Below, Jaina Proudmoore and Sylvanas Windrunner lay on the throne together. For some, this might not have been possible; but the Dark Lady of the Forsaken's was easily big enough for the two of them.
And, of course, they were naked.
It was far from the most surprising thing recently observed. He had seen them locked in their power plays, carnal desires, and final fulfillment. Their moans had rent the air, their bodies crying out in pleasure and release.
To many a mortal man, the sight might have been one of immense arousal and excitement. Even to a member of the Forsaken, with all of the drawbacks having a near-undead body could have, it still had quite an effect on Athelion Dallbright. How could it not, featuring these two particularly beautiful participants?
Below, the two women had only recently completed their final lovemaking, rubbing their pussies against each other until they cried out in near mutual orgasm. Their love had been fierce to see then and even now, as both of them lingered in the aftermath.
Athelion had seen them through all of it.
He had always spied upon the Royal Chambers here from afar, rapt with interest in the politics of the court. His father had first sent him to hone his skills against the best trackers the Forsaken had to offer...and perhaps collect a few useful tidbits of court gossip as well.
It had perhaps been natural that Athelion had become quite taken with the principal member of the court. Sylvanas Windrunner, Banshee Queen, had always been such a powerful, regal monarch for their kind, the Forsaken. She had maintained her power through numerous trials, and her combat prowess was legendary. Athelion had observed firsthand how she had managed to put down the rebellion of her majordomo Dreadlord Varimathras. Rumours also persisted that she had even run afoul of and bested Arthas himself, the Lich King's own Death Knight champion. No one knew for sure of the last but Sylvanas herself.
To add to her attributes of strength, and cunning, she could add enchanting beauty as well. The Dark Ranger was favoured with all of the natural good looks of her former Elf kind and well beyond even that high standard.
Athelion thought inwardly as he cast a final glance at the two women below. How could he not fall for his Banshee Queen? There were few in Azeroth who could resist such charms. Least of all, it seemed, the proud Archmage of the Kirin Tor, Jaina Proudmoore.
What would he do now? Well, first of all, he couldn't stay here.
For a moment longer, his eyes lingered downwards upon the resting couple with their peach and blue forms, living and...not quite living, intertwined with one another. Then he left without a sound. Sylvanas had almost supernatural senses, Athelion knew, but even she couldn't hear what was not there.
This was not the first time Athelion had snuck in. The Deathguards that protected Sylvanas' Royal Court were quite vigilant, at least compared to the mindless Undead Scourge or the lazy human guards of Stormwind. However, Athelion had known the Undercity since he had been a child. He was also well schooled by his famous father in matters of warcraft and the roguish arts. Every successful spying mission had only served to hone his skills further.
Athelion continued his secret way back from the Royal Quarter of the Undercity, slipping soundlessly through dark paths towards the dwelling he and his family called home. He contemplated on the circumstances of what he had to tell his father, and then considered for the first time not telling him.
Everything he had he owed to his father, the powerful Lord Seneschal of the Royal Court. After Sylvanas had seen her traitorous majordomo Varimathras executed, she had need of a right hand once more. Rather than see the corrupted position filled, Sylvanas had simply created a new one with the same responsibilities. Veryn Dallbright had served ably as Sylvanas' second, defending the Bulwark from the undead as well as serving as a proven commander in Hillsbrad and Silverpine Forest against the Alliance.
How could he not tell him? Athelion was close to his father. Some said that the Forsaken were not capable of love or family, but they remembered their old lives quite well. As a result, family life endured through even the curse of undeath. If Athelion told his father, he did not know what would be the consequences.
The moment of decision was close at hand. Their household loomed near, a former inn, a spacious household but not necessarily as big as it could have been for the Lord Seneschal. Athelion would not allow himself to slow, instead moving at the same swift pace, forcing himself to decide.
With the easy precision and grace of a true professional rogue, Athelion dove off the roof of a nearby house smoothly through the open window of his own home.
He had entered, as he knew he would, back into his own room. The same one as when he had still lived, a long time ago as a simple teenage son and burgeoning rogue.
Briskly, Athelion continued through his room to his father's study. There, behind a desk in the grim darkness suffused only by single tallow candle, was the sunken face and the signature Forsaken bright eyes of his father. Veryn.
A former high-ranked member of SI:6, Veryn Dallbright had been serving as a representative of his service in the former Capital City of Lordaeron when the Undead Scourge had come. Teenage Athelion had remembered the chaos. The human court reeling in shock at the news their longtime King Terenas was dead and his killer, their own beloved Crown Prince Arthas, had turned to evil.
Veryn had died there fighting and, like so many champions of humanity, returned as a member of the Undead Scourge. Athelion and his mother had suffered the same fate, not in the same type of glamorous last stand, but in the almost casual slaughter of the common populace afterward. As mindless thralls the family had endured until Sylvanas had come to the Undercity with fire, steel and her puppet Garithos to free them from the Scourge.
And here they were. Not undead, not living, but something in between. Something less, and something more. Father and son. Forsaken.
"Athelion." His father still had the dark hair he remembered, lank and lifeless, but he was getting old. Age didn't mean much to the Forsaken's lifespan, but the effect of time on limbs and the body was still prevalent. Veryn had been an excellent rogue, but in his continuing debilitating age he had turned instead to the politics. His martial legacy continued through his son.
"Father." Athelion looked at him steadily, and he stood where he had stood hundreds of time before to tell his father what he had seen. His mind was still in turmoil. If he told his father, what would he do with that knowledge? What would ensue? The only alternative was to break his covenant with his own father, to lie to his own blood.
"What do you have to tell me, my son?" Veryn looked up from his parchment, his eyes and curious.
Athelion paused a moment longer, deciding for the final time.
Then he spoke.
***
There had been no greater sense of fulfillment for either of them.
Sylvanas Windrunner was still aglow with her long-desired release, exhausted from her long-awaited double orgasm. Resplendently nude on her Dark Throne, the Banshee Queen of the Forsaken was smiling, an uncommon appearance on that often cold blue face. Her hand snaked upwards to gently stroke the blonde-white head of her lover nestled on her chest.
Jaina Proudmoore, famed sorceress, could still not believe recent events and what she had done. After all her defenses, all of her protestations, the Banshee Queen had won her over. She had not thought it likely, or even possible, and yet here she was, her head pillowed by Sylvanas' more than ample, naked bosom.
Jaina had come as straight-arrow as they could come. Born into nobility as a member of the Proudmoore family, a blossoming young woman with innate magical talent, there seemed to be no stopping her career. Beyond her powers, she was also bestowed with a considerable beauty that drew numerous suitors. No less than the Prince of Quel'Thalas Kael'thas Sunstrider and the young Prince of Lordaeron, Arthas Menethil, had been drawn to the vibrant, vivacious sorceress. Jaina had been happy at the time to share her life with such strong, powerful men. Even more recently, she had even drawn the recent attention of a creature far more powerful than man...
With all that, she had never expected to be with a woman...particularly not this one...
Yet here they were. The Archmage of the Kirin Tor and the Banshee Queen of the Undercity, laying together on the Dark Throne of the Forsaken.
During the ferocity of their lovemaking and flushes of heat through their bodies, the cold air of the Royal Chambers had seemed like such an inconsequential thing. Now that those glorious moments had passed though, reality set in. Jaina gave a little shiver as her body cooled in the unforgiving air. Of course, for Sylvanas, the conditions meant little. But her lover was a living breathing woman, something Sylvanas enjoyed and counted on.
Who else but this beautiful living young woman could have licked her pussy so well? Sent the proud Banshee Queen of the Forsaken into not one but two shattering orgasms? The recent, powerful memories were the reason behind Sylvanas' idle smile.
Settled on the Dark Ranger, her pink nude form gleaming in unrestrained female beauty, Jaina gave a second shiver through closed eyes as another draft swept over the two. Carefully, Sylvanas wrapped one arm around her, gently crushing Jaina's large breasts, while reaching over the throne's side to search for something.
Jaina felt strongly content in that embrace. A feeling of security she had not known since her last encounter with Arthas surrounded her. So much had gone wrong in her life since those idealistic beginnings. Here at long last, she felt safe.
But Jaina was still cold. While Sylvanas' arm was surprisingly warm, it was not enough for her completely naked form. The sorceress smiled to herself ruefully, immersed in recent memory. The Banshee Queen had proved herself living in more than a few ways.
Distantly, she contemplated leaving the wondrous embrace of The Dark Lady of the Forsaken to collect her clothes. Then she felt a curtain of warmth upon her.
Sylvanas had collected her cloak, one of the first garments discarded in her seduction, and settled it upon Jaina. The garment hid the beauty of Jaina Proudmoore's nude form from the Banshee Queen's still hungry red eyes, and Sylvanas felt mild disappointment at being deprived of the lovely sight. Granted, she could still feel the young sorceress' warmth above her, and Sylvanas had a distant, fleeting thought of once again plundering her beauty, to spread her legs and lick at that marvelous blonde pussy again...
But no, enough of that for now. Sylvanas could feel the weariness of her former captive and newfound lover. Jaina was already descending towards sleep. Sylvanas did not feel tiredness herself, but she saw the indications in her young lover.
"Rest, Jaina." Sylvanas purred the words into Jaina's ear on a column of warm breath. "Rest now."
