Title: The Forsaken
Author: Link Worshiper
Pairings: 1=2, maybe some others if I feel like it
Rating: PG-13
Stuff: Fantasy AU, fluff, sap, language, adventure, WoW nerdiness
Disclaimer: I own Gundam Wing action figures? Warcraft and its lore belongs to Blizzard Entertainment. Both things are being played with out of fangirl love.

Thanks to danse and Natea for the once over. Despite the fact this is part of Natea's birthday present, I still needed her to fill me in on the Alliance history they don't teach us on Horde, so thanks for that also =P

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Part XIV
In His Place

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Father Maxwell, the master of the Dalaran orphanage, was a man who lived to truly uphold his principles in every aspect of his life. He wore drab robes and ate plain, hearty food. No cushy apartment in the one of the classier sections of the city for him, despite the fact that his fine standing with the Kirin Tor could have easily afforded him one. Rather, his quarters were above the orphanage dormitories, where he lived humbly with the children no one else wanted. If he could have kept all of them, he would have done so easily and felt as though he were the richest man in all of Azeroth, but alas, he had only been granted two: a set of brothers who had turned up at Krasus' Landing on a Winter Veil night a little over fifteen years before. At times, he almost forgot that they weren't actually his kin because he loved them so, prouder of their accomplishments and growth as much than any other father might be. Tonight they would celebrate those twenty years together with a fittingly modest dinner around the Maxwell table and the festivity of the holidays, even as the murmurings of unrest in Lordaeron lingered beneath the air.

"I cannot believe how fortunate I am to have you boys, even at the behest of all the strange circumstances that brought our small family together," Maxwell toasted, lifting his flagon high over the wooden table at which he broke bread with his two sons. "One to help me care for the other children, and another learned enough to tutor the students of the Kirin Tor," he continued merrily. "O, how the Light smiles upon us!" With that, he drank deeply of the ale in his mug, a signal that it was alright for his two sons to begin eating as well.

As the scrape and tinkle of knives and forks across porcelain filled the room, Solo turned to his brother and lifted an eyebrow. "Tutoring?" he queried skeptically. "Who are you tutoring?"

"You wouldn't like it if I told you," the younger brother answered snidely, pointedly focusing on sawing at the meat on his plate.

"Oh, come now, that's not so," Maxwell chided, finding parental amusement in the way the two boys bickered like children a fraction their age. He turned conversationally to Solo and tried to fill him in, saying, "You most certainly would know: it's-"

"--none of his business!" the young acolyte interjected, slamming his knife into the table. "I don't need my big brother hassling every aspect of my life as if I'm incapable of handling anything on my own."

Sensing his brother's need to be confrontational, Solo jabbed a finger at him and hissed, "You're ruining our birthday feast."

Father Maxwell was just lifting a hand to settle the dispute as a frantic knock bounced against the other side of the apartment door. Maxwell twisted around in his chair, confused by the sound. He had been fairly certain that all the children had been put to bed, and was thus concerned immensely by the sound of the tiny hand against the wood. Quickly forgetting the trite argument between Solo and his brother, he got up and strode towards the door, leaving the two young men to settle their differences while he investigated this new matter.

He opened up to reveal a small girl with red hair standing in his midst. She was a bit older than most of the other children at the orphanage, but still too young to be expected to take care of herself. She clutched a rolled parchment in one fist, and though it wasn't particularly extraordinary, the blue ribbon and seal that held it fast denoted it as an official document. Maxwell furrowed his brow a the sight of it as the girl held it out to him, distracted by how out of place this presentation was. The affairs of the Alliance had no place in the hands of a child. "A message?" he wondered, hoping his voice wasn't shaking as much as he thought it was.

"The man in silver and blue brought it on his yellow horse," the girl said. "He said it's for Brother Solo and that he wants to talk to him after he reads the letter." She grinned toothily, clearly pleased with herself that she'd remembered the entire message. Her happily squinted eyes blinded her from the apprehensive grimace that washed across Maxwell's face, which was probably for the better. His voice deceptively even, Maxwell called to Solo, interrupting the sibling feud by calling him over.

"What's this?" asked Solo as Maxwell wordlessly handed the scroll to him. The tall blonde broke the wax insignia holding the blue ribbon fast and unfurled the paper, his face growing somber as his blue eyes quickly scanned over the words penned there. By the time he was through, the corners of his mouth had fallen into a deep frown, the only expressive feature of his otherwise blank countenance.

Eventually, the young acolyte, left alone at the table, grew unsettled by the dark mood that had fallen over the room. Standing, he stomped over to the doorway, swearing, "By the Light! What in Elune's name is going on here?" He snatched the parchment from Solo's hand without even so much as asking to look at it, but its message, though not addressed to him, had a similar effect on the acolyte that it did his elder brother. "This... this can't be," he murmured in disbelief.

"What can't be?" piped up the small redhead, whom the three adults had almost forgotten once the parchment had been opened. Knowing that the discussion was about to take a turn he didn't want a child to be a part of, Maxwell quickly grabbed the girl by the hand, ushering her into the hall. "Let's go to bed, darling," he said, walking as quickly as he could towards the dormitories. He had known what the parchment's message would be the moment he'd seen the Alliance crest. In a way, escorting the girl back to bed was almost as much an escape for the orphanage master as it was for his ward.

Solo was still frozen in the same place he'd been for some time, even as his brother started on a tirade. "You can't do this, even if it is an order from the seat of Lordaeron!" he yelled, waving the parchment around carelessly. "If their own army isn't enough, then maybe they shouldn't embark on this campaign at all. You'll just be cannon fodder for some inexperienced clod to whet his appetite for glory."

Glancing at his brother, Solo answered dully, "That 'inexperienced clod' is to be none other than Prince Treize himself. If the king is willing to send his son, I doubt he would instill a draft unless it was dire." He then turned his attention back to the doorway, which still stood open, his eyes glassing over once more. "I should probably go down and meet that soldier waiting outside." He lifted one foot as if he meant to plod forward with doing just that.

Sharp with anger at the whole situation, the acolyte was too fast for Solo, and he quickly positioned himself in the doorway to keep his brother from leaving. "Don't you dare take another step," the acolyte hissed, glowering up at his older brother. "Not one more unless you want me to follow you all the way to Lordaeron! And then to wherever after that!"

The threat was enough to at least elicit a real reaction from Solo, who knit his eyebrows with malcontent when he registered what his brother was threatening. "You'll do no such thing," Solo snapped with more of his usual bite. "You're a mage! Of course they wouldn't send one of the Kirin Tor's own all the way to Northrend to quell a rumour...."

The acolyte didn't like Solo's argument one bit, exerting his anger on the parchment, which he violently crushed into his fist. "So you're saying that just because you're a commoner, it's perfectly acceptable for them to drag you a thousand leagues from home just to satisfy the curiosity of some spoilt prince?" he growled, his fingernails cutting through the paper and into his palm.

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying - and speak nothing ill of the prince like that! He is to be honoured, even if he is not our own," Solo barked back. He then grabbed his brother by the collar and attempted to wrest him from the doorway. "Step out of the way! I'm going!"

"I can't believe you actually want to," the acolyte protested, holding himself as steady as he could.

"Could be a chance for this commoner to be somebody!" Solo argued back, taking his frustrations out on his brother. He certainly wasn't thrilled at the thought of being taken into the army against his will, but he knew it was his duty to perform and that there were things at work far greater than just he. "You know, not all of us can be accepted into the elite fold of the Kirin Tor!"

But the younger brother was no fool and he knew a ploy when he heard one. "Now you're just being absurd. You know you don't want this - no one would! It's not our kingdom, and it's not our fight!"

Solo took it upon himself to quiet his brother in the best way he knew how, reeling his fist back and landing a fierce blow into the younger man's cheek. "Quiet," he ordered, taking no pity on the acolyte as he nursed his bruised face with one hand. "If the stories of plague spreading in the countryside are true and the source of it is in Northrend, then it is most certainly a trouble that extends beyond the borders of kingdoms, and we fight as much for Stormwind and Dalaran as we do Lordaeron! If Prince Treize needs able-bodied men to aid the investigation, then that is my place," he said, grimly cutting through any protests his brother thought to voice. "And you are quite aware that your place is here - here, with your duties and responsibilities. Even more so if I must leave, and you very well know it." His stare was unwavering, reinforcing the weight of his speech with the resolve in his eyes. Batting away his brother's obstructing arm, Solo pushed by him and into the dark hallway. A wistful smile crossed his face as he reached out to touch the acolyte's shoulder and said, "We cannot afford to lose more than we already have. I leave protecting that in your custody."

With those words, he started for the stairs at the end of the hall, refusing to even look over his shoulder as he left his brother behind. The acolyte roared with anger, the force of his energy snuffing out all the fire in the wall sconces that lit Solo's path. "Don't you dare die," the acolyte yelled after his brother. "Or I will kill Treize myself, prince or otherwise!"

His threats reverberated through the empty passage, answered only by the shadows he had created. Clenching the balled up mandate even tighter into his fist, he suddenly spread his fingers and willed the parchment to burst into flame. Then, taking two vehement strides towards the hearth inside the Maxwell apartment, the acolyte hurled the smoldering paper into the grate, where it exploded into a curl of unnatural green fire. Face licked by the eerie glow, he glared at it, maliciously watching it burn and hating that stupid piece of paper for tearing his family apart, while Solo set out for Lordaeron with the soldier waiting outside.

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Heero had not been himself since the Winter Veil Ball.

It had been a slow progression. In the days following the ball, he had fallen into a state of denial, refusing to even acknowledge the things that had happened under the influence of Hilde's herb. He had written off any enjoyment he had experienced with the acolyte as a direct correlation to the strange high smoking the blend had induced, which just seemed much easier to simply accept than trying to unravel its complexities. But work he might to clip out the memories, he was aggravated to find that his mind still continued to dwell on them the harder he fought to forget them. The lack of control was enough to drive him mad, and whenever he found his thoughts wandering to the acolyte - thinking of where he was and what he might be doing right then - it was all he could do to curse his very existence for confusing him so. He was ready to trade almost anything for the firm grip he once held on things, unsure how one person could push his life so off balance. It was taking a lot out of him to keep his footing, even as he continued to slip down this path, and it didn't take long for Helen to catch wind that something was amiss.

The most tangible and noticeable signifier of all this could be found in Heero's studies. Usually a student of such high caliber that Helen had yet to realize he had no interest in magic, Heero's indifference was starting to peek through the cracks. Class was the last place he wanted to be, and whenever he attended, he spent more energy trying to avoid people like Quatre and Relena than actually investing himself in learning. He knew Quatre had an inkling that something was wrong, and there was no way he could face Relena after such an embarrassing interlude, so he figured the best plan would be to simply dodge the confrontation altogether. It was unhelpful that the very thought of Relena only did to remind him of the acolyte and the fact that he could stir things in Heero that Relena could not. That fact made Heero nervous and uncomfortable, unsure what exactly that meant. Surely it wasn't natural, anyway, and the confusion only made him more depressed.

Nor was it much better that the best solution Helen had managed to come up with for all this was to arrange for Heero to have a tutor. She had thought it a great blessing that one of the Kirin Tor's most promising acolytes was in the care of her good friend, Father Maxwell, completely unaware that that very same acolyte was the one that was at the center of Heero's tormented universe. She had not sufficiently prepared him with this bit of information either, and had merely given Heero an unfamiliar name and time at which he was supposed to be home for this remedial study, hoping it would somehow revitalize Heero's ambition. She had no idea that she had only fed the beast.

So it was with great malcontent that Heero stayed in that first evening, despite the fact that his restless soul wanted nothing more than to aimlessly wander Dalaran in hopes he might somehow lose himself in the process. He paced about his small chamber, clapping his hands against his arms and chewing his lip as the hour dwindled nearer to a session he was surely going to spend in chains. He managed to get himself so worked up that when the knock finally sounded on his door, he froze, his innards swelling with the panicked frenzy of someone who was trapped and yearned for escape. And yet, it was all he could do to stare at the door handle as it slowly twisted downwards and gave way to the one he would be spending the evening with. At the sight of the acolyte's smug face, Heero felt like he wanted to both breathe a sigh of relief and die at the same time.

"How do, my lord?" asked the acolyte, lingering in the doorway long enough to drop a rather exaggerated bow. He was dressed in his familiar apprentice's robes and carried a satchel made of frostweave, which was packed tightly with a number of books, parchments, inks and quills. Heero focused on the silk stitching of the bag in an effort to keep his traitorous eyes from meeting those of his new tutor, even as the visitor swaggered into the room like it was his own familiar territory. "Sister Helen just let me in and told me where you were," he prattled on as if he had no idea how bothered Heero was. Setting his bag down with a rather startling thump, he leaned on the writing desk by the door and added, "So what say you we get started?"

Heero said nothing and simply dragged a stool over to the desk. Sitting down, he crossed his arms and waited for the acolyte to take the lead. He didn't trust himself to keep his composure if he relinquished even a little bit of his composure, and the last thing he wanted was to end up admitting things to the acolyte he didn't fully understand himself. Besides, what little rationality he still possessed demanded that he at least observe the acolyte a little before addressing the two-ton war mammoth sitting in the middle of the room. Perhaps he would be fortunate enough to determine that everything that had been bothering him since the ball had been an elaborate hallucination. Then things could go back to normal.

But normal simply was not to be. Even during those first few sessions, Heero found himself highlighting everything the acolyte did with tortured clarity. From the way he would lean over Heero's shoulder to monitor his inscription work to even the most accidental of touches - which, to Heero's mind, hardly seemed accidental at all - or even the mere way the acolyte would look at Heero just before he left, Heero couldn't help but wonder just what sort of game his tutor was playing at. It was almost as if the acolyte was trying to test Heero as well, and with the way the pair of them were dancing around each other, they were reaching a fast stalemate. It was only a matter of time before one of them cracked.

The inevitable culmination of all their past interactions manifested itself on a day that had started as innocuously as any other. The acolyte had appeared in Heero's doorway with his frostweave bag right on schedule, and, as per usual, Heero wordlessly took his direction and observed, all the while hoping he wouldn't give himself away with any suspicious behaviour. He had actually come to look forward to his tutoring sessions, even if he knew he was just a masochist for allowing the acolyte's presence to domineer his thoughts so. Even still, he tried to make an effort to suppress his natural skills in hopes that it would prolong his time with the strange apprentice. Unfortunately for Heero, crafty as he was, the acolyte was far craftier.

"You know," the acolyte drawled from his spot on the edge of the desk, "if I wasn't any wiser, I might say that you didn't need my help at all."

Hearing this, Heero froze halfway through casting a spell. The pitcher of water he was levitating suddenly dropped from the air, its metallic hull clanging loudly against the wooden desktop, its contents splashing across the nearby acolyte's lap. "Wh-what makes you say that," Heero said, straightening his back and smoothing out blue fabric of his short tunic.

"Oh, no reason," the acolyte answered with a shrug, though the glint in his eye suggested otherwise.

This ambiguous answer annoyed Heero. Scowling, he said tightly, "Well, if you think that, then why do you keep coming over here to help? I'm sure your brother isn't happy with your visits as it is." He spat out the last part almost vindictively, a reference to the way Solo had treated him the night of the ball. It was the closest either of them had come to bringing it up since it had happened.

"My brother is in Northrend with the Lordaeron army," the acolyte glossed over smoothly, hardly batting an eyelid at the remark. "He has no control over what I do - or just whom I do it with."

But Heero's thoughts were far from Northrend and Prince Treize's campaign there, much too occupied with the suggestive twang to the acolyte's comment. There had once been a time where he had found such airs annoying, but now he found them in almost everything his tutor said and latched onto them with a fervor he couldn't quite explain.

A dangerous smirk crossed the acolyte's face as he slid off the edge of the desk, striding closer to where Heero stood. "It would seem that you have no control over me either," he continued with a sly lilt, "even though you wish you did."

Heero blinked and swallowed, suddenly very aware of the fact that the acolyte was standing behind him, breathing heavily into his ear. Heero stiffened his back and held his arm aloft like he meant to channel another spell, but found he was unable to focus properly. The acolyte had helped poise him for proper spellcasting with similar proximity before, but this time was different - Heero could tell.

"An inexperienced caster wouldn't have the poise you do when you throw a spell," the acolyte murmured, his husky voice tickling the long bangs that lay across Heero's temple. He reached for Heero's wrists and held them in upturned palms and continued, "Nor would an amateur have such sharp focus when channeling magic...." Suddenly, one of the acolyte's arms tightened around Heero's waist, pinning their torsos together. He hissed, "It's been hard enough keeping my distance without your teasing. And you are." His lips grazed Heero's jawbone as he finished raggedly, "A horrible, horrible tease, that is."

Heero felt like a bird sitting just inside the toothy maw of a great crockalisk, afraid to move lest he tempt the monster to chomp down, and yet was still enticed by the rush such danger instilled in the pit of his belly and between his thighs. He was slightly panicked with embarrassment that the acolyte's possessive grip excited him so, still unable to tell if he was being beckoned or a victim of the acolyte's frustration. Tentatively daring to test the waters, Heero gasped through his tightened throat, "You're hardly any better."

But the acolyte wasn't falling for such reverse trickery, tightening his hold on Heero as he said, "You're not the one who has to keep himself from drinking every time he wakes up alone," he pressed darkly, his words melting against Heero's warming skin. "You're the secret I keep - the one I've wanted since I was old enough to know what that even meant - you and only you." The hand that wasn't fixed around Heero's middle found its way beneath his chin as the acolyte murmured more of his confession, "I don't care that my brother doesn't approve or that we're supposed to lead separate lives in different castes: as long as the cinders of my broken heart burn, I will pine for you." He kissed the corner of Heero's eye: "Naegriel moe," he whispered in Thalassian as his lips fell across the contour of Heero's high cheekbone. "Estelio han," he breathed, his fingers gently angling Heero's face more towards him. "Estelio veleth;" the acolyte's lips quested for Heero's, seeking a taste - permission, even. "Estelio...."

Heero's ability to understand language, or to even rationalize the world around him, was seared away the moment his panting mouth met the acolyte's. His entire body trembled with the need that had crippled him the night of the Winter Veil Ball, and though he was just as confused and insecure now as he had been then, his instinct to flee and save face was soon neutralized by the discovery that his body's reactions were not unique. However, unlike Heero, the acolyte actually seemed rather eager to make Heero aware of the hardness between his thighs, unabashedly rolling his hips against the contour of Heero's waist as if he meant to flaunt it. Even the mere thought of it was enough to make Heero pour a heady groan down the acolyte's throat, while he, in turn, started to tug at Heero's belt, yanking it off with a leathery hiss.

"Do you want it?" the acolyte growled into Heero's ear, snapping Heero's belt against the floor like a whip. He tossed the leather strip around Heero's waist, catching the belt buckle with his other hand so that he might pin Heero against him: "Do you want it as badly as I do?"

The urgency of the acolyte's craving was trapped between their bodies, and it was driving Heero mad with a hunger he found both alien and natural all at once. Again, all he could do was whimper indistinguishably against the acolyte's mouth as he hung about the other's neck.

The acolyte gave Heero a stiff jerk, drying their sloppy kisses as he met Heero's eyes with his own. "Say the word, my prince. Say that you will belong to me," he panted, his passion-clouded gaze sharpened by a glint of severity. "For I will not take what will not be given."

The words entered Heero's ears and almost immediately dissipated, and he nodded his head for the sheer fact that he didn't like this halt in affection. Whatever the acolyte wanted to offer him, he would slurp up greedily. The exhilaration that was mounting up inside of him seemed almost too much for his mortal body to bear, and he longed for the release only the acolyte's generous hands seemed capable of massaging out - especially as they wandered up beneath the hem of Heero's tunic, teasing the waistband of the leggings he wore underneath. Heero grunted with surprise when the acolyte's hands tightened beneath his ass, lifting him up and forcing Heero to kick his legs up around the other's waist, but he easily fell into a new rhythm as the acolyte stumbled towards the bed. He was no longer self-conscious about his aroused state, in fact pleased that the acolyte could surely feel it now that it was pressed against his abdomen as he carried him to the other side of the room.

Flinging Heero down onto the soft mattress, the acolyte dropped to his knees on the floor, positioning himself between the legs that fell awkwardly over the edge of the bed. With abrupt, unfettered motions, the acolyte yanked his robes off and eagerly flung them aside, stripping down to the neophyte's shirt and hose he wore underneath. Then, too drawn in by the longing way Heero was looking up at him, the acolyte grabbed Heero's ankles and started yanking at the leggings that encased his shapely legs. His savage treatment of the garment snapped the laces that held them tight around Heero's waist and ripped some of the seams, but neither of them noticed, concerned only with disposing of them as quickly as possible.

Discarding of the leggings in a similar fashion as he had his robes, the acolyte threw Heero's legs over his shoulders, practically dragging his student off the bed as he went down on his cock. When the acolyte swallowed it whole for the first time, all the thoughts that were floating through Heero's mind suddenly exploded in a burst of colour he had never seen before, and his hands fisted the sheets as though he thought he might fall through the clouds without anything to hold fast to. He thrust forward, wanting more, and the acolyte seemed more than happy to drag him in closer, eventually pulling Heero onto the floor in an avalanche of pillows and blankets. Hardly missing a beat, the acolyte pressed himself closer to the ground and threw Heero's legs even further apart as he roughly tongued the other's balls and the proud vein that ran underneath his erection. Then, all at once, the acolyte roughly grabbed Heero's engorged cock and held it steady, his waiting mouth lingering above it just as the chorus of moaning that rising from Heero's lips reached a voiceless crescendo to match the climax between his thighs.

Tangled in the sheets he'd pulled with him to the floor, Heero hung against the side of the bed like a crucified angel, beautifully posed amid folds of burgundy and gold. His tunic was bunched up around the middle of his heaving torso, exposing the rest of his naked body, but his hope that the sight was pleasing to his lover far outweighed any embarrassment that might have still lingered within him. Panting, he watched the acolyte with an even, trusting stare, waiting - hoping - there was more to come. Exhilaration began to gurgle in his stomach the moment the acolyte crawled back to cover him with his lithe body, the friction of his tutor's clothes against his own bare flesh enough to reawaken his fervent libido.

"You're all I need, blue eyes," the acolyte purred into Heero's ear, rolling his hips against Heero. There was no hiding the desire trapped up in the acolyte's hose or the dampness that clung to the fabric that confined it. A fumbling hand wormed its way between their bodies, grasping for the waistband of that last barrier between them, eliciting a groan from the acolyte at the relief. He sat back for a moment to tug his leggings a bit further down his thighs so that his erection might rise freely from its confines, a sight that made Heero lick his lips. Catching Heero's stare, the acolyte smirked and fisted his cock, giving it a languid stroke for his student's benefit. Then, bending so that he might lift Heero's legs over his shoulders again, he pressed an equally unhurried kiss to his mouth. "It's all for you - every inch of it - only for you," he slipped against Heero's tongue.

Bracing himself against the side of the bed with one hand, the acolyte let his other one trail down the length of Heero's body, wet with the fluids of their earlier debauchery. Heero whimpered as one of the acolyte's slick fingers penetrated him teasingly. It was a strange, even uncomfortable sensation, but Heero didn't mind, aroused by just the intimacy of it, more so when the acolyte pressed a second and third finger into him, and then began to piston them back and forth: Heero thought he might come again at the mere thought of what such a motion simulated.

Heero wouldn't have to wait much longer to reach such heights again. He barely had time to lament the removal of his master's fingers before the tip of his impressive cock was massaging its way between the cheeks of his ass. This intrusion was much larger and thicker than the acolyte's fingers, but his eagerness to be filled with it far outweighed the initial torture of it. The acolyte's name bloomed again and again on Heero's lips as his lover pushed himself deeper and deeper, rising into a scream of unbidden pleasure when he thrust up against Heero's prostate. His entire body clenched with satisfaction, greedily hoping to keep the acolyte's cock for himself eternally. It was only Heero's anticipation of being fucked again that he allowed the acolyte to withdraw at all, though in the brief moments he was without, all he could do was beg to have it done faster - faster, and much, much harder. It was all the acolyte could do oblige, for, though he had never before buried himself in such a tight sheath, his only concern was pleasing his sweet prince. To the acolyte, the sensation of Heero brutally pulling at his long hair as he came was more satisfying than even his own release.

Collapsing against Heero once they were through, their bodies and clothes sticky with sweat and cum, the acolyte nuzzled his student's cheek affectionately. With a chuckle, he whispered, "'Tis a funny wonder you would call your slave 'Master', when it is I who lives to serve you." He let his hand slip beneath the tunic that was still bunched around Heero's chest, rubbing the pads of his fingers across one of Heero's erect nipples as he added, "Whatever you desire - whether you wish to mount me and ride my cock all night, or if you'd rather me on my knees while you fuck me from behind - it is yours. I am but your plaything, Heero."

Achieving its desired effect, the comment went straight to Heero's groin, which only did to excite both of them again. He grabbed a fistful of the acolyte's hair, urgently wanting to be covered by his body once more. Heero wrapped his arms around the acolyte's neck, knowing that nothing else would do now that he had experienced the depths of the other's love for him. He wondered if he had the capacity to return such affection, but was quick to dispose of such a worry: now that he'd been caught, he was sure it didn't matter where they landed now. He was sure there weren't words to express what this moment meant to him anyway.

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If Quatre Winner ever got annoyed, then this was the closest he ever came. He had been sitting on a bench near the Krasus Landing gate for almost two hours, patiently waiting for Heero to show up. They had been invited to a great banquet in Lordaeron to celebrate the homecoming of Prince Treize and what had been reported to be a successful mission to Northrend, but Quatre had wanted to go early in order to see the prince ride back to the city and the welcoming parade that would surely accompany him. However, glancing up at the large clock that ticked away above a nearby storefront, Quatre frowned, knowing that if this kept up, they would never make it to Lordaeron in time to see it. He was tempted to just get up and make the journey himself, but he knew that wouldn't be any fun at all. Besides, Heero had become so scarce in the past few months, he had truly been looking forward to spending the day with his wayward friend. But considering how much Heero had changed since Winter Veil, he supposed he shouldn't have been so surprised by the way of things.

Still, Quatre couldn't help but think this was getting a bit ridiculous. He couldn't imagine what had happened to Heero to make him so distracted as of late, but he was suddenly overwhelmed with resolve to figure it out. There was obviously some irregularity in Heero's life that had him by a string, since Heero had been more than ready to accept the invitation to Lordaeron the week prior. It wasn't Heero's way to make plans he did not have every intention of following through with, which was more than enough proof to confirm Quatre's suspicions. Purposefully, he got to his feet and immediately started marching in the direction of Helen's apartments: if he was going to miss Treize's arrival in Lordaeron, Quatre was certainly going to make sure Heero heard all about it.

Rapping on the front door with the stiffness of a military man, Quatre mentally prepared himself for the speech he was going to deliver to Heero the moment he saw him. He was not surprised that it was Helen who answered his call and even less surprised by her response when he asked if he might speak with Heero.

"Oh, I'm afraid he's not in," she said apologetically. "To my knowledge, he stayed the night with his tutor so they could get some early morning review in at the library before you were to go to Lordaeron. Why, did he not meet you?"

"I've been waiting since midmorning," Quatre said flatly, hoping he didn't sound too disrespectful. "I was beginning to wonder if something had happened to him...."

Helen seemed to miss the nuance of Quatre's comment, instead shaking her head with the forgiving air of a mother. "He has been rather dedicated to his studies since he started working with that tutor. He's been wonderful for Heero," she said with a proud sigh. "I'm sure you know him: he's one of Father Maxwell's wards...."

So that was it! Quatre was less than shocked to hear that mischievous apprentice had something to do with Heero's behaviour. Come to think of it, Heero's mysterious scarcity always seemed to circulate around his studies, and now Quatre knew exactly why. Practically interrupting Helen, he thanked her and curtly turned on his heel, striding with even more purpose towards the Dalaran library. If that damned acolyte was responsible for any of this, then he had just managed to elevate himself on Quatre's hit list.

With so many people gone to Lordaeron to partake in the festivities, the library was even more quiet than usual when Quatre got there. All the better for Heero and his wayward friend, Quatre thought as he started to comb through the aisles of shelves in search of them: it would mean that there would be less ears present to hear the verbal lashing he had in store. It wasn't long before he heard their all too familiar voices from not so far away. With ferocious conviction, Quatre immediately turned in the direction they were coming from and yanked the nearest book from the shelf to glare through to the study nook on the other side. The moment he laid eyes on them, however, everything he had come to say was almost instantly forgotten.

"Ready to review so quickly? What a premier student," came the acolyte's voice, though it was quickly apparent that books were hardly the focus of this particular lesson. Quatre felt an unwitting swallow drop down his throat at the sight of the acolyte coming up behind Heero to wrap his arms around his waist, his head buried affectionately against his shoulder in a fashion that Quatre was surprised Heero would even allow. He was impressed by how serene and content Heero looked in the embrace of that longhaired apprentice.

Quatre barely had time to let his mind settle on the idea of two males being so comfortable around one another before he was getting an eyeful of just how intimate their relationship was. He chewed the inside of his cheek, unable to glance away as Heero leaned back to brush his lips against those of his tutor. He hadn't thought that sort of thing was done, and yet, found himself intrigued by the notion. He wondered what it meant that his mind was conjuring a rather obscure memory from the Winter Veil Ball: a brief conversation he'd had with some redhaired noble of Silvermoon and a thought as to what he might be doing at that very moment.

That was the last thing Quatre remembered thinking before the whole world went to hell. For right then, there was a loud shout and a bang as someone came crashing into the library in a great panic. "Treachery! Treason!" the newcomer screamed from somewhere outside the labyrinth of bookshelves. "The King of Lordaeron is dead, murdered by his own son! The city burns!"

Anything else the herald had to say was drowned out by the sudden panic that overwhelmed the people to whom this news was fresh. Heero and his companion suddenly jumped at the commotion, their attention trained in the general direction of the hubbub. The acolyte seemed particularly chilled by this announcement, and had it not been for the subtle way Heero was gripping his hand tight in his own, the Kirin Tor apprentice might have torn out on a rampage right then and there. "There is nothing to be done here," Heero muttered to his lover. "Calculated warfare should be met with calculated countermeasures."

The acolyte grit his teeth but knew that Heero was right. Even though his initial concern was what had befallen his brother if the one who had lead his battalion had come home to betray his own kingdom, he knew that he could not adjust whatever fate had come to him. However, there was still time to make sure that his retaliation was the proper one.

It was then that Quatre chose to take his stand and reveal himself. Striding around the bookshelf he'd been lurking behind, he coughed and made his presence known, though in the light of what had just happened, his intentions had drastically shifted from his original purpose. Ignoring the startled way Heero and the acolyte received him, he said, "There is nothing to fear. Dalaran will stand against this new threat, as will Silvermoon and Stormwind. My father will make it so."

Though this assurance was given in good faith, the acolyte's reaction was far from welcoming. "You will do no such thing: this I already know!" he snapped, angrily digging beneath the collar of his robes for the initiate's pendant he wore around his neck. Snapping it off its chain, he flung it onto the nearby desk and drew an ice rune through the air with sharp jerks of his finger, casting a vindictive dagger through its middle. "Damn the Kirin Tor for its godforsaken neutral diplomacy! You wouldn't ally yourself with Stormwind or the Sunbenders of Quel'thalas any sooner than you would orcs!" he roared as the ice blade dribbled beads of frozen water from its pommel. He crushed his hand into a fist, shattering the ice dagger into hundreds of shards that rained across the now deformed pendant and the scored desk it lay upon. "By the time you settle to do anything, half of Azeroth will have fallen to this mad prince," he muttered, distractedly stalking away from Quatre.

Heero shot him a glare and then snatched up his lover's pendant before striding purposefully after him. He didn't mean Quatre any ill will, but he didn't also didn't expect anyone to understand what he shared with the acolyte the same way either of them did. Truth be told, he was frightened and unprepared for what this sudden twist might mean for any of them, though it was certainly something he would never admit aloud.

Catching up with the acolyte, who had stormed out of the library and was already halfway down the grand staircase that led to it, Heero huffed, "What are you doing?"

The acolyte stopped, his face more somber than angry now that he was faced only with Heero. "I don't follow your meaning," he said, sounding tired.

Thrusting the ruined pendant out towards the acolyte, Heero deadpanned, "Unless it was your intention to be cast out of the order, that was completely tactless."

"That's quite an accusation coming from you," the acolyte said with an affectionate chuckle, reaching out to clasp Heero's hand in his. Pressing the Kirin Tor pendant between their palms, the acolyte guided Heero down the steps. "But what's done is done," he shrugged. "I just suddenly wonder what good it is to be a great mage of the Kirin Tor if they never take any measures to exercise that power. I'm tired of standing around with my hands in the air when I know they are more than capable of shaping a solution."

Then he said no more and Heero was filled with a melancholy that threatened to send him toppling head over feet down the stairs.

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Later, despite the panic that was consuming the rest of Dalaran, Heero and the acolyte found themselves locked in Heero's chambers, clothed only in afternoon sunbeams and dust motes as they made love sprawled across his bed. They hardly spoke as they tumbled across the duvet, falling into a rhythm that was almost forlorn - a silent expression of the uncertainty they both felt. All the while, Heero could hear hushed voice of his lover whispering the Thalassian promise of trust he'd sworn to him the first time they'd fallen into each other's arms, and he clung to it like it was the only truth he'd ever known.

And yet, when that same feeling of unease roused Heero in the middle of the night and found him alone in his bed, he could only sit in the darkness and stare at the diamond shaped pools of starlight leaking across his blankets. He knew where he was and why the acolyte had probably left, yet he had never before felt so lost and abandoned in his life. He'd crossed a line he had never intended to cross with the acolyte, and now that there was no returning, he elected then and there to steel his jaw and stop trying to care altogether.

Meanwhile, the acolyte was already leagues away, standing on the Southshore docks with nothing but the clothes on his back and the Kirin Tor pendant he'd pocketed as a keepsake from happier days. A great ship with black and crimson sails was moored in the harbour, a brigade of soldiers in red and white regalia loading it with supplies for the long voyage northward. Striding up to someone who looked in charge, he said, "I heard there was a faction of soldiers dedicated to eradicating the undead plague that has fouled the land was sailing for Northrend on the morning tide. Be this the brig that will bear them hence?"

The older man the acolyte was speaking to happened to be the captain of the ship, and he took a moment to look the stranger up and down before answering. "Aye, that be so," he said slowly once he'd decided that the acolyte had passed his inspection. He jerked a salty thumb at the ship, briefly explaining, "That be the Sinner's Folly, the flagship of Jaybendis, High General of the Scarlet Crusade. We sail for Northrend in hopes we can bring about a swift cleansing of Azeroth by our own methods without the hindrance we've found here."

The acolyte didn't need to hear much more. "Where do I sign up?" he asked flatly.

The captain gave him another once over and then grinned, his stretched lips revealing scurvy teeth. Digging into his coat, he pulled out a small ledger and said, "Right here, lad." He flicked open the tiny book and removed a broken pencil, which he held clumsily over the pages as he asked, "And your reason for joining up?"

"My brother," the acolyte answered swiftly. "Treize, that cur, forsook him to whatever poison has stolen peaceful rest from the dead just to feed his own ambition. I will see justice served - revenge, even." His conviction was firm and impassioned, the only thing that was fuelling him through the grim realization that his brother was never coming back from Northrend.

"And your name?" the captain asked, scratching something down in the ledger with scratchy lettering.

The acolyte took a moment to pause, closing his eyes and remembering his family - his brother and the man who had raised them like a father - and solemnly composed a new name for himself: one that would adequately serve to honour them even after he cast away his old life on these soon to be forgotten shores. Then he took a deep breath and spoke at long last:

"Maxwell. My name is Duo Maxwell."

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Nerdface Note: Duo's Thalassian is actually Sindarin Elvish, which I referenced from Tolkien's work because it is the basis for Warcraft's Elvish tongues. Read the Simarilion for more info.

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