The Legion - Lyelleth & Orannis

Author Notes: Now, now Anti, there’s no need to throw words like “conspiracy” around. More like… plan. Hehe. This chapter is dedicated to you, I’m fairly sure you’ll hate me by the end of it.



This chapter contains a graphic description of non-consensual sex. You have been warned.



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“What do you know of the Dream, Shaman?” Lyelleth asked softly, unmoving. “Of the chaos it caused my people? Or the pain it caused me? You seem to understand my scars, and yet you understand nothing at all.” Her tone became almost mocking, “And why, on all of Azeroth, do you *care*!” His gaze met hers unwaveringly, trying to hide his shock at her sudden burst of speech, her silver eyes locked on his face as if waiting for something. And then, in a cold, distant voice, she spoke again. “My father scarred me. My mother found out and he killed her for it. No-one else knew, nor did they know how insane the Dream had left him. They… assumed I had driven her to suicide, and they cast me out. My propensity for the Rogue ways just confirmed it for them.” A pause, “Before I left… he died. It was not directly by my hand, but close enough. Since then, no Night Elf will deal with me.”



And then, as if someone had flicked a switch, she was silent and unmoving, as distant as she had been mere minutes before. Orannis reached out a hand, and turned her face to his, eyes meeting. “I know more than you think, Night Elf. I lost friends in the Dream, as did many others. Nahdeer lost her husband *and* her son to the madness. So yes, I know, even if I do not fully understand.” No response, “And as to why I care… my reasons are my own.”



The Shaman released her chin, after making sure his message had reached her. As much as he would have liked to stay and at least *try* to explain what was going on to her, the Orc realised he had too much to do and too little time to do it in.



“I have to speak with Thrall, and I have another meeting to see to, then we will talk, you and I, about what is going to happen.” Orannis turned, and then paused, “Sleep. You’ll need it.”



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An hour or so later, the Orc leant on the wall outside Thrall’s Chamber and sighed deeply, eyes sliding closed in an attempt to stave off the headache that threatened to blossom in his mind. They did not stay closed for long, however, as a young Troll approached him nervously, enquiring as to whether the Shaman had a moment to offer his guidance to a few newly-guilded elementalists on what they could expect out on the front. Fighting down a groan, Orannis left his spot on the wall to accompany the Troll, and to advise his companions.



--



Lyelleth had obeyed, at least to the sleep part, curling up at the foot of her new master’s large four poster bed on top of the sheets, gauzy curtains drawn; trying to become accustomed to Orgrimmar’s dry heat as her eyes slid closed and exhaustion overtook her mind’s silent protests.



So deep in her sleep was the Night Elf that she did not hear the outer door to the Shaman’s suite open, nor the quiet movements in the receiving room, as a figure moved from one area to the next with dedication and speed, finally slipping the door of the bedchamber open with a quick and silent motion, pausing only to check that the Rogue still slept. There was the softest whisper of magic, and the door was closed and barred, lights winking out as the figure now moved to the bed, a hand sliding up silken lilac skin, over her knee and thigh, skimming her hips and belly, traversing the valley of her breasts before coming to rest around her neck, and *squeezing*.



Silver eyes shot open, a choked gasp escaping her mouth as the Night Elf struggled, hands flying up to try and break the grip around her neck. The movement only served to allow her attacker to bind her wrists, the silvery cord wrapping tightly around them without a hand to guide it. This seemed to rile the Night Elf, and she raised her legs, kicking and flailing at an unseen assailant in the darkened room, her vision beginning to blur and waver as she slowly suffocated, until, at the very last second, the hand was withdrawn from her neck, gripping her bound wrists and dragging her body across the bed until she was lain, half unconscious, across it, the binding now secured to the headboard of the bed, stretching her arms above her head and stringing the Rogue out like a piece of meat.



Then, for a brief moment, nothing happened. Lyelleth had the time to come to her senses a little, and wonder if this was all, when her attacker moved again, striking her sharply across the face. Fighting down the urge to respond, she laid still, her only movement the rapid rise and fall of her chest as her body tried to restore oxygen to itself. This seemed to satisfy her assailant, for she was not struck again, instead, another piece of cloth slid across her skin, before coming to rest over her eyes; a blindfold.



Her other senses kicked in overdrive; this was not the first time someone had tried to confuse her by removing her sight, and her body knew almost instantly how to compensate. The first thing that struck the Night Elf was the silence; save for slow, heavy breathing, her assailant made little to no noise, even when using what was apparently magic to bind and hold her. The second was the smell, a mix of dust, desert and a myriad of animals and female scents, overlaid by blood and… excitement. Cold dread trickled down the Rogue’s spine, as realisation struck. Her unidentified visitor was not here to hurt her, or shame her…



A chuckle, long and low, filled the room, before the weight of another body made the bed sink next to her. Already Lyelleth’s mind was shutting down, retreating to the safe places she had created in her childhood to escape her father, the places that were almost second nature to hide within, but a small part of her consciousness would remain alert, to remember every detail, so that one day, revenge could be extracted.



It was focusing now on the hand that was cupping and squeezing her breast, not in a gentle or loverly fashion, instead tightly mauling the flesh, tugging at her nipple, seemingly testing its limits, or attempting to bruise, and the flesh protested within her mind, adding to the dull ache on her neck that her frazzled nerves were reporting. This perusal lasted a few minutes, then the weight above her shifted, hands gripping her thighs firmly and lifting, quickly at first as if expecting resistance, then slightly slower as none was encountered, parting her legs. Again, weight shifted on the bed, this time settling in the new space between her thighs, and it took all of Lyelleth’s restraint *not* to flinch away as she felt the thick length against her for the first time.



Heart racing, the lilac-skinned woman struggled to keep her breathing slow and even, fighting down a panic she knew she could not express, forcing herself back into her detached state to try and save some of her sanity. He, and her assailant was most definitely male, was moving again, rocking himself slowly against her, his erect length rested against her soft silver curls. It was as if he was teasing himself, or testing his control, as he slowly moved back and forth. Seconds felt like hours as he continued, still silent, save for a marked increase in the speed of his breathing, seemingly becoming more and more excited as he pleasured himself against her.



For the briefest moment, Lyelleth wondered if she would escape her fate, that this man, whoever he was, would spend himself before the final act. But when he stopped his movements, she knew. The sane part of her screamed in protest at her apparent compliance as he drew back, panic roaring through her mind as he positioned himself against her folds, and then her mind shut down almost completely as he drove forward, grunting in surprise as he tore through her virginity before withdrawing, only to slam into her again, his pace quick and rough, and entirely self-centred. It was only a few strokes before he reached completion, gripping the Night Elf’s hips hard as he spilled into her now completely limp form, and then drew back. Pausing for a moment, as if surveying his work, her assailant made a small noise of satisfaction, then climbed off the bed, slipping out of the door and the out of the suite. Long Elven ears listened out for a good while, until she was certain he had gone, and then surrendered to the black bliss of unconsciousness.



--



He had been gone hours, and therefore expected silence when he walked into his suite. Yet something still seemed amiss as Orannis walked through the room, heading for his bedchamber. There was a presence, a sense of something being wrong, that permeated the air and increased the pace of his strides until he was almost running, wrenching the door open and throwing himself into the room, battle ready.



The stench of sweat and sex struck him, mingled with the slightest hint of blood, nauseating and pungent. Creamy gauze obscured his view of the bed, save for a blur of lilac and silver, and fury boiled in the Shaman. Who had she so willingly bedded while he was away? Wrenching the curtain back, his mouth half-formed a recrimination before he *saw*, stumbling backward in shock at the sight of her, still bound and blindfolded, the tell-tale spatter of blood between her thighs and on the sheets.



Shaking hands reached up to remove the blindfold, as he whispered her name softly, listening out for her breathing, not denying the relief he felt as he heard it, albeit soft and shallow.



“Lyelleth… Night Elf… can you hear me?” He asked softly, reaching up a hand to unbind her, but the cord burnt against his fingers, and he snatched his hand back. “Night Elf?” A hand slid to his belt, unhooking the small, ceremonial dagger he kept sheathed there. “I’m going to cut you loose Night Elf,” the Orc warned her, slipping the blade between her wrists and tugging it upward, the cord straining before eventually breaking.



As if the release of her hands was a catalyst, Lyelleth’s eyes snapped open and she launched herself off the bed and at Orannis, hands flailing, beating, scratching and mauling any part of him within reach, shrieking like a banshee, before writhing out of his attempts to grasp her and bolting toward the balcony.



“Lyelleth! No!”