her chest and to the Jailer's hand. He turned his gaze to the Windrunner.

"Stop." Gwennit's voice echoed with the lich. She lifted. Admiral Proudmoore shouted for her to stand down, but she could not. Not with her children so close to his hands. Not when they would go to the Maw.

She would not lose her children again.

The Jailer turned his head towards her. He smiled.

Gwennit lifted her hands to cast, to thrust every piece of the lich into and through him, through the architect of depravity, through the one who saw her die and forget and rise again, never again to live until Revendreth welcomed her. Blue flames formed in her hands and grew and grew, a bonfire of rage, of pain, of everything she had become---

He reached into her soul and twisted. Something snapped.

#

Renathal kissed the back of Theotar's neck again and again. His cock had gone soft, still inside him. His Theotar. Theotar snuggled against him. He kissed Renathal's hand---

He jerked. Bent double. Cried out into the bedclothes, clawing at his chest. Renathal sat up and lifted him. Their soulbind twisted, turned, pulled, threatened to snap like an old bowstring drawn taut.

"What's wrong? My love, tell me." Renathal held him. Naked. Huddled. Covered in spend and oil. Theotar hugged himself and retched. Renathal hunched against a ripping in his own chest.

"Gwennit," Theotar whispered, and screamed.