Both Sides Now

Author's Note: This chapter is NSFW and contains graphic depictions of injuries as well as slash. (Not to mention a good dose of angst!)

KooriRoninHeart posed a challenge to me to write outside my comfort zone: Slash/YAOI. I think I did a pretty good job, considering I've never written slash before. Please let me know what you think. (I love reviews, by the way!)

Thanks again for beta reading, Sis! Also thanks to Rooietroll for your wonderful review. As always, your reviews make a smile.

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Chapter 10 – Aftermath

I.) Possession

Shattrath City, Terrokar Forest, Outland

"Have your identification papers ready!" Ashal Orlinde bellowed to the assembled crowd of Sin'dorei refugees. Every shouted word made him acutely aware of each and every vein in his forehead and temples. "No exceptions!"

The elves before him muttered anxiously as the Blood Knights patiently and systematically checked for identification. Some of the more desperate continued to shout; demanding they simply let them pass. They were a miserable group gathered on the lawn of an old church, including an appalling number of small children.

Ashal gazed beyond the half-ruined courtyard walls where his Blood Knights, Argent Dawn, and Shattrath City Peacekeepers held the undead at bay. While the unliving couldn't set foot on the consecrated ground, they could come frighteningly close.

A stiff wind blowing into the bowl-like valley rustled their clothes and mussed their hair. Eddies of air bouncing off the gray and tawny stones swept up debris, dead leaves, and litter and spun it upwards. Some of the pilgrims startled and ducked as debris blew over the crowd and down into the Lower City.

The situation was growing ever tenser as time progressed. The refugees were being separated based on priority, which did nothing to help with the threatening panic. Families with children were given first priority, followed by wounded based on triage, healthy individuals, and finally the deceased. Somewhere in the mass of elves came the sound of a baby crying. More cries resounded, demanding he allow them to pass.

Orlinde had been prepared for what he was experiencing from the moment he had been selected for this operation. The Scourge Invasion merely compounded an already complex mission. What had outwardly been a simple go to Outland, collect any their wayward brethren who wished to return to Quel'thalas, and transport them home was anything but simple.

There were politics involved, conflicting loyalties, and intrigue worthy of the Royal Court. Scryers hated Aldor, even though once they returned to Silvermoon City it wouldn't matter anymore. Other groups wanted to see the defected troops executed for their part in Kael'thas' crimes. To Ashal, it was all pointless and petty squabbling serving only to exacerbate his headache.

He had been hoping he could enlist more of the former Sunfury to help him maintain order. However, a number were suffering from withdrawal and complications with their addiction. In order to prevent them from questioning orders, most had been kept in a perpetually intoxicated state via special crystals.

While quite a few had assisted, others were content to sit back and let the situation unfold. It didn't help he was currently without rank and thus, unable to give orders with any real teeth to them. He had selected Blood Knights who knew him well enough to actually help him and those still owing him favors. Ashal was well aware he now owed favors to many of them.

Ever since his return to Silvermoon following his dismissal from the Sunfury at Manaforge Coruu, his life had been miserable. Not only was he deemed a failure by the so-called prince and made an example of, many in Silvermoon had turned their backs upon him as well.

Rather than returned to his former position of combat instructor, he found himself relegated to instructing not only the most disobedient students, but also the most self-entitled. Rather than back him when he needed to instill discipline, he felt as through the Academy had been working to undermine his authority at every turn.

Ashal had eventually found himself imprisoned under charges of assaulting a superior officer and public dissent. While he had never raised his hand to anyone nor publicly discussed his experiences in Outland, he was found guilty. He was stripped of all rank and title, as well as his position in the Academy.

Only now, in the aftermath of Sunstrider's betrayal, was he once again free but not clear. He would be lying if he said he wasn't embittered. It felt once again as if he were the designated scapegoat, guilty of wrongdoing so no one would have to face the unpleasant truth.

Lord Solanar Bloodwrath had approached him on behalf of Lor'themar Theron with this mission upon the very day of his release. The Regent Lord and his advisors weren't willing to simply hand him a pardon, despite the fact that his conviction was likely all a scheme.

"Do this one task," Lord Bloodwrath had said, "And we'll consider further discussion."

Thus, once again, he found himself jumping through hoops like the perfectly trained lapdog he was.

Growing restless and irritable, Orlinde wandered the rows of wounded, gazing down at each one in turn. Most were considered walking wounded; those with minor, non-life threatening injuries. Others were more serious, such as the wounds sustained by the Blood Knights he dispatched to assist with the task of protecting the pilgrims from the legions of undead.

Finally, he came to a small handful of wounded, carefully divided and placed into a small alcove along the wall. These had no identification; nothing at all to prove who they were. Some weren't even conscious to offer explanation. While they would likely return to Silvermoon City promptly, they would find themselves under arrest until their identity could be ascertained.

Ashal's eyes fell on a small male at the end of a row filled mostly with unidentified, wounded Sunfury troops. He was noticeably slight compared with those he lay beside. The red triage tag pinned to the blanket covering him placed him in the serious category.

He nodded to his close personal friend, Sergeant Runean Emberblade, as he approached. Rune was attending to an unconscious female in Sunfury garb to the right of the small male.

Orlinde knelt at the elf's side. Dark contusions and scabbed abrasions marred his face, but Ashal could see the unconscious male was unquestionably young. He was too young to be here either as a soldier or as a pilgrim, but too old to have been born in Outland – even accounting for the possibility of accelerated aging. His head had been shaved entirely and was neatly wrapped in thick bandages. Despite the swelling and scabs, a scattering of freckles was visible across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose.

Ashal swore as he realized who he was looking at. The elf, who lay before him, unconscious and visibly gaunt, was none other than Walen Whitebrook.

Part of him wanted to be absolutely livid with the unresponsive youth. Walen had been an instrument in his exile from Outland and his subsequent imprisonment. All his troubles were this...

The black haired knight hung his head, momentarily disgusted with himself. Walen was a minor – an adolescent still several years away from becoming an adult. His family and he had been as taken in by the Sun Prince's lies as the rest of his people. If there was anyone he should be furious with, it should be Kael'thas for his deceit.

"This one was brought here with a skull fracture." Runean said matter-of-factly after he turned and knelt opposite of him. He flipped to Walen's page in the report he had been given and read, ""Closed head trauma; surface burn to crown. Placed in medical coma."" He sneered sarcastically, "How very kind of them to provide specifics."

Orlinde glanced at the pale elf as he flipped through the sheaf of papers in his hands, as though looking for more information. "Can he be moved?" He was dismayed when his inner argument made his voice waver. He bowed his head briefly and massaged the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to alleviate some of the pain.

Emberblade's voice sounded mildly perplexed, but only slightly. "I'd need to check him first, but he has no identification." There was a questioning turn to the phase.

"His name is Walen Whitebrook," Orlinde said curtly, "Son of Magister Eilonel Whitebrook. He was one of my students; I know his family well."

"One of your students? In the academy?" The medic brushed his strawberry blond bangs from his face, looking even more perplexed. His emerald eyes narrowed as his brain came to the logical conclusion. "He's a child, then?"

"He is." Ashal confirmed. "Have him moved to my room. I'll complete the paperwork and deliver him to his family personally." He frowned deeply and stroked his chin thoughtfully. When he had first undergone training as a paladin, he had cultivated a goatee in order to better fit in with the commonly bearded male humans. While it had been years, he retained the habit of stroking his chin.

The blond knight arched one eyebrow and gazed at him with a questioning expression.

The thought of "why not" crossed his mind. Runean was one of his oldest friends and one of the few elves he could genuinely trust. They had trained together; fought together; slept together… he eyed the nape of the other's neck, knowing how his lips against that soft flesh would cause Rune to moan. Blaming exhaustion, he shook his head and spoke quietly, "He had been with the Sunfury..."

"As were you, Ash. Some did come to their senses and desert; perhaps the boy did as well." Runean commented evenly, but lowered his voice to match his. The medic donned a pair of surgical gloves and began to deftly unravel the bandages around the youth's skull. "Let us see what's going on under these..."

"He couldn't have made it this far on his own, Rune! While I will admit he's as cunning as his brother, he's not that skilled..." His voice trailed off as Runean unwrapped the last of the bandages.

While the report had mentioned a surface burn, it had failed to mention it delineated the unmistakable outline of a hand print. The skin contained within the print itself was uninjured, the healing blisters and peeling skin perfectly traced fingers and palm. It was as though someone had clamped their hand on Walen's head and cast a fire spell at point blank range.

Rune gave a half-sigh, half-growl of disgust. He gently pressed his hand to the print, examining its size in relation to his own hand. The healer frowned and magic flickered around his hand as he probed the youth's head injury beneath the burn. "I do wonder what happened."

"Ogres; Gronn; Ethereals; Arakoa; Naga; Broken; Fel Orcs; The Wyrmcult; The Legion; The Shadow Council – take your pick." Ashal said, standing to watch as a couple Blood Knights restrained a shouting, irate pilgrim.

"It's been healed – he's safe to evacuate." Rune glanced up at the fight. "You should get back to work."

"Of course." Ashal agreed but then turned back to the blond knight. "Keep this quiet, if you would. I don't need word getting out that he's receiving special treatment."

"Of course." Rune echoed. "Come by my rooms tonight; I suspect that headache is only going to get worse."

Ash jogged over to the scuffle, looking at the knights and pilgrim warily as he approached. The knights were two of those he had called in favors for their assistance. Their loyalty to him only went as far as fulfilling their part of the bargain. Each gave him a crisp salute and he returned it gratefully.

He assumed a pleasant tone, though the mannerism was forced, "What seems to be the trouble?"

The pilgrim looked him over, a sneer crossing his features. "Are you the one in charge of this rabble?"

"I'm…" Ashal eyed the two knights. Neither seemed poised to challenge him. "Commander Ashal Orlinde. Again, might I ask what the trouble is?"

"These…" The Pilgrim's lip curled, "These cretins! Say I may not enter!"

"Per your orders, sir." One knight said, stressing the word "sir." It wasn't at all unexpected for them to turn the pilgrim's ire on him.

"It would be my suggestion to get a room for the night and wait until tomorrow. We had greater numbers than expected." The black haired knight said with forced pleasantness. "But I assure you, you will be returned to Silvermoon in due time."

"Tomorrow!" The pilgrim nearly shouted. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

"No, sir, I don't." Ash bit out, putting his hands on his hips. He loomed over the pilgrim, using his height and size in an attempt to intimidate. "However, the Regent Lord was very clear regarding evacuation priority."

"And he shall hear about this… this!"

"Inn or the stocks. My patience is limited." Ash interjected with a snarl. He resisted the urge to strike the smaller man. He glanced up at the knights, "If he gives you any further trouble: arrest him."

From somewhere in the Lower City came the cacophonous sounds of a band warming up. The local taverns and pubs usually featured live music starting at seven in the evening. It meant he only had one more hour before he would be relieved for the night.

Leaving the knights with the irate male, he wandered back through the courtyard, counting the minutes. It was an exercise in both patience and tact, neither of which he was especially known for and never when he was this fatigued. There was no end to the stream of pompous, self-serving wretches, all of whom felt they were too important to be forced to wait their turn.

It was a relief when he was able to relinquish control and retire for the evening. He could feel his pulse in his forehead, each one an exquisite throb of pain. The black haired paladin stumbled his way through Shattrath's busy streets, barely glancing at anything around him.

The inn they had claimed for this mission was too warm when he arrived; the stonework heated by the light of the sun and the rivers of energy coursing through the sky. It didn't matter. Soon he would be able to shed his clothing and relax.

Rune was busily making medicine when he arrived at his rooms, grinding and blending herbs into substances. The other paladin had set out a tankard of ale for him on a beaten side table next to an overstuffed chair upholstered in moldering velvet. There was also a sweating pitcher on the side table. A quick glance proved it was blessedly filled with more ale.

"I feel old." Ash announced wearily, dropping into the chair. He took a deep, greedy gulp of his ale, enjoying the sensation as the cold drink washed down his parched throat.

He wanted nothing more than to allow the stresses of the day to fade into a comfortable haze. Drown the nagging words of those pompous, vainglorious low-lives.

The first tankard was empty by the time he kicked off his boots and stripped the sweat dampened socks from his feet. The warm air of felt blessedly cool air upon his liberated feet. He stripped out of his armor, leathers, and his sweaty undershirt and allowed each to carelessly fall to the floor. He collapsed back into the enveloping cushion of the chair.

Through the open window came the heady, exotic fragrance of Terrokar Jasmine. It blended and mingled with the sweet smell of fresh herbs and the warm aromas of the medicines Rune was working on. It was potent and soothing.

"I had the child placed in the room next to yours." The other commented casually. Rune hadn't moved from where he was continuing to compound ointments and creams for the wounded. The rhythmic grind and clink of the marble mortar and pestle in his hands was hypnotic.

"I'm going to fall asleep at this rate." He remarked sleepily as the blond paladin continued to work.

Rune paused to take a sip of his own ale and said unsympathetically, "Such a loss. Maybe I might get a turn for once."

"Jackass." He grumbled, drained his tankard, and leaned over to pour himself another. He knew it wouldn't escape Rune's notice, but he said nothing. The former priest would have worked frantically at one point to have kept him sober. Keep him away from the behaviors that had characterized his adolescence and early adulthood. Much had changed that he now encouraged him into drink and physical pleasure.

Rune's hands on his shoulders startled him. He realized he must have dozed off. The healer's thumbs pressed deeply into muscles of his shoulders, rubbing in slow, deep, penetrating circles. It danced at the edge of pain and beyond, forcing the stiffness from his shoulders. Ash hissed and pulled away to stand, rolling his shoulders to work the pain out.

Rune leaned on the back of the chair and watched him, content not to chase him. It was an odd sensation, being at the mercy of another. He liked being the one in control. To relinquish it was difficult, but at the same time: intriguing. His headache was slowly easing. He strode towards the bed, noting the grin of triumph on Rune's face as the healer started to disrobe.

He laid prone upon the bed, turned his head to the side, and shut his eyes. There was the pop of a cork and the smell of lavender and earthroot suddenly added to the aromas already filling the room. Warm oil trickled across his back, making his skin tingle as it flowed over his muscles. He breathed it in as greedily as he had drunk the ale that was turning the room into a comfortable haze.

Rune's hands massaged his back, rubbing in long, fluid strokes. He kneaded and caressed each muscle in turn, not stopping until the tension they held melted away and he found himself stretched languidly upon the sheets. Not thinking; not feeling; doing nothing but breathing in the scents of the room.

The former priest's hands stopped at his padded leather breeches. Ash rose up slightly, unbuttoned them, and allowed Rune to pull them from him along with his underwear.

He felt himself stiffen as Rune's hands rubbed down his waist and down across his ass. More oil trickled down his crack and across his balls. Ash felt his pulse quicken. A thrill of uncharacteristic fear ran through him, momentarily sobering him. He wasn't in control. He fought the unwelcome emotions, willing himself to calm down. Rune seemed to sense his inner battle. His hands roamed up his back in long, smooth strokes intended to soothe.

When he had calmed, Rune's hands once more returned to his ass, tracing between his crack and circling the small hole. Ash shuddered with want as Rune's fingers continue to move, tracing down to cup his sack. He felt himself harden and lifted off the sheets onto his knees to give the other better access.

He moaned with lust as the blond elf started to pump his cock with oil slick hands, quickly bringing him to his first release.

Rune's heated length brushed him as he moved into position. A finger once again circled his anus and he shuddered with desire. Rune's finger slowly entered him and started to move, followed by a second finger.

"Just do it!" He growled lustfully. He couldn't take much more of this.

Rune pushed into him slowly, easing himself in. Pain throbbed at the intrusion as the blond started to thrust. Soon they were rocking together. The pain ebbed slightly as his body adjusted, leaving only pleasure in its wake. Rune leaned over him, his fingers digging into his hips as he slammed into him again and again. With a cry, Rune released, spilling deep into him.

When their passions had faded, Ash rolled out of bed and made his way over to the chair and small table. As usual, he wasn't satisfied, but it would have to do. If he was going to get Walen home soon, he had to start on the paperwork. At the very least, he could use another drink. To his dismay, the pitcher was empty.

"Any more ale?" He asked. He still had an entire night to get through and he didn't want to be sober.

"No more." Rune stated firmly. He was reclined upon the mattress, his pale body glistening with sweat.

Ash grumbled peevishly as he redressed himself. There was the Rune he knew.

Even in the middle of the night, Shattrath City was a city in motion. Though the window, he could see all manner of flying machines, gryphons, wyverns, riding dragons, and nether rays filled the eternally too-bright skies. The streets were full of carts, refugees, and adventurers all mingling in the darkened streets. One of the roads into the city flashed with lightning-like explosions of magic as more zombies were dealt with. With a shake of his head, the Blood Knight continued down the darkened hallway to his room.

Ashal opened his door to find a document sized envelope bearing the seal of the Blood Knights. Breaking the wax, he found they were the identification documents he needed to fill out for Walen.

After a shower, he made himself comfortable before sitting down at his desk to begin filling out the papers. The comfortable, hazy buzz was continuing to fade though he still felt blessedly mellow.

A shuffling noise brought his attention to the door. Walen had apparently awoken at some point and was making his way into the room. He was moving slowly, painfully, and with a limp. His left foot dragged the ground, apparently unable to hold much of his weight.

"About time you come to, Initiate Whitebrook." He said crisply in Thalassian, stressing the title as he returned his gaze to the papers before him. He saw no point in addressing him by any other title. He pointed to the spare chair next to the desk with his quill, "Sit."

He continued filling out the current form to the best of his memory. It was fortunate Walen had come to. While much of the information he knew, due to spending years traveling with his elder brother and grandfather, there were items he didn't know such as his exact date of birth.

The Blood Knight realized the young elf hadn't moved. He glanced up to see him still standing in the middle of the room, looking down at the floor.

"Or stand." He said, rolling his eyes. Wounded or not, he wasn't in the mood to deal with adolescent drama. "Care to tell me what happened?"

"It's in here." Walen's voice was slurred as though he were drunk.

"Excuse me?" Ashal frowned and looked up from the paper to stare at the youth.

He was swaying on his feet, his eyes turned down at the moth-eaten, violet rug at his feet. In his hand was a tattered book. He held it by one corner of the cover, allowing it to hang open in his hand.

"It's all... in here." The youth repeated, gesturing aggressively to the book in his hands. The gesture nearly threw him off balance. He still hadn't met his eyes, as though the intricate floral patterns at his feet had him mesmerized. "It's about this."

"What's in there?" Orlinde asked, adopting as soothing a tone as possible so he didn't alarm him. Walen was evidently in an altered state of mind.

Ash rose from the desk and walked slowly to the youth. There were things that would allow someone to run on broken legs and fight through mortal wounds. The elder knight had the sudden surge of rage as he pondered what drugs Walen had been given before he left the Sunfury.

"It's in here." Walen repeated vacuously. "It explains."

"Not quite the answer I was looking for. What does it explain?" The black haired knight stopped short of the young elf before him. Orlinde paused to regard the book. Walen was fixated on it, whatever it was. Though unless the author was some manner of prophet, he sincerely doubted anyone could have predicted this bizarre scene unfolding before him. It had been years since he felt this spooked.

"It's in here." Walen insisted once more, gesturing towards the book. "It's about this."

Ashal was getting tired. So far, this exchange had gotten him nowhere. "Of course, I will review it later. Can you tell me what happened? How did you get here?"

"Blind hunter and silver goat, in a cage in the mountains." Walen said in a dreamy, childlike tone. "Legion in trouble..."

The older elf hesitated and then reached out to clasp the slender youth's shoulder. His words were walking a disturbing line between making no sense whatsoever and making perfect sense. Demon hunters were blind and goat men was the nickname for the Draenei people due to their horns and cleft hooves. Both had valid reasons to hunt the Legion.

The youth shook his head and swayed under his grasp. "... Legion in trouble if they get out."

"Your father is going to have to have you detoxified before we'll be able to do anything with you." Ashal sighed and gave him what he hoped was a calm, reassuring smile. He beckoned to the bed, "Come, it's time to sleep."

"No! It's all about in this." Walen said forcefully, extending the book out to him and then allowing his arm to drop. The book fell from his grasp and to the carpet. He bent to retrieve it, but fumbled with it. Apparently his fine motor skills were afflicted as well. "No, no, no, no-no, no!"

"Easy! Easy!" Ash said in a placating tone, stooping over in a carefully smooth gesture. "Whatever it is, you have my vow I will see it done."

He finally caught a glimpse of the youth's eyes and stopped midway. What should have been glowing emerald was dark. He dropped slightly, but the youth leaned his head away from him. With a growl, he stood, cupped his face firmly, and forcibly tilted Walen's face to the light. Both eyes were dilated widely, leaving only a razor-thin ring of green around his pupils. They weren't adjusting either.

Alarmed, he grasped the youth by the shoulders, "Walen, I need you to focus. What did they give you?" He gave him a slight shake to emphasize. The brown haired Initiate's eyes were dilated far beyond normal. Orlinde knew of a number of substances firsthand that could cause such an effect and might explain his altered state of mind as well. "Did they give you something?"

A hand closed upon his crotch. An odd, throaty laugh escaped Walen's lips as he leaned into him. His eyes had impossibly dilated further.

"Remove your hand." He ordered in a growl, emphasizing each word as he spoke.

"Do I scare you..." The youth hissed. It wasn't a question and it certainly didn't feel innocent.

Ash's hand snapped around the hilt of his sword as a flash of Fel energy flared around him. It kept coming, heavy and malevolent. He called upon his holy shield, knocking the youth away from him.

And then it was gone.

Panting, he gazed down at the youth sprawled on the rug at his feet. Against his better judgment, he crossed the distance. He dropped to kneel, pressing his fingers against Walen's neck to take his pulse.

"Commander... I'm scared." Walen whispered. His eyes were still dilated, but he seemed momentarily lucid.

"Believe me, so am I." He said with a forced calmness.

He scooped the Initiate up and carried him to his bed. He was falling asleep once more as he laid him upon the mattress. Ash sat on the edge of the bed and gazed at him for long moments, listening to his own heart pounding. He had no doubt that if he were to fetch Rune; he'd find the adolescent was back in a coma.

The Blood Knight looked over at the book Walen had been holding. It lay forgotten on the carpet, the pages curled under its own weight.

He rose and retrieved it, carefully returning the pages to their proper places out of habit. He flipped the cover to read the title page: Wobblespan's Big Book of Bedtime Tales. Ash looked around him, unsure of where Walen had even found a children's book in a seedy, barely operating inn like this. A set of smudges along the edge of pages near the back of the book caught his attention. Then he spotted a bit of soiled bandage marking a spot.

He flipped to it and found himself in a section dedicated to scary bedtime stories. He skimmed and felt his stomach drop. The tale was about a doll possessed by a demon after a child had altered the toy to make it fearsome. He could only presume Walen had marked the spot himself, though it seemed unlikely given his state of mind. At this point in time, anything was likely.

Ashal shut the book and cupped his face in his palm.

This wasn't the type of decision he was fond of making. If he reported what just happened, Walen would be killed. Silvermoon City simply didn't have the resources to deal with demonic possession. Within the Horde, such matters were dealt with a swift death. They would be sure Walen wouldn't suffer, but it hardly felt fair. If he didn't report, there was a chance he would be executed himself after an equally swift court-martial.

However, Magister Whitebrook was a powerful mage with connections to the Kirin Tor. If Walen was conveniently found to be possessed after he was turned over to his father, it would likely be dealt with in Dalaran City. The magi would assure that he would at least have a chance at survival.

Orlinde sighed heavily. He was quickly convincing himself to go with the ruse. Claim only suspicion of drug usage – common among the former Sunfury – and let his father discover his true condition. As much benefit as he saw, he was acutely aware of the cruelty of his plan.

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II.) Scourge-borne

Eastern Plaguelands, Eastern Kingdoms

Garrack lowered his rifle with a grimace of pain as Tallak and Dizzy did the same with their bow and gun.

The elf didn't seem to hear them as she staggered backwards. Garrack recognized the signs indicating she was about to faint, but knew there was no way he could intervene in time.

Nantan called to her once more as he raced to the paladin's aid. Her knees soon buckled and she slumped to the ground. The druid reached her only moments after she fell, followed closely by Faraji.

The battle was over and they had emerged victorious. However, to Garrack the victory was hollow.

The death knights had specifically been seeking him under the presumption he was one of the secret leaders of the Argent Dawn. They intended to not only to kill him, but turn him into a weapon against his allies. The female knight had made that much very clear.

While he had indeed led men in both a unit and in the full-scale siege of Naxxramas, he was not that high ranking. He was respected within their ranks and, in fact, still held his rank as commander emeritus. Being part of the assault had been his finest accomplishment and had brought great honor to his family and to the Horde.

That success had just led to perhaps his greatest failure. Rather than getting his men and the girl to safety, he had put them in serious jeopardy. Guilt weighed heavily upon him.

The Captain raised his arm as Tallak ducked under it and took his wrist in his right hand. An excruciating spasm ran like lightning down his injured back and into his legs, drawing forth a pained grunt. He gasped as another rush of pain flared as the hunter stood straight and they began to walk. Each step was agony.

He had a flash of ironic humor and allowed himself a single, quiet chuckle. If he was the betting type, he'd waged he had broken – or at least cracked – vertebrae. While he wasn't a healer, the symptoms seemed right: severe back pain radiating down into his legs and back stiffness. Garrack Backbreaker with a broken back, he mused silently to himself. He figured it was perhaps a form of karma to suffer from an injury he had inflicted so many times. He was covered lacerations and puncture wounds both large and small, though Faraji had seen to it that he wouldn't bleed to death.

The morbid humor was a helpful – if momentary – distraction from not only his despair, but also the grim knowledge all of them had been exposed to weaponized plagues. It was only a matter of time before they all started getting sick. Dealing with the diseases was the final challenge of dealing with Death Knights. Scourge-borne diseases could kill you long after you dispatched the carrier. The only question left was how many strains had they been dosed with.

If Tallak heard his chuckle, he didn't show it. While always taciturn, the brown haired orc always grew more reticent whenever he was injured. His mail was spotted with blood, though most of it wasn't his. Out of all of them, the hunter was perhaps the least injured.

He cast a look sideways at Faraji's son as he uttered a restrained, but loud gasp. Dizzy leaned heavily on his rifle as he walked, using it as a crutch as he lurched unsteadily on his feet. The young troll was half curled around his midsection, bandages around his waist visibly stained with blood. He was withdrawn, almost appearing shell-shocked.

Normally, the seventeen-year-old would be boasting that he could fire his weapon one-handed. This time, it had all been a matter of necessity. Dizzy's left arm hung useless in a makeshift sling, laid open to the bone and sinew during the battle. His father had stopped the bleeding, but there was little else that could be done at the moment. For the first time in the months he had been under Backbreaker's command, the rogue quietly suffered at their side.

Their worgs trailed behind them, their coats flecked with blood from their own wounds. Nantan's kodo drifted even further back, but still close. He felt pride at their training. They had fought at their sides, holding the tide of undead back. Only Tallak's wolf and the Paladin's charger had been lost. Garrack had put the wolf out of its suffering himself, only to have a Death Knight raise it. Fortunately, both animals were expendable.

Faraji and Nantan were starting to cut Una's armor from her body, flinging it away in their haste. He could see the elf's freckled face had been laid open by a sword stroke. As they cautiously lifted her breastplate and started to cut away her leathers, he could see signs of other injuries.

"Help me lay next to her." He said quietly to Tallak, "Close enough that she can see me clearly if she comes to." The elf was already notoriously timid around members of the Horde; Garrack wagered she'd outright panic if she woke up.

The hunter nodded almost imperceptibly.

Faraji glanced up as he laid down to her left, but returned immediately to his work. Beads of sweat dampened the hair around his bald crown, turning his yellow hair darker. "She be badly wounded, Mon. Good ting we be findin' her when we did."

"Yeah, good thing." Garrack rumbled. He blinked spots of color and light from his vision as the worst of the pain from lying down faded.

Tallak again mutely nodded his agreement as he painfully lowered himself to the ground. Dizzy sat down shakily behind the hunter and rested his head in his palm.

Nantan sighed in both exhaustion and exasperation before he tried casting a healing spell upon her once again, "My magic is spent..." The Tauren laid a hand trembling with weariness upon the elf's battered shoulder. It was misshapen, her entire arm far too low. While her armor had protected her from the knight's axe, the sheer force of the blow had broken the bones beneath.

It was impressive that she had managed to decapitate the knight with her arm and shoulder like that. The orc had a feeling her ancestors had to have been fighting at her side.

"Nearly outta mojo too." The priest said. "Just do ya best. Immobilize da broken bones. Da elves can heal dem."

"It doesn't need to be fancy." Garrack concurred. "Just enough to safely transport her." He spotted two pendants the elf had been wearing resting on top of the clothes they had cut from her body. While he easily picked up the gold circle, it took him several tries to grasp the delicate chain of the other with his swollen fingers. He tucked them into his coin pouch for safe keeping.

"She swallowin' a lotta blood." The priest ceased working on her side and laid a three-fingered hand on the elf's abdomen. Despite being severely fatigued, magic flickered across his palm. "It be comin' up soon, I tink." He paused, as though considering. "Turn her."

"Watch her shoulder!" Nantan advised in a grunt as they rolled the elf onto her left side and held her there. With her left shoulder so badly damaged, it was a less than ideal position. They were likely causing further damage by placing her in this position. However, it was preferable to her possibly drowning in her own blood.

Garrack held her head, stroking her temple as they waited. He had a hunch she was coming to. Finally her body started to rid itself of the blood she had swallowed.

Una jerked spastically, her eyes flying open. She gave a short, gurgling cry of fright as she vomited more blood.

"Easy! Easy, Una." Garrack told her hurriedly. She heaved once more, but produced nothing. She laid there fighting for breath for several long moments, coughing and gagging.

The sound of her wheezing gasps was troubling. The captain pointedly stared at Faraji and the healer returned the look of concern.

After several more minutes, she recovered enough to blankly stare at him. He watched her eyes try to focus and knew she was likely confused and disoriented. "Garrack?" She croaked.

"I'm here." He said, brushing a lock of bloody, matted hair away from her face. He could tell from the elf was starting to panic as her ragged breathing was sounding progressively worse. "Relax."

"Garrack, see if you can clean her facial wound." Nantan said, offering him a few gauze sponges. "Perhaps it will calm her."

The elf cried shrilly in pain as Nantan and Faraji slowly rolled her onto her back. The veteran was glad he was lying down; that scream had left his heart racing and his nerves on edge. The troll gently turned her head so she could continue to look at him.

"Relax," Backbreaker started by wiping the regurgitated blood from her lips and chin. "Relax and take deep breaths."

The elf shut her eyes and obediently took shuddering breaths. "Again." Garrack prompted as he gently mopped the edges of her wound. He continued to prompt her for several, long minutes as they worked.

"What's... the damage?" Una asked, out of breath after just the short question. He didn't like the frail, reedy quality of her voice or the bluish cast developing on her normally pink lips.

"I wish you'd save your strength." He sighed heavily as he lightly wet another sponge with some water from his canteen and started to dab the gash through her ear lobe. The orc had been hoping he could keep her quiet. "Frankly, elf, you're going to look like the rag doll I nicknamed you after when they're done." He stroked under her chin with the side of his finger. "You fought well and with great honor; rest now."

Una shut her eyes, her lips quivering slightly as she sighed. He continued to clean the wound, careful to remove as much debris as he could. Faraji was bent over her, pouring healing magic into the hole in her side. Nantan had finished splinting her leg and was wrapping it with bandages. She made a feeble mewling noise.

"None of that!" The captain growled sternly. The more she panicked, the more blood flowed from her wounds and the harder it became for her to breathe. Crying would only further complicate things.

"I'm going... to die... aren't I?" She said in a broken whisper. He understood. To die in the Plaguelands was a terrifying idea, even to him.

"I won't sugarcoat it: you're badly wounded." Garrack said evenly as he exchanged a soiled sponge for more fresh ones. "But you're not mortally wounded. Once you're stable, we'll start limping to Silvermoon."

"I can't... sense the Light..." The paladin whimpered.

The orc frowned, "I don't know how these things work, but you're exhausted. Let's not worry about that until..." Garrack's voice trailed off as he watched a tear trickle down her freckled cheek. The trail it left in the wake of its passage was pale and in stark contrast to the rest of her face. He suddenly noticed a faint, disturbingly familiar odor emanating from her body. Garrack lightly brushed a sponge across her forehead and it came away with a fine, dark, powder-like substance.

Captain Backbreaker looked at the sponges he had already used. The powder was on those too. He ran his fingers through her auburn hair. The strands left more of that same residue on his skin. He normally wouldn't have cared that the elf was dirty. It was part and parcel with the role she had chosen for herself. This powder coated her skin, her hair, and her armor. It would be in her eyes and her lungs. His eyes landed on the open wounds on her chest and cheek in alarm.

He hesitantly lifted the sponge to his nose. The cotton had a sickly sweet yet strongly fungal odor. The last time he had smelled anything like this was the Plague Quarter of Naxxramas. The Captain swore. He didn't like where his thoughts were going.

"What in the hell did you get into?" He asked in a growl. It was more forceful than he intended, but he needed to know.

Her lips moved as if to speak, but was interrupted as Faraji probed her injury. Una stiffened, an agonized cry tearing from her. The troll frantically cursed in his native tongue and cast another spell followed by yet another. Her eyelids flickered briefly as she fainted once more.

"Got it!" Faraji exclaimed triumphantly after a moment. The paladin's breathing eased; each breath sounding easier and clearer as his spell continued to work. "Don' ya ever be scarin' dis ol' troll like dat again." He crooned and softly patted the unconscious woman's head before turning his attention to the wound on her face.

Deciding against asking what had just happened, Garrack rolled onto his knees and elbows. The orc rested his head on the ground as he panted against the flash of pain that rippled all the way down to his toes. He heard Tallak groan as he stood and his quiet steps until he was beside and behind him. The hunter's arms closed under his arms.

"One..." His clansman said, tightening his grip. Captain Backbreaker stole himself against the pain. "Two... three!" With a cry, he pushed himself up as Tallak pulled him upwards simultaneously. The edges of his vision turned gray and hazy as he reached a standing position. He took deep breaths and the faintness passed.

Technically, none of them were in any condition to ride. If his back truly was broken, he could wind up paralyzed or worse. The elf obviously had internal injuries and Otieno was barely keeping himself upright. However, they had little choice. After the first signal flare he had seen, he'd seen no other signs of life in the pass.

They were on their own.