Heart of the Phoenix

 

The operation had to be conducted under the dark of night, in the deepest of shadows. Despite their successes in rooting out the Legion's strongholds, there were still too many of them there in the Valley for Illidan's comfort. He could not chance being discovered; the stakes were far too high, and the consequences would be catastrophic were the Legion to stop him, or even reclaim the subject, coming on the heel of the losses in Northrend. Fortunately, if there was one skill in which Illidan Stormrage excelled above all others, even magic, it was subterfuge. It was risky to do it this way, yes, but risk was not something he at all flinched from, to put it mildly. The payoff if he succeeded, if his hypotheses were correct, would be tremendous. He would have a new body of shock troops for his army: brutal, strong, and absolutely loyal to him for the power he alone could provide them with.



One lesson Illidan had quickly learned during his sojourn in Outland was that orcs were by nature warmongers, and that they responded best to shows of strength. The warlocks among them were powerful, yes, and could be as cunning as their old demonic masters. However, on the whole, the orcs were fundamentally a bloodthirsty race that would flock to the strongest banner they could find, whether it be one of the charismatic warlords or warlocks of their own number, or even an outsider like himself. Promise them a place of honor from which to fight their enemies, show them you have the might and the cunning to lead them to victory, and they would fight to the death for you, whether or not you were an orc. The Shadowmoon clan's warlocks were wily, and though Illidan did not trust them by any means--only a fool would, and Illidan was no fool--they had witnessed his power when he seized the Black Temple and struck down their old master. His tremendous strength was something they wisely respected, and that was why they swore allegiance to him. 



And they had proven their usefulness. After all, their tales of how their people had been empowered by the Legion were what gave Illidan the very idea for this scheme. Their magic had kept the subject subdued for weeks now, and would be what would make Illidan's plans possible. All that was needed was a suitable locale for Illidan's experiments, and while the Black Temple was a good enough base for most of his purposes, he had a better place in mind. One that would benefit greatly from the fortification his new soldiers would provide, and would serve him as another strong base of power.



So it was, in the deepest hour of night, when even Shadowmoon Valley was pitch black, that the self-proclaimed Lord of Outland stood in the main courtyard of the Black Temple, personally overseeing the transport of the subject to the appointed destination far to the north. High overhead, orc scouts from the Dragonmaw clan circled the skies on their majestic netherdrakes, scouting for any potential sign of the Legion's agents. And Illidan watched as their brutish compatriots silently moved the enormous prison cage using little more than their own prodigious physical strength. The air about the wagon rippled softly with dark power, the warlocks' magics shrouding it in a manner that would cloak the distinct energy signature of the enormous prisoner inside the cage. The same warlocks who once served this very prisoner unquestioningly for two decades. Indeed, the servants had become the master. Naturally, this was intentional on the part of Illidan. It was not merely for his own twisted amusement--though the humiliation it clearly riled in his prisoner did amuse Illidan to no end. This was as much for the orcs' benefit as anything. It was another show of strength, to show them how powerful their new master was. Just in case the weaker-minded among them may have lingering doubts about just whom was truly Lord of this broken world.



"You...will...pay for this, you blind mongrel. You...usurper," the prisoner spat, snarling, the mighty voice that once boomed throughout the walls of the Black Temple reduced to a shallow, belabored husk. He lay sprawled on his side, his body still bearing the scars of the battle he lost two months prior, the battle that had reduced him to spitting curses at the man who had cut him down. Illidan merely snickered at him.



"To the victor go the spoils, Magtheridon. And I am the victor, as all can plainly see--even a blind mongrel." Illidan's deadpan tone only seemed to enrage the fallen pit lord further, and Magtheridon angrily lashed out as if to strike Illidan. The orcish warlocks laughed as their prisoner flinched back in pain, burned by the cage's magic. It was truly an ingenious method of imprisonment: the warlocks, through their combined powers, conducted a ritual of banishment on the demon that was empowered by a series of cubes along the outside of the pallet the cage rested upon. The effect was that he was mostly insubstantial, and though he could move, he would not be able to do very much. As a fail safe, the bars themselves were enchanted with a spell that would only harm incorporeal beings. There was neither respite, nor possibility of escape for the fallen old ruler of the Black Temple. 



"Curse you, Illidan!" Magtheridon hissed, collapsing back to lay again on his side.



"Yes, yes." It was nothing Illidan hadn't heard before, after all. "And yet, here I am, master of the Black Temple and ruler of this world, and there you are, impotent and caged as though you were the world's largest and most petulant bird. How, again, do you plan to make me pay for anything?"



"You arrogant dilettante," the pit lord scowled, his enormous fangs dripping fel venom. "Powerful though you might be, you are a grievous fool if you truly think to overcome the Deceiver himself. His power is beyond reckoning! Scheme as you will, half-breed. It will all be in vain. The Legion will not be so easily displaced, not in this world or any other. Draenor is ours. It will never belong to you, no matter how you seek to play the king on a pretend throne. The Deceiver will return, and he will make you rue the day you failed him."



"Your idle threats mean little to me, pathetic demon," Illidan replied coolly. "Your own Dark Titan empowered me to fight your kind, ten-thousand years ago. And if your brethren refuse to recognize my rule over this domain, if they refuse to use what little wisdom they possess and surrender to my dominion as your former servants in my Temple have done? I will hunt each and every one of them down like the rats they are, I will send them fleeing in terror the dark corners in which they hide simpering and plotting against me, and I will send them back to Kil'jaeden in pieces!"



With a flare of his wings, Illidan gestured for the orcs to continue moving the prisoner, and on they pushed. Then, he beckoned the leader of the warlocks to come forward. The elder orc's posture was even more stooped than that of his fellows, but his eyes shone bright with power. This was an old and dangerous one, and Illidan believed witnessing this display would serve him well.



"Yes, Lord Illidan?" The warlock knelt before Illidan in reverence.



"I should not need to remind you of the importance of secrecy," the Lord of Outland warned the old orc. "The Legion has eyes everywhere, even now, and if its agents intercept Magtheridon, the consequences would be dire."



"Do not worry, my lord," the warlock reassured him. "We, too, have eyes everywhere. Our forward scouts have prepared the way, and Bladefist has already secured the Citadel. The lair itself lies beneath, and it is warded thoroughly. None shall know what transpires within its walls."



"Excellent," Illidan purred, his tone marked by a mildly basso-profundo rumbling. "You have done well, Keli'dan. Continue to do so, and your people will be handsomely rewarded."



"As you command, Lord Illidan." Keli'dan saluted Illidan in the customary orcish manner, a fist pounded against his chest, and he was dismissed to rejoin his warlocks with the prisoner.



A feline grin crept its way across the Lord of Outland's lips. What better way to best Kil'jaeden than to use his own precious scheme--his own power--against him? Then he would see which of them was the fool.



***



Kael held court early the next morning within the cavernous chamber near the temple's summit. He'd left Illidan sleeping in bed, as usual. Even after so many millennia, Illidan was still largely nocturnal, and thus had a tendency to rise long after Kael did, even in this place with next to no visible sun.



This room, which had been informally deemed the Chamber of Command, was for all intents and purposes Kael's war room. Though there was no less the usual lush, decadent sin'dorei decor--gauzy drapes and plush silk floor cushions, enchanted lamps with scented oils, and the occasional hookah--there was no mistaking it for anything but. Its focal point was a large, round table, upon which sat an enormous map of Outland with groups of small clay figures clumped in various places. A second map, even bigger, hung upon the wall, punctured here and there by small pins.



Kael sat at the "head" of the table, as was customary, and with him were a motley assortment of Illidan's forces: most were blood elves, but Lady Vashj was present, on his left, as were Elder Akama and a small number of his draenei. He waited, staring at the map on the table, and his focus as it always seemed to be was on the section of the map representing Shadowmoon Valley. Kael's blood elves were instrumental in reclaiming a number of scattered draenei ruins in the Valley, bases that were formerly occupied by the Legion, and marked by the small elf-shaped figurines on the map. With each new victory, more and more of the Valley was secured under Illidan's control. Still, more needed to be done, and Shadowmoon Valley was merely one small section of Outland. The map, and with it the task before Kael, seemed daunting. Yet he remembered well the lessons of his father: there is no task so large that it cannot be broken down into its component parts. If they could focus on a region at a time, rooting out the rest of the Legion's agents and establishing more bases would not be quite so formidable a prospect.



The prince's eyes traced a line from the Black Temple to Terokkar Forest, which lay just beyond the mountain pass far to the west. It seemed to be the next logical theater of operations. After all, Illidan's forces were quickly in dire need of lumber and other resources, particularly sources of food and water to replenish the Temple's stores, and that was an obvious location to find them and begin to establish supply chains. Once the Valley was relatively secure, they could begin to branch out, but further intelligence was sorely needed. Kael hated going into situations lacking information, and he'd seen very little of this world since he'd been in it; Illidan's army had used the Legion's own transporters to move there in Shadowmoon from Hellfire Peninsula far to the north, in order to take the temple from Magtheridon's forces. None of them had traveled overland, thus Kael had little knowledge of this world beyond that gleaned from the Six's debriefing of Medivh's apprentice, Khadgar--and Kael bore little memory of that questioning. The reports had also long since been lost in Dalaran's destruction a year prior, which didn't help matters. Kael continued staring at the map, mulling over his options, as his people filed in to take seats around the table, until a familiar voice intruded on his contemplations:



"My Prince." 



It was a voice Kael had not heard in weeks. One he had not heard in far too long, as far as Kael was concerned. He looked up from the map to see the upturned face of his oldest and dearest friend gazing up at him from on bended knee beside him. It was a borderline worshipful expression, eyes that hid nothing behind their bright emerald glow. How was it that he always seemed to look at Kael that way, as though they were the only two people not just in the room, but in the world? And he was so beautiful, as always, long, dark hair framing his delicate elven features just so. It made Kael smile. He always did, ever since they were children.



"Rommath," Kael greeted him warmly, his smile growing brighter. "You're a sight for sore eyes."



"I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner," Rommath apologized. "We've been horrendously busy in the Sanctum."



"Please tell me it's for good reason." Kael raised a questioning eyebrow at him, and Rommath met it with a slightly impish smile.



"I assure you, it's good news I bring," he replied a bit smugly.



Kael grinned, then gestured to the empty seat beside him. "Please, sit. I'll be pleased to find out just what you and the others have been up to these past few weeks. We've missed you at these war councils." 



They exchanged a glance then, a brief one, yet one worth a thousand upon thousand words. It occurred to him then, however, that he truly missed him since the return from Northrend. As Grand Magister, Rommath's duties directing the blood elves' magical research had kept him occupied, though brief, cryptic missives had trickled in from time to time. Deep in the throes of a new relationship with Illidan, and occupied by his efforts in the Temple directing his lover's war effort, Kael hadn't really had the time to miss Rommath. Even during the brief few years when they lived together in Dalaran, their separate duties could mean weeks or even months apart, so it's not as though this was exactly new. But miss him, Kael did, and perhaps he didn't fully realize it until that moment.



"And I am pleased to return to your side, my Prince." Rommath kissed Kael's golden signet ring, prompting the prince to briefly cup his cheek with no small amount of affection, then obediently rose to his feet and sat beside him. "Good morning, Lady Vashj. I hope it finds you well," the magister said politely, with a respectful incline of his head.



"Indeed it does, Grand Magister. And you, as well." Vashj's expression was as enigmatic as ever, but Kael had known her too long now to not perceive the hidden layers beneath such idle pleasantries and glances. The look she proceeded to direct to Kael was less one of displeasure, than a questioning--a challenge. She was by no means a foolish woman, and though Kael prided himself on his sense of discretion, there was no hiding the deeper undercurrent of his exchange with Rommath from her, nor the way his friend looked at him.



That discussion with Vashj, the one he'd been somewhat dreading and thought he'd been spared from with Illidan's gift of the Vials of Eternity, loomed over Kael's head again, and with it an entirely new dimension. He suppressed a sigh, and instead focused on the business at hand. That particular meeting would have to wait. There were more important matters than his romantic entanglements to discuss, and it seemed to him that everyone who needed to be present was finally there.



Kael reached into a small pocket in his robes, retrieving a small violet crystal, and used it to tap the crystal water chalice in front of him. "Ladies and gentlemen, if we could come to order?" The table fell silent, and he continued. "Thank you. As you are all well aware, the focus of our operations thus far in Outland has been here in Shadowmoon Valley." He paused a moment, brushing the violet crystal with his thumb and uttering a brief incantation; it glowed then, and projected a long violet beam, which he directed in a circle around Shadowmoon on the map. "Legion Hold remains our biggest long term concern, of course, but there are smaller points of strategic interest to us. How are our operations faring in the east?"



A tall and extremely well-built armored man spoke up, one rather gruff-looking as blood elves went. Kael recognized him as Ruusk, one of the officers at the Naga blockade in Northrend, and quite the formidable warrior. "We have full control of the eastern Valley, my liege. Everything between the Black Temple and the Hand of Gul'dan is ours," the veteran reported. "The Legion's portals here were few, but they've all been shut down--either re-routed for our own purposes or destroyed outright." He gestured meaningfully at the crystal in Kael's hand. "May I, Highness?"



"Of course, Commander," Kael replied, handing him the crystal. 



Ruusk nodded, then aimed the beam at a plateau directly to the southwest of the Black Temple's southern terrace. "You may be interested to learn that Telonicus' engineers have completed the final cage for our other...prisoner of note, Highness. Sarannis and her company are preparing her for transport as we speak, at my command."



Kael glanced at Telonicus, who was sitting directly across the table from him, and the red-haired ranger could barely contain his glee. The glint in his eye was really rather amusing.



"Telonicus?" Kael raised an eyebrow, and the master engineer grinned wickedly.



"She won't be getting out, Highness. I built several nasty fail-safes into the design, mechanical as well as arcane. If she tries anything stupid, she'll quickly learn the error of her thinking."



"Lord Illidan will be quite pleased by that," Kael said quietly, almost purring. "Excellent work. What about that ruin in the north?"



Akama quietly spoke up, then. "The city of Baa'ri, Prince Kael'thas. It was a draenei settlement that fell into ruin years ago when Gul'dan's followers killed the priests in the nearby temple and razed it," the elder sage explained. "The Ashtongue have reclaimed the temple, however. And we are using it as a base from which to send out scouts."



"The mongrels surely must have artifacts of interest to us in those ruins, however crude in nature they might be," a blood elf announced in the Thalassian tongue. Kael was stunned, but not terribly surprised to see that it was Pathaleon the Calculator. The haughty engineer and arcanist had been mentioned by Rommath in more than one communiqué from the Sanctum of the Stars, and not entirely favorably.



"Indeed. I say we claim them for ourselves," a second, dark-haired mage beside him concurred.



"Mind your tongue, Pathaleon," Kael barked sharply, also in Thalassian, with a quick and meaningful glance at Akama. "The draenei are our sworn allies, and I will not have you speak of them in such a disrespectful manner." He then stared pointedly at the engineer. "And for the record, we speak Thalassian only amongst ourselves."



"Very well, Highness." Pathaleon didn't seem terribly penitent, though he reverted to Common, but Kael was not going to press the issue. However rude he was, he did have a point, though.



"Akama, have your men search the ruins. Where there are temples, there are magical artifacts, and perhaps we'll find something to help our cause," Kael said. Akama nodded, then took the crystal from Commander Ruusk. He pointed it toward a location to the west of the ruins, in the north-central area of the Valley, along a northern mountain ridge.



"Of course, Prince. You should know, however, that my scouts have reported that the Legion has a small base here, across the fel river, on this plateau. There are not that many demons there...but the water is clean, untainted by the volcano."



The Prince of the blood elves looked sharply at the draenei elder. Potable water had been of pressing concern to Illidan's forces ever since they claimed the Black Temple. While the temple itself had deep wells that were untainted, it was not enough to supply all the forces in the Valley, and the few other sources of water they found in that desolate wasteland were filled to brimming with sulfur. Telonicus' engineers had built a number of purification devices, but without the arcane energy to power them, they could only do so much. Akama certainly must have known this, and Kael silently blessed the elder sage for having the forethought to search for more fresh water. They'd often forgotten him, as quiet and shadowy a presence as he was in the Temple, but he was no less critical to Illidan's forces than himself or Vashj.



"Are you certain the water is potable, Akama?"



"The scouts brought back samples, which were tested. It is clean water," Akama confirmed. This was wonderful news. Before Kael could even say anything in response, however--as soon as his eyes met hers--Vashj was already grinning at him, her fangs glinting in the lamplight.



"Do not worry, Kael. My naga will have that base by the end of the night."



Kael returned her grin with an even wider one. "You won't be going alone, Vashj. I could use the exercise." He looked back at Ruusk, pointing to the map. "And what of the south-central region, past the volcano? Have we found anything promising there?"



"Another small Legion base, possibly a forward camp. Nothing terribly formidable...and its location up a mountain pass would make an excellent forward camp of our own."



"Very well, Commander. Get your people on it as soon as possible," Kael ordered. Ruusk saluted, and fell silent.



Smiling, Kael finally turned to the man beside him. "Alright. Rommath, what news from the Sanctum?"



Rommath was smiling a bit smugly, and Kael nearly wanted to laugh. He knew that expression quite well; that was the, 'I've solved something that's been hounding me for ages and I'm a damned genius and I can't wait to tell everyone' expression. Kael found it rather endearing, truth be told, not the least of which because Rommath generally had no idea he made that face. "As you know, the main thrust of our research has been to find a method of crystalizing large quantities of fel energy, for the purpose of fueling our spells and magical devices in lieu of the Sunwell, both here and back in Azeroth," Rommath began. "Making larger versions of the portable fel crystals we've been using to sustain ourselves, truly. Since it's a bit more...well, reliable than simply draining demons. But it's proven rather elusive thus far."



"Of course," Kael mused, nodding. "Mana begins to break down once it's crystallized in larger quantities. I assume fel energy is the same?"



"That's the issue we've been having," Rommath admitted. "Fortunately, this region is particularly abundant in fel energy, and Zerevor has been most helpful in studying it. Our primary focus has been the Hand of Gul'dan, as it seems to be the font of the great majority of it. We've obtained sample after sample of rocks from the volcano, both of a metamorphic nature and general igneous rocks from around the caldera itself. What's fascinating is that when the rocks are removed from the fel pools and exposed to ordinary mana, the mineral materials begin to break down, leaving only the pure, liquified fel energy. When poured into ordinary crystal vessels of any size, it retains its structure, and it's just as simple to draw from as the pure fel crystals."



No wonder Rommath was so excited, Kael thought. This was an astounding breakthrough--probably the most important one since their arrival in Outland. "Have you been able to replicate this?"



"Several times over," Rommath replied proudly. "We're already using one to power the Sanctum."



"How quickly can you produce them?"



"I've already left orders for as many as possible, my Prince. It should not take very long at all--perhaps a day or so, at most."



Small tasks. Little by little, Illidan's army would be creeping into the west. With each step, with each new base, they would be that closer to Terokkar Forest and more resources--and now, finally, the blood elves had a source of magic beyond simply draining demons scattershot, even if it may not have been as strong as the Sunwell. It would be more than enough to sustain them until he could rebuild it. Kael was feeling incredibly pleased with these turns of events. Things were going even better than he'd planned, and Illidan was going to be very satisfied with this report. At this rate, Legion Hold might fall within the next couple of months, and Illidan's control of Shadowmoon Valley absolute.



"Good. Very good. Lord Illidan will be very pleased with your progress, I assure you. Now, you all have your assigned duties. This council is hereby adjourned, then. Akama will summon you all again when needed," Kael announced. "Rommath, walk with me?"



"Of course, my Prince," Rommath politely answered. With that, Kael rose to his feet and exited the command chamber, his loyal Grand Magister in tow. Rommath walked two steps behind, as always the very picture of royal protocol and grace. Back outside on one of the temple's many courtyard terraces, they walked at a leisurely pace down the Grand Promenade of the temple, a grand walkway lined by exotic plants and glimmering sin'dorei lanterns attended to by tiny mana wyrms and shimmering moths in a strange array of colors. It was even moderately pleasant out, surprisingly, though that was perhaps because it may have been past high noon. Kael was never able to tell, honestly. A warm breeze brushed by, and Kael allowed himself to close his eyes for a moment to enjoy it.



"Have you been back to Quel'thalas lately?" Kael asked Rommath, as he stopped briefly to smell an unusually red flower.



"Not since our breakthrough on the fel crystals, no. I was waiting for instructions from you," the magister admitted. Kael chuckled.



"So dependable, as always," Kael gently nudged him, a bit playfully, smiling. His expression turned serious again, though, when he clamped his hand on Rommath's shoulder. The magister's eyes were questioning, but he said nothing. "Let's walk a bit more, shall we?"



"Yes, my Prince."



Kael nodded approvingly, and placed a hand upon the small of Rommath's back; a brief gesture, but a meaningful one, and one that Rommath understood. Their pace picked up a bit, but was still rather leisurely. There were matters Kael did not necessarily want to speak of aloud in such open air, even within the confines of the temple, and even in Thalassian such as they were speaking. It wasn't as though Kael had any reason for suspicion; it was simply, as always, a matter of discretion. Discretion, always. It was something Rommath understood just as much as Kael, and that was one of the reasons they'd always gotten along so well.



The two idly discussed such mundane topics as the weather and nothing else of particular import as they traversed the broad plaza, going back inside the Temple proper, and crossed the small distance to Kael's private chamber in short time. When they were alone at last, inside the room, Kael dismissed the ever-present Broken servitors and shut the door behind them. He stared at Rommath questioningly, when at last he was satisfied with the level of privacy.



"What do you think about sending some crystals back to Azeroth?" Kael asked him quietly, crossing over to a small table with a crystal decanter and a pair of wine goblets. He poured out some Silvermoon pinot noir, and handed one glass to a grateful Rommath.



"I think it can be done, especially now that we've re-directed that one Legion teleporter. So far it's one way only, but that's obviously not an issue, and now we have the energy to power it for longer periods of time," Rommath mused aloud, partaking of the wine. Kael smiled--it had always been his favorite.



"I'm a bit concerned about distribution; we don't want those crystals falling into enemy hands," Kael said quietly, drinking from his own glass. "How's the situation back there, have you heard anything from Lor'themar or Halduron?"



"We received a missive at the Sanctum just yesterday from Halduron, in point of fact," Rommath replied. "The islands are still relatively quiet, save the lingering undead in the Scar on Quel'Danas, but the Farstriders have them well under control. I was thinking we could use Magister's Terrace as a staging ground for crystal distribution. It's well-fortified, even now, and it suffered fairly minimal damage during the invasion."



"...that might be a good idea," Kael said, pursing his lips. "Start with the refugee camps at Sun's Reach and the harbor, since those survivors were most of the worst off. They're likely going to need much more energy than the others."



"Yes," Rommath agreed. "Then we can move on to Sunstrider Isle and the mainland proper. If we can get those people on their feet and in fighting shape, it should give Lor'themar and Halduron a big enough boost to make a final push into the city. From there, we can ship in more crystals to rebuild. I don't think we'll have many issues, frankly."



Kael sighed, in equal parts content and relief, and sipped his wine. "You are utterly indispensable, Rom," he said in all sincerity. "I don't know what I'd do without you."



"You wouldn't be lonely, that much is certain."



Rommath stared at him with a quirked black eyebrow. It was not a snide statement, nor was it especially venomous--Rommath had too much pride to be so crass toward his Prince. But it was typically biting in his manner, and it made Kael wince. As did the penetrating stare. 



"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Rom," Kael apologized. "I should have."



Rommath shrugged. "Your private affairs are your private affairs, Kael. I've never intruded on them before, and I'm not about to start now. It's not as though it was really a secret, at any rate."



"I'm also your friend, and you shouldn't have found out from third party gossip." Kael drew him close into a warm embrace, placing a hand atop his head. "Forgive me."



Rommath rested his head against Kael's shoulder, melting into the embrace, and sighed. "There's nothing to forgive, Kael. There never is."



"What can I say? I've always had a weakness for dark-haired men." Kael squeezed Rommath tightly, and allowed himself to be kissed softly. It felt so good to be with him like this, and he felt guilty for having forgotten that. More guilt rose up within him, as the physical craving for the magister did, and he pulled away from Rommath's lips. He couldn't do this now, as much as he wanted to. There was too much on his mind. "We shouldn't. Not now. I need...time."



"You're not monogamous, are you?" Rommath balked incredulously, and Kael shook his head, laughing a bit cynically.



"How in the Nether could we be? You've seen the Den, haven't you?" Kael smirked. "That ridiculously large bed in there is far from decorative, you know, and Shahraz warms it at least as much as I do, I assure you."



The red flush that creeped into Rommath's cheeks was hilariously adorable, as it always was. The magister cleared his throat briefly, and brushed a stray strand of midnight black hair behind his ear. "...do you love Illidan? Or is this just...what I mean to ask, is this serious?"



"I love him," Kael answered simply. "As much as I've ever fallen in love with anyone. It's not just a fling. Not for either of us."



"I see." They stood there a moment in awkward silence, wrapped in each other's arms, and not knowing quite what to say. Rommath finally pulled away from him, retrieved his wine glass, and sat down on one of the floor cushions. Kael sighed. This is exactly what he didn't want.



"Are you angry with me?"



"You know I could never be angry with you," Rommath said quietly, with a faint smile. "I love you, and I've only ever wanted you to be happy. It's all I've ever wanted. You know that."



"I do."



"And what about Lady Vashj, though? You do realize she knows, right?"



"About us?"



"About you and Lord Illidan, though I've no doubt she knows about us also. Cunning snake, that one--and I mean that with the utmost respect, mind."



Kael sprawled out beside Rommath, glass in hand, with his elbow on a cushion propping up his head. "She's known at least since Northrend. And I honestly don't know what to tell her. She's clearly in love with him, that much is obvious. And hurting her is the last thing I want to do. She means...a great deal to me. For everything she's done for us, and more."



"Putting it off isn't going to help matters," Rommath advised him, sipping his wine germanely. "I shouldn't have to tell you that."



"You don't," Kael sighed again. Rommath reached down and ran his fingers through Kael's hair; a gesture that was eminently comforting to him. "I just don't know what to say."



"You'll figure it out, my Prince," Rommath said quietly, the manner with which he spoke the words unmistakable in its warmth and devotion. "You always do."



Kael set his glass down, then rolled over to rest his head in Rommath's lap, drinking in the comfort and succor at least as much as he did the wine. He dearly hoped his friend was right, for his sake, and for Vashj's.