Tryst

This chapter is dedicated to Dierdre and ileyna for being so demanding; to ladybirdOZ for risking mental health in order to read this story; to AntiDolorifico for loving me under the condition that I keep writing; to Alfbie for keeping cool when I know in reality that they're chompin' at the bit; and for Typo who was so sweet as to beta-read again for me, though I know she had other shit to do.

Specifically, writing a fic that's full of pure, awesome silliness about our favorite TrollBoy! If you haven't read it yet, I really suggest you do, as it's full of canon goodness regarding Atal's past!

http://games.adult-fanfiction.org/story.php?no=600084541

Also, I made a doodle illustrating a key point of that fic, which can be found heres: http://dragonchan.deviantart.com/art/Pokey-Face-133034942

Ok, that's out of the way. Enjoy the chapter :D


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I'll be the first to admit that what I did was in poor form. I'm a Rogue, though. What else do you expect? Not to mention that I'm a Troll, and I do have my pride. The Elf had it coming to her; that and more, so be thankful I didn't just stab her in the spine and wander off into the wilderness. I kept her alive, though a little worse for wear.

Getting her to the cave was a chore, one that cost me more blood and exhaustion. I was lucky to find the hollowed out space of rock, as the fog still had not lifted. It was somewhat damp, but comfortably cool, the floor smooth from animal feet and various travelers using it for a place of rest over night. The mouth overlooked a small scrap of land, which lead to the cliff side by the ocean. The sound of water echoed against the walls, though at a manageable pitch, so resting there was no struggle.

I had no moment for rest, though. I had an Elf to take care of.

Thankfully, she had not stirred during the long, strenuous walk to the cave. Well, I walked. She was dragged. I tried to feel sympathetic for her, each time her head accidentally bumped into upturned rocks, for the grass stains on her leather armor, for the leaves and dirt catching in her hair. She would be angry and miserable when she woke up, but I couldn't help but smirk when I looked over at her sleeping body.

She looked like she had been tossed out of a moving wagon into a swamp. It was hilarious.

Despite the amusement, I tried hard to concentrate on what needed to be done. I had managed to salvage some of the rope she had used to bind me, and paid her back in turn. Her ankles were tied together, the excess length wrapped and knotted around a rock pillar near the left side of the cave. Her hands were behind her back, just as mine had been, those too attached to the pillar. Unlike her, I checked every inch and spare place she could have hidden a weapon. I had no desire to repeat the events I had already suffered through.

With her taken care of, resting comfortably on her side, snoring the day away, I started digging through her backpack for something to help myself. I nearly laughed out loud when I found the store of Mageweave bandages.

The task of cleaning and dressing my wounds was aggravating. The infection was easy to take care of, but the stinging pain was no great party. By the time I had finished, my torso looked mummified, I realized I would need to repair or replace my chest piece, and I needed and whole new pair of boots. My undershirt was torn to indecency, soaked in blood and felt rather sticky. Not at all pleasant. I shrugged it on anyway, and trimmed the ripped legs of my pants to reasonably long shorts.

Though the bindings were uncomfortable, the fabric making my wounds itch, I figured it was a good enough job for now. I took out the Elf's bedroll and made myself a somewhat acceptable bed. And though I knew I should have stayed awake, kept watch, I let myself drift off into sleep.

I woke up to an artfully kicked rock to the forehead. I snarled, pushing myself up on one arm to see the Elf still laying on her side, a look of murderous rage in her eyes. There were other stones littered around me, by my body, and I realized she had been trying to get my attention for some time. The rock to my face had been a lucky shot.

I yawned, smacking my lips and shot her a lazy look, “Ya look comfy, mon. Sleep good?”

She growled at me, and squirmed in her bindings. It made me grin.

“Ya find my skills with da rope be better den yours, Elf. No use strugglin'. Ya wont be getting' out.”

“Release me, you foul cretin!”

“Mmm, naw, I don't 'tink so.” I shifted to my knees, careful of my ribs, and made it to my feet. From there I stalked over to her, squatting down to pet back her hair. She jerked her face away, but I did it anyway, tucking strands behind her ear, “I's just givin' as good as I got. Be glad I don' kick ya where ya hurt da worst. Broken ribs be a tricky wound, Elf.”

She closed her eyes, barely concealing the fact that she was grinding her teeth, “It was not my intention to make your injuries worse.”

“Naw, but ya did nothin' to help em, either. Seems yer debts to me kind be growin'.”

She looked up at me then, ignoring my fingertips that still rested against her cheek, “I owe you and your kind nothing. I owe only one Troll, one I will likely never see again.”

I moved my fingers over her hair again, dragging them down over the weave of her hair and mine, touching the beads, the skull that I had decorated myself. I could still recall the smell of freshly mixed paint. The contrast between the textures of our hair was startling, but I found their blending together somewhat satisfying.

I returned my gaze to hers, “Ya got dis from him?” I asked, picking up the braided strand to hold it before her. Her eyes grew wide, then closed, a frown marring her pretty face. She did not answer me.

I left her alone for a while, instead focusing on cleaning my wounds and re-wrapping my bandages. It was no easy task, my ribs screaming every time I had to twist my arms around for the Mageweave. I was acutely aware of the Elf's eyes on me while I worked.

“You need a healer.” she whispered after a long time, though the sound seemed to echo against the stone walls like a loud horn. I paused in my work for a single beat, then resumed without answering her.

“If you found the bandages, then you must have seen the potions. Why not use one of those instead?”

I tucked the end of the bandage into the wrap, adjusting the semi-loose binding as carefully as I could, “I be a Rogue, mon, but I ain't a thief. Bandages be easy ta make. Potions, not so much.”

She seemed to consider this, turning the logic around in her mind. When she spoke again it was soft, timid, and held a hint of fear, “Why am I still alive?”

I glanced over my shoulder, examined the strained look on her face. Her lip was trembling again. Her brows were drawn together. I had seen her wear that look once before; she had been running across the Barrens at night, screaming for help to anyone who could hear her.

“Why ya let me live?”

I really didn't expect her to answer. After everything both of us had gone through that day, I was pretty fortunate that neither of us was dead, let alone on speaking terms with the other. But she did answer, and it was the last thing I ever expected to hear from her.

“You remind me of... him. The Troll I knew from before.”

So far in my story, I've tried very hard not to sound like a sappy idiot. I've been honest about what went through my head, but I refused to sugar coat it, even if it would make a pretty good ballad. But that's just not the way things really were. It's not the way it happened, it wasn't what I was feeling. But I'll tell you now, that at that moment, something opened up inside my chest and spread to my limbs.

I'm pretty sure it was hope.

“I do? How?”

“Well...” she licked her lips, chewing on the bottom one in thought. I didn't recall her having that habit, but I found it oddly sexy, “I can't really explain it, I suppose. More like a feeling I get when you look at me. It's like... you're looking through me, into me, seeing something I don't even realize is there. He... he would look at me like that.”

I snorted, rolled my eye, though inwardly I was cheering, “Maybe dat jus' be da way da Trolls look atchu'.”

She squirmed a little, managed to inch herself forward with her shoulder and hip, “No, no that's not it. I know it isn't.” her eyes were growing a little wider as she examined my face, scooted forward another inch or two – her lead rope was starting to reach its limit - “Are you kin to him? Do you know who I am speaking of?”

I scoffed, looking away, “Ya 'tink you be da only Elf ta meet a Troll? Coulda' been hundreds a encounters.”

“Yes, but,” the sound of leather sliding against polished stone floor, “Not every Troll has this hair color. It's rather rare from what I understand.”

Ok, yes, I realize how close she was at that point to figuring out who I was. You might be asking yourself why it was I didn't just outright tell her 'yeah, I be him'... Well, I don't really have answer for that. The only thing I can say for myself was that I was hurt still, exhausted, and a little bit angry that it had taken her so long to even begin figuring everything out. She would probably never forgive me for the whole situation, and I needed more time to think things through myself – particularly how to get out of being shot between the eyes when she finally did put all the pieces together.

So, I used what little I knew about her against her.

Reaching over, I picked up the braid in her hair again, holding the small skull between my thumb and first finger. I leaned close to her face, scant inches away from her own.

“Do ya know what dis means, Elf?”

She swallowed audibly, “No?”

Apparently she had not studied as thoroughly as I had over the past decade, “Dis be a symbol a' ownership, little Elf. A Troll ties dis in da hair a da woman he rightfully owns. Ya be marked as property, girly. No Troll messes wit' ya because we knows ya be his trading commodity. Messin' wit' ya would be a big sign a' disrespect. Would even git' us killed.”

Her eyes had grown huge as I told her the story, explained what my gift had meant. It pained me to lie to her so cruelly, but I was angry, remember? She had cut me deeply earlier by not recognizing me for who I was, and I only wanted to give as good as I had gotten.

When she did not answer, I drove my daggers home, “If ya found 'im, he would tie ya like a sow and hand ya off ta anyone he pleased; afta' he's had his fill of ya again. Did he rape ya, Elf? Or did ya go willingly? Funny, though... Can't imagine no self respectin' Elf evah' welcomin' a Troll between her legs.”

The fear she had been trying so hard to contain earlier erupted in the form of tears, thick and heavy, spilling out her tightly shut eyes. A choked sob made its way past her mouth, and she rolled over and away from me, curling her knees up to her chest. I watched her hands flex in their bindings; she wanted very much to hold herself, the only kind of comfort she would be able to find.

I release the braid, tossing it back over her shoulder, and made my way back over to the bedroll. As I lay down to rest, I listened intently to her sobbing on the other side of the cave. The sound of it was painful, but I forced myself to sleep, anyway.

When I woke up next, the sun was rising on a new morning. There was still a fog around the world, but it was much thinner than the day before. Tall grass could be seen peeking out of the mass of it, and the trees and mountains in the distance were much more visible. I couldn't imagine it staying that way for too many hours, and the idea of finally getting away from that stupid place gave me renewed energy.

As I stood at the mouth of the cave, watching the ocean sway miles into the horizon, I heard the Elf shifting behind me. The sound of a loud, strained yawn made my ears twitch, but I refused to look at her at first. Seeing her, tied and pitiful when I had first woken up had been almost too much to bear.

“Excuse me.”

I sighed. Of course, silence would have been too much to hope for.

“I don't know if you care at all, but I have a terrible itch in my eyes. And I have to go to attend to baser needs, if you understand what I mean.”

I smirked, shaking my head slightly before heading back into the cave to squat next to her. She looked like absolute Hell – her eyes were puffy from crying, ringed by dark circles from fitful sleep. Her hair was a tangled mess, and even through the thick leather of her body suit I could see that her muscles were tense. When I eventually did cut her lose, she'd be almost too sore to even lift a sword. I took that as a damn good sign.

“If I loose ya, ya gonna try an' shoot mah skull open?”

She sighed, closing her eyes, “No, I will not try to kill you. I have no reason to, and you're currently in a better fighting shape than I am anyway. It would not be worth to effort.”

“Aw, yous a sweet Elf.”

“I try, thank you. Could you?” she wiggled her feet, and I grinned at her. Even if the mood was caused by a night of pain, her smart-ass attitude was oddly fun. I could get used to her like that.

Instead of going for her feet, I leaned over her body, working on the knots I had tied around her wrists. The proximity had her hip pressing into my torso, and I was again thrilled to feel her stiffen from the contact. But aside from that she didn't move away from me. I made her nervous, but not enough to refuse to touch me. As such, I lingered over her, being extremely slow about releasing her hands. The skin of them was calloused from handing a rifle and sword, but still long and slender like I remembered. Her nails were no longer polished and smooth, but rather rough and worn down to the fingertips, just as a good fighters should be. She no longer had room for impracticalities and vanity, as she had all those years ago, and I found the woman here laying beneath me appealing in a different way than the girl had been.

I leaned back, showing her the rope that was around her wrists, and she began to shift her arms forward, but I reached out instead, holding her shoulders to stop her.

“Slow, little Elf. Ya arms gonna be sore as Hell an' ya could tear da muscles if ya not careful.”

She nodded and shifted ever so slightly, enough for me to place a hand at her back, to help her into a sitting position. From there my hands slid to her upper arm, down to her forearm and wrist, and together, we eased first one arm around to her lap, then the other. I watched her cheeks twitch, trying to hide a wince of pain here and there, but all in all she took the adjustment rather well. With that finished, I moved down to her ankles and began to work on the ropes there.

She chuckled behind me, “You know, I'm glad I did not have the intention of harming you once released. I don't think I could manage to hold myself up, let alone a weapon right now.”

The rope was untied, and carefully I held one of her booted feet, rotating the ankle as gently as I could, trying to stimulate blood flow, “Den I be da luckiest Troll on da planet, mon.” I tilted her a look, smirking, “Not many can sneak up on me.”

She laughed, the sound soft and light, “Well, it's not as though you made it difficult. Ah! That hurt, a bit.”

“I know mon, sorry. Try ta bear wit' it.”

Slowly I drew my fingers up, massaging the muscles of her legs, feeling the knots and cramps loosen under my fingertips. Once reaching her knee, I moved to the other leg, offering it the same treatment. As I rounded the kneecap, I glanced up at her, to see her watching me intently, her eyes half lidded in thought. I moved my fingers up another inch or so, to the top of her thigh, and she did not protest. So I began to massage her thighs, the pace easy and as non-threatening as I could make it. Despite the fact that I had started out with noble intentions, the feel of her well muscles legs, the curves of her beneath my hands were having a very un-noble affect on me. I inwardly growled as my stomach began to burn, tighten, unwanted memories flashing in my brain of her writhing beneath me, clawing my back to ribbons, moaning nonsense into my ear. Begging me to give her more.

By the time my traitorous brain had finished its cruel tirade, my fingers had nearly reached her hips. I stilled myself, chancing another look at her, and I swear my heart completely froze for a moment.

She was chewing on her lower lip again, but there was a heavy flush to her cheeks, the golden glow in her eyes a little warmer than it had been before. She was bracing herself upright with her hands on the floor, and the fingers were curled into tight fists. Her breasts were rising and falling at a rapid rate; her breath panting out of her like she had run a footrace. I had moved so close to her I was nearly sitting between her open knees. I could practically smell the arousal on her.

I coughed, easing away, “Didja' need help getting' outside?”

My discomfort must have spread. Her blush grew hotter, and she looked away, “No, I do not believe so. But, um...” she drew her bottom lip between her teeth again, “I may.. require some assistance in unlacing my armor.”

Of course she did. Because the Gods have a cruel sense of humor.

As gently as I could, I eased her up to her feet. She swayed immediately, and I leaned down as far as I could for her to put her arm across my back for balance. From what I could see, her armor had laces in four different places: There were laces on the sides, reaching from her armpits to her hips, lacing on the back that went from the top of the neckline down to her tail bone, and lacing in the front which, for the most evil and cruel reasons imaginable, actually reached down between her legs, hidden in the fold of her thighs.

I closed my eye, mentally groaning. Naturally.

The laces on the sides were an easy issue, and the lacing on her back was permanently sewn in for muscle support. And when I reached toward her chest to begin unlacing her front, she made no move to protest or stop me. Her breath quickened a touch, but she did not stiffen or show discomfort in my closeness. The only thing that changed was that her smell grew thicker, headier, and it made me dizzy.

The laces were much tighter than I had anticipated. As I worked them loose, I could practically hear her bones and muscles creaking, felt her body relax a little further against mine. My fingertips brushed newly exposed skin, warm and soft and absolutely flawless. Down they went, across her abdomen, her belly, just below her navel. And still the laces ran, and I admit that as I slid my hand further down, it was shivering with the thought.

Then, I met irresistible heat and want. I heard her gasp above me, and I could not help it anymore.

Before I knew what I was doing, I had her backed up against the cave wall, was lifting her thighs up around my hips and grinding myself against her. She moaned, long and loud as my hardness drove against her heat, her hands going up to grip my tusks, her fingers slipping on the silver rings that had been fitted there.

Using her body as a balance, one hand holding up her knee, I began working on the laces of her armor again. Suddenly the strings were too slippery, tricky, running from my fingers like flies in the air. They did not relent for some time, and I was seriously considering just tearing them out when they finally gave up and let me through. The Elf before me moaned again, her hand moving down to grip my wrist.

“You..” she panted, giving my arm a squeeze, “You should not. You are hurt.”

Oh. Right. Broken ribs.

I didn't answer her, only stared, asking her silently what she wanted to do then. There was no denying the combustion there between our bodies, and I promised her without words that somehow, some way, there would be fruition in this. I wouldn't allow it any other way. I had thought of her, wanted her again for too long to let it just stop.

She pushed at my chest, and carefully I set her feet back on the ground. She continued to push, and I walked backwards, my heels eventually meeting the edge of her bedroll. I lay down on it, watching as she eased her armor off as best she could, sore, stiff muscles hindering her work. Regardless of the pain on her face, I found the view to be quite enjoyable, and soon, she was standing before me, completely nude.

I had never thought to see that body again, that beautiful, smooth, sleek, well muscled body. What I did not expect, though I really should have, was the proof of her profession.

What was once perfect and untouched was now a map of stories and battles. Sword scars, old knife wounds, pocks from a scatter-shot, burn marks from backfired guns. The marks did not mar her beauty in the least, but rather brought a whole new perspective to it. She was no longer the spoiled, pampered Night Elf I had known before. Standing in front of me was a woman, grown and strong and sure of herself.

And at that moment, her blood was rushing with want. Her want of me.

Then she was climbing over me, straddling my hips and looming over my face as I lent back on my elbows. We did not touch each other, but rather skirted our faces around one another. Our cheeks brushed, our foreheads. Her mouth barely kissed against my ear lobe, the two gold hoops that I had had since childhood. She paused for a moment there, her lower lip dragging against the largest of the two, as though considering. I did not want her to think. I didn't want her to consider a damn thing. I just wanted her to feel, to feel me, to feel me feeling her, and just let the whole damn thing run its course.

But as she began to draw back, I felt the muscles in her arms quiver, shake, and suddenly they both gave out and I had a chestful of limp, worthless Elf on top of me. Her weight was minimal, but since it was unexpected and I really wasn't prepared to bear her on my broken bones, we both hit the ground, crying out as wounds and aches screamed back into life.

“I'm sorry.” she groaned, trying so hard to maneuver herself upright again. Her squirming was both a joy and uncomfortable, elbows digging into my ribs, so I gripped her upper arms and held her still.

I sighed, the breath pushing back strands of her hair, “Dis not be right, Elf. Not now, anyways.”

She huffed in response, nodding, “You are right. I apologize. Just.. let me... I will go attend to my needs.”

Quicker than I thought was possible, and she probably did some damage to her leg muscles in the process, she stood and rushed out the cave door, disappearing around the corner. I lay back, staring up at the ceiling, pondering the concept of the little Elf running around the wilderness naked and sore, while I lay in a cave, hard and ready with nowhere to go.

Really, our misery was laughable.