The Book of Twyla
folder
+S through Z › World of Warcraft
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
10
Views:
3,340
Reviews:
7
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
+S through Z › World of Warcraft
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
10
Views:
3,340
Reviews:
7
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Warcraft or any of its components, Blizzard does, and they make the money. I don't. I just play with the toys.
Ultimatum
When Twyla woke, she was surprised at how weak she felt. It was as if all her strength had been sapped from her limbs, and weights tied to them. She opened her eyes, and noticed with dread, that she was in Arthas’ cabin. He was seated at the small table, and appeared to be dozing.
She sat up slowly, feeling as if she might fall back down at any given moment. Her movement caused Arthas to wake with a start, and he blinked owlishly at her a moment, before standing and moving to the bedside, gently forcing her back down.
“Stay down. You mustn’t exert yourself too greatly, Twyla.” He cautioned in a soft, surprisingly tender voice, “We don’t need a repeat performance.”
“I’m sorry, my lord.” She said quietly, a bit surprised by the use of her name. He hadn’t called her Twyla since the beginning of the farce.
“Please, Twyla, to you it is merely Arthas, though I hardly deserve to expect any familiarity from you. Not after how poorly I’ve treated you.”
She frowned slightly, confused by all this, wondering if the world had turned itself on its head. She opened her mouth to say something, but closed it again, uncertain what to say. Arthas looked at her, concerned, before picking up a goblet from the stand beside the bed, offering it to her. She sat up slowly under his watchful gaze and took the goblet from him, taking a cautious sip, finding the contents to be cool water. She paused after her first drink, finding her stomach to tolerate it, before gratefully finishing the goblets contents.
“I have treated you poorly.” Arthas said, voice near a whisper as she lowered the goblet, “I did not even realize how poorly until this evening, though that is hardly an excuse.”
Twyla wanted to snap at him that it certainly sounded like one, but she held her tongue on that score. “It is in the past, my lord. There is nothing that can be done or said to change it.”
“No,” Arthas agreed, “Nothing can change the past. The future, however, is another matter entirely.” He looked at her evenly, “Our child will not be a bastard. You will wed me, and our child will be a prince or princess of Lordaeron.”
Twyla gaped at him, “But I am betrothed to-”
“-Forget him.” Arthas said, an iron yet seductive tone to his words, attempting to sway her mind, “He will certainly forget you. No man wishes to raise the child of another, not that I would even allow another man to raise any child of mine.” She felt a pang of fear at that realization. Even though she had wanted no part in the conception, the child was still hers. She knew she could not give birth and then sit back while it was taken from her.
“My lord,” She managed, her mouth gone dry, “Surely you wouldn’t-”
“I would.” He countered, his green eyes going cold and hard, “Any child of mine will have the royal blood of Menethil in their veins, and will be raised as mine.” He took in her stunned, frightened look, before he continued, his look and tone far more gentle, “But every child needs its mother. If you were to wed me…” He trailed off, not needing to finish the statement.
Twyla could see no way around the matter. She could not refuse, he would make good on the threat to take the child and raise it without her, and she could not give up her child so easily. Still… She would not give in as easily as she had before. If he desired their child so, he could concede to a few demands.
“I will not play the role of another for you.” She said after several long moments, looking at him evenly, rather defiantly. “I will no longer be your Jaina.”
Arthas couldn’t help but admire her in that moment, for her strength and determination. She was, he decided, more of a match for him than Jaina had been. After all, Jaina had left him at Stratholme, while Twyla had remained at his side, doing what needed to be done.
“I will not ask you to be, ever again.” He promised, leaning down to place a light kiss on her forehead, “You will be my strong, beautiful Twyla.” He then stood, moving back to the table, taking for granted that she would choose to wed him. “Let me fix you a plate. You must keep up your strength, for the both of you.”
She sat up slowly, feeling as if she might fall back down at any given moment. Her movement caused Arthas to wake with a start, and he blinked owlishly at her a moment, before standing and moving to the bedside, gently forcing her back down.
“Stay down. You mustn’t exert yourself too greatly, Twyla.” He cautioned in a soft, surprisingly tender voice, “We don’t need a repeat performance.”
“I’m sorry, my lord.” She said quietly, a bit surprised by the use of her name. He hadn’t called her Twyla since the beginning of the farce.
“Please, Twyla, to you it is merely Arthas, though I hardly deserve to expect any familiarity from you. Not after how poorly I’ve treated you.”
She frowned slightly, confused by all this, wondering if the world had turned itself on its head. She opened her mouth to say something, but closed it again, uncertain what to say. Arthas looked at her, concerned, before picking up a goblet from the stand beside the bed, offering it to her. She sat up slowly under his watchful gaze and took the goblet from him, taking a cautious sip, finding the contents to be cool water. She paused after her first drink, finding her stomach to tolerate it, before gratefully finishing the goblets contents.
“I have treated you poorly.” Arthas said, voice near a whisper as she lowered the goblet, “I did not even realize how poorly until this evening, though that is hardly an excuse.”
Twyla wanted to snap at him that it certainly sounded like one, but she held her tongue on that score. “It is in the past, my lord. There is nothing that can be done or said to change it.”
“No,” Arthas agreed, “Nothing can change the past. The future, however, is another matter entirely.” He looked at her evenly, “Our child will not be a bastard. You will wed me, and our child will be a prince or princess of Lordaeron.”
Twyla gaped at him, “But I am betrothed to-”
“-Forget him.” Arthas said, an iron yet seductive tone to his words, attempting to sway her mind, “He will certainly forget you. No man wishes to raise the child of another, not that I would even allow another man to raise any child of mine.” She felt a pang of fear at that realization. Even though she had wanted no part in the conception, the child was still hers. She knew she could not give birth and then sit back while it was taken from her.
“My lord,” She managed, her mouth gone dry, “Surely you wouldn’t-”
“I would.” He countered, his green eyes going cold and hard, “Any child of mine will have the royal blood of Menethil in their veins, and will be raised as mine.” He took in her stunned, frightened look, before he continued, his look and tone far more gentle, “But every child needs its mother. If you were to wed me…” He trailed off, not needing to finish the statement.
Twyla could see no way around the matter. She could not refuse, he would make good on the threat to take the child and raise it without her, and she could not give up her child so easily. Still… She would not give in as easily as she had before. If he desired their child so, he could concede to a few demands.
“I will not play the role of another for you.” She said after several long moments, looking at him evenly, rather defiantly. “I will no longer be your Jaina.”
Arthas couldn’t help but admire her in that moment, for her strength and determination. She was, he decided, more of a match for him than Jaina had been. After all, Jaina had left him at Stratholme, while Twyla had remained at his side, doing what needed to be done.
“I will not ask you to be, ever again.” He promised, leaning down to place a light kiss on her forehead, “You will be my strong, beautiful Twyla.” He then stood, moving back to the table, taking for granted that she would choose to wed him. “Let me fix you a plate. You must keep up your strength, for the both of you.”