The Wolves At The Wall Ch 08

23 years after the opening of the Dark Portal

Stormwind

Pig and Whistle Tavern

Velinde Starsong had traveled far, following rumours and gossip. From the distant lands of Kalimdor she had set sail to find an answer to the curse she carried. Even now the scythe on her back felt heavy and cold despite the warmth the tavern offered. It was a welcome reprieve from the cold rain that was apparently normal for Stormwind.

The place was populated by many tavern goers, mostly human but she spotted the odd dwarf here and....her heart stopped. She was one of her kin, a young woman who wore the garb of an adventurer who was laughing with her peers. Velinde lowered her hood as to avoid her kin spotting her, she could not do with the attention. She made her way to the front where she found a red-haired human cleaning a glass, her apron dirty and stained from use.

"Welcome to the Pig and Whistle. What can I do for you, miss?" the woman asked without looking up from her chore. She sounded tired and slightly vexed.

"I seek someone..." Velinde said.

The woman stopped and looked up, her tiredness replaced with surprise.

"Don't see many night elves here." the innkeeper said, her grumpiness faded like snow before the sun, replaced with kindness.

"Not many of us have decided to travel to your lands. Yet." Velinde smiled." I hope you can help me."

"Of course, who are you looking for? There is another one of-" she was about to mention to the young kaldorei with her friends.

"No, I am looking for a man. A human by the name of William Robertson..."

Again the woman showed surprise." Oh alright..." she pondered." The Gilnean fellow? Sellsword?"

"That matches his description, yes." Velinde replied.

Three days ago she was on a farm in Westfall where she spoke to a farmer, Mira, a red-haired farmer, who spoke of a man named William Robertson. He'd faced the Worgen. Survived what others didn't. Maybe he knew something the others didn't.

The woman claimed her lover who matched that description left for Stormwind for a job but would return soon. Velinde did not, could not wait and left for the large city. It took her a day or two to get here and another day searching all taverns and inns which might house him. Finally, like a nightsabre stalking its prey...she had him.

"He went upstairs an hour ago with a regular. I think they might be...occupied."

Velinde leant in close." What room?"

"Oh...you'll hear."

The night elf went up the flight of stairs, the sounds of chatting and drinking diminished as she went to the rooms upstairs. Most of the rooms were quiet, she spotted some shadows beneath some doors. The upper floor creaked beneath her measured steps. Candles flickered low in sconces, their flames dancing with the draft. She approached the last door on the right and lifted her hand to knock--then paused.

From within came the unmistakable thud of bodies against wood.

She stilled.

The rhythm was unmistakable. Breathy laughter from a woman--Antoinette--rich and warm. A man's voice followed, lower, rougher, the kind of voice used only when nothing else in the world existed but the person in your arms. The dull thump against the wall repeated, steady. Their pleasure echoed in gasps and sighs, private and unguarded.

That of body on body, flesh on flesh. When two people became one. On the far end of the second floor she heard the noise, the faint sound of rutting. She stepped closer.

As she approached, she saw the door was slightly open, probably not closed properly in their occupants haste to copulate.

"Ah, ah, Will, ah!" a feminine voice cried, undulating with each thudding of flesh. Velinde carefully opened the door to see the man she had been looking months for.

His back was turned to her; it was covered in scars and muscular. He wore nothing aside from a pair of trousers which were down to his knees. His pelvis thrusted forward into his lover. A darker brown skinned human with slight gray hair in a round shape, gasped with every thud, her eyes closed as both lovers were covered in sweat. He had her lanced onto the wall, her brown legs wrapped around his waist, her blue robe haphazardly clutched around her shoulders.

"Ah fuck, Antoinette...!" he grunted with a low drawl.

The smell of sex hung in the air, cloying at her nostrils. She felt hot herself, looking upon the sight with an appetite. She wanted to join in; it had been too long since she last slaked her lust. Once, long ago, someone had touched her like that. A hand at her back, fingers tangled in her hair, a voice murmuring her name--not as a title, not as a commander, not as a vessel for something greater--but just her name, Velinde. Spoken with affection, not expectation.

That memory had grown brittle. Time had worn it smooth, like a river stone. She couldn't even remember his face anymore. Just how he made her feel.

"Antoinette...gonna...gonna come!" William gasped.

"Do it, do it!" she cried.

She let the scene play out, before long both lovers let out a final cry. The man she believed to be William Robertson plunged into his lover one last time, emptying himself into her. Both lovers gave each other a long lingering kiss.

Antoinette let out a long, slow breath, her back pressed firmly against the wood paneling, hair tousled and cheeks flushed. William Robertson still held her there, one arm braced beside her head, the other loosely wrapped around her waist. His forehead rested against hers, both of them slick with sweat and still riding the slow crest of afterglow.

"Still breathing, love?" William murmured, his voice ragged but amused.

Antoinette gave a languid smile, trailing her fingers down the curve of his spine. "You pinned me like you were staking a beast."

He chuckled softly. "Didn't hear you objecting."

She kissed his jaw, then murmured, "Only because I liked it."

William leaned in, pressing another soft kiss against her shoulder before finally letting her down. Her bare feet touched the floor with a quiet thud, and she adjusted her robe, gathering the silk loosely around her hips. Her body still hummed with the echo of him--his weight, his breath, the quiet violence of being wanted.

"Robertson," Velinde said, voice calm and hard. "I've been looking for you."

Antoinette blinked. "Do you know her?"

"No...Guess she's here for business," Will muttered, straightening his belt.

"I'll take my leave," Antoinette said, tightening the sash of her robe. "You've got a visitor. And apparently a mission."

Her voice wasn't unkind, but it carried the edge of a woman who knew when to step aside--and the sharpness of not liking it. She moved past Velinde with a flick of her eyes that spoke volumes.

Will didn't stop her. Velinde didn't either.

As Antoinette walked past the night elf, she offered her a glance--curious, dismissive, unconcerned. She didn't know who Velinde was. And she didn't care.

Then she was gone.

The door shut.

Rain tapped softly on the window.

Velinde stood there for a long moment, her arms still at her sides, cloak dripping onto the floorboards.

"My name is Velinde Starsong." she introduced herself.

"William Robertson, but you know that already...how did you find me?" He asked.

Velinde motioned to the door. "She doesn't know," she said. "About Mira."

Will's jaw clenched. "How do you know about her?"

"She is the one who led me to Stormwind. Told me of her man she is waiting to come back home." Again she motioned to the door. "She thinks this is just about pleasure," Velinde continued, stepping further into the room. "But Mira still thinks you're hers. She waits in Westfall, cooking for two. Still thinks you're coming back."

"She's not Willa," Will said quietly.

That stopped her. Velinde tilted her head. "Who?"

He let out a slow breath and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Doesn't matter, how do you know me?"

Velinde crossed her arms." I heard you had history with the Worgen, you have experience in combatting them. Fought them when they first appeared on this continent. At the Greymane Wall just outside of Gilneas."

"I enlisted before the wall, I bleed rose red I do." Will said with a chuckle. "The Gilnean army needed men against the Scourge. I left thinking I'd be gone for a season. Arch Mage Arugal had a secret weapon to help us against the Scourge."

Velinde grimaced, she knew the tale all the well. She had said the same." How long until they turned?"

"Days, but by the time we realized something had gone wrong it was too late. When King Greymane sealed the gates, that was it. No way in. No word out. Me and a couple of blokes barely made it to Southshore, attacked by both Worgen and the undead. My family back home...my sister, uncle, my fiancée...they all must think me dead."

Velinde stepped closer. The firelight caught the faint shimmer in her damp hair. She'd walked in on something she hadn't meant to see. But it had left an imprint. And though she'd pretended it hadn't touched her, it had.

The fire he showed Antoinette--she wanted a taste of that now. Not out of conquest or craving, but out of something more vulnerable. Hunger. Curiosity. Long-buried loneliness.

"I didn't know," she said softly.

"No one does," he murmured. "I don't know if she still lives or not. The same goes for my uncle and sister..."

"And Mira?" Velinde asked.

He gave a bitter smile. "She reminded me of Willa. Not just the hair. The way she looked at me--like I was someone worth waiting for. I didn't have the heart to tell her she was waiting on a man who doesn't exist anymore."

Velinde's voice was low now. "So you fight Worgen or whatever else for coin. Sleep with strangers. Try not to feel too much." She took off the Scythe and placed it in the corner.

He looked up at her finally. "You sound like you understand."

"I do," she said. "I came here for the Scythe of Elune, to find a way to stop the worgen in my homeland. That's what I told myself. But when I saw you with that woman, I realized I wasn't just chasing curses and old wizards."

She stepped into the space between his knees, her hand finding his cheek.

"I wanted to feel good, too," she whispered. "Not just survive. Just once, I wanted to be touched for who I am--not what I fight for."

His hand found her waist, rough and uncertain.

She undid her hood and threw it to the side, her damp hair cascaded down the sides. She was beautiful, the natural beauty of a kaldorei.

"Velinde..." Will said, each syllable tasted like honey in his mouth.

"No speeches," she murmured, lowering herself to him. "Just this. Let it be simple."

Their mouths met as their passions ignited. Velinde let her armor fall piece by piece. It clattered softly to the floor: shoulder plates, bracers, the leather guard around her hip. Each piece was discarded like a barrier, until she stood in nothing but her tunic, vulnerable and tall and graceful like the dusk.

William's hands were rough but careful. He traced the curve of her waist, the slope of her collarbone, the lines of old scars that crisscrossed her skin like fading stories. She leaned into him, her breath hitching--not from pleasure, but from the unfamiliar touch of being held.

They reached the bed without rush. She guided him down, straddling him with the slow confidence of someone who had once known how to be desired--and was relearning it with each heartbeat.

Their bodies moved together like tides--gentle at first, then rising with need. No words were spoken. None were needed. Her hands on his chest. His fingers at her hips. Their mouths met again and again, breathing each other in like warmth after frostbite.

For the first time in years, Velinde let herself feel.

And William--who had given so much of himself to blood and shadow--gave her something else entirely. Not just pleasure, but presence.

When she finally lay atop him, breath trembling, skin flushed and damp with sweat, she closed her eyes and listened.

Not for danger.

Not for the worgen.

But for the sound of her heartbeat--finally steady, finally heard.

*******************************************************

The candle guttered, casting slow-moving shadows across the walls. A breeze curled through the cracked window, tugging at the worn curtain like breath held too long. The armour of the Kaldorei priestess lay discarded next to the bed as it moved on a familiar rhythm. It creaked as Will lay atop his lover, his lance already wetted before by his previous lover now claiming his first night elf. Each thud was answered by a gasp, a moan, a soft cry of release.

Velinde muttered in her native tongue as he thrusted inside her, each joust a blessing, each withdrawal a curse. His pink skin intermingled with her purple skin, sweat, flesh and passion and heat bound them together.

In the corner, the Scythe of Elune stirred.

Not with force, but with recognition.

A single pulse--not of light, but of blood.

Ancient, wild.

The Scythe responded to Velinde's bond with Elune, but it reached toward her human lover, sensing something it had not in centuries: fertile, sleeping magic buried deep in a bloodline once thought distant from the Old Ways.

As Velinde exhaled his name--her lips just brushing William's shoulder--the Scythe pulsed again.

And far beyond Stormwind...

*******************************************************

Along the coast of Tiragarde Sound in distant Kul Tiras, a lone boy stirred in his bed. Tamsin Calder, just three, opened his eyes.

In the cave-shrine by the sea, the tide outside stopped receding.

Then returned.

His mother, Brynn, gasped awake as her ritual basin overflowed, spilling water upward like a reversed waterfall. Tamsin didn't cry.

He smiled.

And in the salt-heavy air, the sea whispered a name.

*******************************************************

She'd straddled him again in the dark, his hands guiding her hips with the same rough reverence he'd shown when wielding a blade. They moved again, slower this time, learning each other without armor or artifice. The kind of joining that said I see you. I feel you. I want more.

She rode him like a huntress rode a nightsabre, her silver hair cascaded with each bout. Velinde held on to his shoulders as his hand held her hips. He met her downward thrusts with his own, each lunge a parry, a sword play.

"Holy light..." William grunted, his brow covered in love sweet, lust...and something deeper than lust in his eyes.

"So close...so close...!" Velinde gasped. William stopped his thrust and sat up, his mouth lunged to her teat. She threw her head back and cried out in pleasure. Once more the scythe pulsed...

*******************************************************

Vanessa Robertson sat near the hearth, brushing the hair of a sleepy little girl nestled in her lap-- Daniella Arnes, daughter of Willa and William, though no one spoke that truth aloud.

Vanessa had helped raise the child along with Willa, it took a village to raise a child. Especially one who was 'left' behind at the inn's doorstep.

Daniella blinked, looking toward the darkened window.

"I heard a leaf," she whispered.

Vanessa smiled. "I think that was the wind."

Anna shook her head. "It said

his name,

Aunty Nessa."

Vanessa stiffened.

"...Whose name, my sweet?"

But Daniella had already drifted back to sleep, the flower in her hair bending slightly toward her cheek. Vanessa looked up at the sky through the window.

No stars blinked.

Only the moon, full and heavy, staring back.

*******************************************************

Their arrival was coming nearer now, neither noticing the pulsing artifact as their union reached a tremendous crescendo. It did not take long. He was atop her again, his back sported new scratch marks as his lover drew more with her elven nails.

Velinde cried out a husky moan, a long-drawled purr like a cat. Her body shook while her womanhood clenched up around him, urging his joust to completion. He rutted her through her orgasm and led her to another, testing the endurance of the bed to its very limits. He could no longer stop it and let loose to his own release. Undiminished by his previous tryst with Antoinette Jardin, William unleashed another series of ropes of potent seed inside the Kaldorei priestess.

Both cried out each other's names despite not using any words.

At the moment of climax, Velinde clung to William as though anchoring herself to the present--her voice caught in a whispered breath against his throat.

And in the deep, aching stillness that followed, as she lay atop him with a trembling sigh, a quiet thought bloomed behind her eyes--fragile and impossible.

What if...

*******************************************************

A child sat up in the dark, moonlight crawling across the floorboards. His two elder sisters snored peacefully in their dreams in the bunk bed on the opposite end of the room the children shared.

James Hammond, age four, swung his legs over the bed, the toes of one foot brushing the wooden slats.

He felt it--not sound. Not voice. Just a hum in his bones.

The trees outside his window shifted, even though there was no wind.

A seedling in a clay pot by his bed had bloomed.

*******************************************************

On the bed, William Robertson and Velinde Starsong lay in the kind of stillness that only comes after connection--deep, hard-earned, wordless. Her hand rested on his chest. His eyes were half-lidded, watching her in the dim light, not for danger but for peace.

The room was quiet again. The rain had faded to a hush.

Will lay on his back, arm resting under Velinde's shoulders. Their bodies still tangled beneath the blanket, skin still flushed and slick with heat. Her head rested against his chest, her fingers tracing lazy circles just over his heart.

Neither spoke for a long time.

Then Velinde broke the silence.

"Antoinette, does she mean anything to you?"

Will didn't move. "It didn't mean anything."

Her voice was calm now--quiet, but not angry. "You were chasing something. A distraction. Just like I was."

He glanced down at her. "You think that's all this was?"

Velinde looked up, her expression bare. "No. That's why I stayed."

She laid her head back down.

"I meant what I said. Mira deserves better than your ghost. And you... you deserve to stop punishing yourself for living."

Will's jaw tightened. "Were it so easy..."

"It's not," she said. "But it's why I came to you. You've seen what the curse takes. If there is a way to stop all of this, it will help both our people."

"And where would that be?" he asked.

"I found something in Duskwood," she said. "Glyphs buried in the soil outside Raven Hill. Not feral. Not random. It's druidic--ancient. I think the Scythe passed through there in a previous time before it twisted into the weapon it became."

He was quiet. "And you want me with you."

"I want

you

," she said, "Not just your blade."

He let out a slow breath, arm tightening around her waist.

"I'll come," he said. "At first light." He paused.

"Pun not intended."

She pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder.

"Good," she whispered. "Because for the first time in years, I want something to keep living for."

"And for the first time in years...I might too." Will admitted.

The Scythe of Elune, lying still, now glowed faintly along its edge--green and silver runes subtly alive, as if acknowledging the family now tethered by its call.

But neither of them noticed.

Not yet.

And far across forest, sea, and stone, those of William's blood began to dream of roots, tides...and wolves.

24 years after the opening of the Dark Portal

Duskhaven, Gilneas