Holding On

- - - - - - - - - -

OMG. Over a month working on this thing, and it's only a measily 10 pages. Arhghashdfkhadsf.... *sleep* (hope you enjoy!)

- - - - - - - - - -

“This isn't necessary, you know. I don't mind sharing my space.”

Zin tilted a look over one of his broad shoulders, staring down at the small human standing beside him. She was the picture of meek, her hands folded in her robes, her hood pulled over her forehead, shadowing her eyes from the early morning sun. A brief breeze ruffled the fabric, pressing it against her cheek. Ahead of them, the hypogryphs and wyverns hissed and chirped, shifting about their bedding as their handler prepared them for travel.

“You have my information, mon. No need for me ta stay.”

Cassara drew her lower lip between her teeth, chewing it thoughtfully, though she said nothing in response. Zin knew why she did not argue with him – there was no stance she could take that would have changed his mind. Back in her cottage was a single sheet of parchment, penned in both Orcish and Common, stating the rules of their bargain. He had already signed it. In three days, she would take it to the Notary and have it finalized. There really was no purpose to him staying in the city a moment longer, and he had no intention of delaying the inevitable.

They lingered in the line for the flight, neither speaking to one another. Why she chose to see him off, Zin had no idea, though he had to admit he did not mind the company, such as it was. Finally, they reached the head of the line, and he passed his pack off to the flight master, watching as the Draenei strapped his gear to the side of the wyvern. The great beast made a rumbling purr, nudging his master in the hip with his wide head. Zin stepped forward to mount, only to stop, frozen, at the feel of a small, warm hand on his elbow.

He glanced back to her, surprised to see a strange trepidation in the Human's eyes.

“If you, um... If you have any questions. Or need anything... you... you know how to contact me?”

He turned fully to her, still surprised by the novelty of the differences in their height. He remained hunched over, as was comfortable, and still the top of her head only reached the middle of his chest. She tilted her head back to look to his face, and though his stomach curled and crawled with the notion, he found himself lifting his own hand, placing it on her shoulder. The small joint seemed to be swallowed whole by his massive palm.

“Ya, mon. The same for you, yeah?”

Cassara, finally, smiled at him, and Zin was further worried by the strange jolt to the gut it gave him. Her teeth were straight and startling white, the motion giving her small lines at the corners of her eyes.

“Yes, of course.”

As the wyvern climbed into the sky, Zin could not help the urge to look back as the city receded into the distance. He was not at all surprised by the fact that he could no longer make out the people milling around, and felt an odd sadness that Cassara was no longer in sight.

The entire way back, he could not seem to shake the feeling that he had forgotten something.


- - - - - - - - - -


Some would say that Zin Ol'bij was courting trouble. He himself would only shrug, and readjust his dagger belts, offering a sly, slippery grin that made his red eyes glitter with expectations and the dare to go ahead and give him a go round. He may not have been the strongest fighter in the Barrens, but he was certainly no light weight. He was, in his own humble opinion, a considerable force to be reckoned with; especially if anyone bothered him before noon.

On his return from Shattrath, Zin had wasted no time in making his way back to the Crossroads. Though the place was full and bustling with army personnel, he found that it had not changed one wit in his absence. A military town by nature, it was still teeming with various entrepreneurs and market vendors. The heart of every town, warlike or not, was its means of commerce and economy, and the Crossroads were no different.

With the meager gold that remained in his pockets, Zin purchased a new fishing pole and tackle, and began the long, tiring trek toward the oasis in the west part of the country. This is where others would think him foolhardy, for the oasis were brimming with centaur, though Zin was hardly concerned. Aside from the danger and the probability of daily exercise, they were a constant source of income. If not for the few silver pieces the creatures carried, he was more than able to sell their possessions back in town if he needed to replenish his bait.

He chose a secluded corner, far enough from the centaur encampments that he could sleep comfortably at night, but close enough that he could easily sneak up on a patrol when he needed to. The pool he chose was deep and clear, cool even in the desert heat, and practically teaming with various kinds of fish. He set up his modest camp, and before the sun set, he had cast his line more than twenty times.

The days were long and hot, and utterly, completely relaxing.

Once a week, Zin would make the trek back into town, carrying his pilfered items to sell to the vendors. After all business was concluded, he made his way to the mailbox. He was not overly eager to receive news from the Human; the danger of correspondence between factions still lingered around his awareness and kept him hesitant. But that aside, he still felt a disturbing trill in his stomach whenever the little Mage entered his thoughts.

Her presence was not terribly distracting, as Lilla's was, true, but she still had found some dark niche in his brain, and latched on like a sea barnacle. It was irritating at best, and Zin found he was learning excellent self control when it came to pushing her out of his mind. Though, like Lilla, she seemed to have enough tenacity to disappear only temporarily.

Despite the distractions, he found his leave time to roll by without major incident. He was a little richer for the trouble, his skin was healthy and dark, burned at least six times over from the sun, and he felt a pleasant, lazy ache in his bones that he had not known since he was a child. If not for his duty to Thrall and the Horde, Zin would have happily retired to a life of fishing and quiet nights.

With these peaceful thoughts in his mind, Zin made his way to the mailbox once again, surprised to mental silence when he found the thick envelope waiting for him.

He held the package close to his chest, tucked into his tunic as he made his way back to the oasis. Every few minutes he would press his fingers against it, to reassure himself that it remained in it's place, as though terrified to lose it. Once he reached his camp, he did not even bother to unpack his supplies, or even get all that comfortable. He dropped his pack, fell to the grassy earth, and tore the flimsy paper open.

As was custom, now, a single, second envelope fell from inside, bearing a wax seal and a few, elegant letters of script. Zin felt a strange chill climb up his spine when he saw it, and rather than disturb it, he turned to the translated pages first. They were, after all, the whole point behind this fiasco; to learn what became of Lilla Fairsky.

Swallowing hard, and tucking the unopened note next to his knee, Zin unfolded the pages, and began to read.


To this day, I don't know how long it was before we reached Stormwind. Even looking back, I can't seem to calculate the hours or days. By the time we reached our destination, and the weeks that followed, there were more important things on my mind rather than the calendar. That, as well, was part of who I was becoming, what Rolf was grooming me to be. Like a prized horse for show, I was being broken and built into what the man desired of me.

The time that followed our encounter with the patrol guards was hazy at best, filled with wisping nightmares and terrible fear. Most of it was hallucination, a strong fever having gripped me sometime in the many hours of play Rolf had demanded of me. Whether or not my husband realized I had become ill did not seem paramount; I suspect that he would not have cared either way. The fever of my body must have been a great joy to him, and added heat that the oil, and the whipping did not provide. It must have given him another sense of power over me, to beat me to bleed, to take my body in any manner he chose, and I powerless to stop him.

As I have said, I fell into a fever. I do not remember much of it, as I slipped to and from dreams and nightmares as easily as I breathe. I have fleeting memories of cool water, sweat drenched blankets, a gentle breeze that smelled of the tang of the ocean. There were voices, most imagined, some possibly real. I could hear Rolf's rumbling voice all the while, and despite the man's position in my existence, I felt a frightening urge to climb toward that sound, to use it as an anchor to pull myself from this shadowed realm inside my mind.

Then, one day, everything stopped. I opened my eyes, the lids dry and gummy from too much sleep, and found everything around me to be in sharp focus. My mouth tasted like black earth and soured milk, and I found it nearly impossible to moisten my lips. Everything about my skin felt dried and sticky, the heavy woolen blankets that lay over me acting as a suffocating. With great effort, for my limbs were still weak, I managed to push the heavy bundles from me. The nudity they concealed were the last of my worries, and I stood on shaky legs to examine the small cell in which I stood.

It was not a prison cell, not the kind of thing that you are probably imagining. It reminded me of the small, modest rooms of the sisters or brothers of the church were afforded when serving the light. There was a single bed, pushed into a corner. A chest of three drawers, a bedside table with a single wax candle, and a chair at the foot of the bed were the only furniture. The room was bright, lit by a single, high sitting window at the head of the bed. The entire thing was made of cool stone, the surfaces of the walls rough, the floor smooth from use. My original classification for where I was seemed to be much more accurate than first imagined, for who else but members of the Church would live in such humility? Like all things religious, there was a sense of peacefulness to the room, a quiet beauty and elegance that could only belong to a follower of the Light.

I sat back on the bed, wrapping one of the blankets around my lap and shoulders, and waited for company. It would not do for me to wander the halls of this place in only a blanket, and from the looks of the thick layer of dust on the handles of the drawers, I seriously doubted my clothing was anywhere within reach.

I did not have to wait for long.

The door creaked open, as though the intruder feared waking me. To my surprise, it was not a sister nor a brother of the Church, but a squat, cheerily round woman of about my mother's age that came into the cell. Her clothes were old, but well kept, her graying hair pinned tightly beneath a crisp white bonnet. Her face was as round as the rest of her body, the cheeks plump and red with heat and life. At first she looked surprised to see me, then delight shown in her eyes and I felt a knot inside myself begin to uncoil.

“Well, there you are, young Mistress! So good to see you up and about!”

I opened my mouth to speak, but found only a grating croak could emerge. I coughed softly, trying to clear my voice, but found even that difficult with the lack of moisture in my body. The woman seemed to understand, offering me a gentle smile. She ducked back into the hallway for a fraction of a second, returning almost immediately with a stone pitcher and a white cloth.

“Here, now, Lady, you take a few sips of this and wash your face after. I'll see about getting you a dress.”

She laid the pitcher on the table and turned to leave again. I found my hand around the cuff of her sleeve before I knew what had come over me, and the action seemed to startle the woman as much as it had me. But I was determined to get this over with; a niggling sensation of impending dread had sat pooled in my belly since I had awoken, and I would not walk blindly into folly once more.

The woman stood still, looking bright and eager, as though hanging on every moment before I could speak. I took up the pitcher, forcing down a few swallows of the cool water, and tried to speak again. The sound was soft, hoarse, but I managed.

“Where am I?”

The woman looked surprised again, the expression slipping away into motherly care of childish whimsy as she patted my hair then my cheeks. I had to actually force away a foolish flush from my face, her maternal actions so familiar I felt myself slipping into the role of the toddler.

“You're in the Master's house, Lady. Your husband's house in Stormwind. He apologizes for leaving you in the servant's quarters, but he did not want your sickness to spread to the living rooms. But here, now, wash your face and tie your hair back. I had better find you something suitable to wear, or Master Redings will be upset with both of us.”

I stared at her face, my mouth dropping open at the strange change that had come over her. The kindness she had shown me before had fled completely, and I saw it for the mask it was. The softness in her eyes had turned into a darker imitation of the walls of the cell, hard and cold, and in absolutely no mood for argument or resistance. This woman, whoever she was, was in complete service to my Husband, and there was nothing and no one who could convince her otherwise.

And myself? She viewed me as nothing but trouble, worthless and an extra few hours of work in the day. Possibly, because I had not fallen over with gratitude for her and Rolf's kindness, I was slipping even further into her distastes. In this woman, there was no hope for me.

I released her sleeve, and did as she bid me. The door to the cell closed with a soft snick, and the water in the pitcher was blessedly cool. It chased away the hot tears that had begun to gather in my eyes.

The woman made good on her promise to return in short order. In her hands was a simple, yet elegant house dress. It looked to be a touch too wide for my frame, particularly since my illness had shaved off several pounds from around my hips and belly. But despite the extra space, the fabric felt heavenly against my skin. The dress was cynched with a covering bodice, the woman tyeing the lines extra tight to hide the excess fabric of the house dress itself. I could feel my ribs creaking with every sharp tug, but I chose not to protest. Inside I entertained imaginings of her breaking my bones and puncturing my organs. Of the tightness suffocating me to death. Of her being punished severely for killing her Master's wife.

As she tugged on the skirt, adjusting the pleats and smoothing wrinkles, I chastised myself for my wicked thoughts. I wished I could say a prayer out loud without rousing her suspicions and exposing my evil pondering.

Dressed and my face clean, the woman took hold of my elbow, and began the tedious chore of guiding me out of the room and down the hall. I say tedious because regardless of my awareness, I was still weak in the limbs from my sickness. I worked my legs valiantly, but still managed to stumble on more than one occasion. She who attended me seemed to have patience, however, and only told me to hurry up four or five times. Her irritation was not the most pressing issue for me, however; instead, I took every moment I could to take in my surroundings.

Rolf's home was much larger than the cell had originally suggested. As we slipped through the hall and into the main part of the house, I was practically enchanted by twenty foot ceilings, stained glass windows reaching nearly to the arched top. The floors and walls were all made of hand carved stone, but they were artfully covered by tapestries and lovely paintings. The main hall itself was a tribute to all thing elegant about the city – at least, that's how I felt. The man, my husband, may have been as ugly as Demon Spawn inside his soul, but his home I fell in love with almost immediately.

Through the receiving hall we walked, into a door on the far end, down another hall and through the small library. I marveled at the shelves of books, only to be denied a quick perusal as I was dragged further forward. There, we stopped, halted by a closed door at the end of the library. The woman who had taken me through knocked softly on the thick wood, the sound hardly traveling further than my own ears. But on the other side of the door it must have echoed and screeched, for we were answered by a commanding “enter” within moments.

The servant woman opened the door and gave me a push through. I stumbled, managing to catch myself on a chair before I had shamed myself with skinned knees and a torn skirt. As I righted myself, I was shocked into a startled jump when the door slammed shut.

“It is good to see you up and moving again, my love. I trust your rest was peaceful?”

Slowly I turned my attention to Rolf, and found myself holding in a gasp. He had shaved the beard from his face, leaving only a tightly cut mustache and goatee. The affect was startling – he looked no more than a year or two older than myself. His hair was out of its usual confines, spilling dark and black over his relaxed shoulders. Shoulders, that I noted, were completely bared. He was naked to the waist, leaning comfortably into an overstuffed chair. His black linen breeches clung to his legs, tucked into a pair of black leather boots. His feet were propped atop and ottoman. Flickering tongues of light spread over from the lighted hearth.

“Come here.” He said, softly, crooking his fingers to bid me foreword. I did as I was told, dropping to my knees beside his chair, where he began stroking the top of my head as though I were a large animal. Demurely, I kept my eyes downcast, staring at the woven pattern of the chair's upholstery.

“Do you know how long you were fevered, Lass?”

I shook my head in the negative, swallowing as quietly as I could. My mouth had begun to water, my lips trembling. That sense of foreboding had begun leeching its way up my spine, again.

“You were sick for over a month. For days you would babble and cry and lash out at all who approached. It was as though you were seeing demons in your eyes. The Priests all thought you had become possessed, and had even tried to convince me to allow an exorcism. But the doctor insisted that it was only illness. He treated you as best he could, kept fluids going through you, but you lost him eventually.”

At the wistful tone, from the last words, I chanced to look up into Rolf's face. My eyes must have held confusion, my face twisting into question, for he smoothed the skin between my brows with his fingertip, as though to ease a worry.

“You need not fear, my love. The baby you carried was not mine. It belonged to one of the guards that I allowed to fuck you on our way here.”

Whatever moisture I had managed to gather in my mouth had turned to sand as his words penetrated my brain. Baby? I had carried a child?

“I...” I coughed softly, choking on the dryness in my throat, “I was pregnant? With the young guard or the dark skinned guard?” I do not know why I asked, or why it was important. I think now, looking back, that it was the beginning of panic.

Regardless of the reason, the answer was not at all what I expected.

“Oh, no. Neither of them were the father. There were at least seven or eight others along the way whom I allowed a taste of you. You probably do not remember them, for you were very exhausted after I took the belt to you. You had probably gone into your fever by then as well. But, regardless, it was one of them who managed to get you with child. I do not know who – there were too many to bother paying much attention. I did try to tell them to leave your cunt to me, but there was much wine and good food shared, and...” he shrugged, completely unconcerned, “Well, anyway, the baby was lost in your sickness, and I was assured that you were still able to bear me children, so I would not worry over it.”

It seemed that the moment of tears had long passed. I had been a mother, even for a short time, and had had that taken from me without my knowledge. Absently, my fingertips grazed my belly, as though trying to catch a sensation of the tiny soul who had nestled within my body.

“If... if I had been pregnant, how are you so sure the child was not yours? You... you as well take my womanhood as often as you can.”

At that, Rolf held himself very still. Through his whole explanation, he had petted my hair, grazed my cheeks or ears with his fingers, but now his stillness was warning, threatening, and absolutely frightening.

“No child of mine would have been so weak.” his voice was soft, but held a cutting edge to it. I flinched away immediately, bowing my head, apologizing in babbled speech, my hands touching his knee. I begged forgiveness from him.

My fear must have softened him, for he lay a hand atop my head once more, “You need not apologize, Lilla. It was a worthy inquiry. Though keep my feelings in mind next time you need to ask a question.”

I nodded quickly, shifting to a more comfortable position on my knees. We sat there, silently, for the longest of times. I began to feel a laziness drift around me, the feel of his fingers in my hair, the warmth from the fire seeping into my bones and making my muscles feel like liquid. The peacefulness did not last, though, and soon I felt a familiar pressure at the base of my neck.

“Lilla...” he whispered, drawing his fingertips along my jaw, tilting my face up. I did as he wished, looking up at him through my eye lashes, watching through my peripheral as he unlaced his breeches, freeing himself. He was fully erect, the skin turning a dark, dusky red.

“You are not yet well enough to receive me anywhere else.”

Other words were unnecessary. I moved between his legs, pushing the ottoman away, and took to my task quickly. Rolf sighed and groaned above me, his fingers tangling in my hair, pulling on the length with vigor. Soon he held my skull in both hands, and began pistoning himself in and out of my mouth, choking me with his length. His panting grew harsher, and thankfully he spilled himself soon after, filling my mouth with his seed. I coughed, covering my mouth with my hand before I lost any, for I was sure he would be insulted were I to refuse his maleness.

I swallowed it down, and chanced a glance up to him. He was flushed, sweating slightly, and still panting. He petted my hair down, and patted my cheek.

“That's my good girl. You may go to our chambers now and rest. I will have your Lady bring you up some dinner, and I'll join you shortly.”

I nodded again and stood, making my way out of the small room and back into the library. To my surprise, the serving woman had been waiting for me, just outside the door. She took my elbow in a tight grip, as though I were going to flee from her, and dragged me along.

“Dinner is served promptly at six; keep that in mind, as I will not be serving on you hand and foot forever. If you miss dinner, you go hungry, understand?”

“Yes, ma'am.” I whispered, my voice hoarser now from Rolf's salty seed.

She nodded her appreciation of my understanding, and continued, “I don't want you getting comfortable either. None of your things were brought to the house, so no need to unpack. Whatever you wear will be provided by the Master, but don't get attached to the dresses; they aren't yours and never will be.”

“But, if not mine, then who-” my sentence was cut of sharply, a stinging slap to my cheek shocking me to silence.

I stood, holding my injured face, staring at her. She took hold of my arm again, tighter than before, and gave me a rough shake, “Do not ask questions, child! You will do as you are told. Do you understand me? When the Master is not giving you his honored attentions, you will do as I tell you do.”

My shocked silence must have been answer enough for her, for she continued forward, dragging me behind in her wake. Before I knew it, she had thrown open another heavy oak door – we had ascended the stairs and I had not even realized it – and pushed me inside. The chamber was medium sized, with a huge four poster bed in the middle of the floor. Rich fabrics and tapestries covered the walls and furniture, and there was another fire crackling in the hearth. I stood, dumb and fogged, staring at it all.

“You will remove that dress, child, and do it quickly. The Master will wand you ready.”

“But, he said I am too weak to-” she advanced on me, her hand flying across the air and branding my other cheek. I fell to the floor from the force, and she did not relent. Her fists came down on me, the toes of her shoes slamming into my belly and back and ribs. I cried out, trying to crawl away from her, but she was too quick for me in my weakened state. She took a fistful of my hair and pulled me back to my feet, twisting it in her fist to hold my head still. She slapped me over and over again until I saw stars and was sure we stood on the ceiling instead of the floor.

Finally she tossed me away, onto the mattress of the giant bed. Pushing me onto my belly she began to unlace the bodice of the dress, allowing me to sob dryly into the bedding as she did so. Eventually she got me undressed, completely nude. She gave me a fierce, mean spirited shove to the shoulder.

“Stay put. I'm sure the Master will enjoy the view when he comes.”

I heard her begin to move away, and my voice rose, unbidden by me, “When he sees what you have done, you will be punished! He will not tolerate your treatment of me!”

She stopped at the door, my dress folded carefully over her arm. Her brow rose, though nothing else of her expression changed, “We shall see.”

The door closed behind her, and I remained where I was, despite my anger at the woman. I did not have to wait too long.

The door opened merely 30 minutes later, and I looked over my shoulder to see Rolf. He was dressed as before, in only his pants and boots, his long hair spilling over his shoulders. In one hand he held a worn riding crop, tapping the end across his other palm. His face held curiosity. He licked his lips at the sight of me.

“I hear you have been causing trouble for my servants, my love. We must remedy this.”


- - - - - - - - - -


Zin blinked, staring at the last lines of the translation, hardly believing what he had just read. More so, he could not believe that Cassara would be so cruel as to end her translation there.

Putting the parchment aside, he dug quickly for the letter he had neglected to open, tearing open the seal as quickly as he could.


Zin,

First, let me apologize for the lateness of this getting to you. Unlike Miss Yessha, my understanding of the Zandali dialect is far inferior, and I had some trouble in translation. Despite the difficulties, I believe these pages will be easy enough to read and understand, and I do hope you will find them to be to your satisfaction. I am sorry that I have left you at such a precarious part in her story, but it could not be avoided.

I must confess that I took the liberty of reading through the diary, up to the point that I sent the translations out to you – not as a scholar or Linguist, but, like you, an avid reader. I must say, this woman, Lilla, is absolutely fascinating, and I cannot help but feel my heart break for her with every word she has penned. To live such a life, with such a man? I must admit my anger toward her so-called husband has grown by the minute, and I entertain thoughts of getting revenge on her behalf. Silly, isn't it?

I do hope that you are safe, Zin. I have no doubt that you can take care of yourself, but I worry nonetheless, particularly since what we are doing together is considered highly illegal; a form of treason, for my faction. Yet I can't seem to convince myself to do anything else. I feel a strange urge toward you, Zin. Something akin to desperation, a simple need to do this for you. Perhaps the Light has it's hand in this, or one of your Gods is pulling the strings, but regardless, there is something important to be learned from this experience. I can feel it in my bones.

To be honest with you, however, I do not know how much longer we can continue this correspondence. I had some difficulty getting the pages out to you, and have to do some heavy bribing. I do wish you had decided to remain in Shattrath, but the choice was yours. I cannot expect you to stay here with me, after all. You left in such a hurry, I feared I may have offended you somehow.

I will hopefully be successful in sending out the next pages soon. I fear that it will be my last, though. I am sure my superiors are growing suspicious of my actions of late. You would think they would be used to me being late for training by now.

All the luck and all my affections,

C.


Zin stared at the carefully penned letter, his surprise higher than it had been before. The way Cassara had written to him, as though he were a friend... He supposed, some way, he could consider her an acquaintance, a means to an end, but more than that? He was not completely sure.

But, still...

He glanced around his small camp, the comfortable niche he had ground out for himself in the past few weeks. When compared to the little couch in the mess of Cassara's home, it really did not seem that grand.

Zin sighed heavily, scanning through her letter once more. He then tucked it away, and began to pack up his camp.

He only hoped that she had not sent off the translation by the time he returned to Shattrath.