A Struggle

As he worked to pull another bloom from its rooting, he thought about her, wondered where she was...what she was doing. When would he see her again? And when he saw her, what then would they do? What would he be capable of doing that would actually help her more than it truly held her back?

He felt a familiar urge, a primitive feeling rising inside of him with this frustration that seemed to ebb at his composure, slowly, subtlety swaying his mood into a patientless, irritable demeanor. As he felt this frustration, this anger with himself, with his power, with how much the Light itself seemed unable to aid him in pulling his one desire back into his grasp, he dismounted his gryphon, and lead his search for his plants on foot, knowing that searching this way would set him against the mindless creatures of the storm that he would inevitably defeat. With this change of his method, the subtle altering in his steps to search, he felt a satiating satisfaction that, though empty in and of itself, could distract him from the more annoying frustrations that seemed to vex his now fracturing mind.

Within the Terrokar forest, Magdalia slays another beast in her path. She glances back as she pulls out some netherweave to wipe her daggers clean. She sees a trail of dead wolves' bodies as well as other creatures that she has slain. She cuts off the tail of the wolf she has freshly slain and adds it to the collection she has in her bag. She sighs looking by a nearby tree and seeing some herbs she knew that Lance would have loved to pick. She looks up and over her other shoulder now, and sees the nearby stronghold and starts to walk towards it, reaching the road. She hands over her collection of wolf tails only to be told she has to now kill a wolf so tough that the very man who wants it killed could not do it himself.

Her confidence raised by the thought of her stealth abilities she sets out towards where this wolf should be found. As she reaches the stretch of forest where it roams, she spots a nearby tree that is very inviting. She looks around to see if anyone is watching her and quickly climbs into the tree. She climbs through the branches until she is within its leaves and she can see spots of sunlight gleaming through on her. She finds a notch in the limb and leans back on her back reclined in the tree. She stares up through the leaves and sighs to herself day-dreaming...her thoughts wander and rest, of course, on Lance.

She smiles to herself as she pictures him riding up on his charger under her tree, and then snaps out of it quickly when she suddenly almost loses her balance. She looks around quickly, holding snuggly to the limb. She takes a long look down the road in either direction and leans back, folding her hands on her chest. She closes her eyes and thinks again about him. Her thoughts continue with her imagining him climbing up towards her with that ever longing look in his eye. She reaches out for him. Suddenly, she has lost her balance and is losing herself off the branch and barely catches herself by swinging towards the trunk to find another notch. She gasps for air from the surprise of the event and the loss of the image. She slowly climbs down the tree and brushes herself off before heading into the forest to stalk a wolf named Ironjaw.

He looks around at the array of demon corpses, frowning. Now he was just bored. He was still fifteen Netherbloom short...not to mention the twenty Felweed he still needed. He huffed and shook his head. He pulled his hearthstone from his bags as he saw one of the resurrected demons coming towards him. He raised a hand and let his divine shield bubble out around him. He began casting, watching as the demon tried to hurt him, kill him, his infallible protection holding. He grinned deviously as the power of his hearthstone teleported him from Netherstorm, bringing him back to the sanctuary of the Aldor Rise. He ran out of the inn out onto the rise, mounting his gryphon, and flew down to the surface of the city, traveling past Khadgar and the Naaru to the portals of the Alliance. He entered, and made his way into Ironforge. He had enough of his other less expensive herbs in stacks, placing them on the auction house...and buying the remaining reagents for his promised potions. He had promised to deliver...but he had never promised how. He made his way into Tinkertown and purchased the stack of vials, making the potions and sending them to Magdalia. He sighed with relief and then remembered: he now had to wait one whole hour before he could use his hearthstone again. He sat by the mailbox and shut his eyes, hoping to pass the time with a short, quick nap...

He awoke after what felt like a few hours. He groaned loudly, his neck hurting from how oddly he'd slept. He pulled out his hearthstone and made his way back to the Aldor Rise once more.

He was in flight to Hellfire, flying...well, much slower than he would have liked to have been traveling. He felt the power of the dungeon stone calling to him and he submitted to its pull, letting himself be transported to the Hellfire Citadel. He smiled when he saw Mags, blowing her a kiss and winking as he made his way in the Blood Furnace. He felt ready, prepared to face the Furnace once again. Vendetta had made him familiar with the depths of Blood Furnace, and for once, he felt truly confident that he could help Magdalia...but he felt himself slipping, stumbling. He was thankful to have Sanfi and Sharjoom, but he felt awful that his powers seemed to come and go, that his assistance became unreliable and wavering.

He swore to himself, cursing whatever force was vexing him, preventing him, and holding him back. He felt ashamed; was it his rage? His bitter, unbridled fury that had clouded his mind and now inhibited him.

He was happy when they reached the end of the dungeon, when Keli'dan's body lay dead on the floor. He went to Mags, kissed her, and traveled back to the Aldor Bank to sell the goods that were of no use to him...and to regroup. He promised her that he would see her soon and that he loved her before he let his presence fade away...

Magdalia stood proud in the snows of Dun Morogh, slowly stroking the cheek of her new mount - a Brewfest ram. Yes, she had spent so much time on helping out the dwarfs they rewarded her with a new way to get around...in style. She smiled to herself as she pulled herself up onto the saddle and leaned forward to whisper in his ear, "I think I'll call you Thunderbrew." The ram snorted in agreement and she tugged on the reins to race back to Ironforge.

She spent the day at the bank trying to sort through all the things she had accumulated that she no longer wished to or needed to keep. Many things were sold to the vendors, others were disenchanted and then she came across a very special item she had almost forgotten was in there...Lance's Symbol of Divinity. She held it close to her and safely put into her bags, knowing she would rather have one less space than be without it in her battles.

Sleep. It was a thing to him, an intangible desire that constantly seemed to evade his grasp. But for now, he had found it. He clung to sleep, his mind holding it as though his very existence would be jeopardized by its departure, by its absence. He dreamt as he slept, hidden in the folds of a bed borrowed from the innkeeper, far away from the Outlands, deep in the folds of Azeroth. He'd not sought shelter for so long, but because it had been so close, he had decided to take advantage of the opportunity to rest. Dun Morogh had more than one such place. Kharanos had been the place his mind had settled on. It was cold, but the bed was warm and soft, safe in the basement of the distillery next to a warm fire.

He remembered her. He did not know...why she had decided to come to him, then, of all times...to visit him: while he was asleep. Ariadne Caron was as beautiful as she had been when he knew her from the orphanage. They'd been young then, fourteen or fifteen, but...she looked older now. Time had added age and years to her appearance, bathed her in experience and bestowed her with wisdom. Her green eyes and long, brown hair were all that she showed to him. He did not know how or why she reached out to him or why...after so long, she came to him.

"Where did you go, Lance? Why...why did you leave me...in that wretched city?"

He could feel her anger...but also...her despair. Her...her emotions seemed to bear down on him like a giant owl beast.

He shook his head. "I...I'm sorry. I was commanded to leave, to go, to travel outside of the city. I was sent away. It was something we both knew would happen. It was an event neither of us could escape. Separation. I came back for you, I returned to the orphanage, to our city...but you had gone. You had left when the matron released you from her hold. How was I supposed to find you? How was I to know...that you had yet to perish?" He shook his head more. "You must leave me, Aria. I...my heart...does not belong to you any longer. I am another's. She is beautiful...confident...reckless. Many things...that you were not. Things...that you will never be, not for me, even if you were to return."

"You need not worry about me, little Lance. I am gone, I have left this plane. I exist in time and space...and in the depths of your heart. Forget about me. Leave me, as you did before. Your talents have grown, your strength has far exceeded expectations, but you've grown into a cold, heartless person. Emotionless. Let the outlands take you, but I will not disappear. I will linger, like a cancer in remission, until the day your soul leaves the physical plane. The Light, the farce of a deity you so desperately worship and cling to, will not save you from your destiny. You will leave her. You will die. You will be...forgotten."

He felts tears rolling down his face as he watched her, her sad, painful expression. Resentment. She resented him for leaving, for leaving her, for living, and for finding happiness without her. He knew that no amount of shame, of regret, of remorse, none of it would satiate the grudge that she held and now planted in him.

The last thing he saw before he awoke was her eyes, her expression. He heard her voice. He heard...the last thought that her apparition decided to plant in him. "The Light...will bless you with the same pain as you left in me. It will take her away, and make you alone."

When he sat up in bed, his shirt was soaked. The shirt...Magdalia had tailored for him. He felt the pain, the remorse, the despair catch up to him. He was crying, sobbing. He had never cried, not even for Magdalia. Even for her, he had shielded himself, hid behind a facade of empty numbness, but with the thought of losing her, with the thought of the things he had done...and not done. It all seemed to catch up to him all at once...and he was not strong enough to resist it on his own. He was grateful that he had come here, had hidden in the basement of the distillery...far away from where anything...anyone...could hear his quiet sobs...

Another day, another bar...Magdalia found herself in the World's End Tavern drinking...again. She sat at the bar just out of smell distance from the nearby ogre who planted himself at the bar as well. She took a few gulps from her mug and slammed it down after thoughts racing through her head. She dropped her head to one side, letting her ebony hair fall all around her face and over her shoulder, cracking her neck. She grunted as it relieved pressured and returned to her mug of brew. She was gulping it as she thought to herself once more about Lance. She was so agitated at him.

She put down the mug and shook her head to the memory of his words to her, the way he treated her. She had this feeling that she would never be good enough. She knew that no matter how hard she worked, no matter how much he accomplished, she would always the inexperienced rogue who needed protecting. Every time she saw him now, she felt she needed to prove something to him. She had to show him how much she was a necessary member to the team. She needed to be there as much as he did. Yes, he was important, but so was she. She did not feel like he was treating her like a teammate, but still like his "pet." A pet that always had to be watched, protected and..."bubbled."

She grunted to herself as she remembered that moment. She finished her mug and slung it back at the bartender and yelled for more as slammed her fist down on the bar so frustrated with him. They were in the crystal complex of Oshu'gun battling the demons there. Yes, these demons were way more powerful than the things she could kill by herself, but she had Lance with her. She knew he could take a beating, so she acted as if Alex were there. She was used to allowing her teammate to take all the punishment as she killed the enemies from behind their backs. This was what she was doing until she gained way too much attention. She was taking on two by herself and Lance had three on him. She was in the process of taking one down while also taking a few shots at the second. She was doing very well but it seemed like a good time for a gulp of healing potion so she took one and felt better. She was more confident now. She went for a killing blow and just as her dagger was about to stab directly into the warlock's chest, she was held back. Her dagger couldn't go any farther. She watched as the two she was fighting ran over to Lance. She looked around her...she was in a protection blessing. She waited for it to vanish and used her frustration to kill every last enemy that was left.

She yelled at him for it, but it didn't seem like enough, because it would not have made a difference. She understood that blessing when they were both about to lose their spirits...but she had nearly full health and he used it. She felt so patronized. It was like he was telling her that she couldn't handle it, that could she not live without his help, that she had to have protection from every measly little hit.

She grabbed the full mug in front of her and gulped it down and then went off to the inn to sleep off her frustration.

It was so very...medicating, to see her. It was like the most wonderful drug. How much better he felt...just holding her. They both held each other, just holding on, their lips occasionally meeting as they kept each other in each other's arms.

He had never cried, never shed a tear...in front of her. He felt completely at a loss, humiliated, by his loss of composure. He had always over-zealously done what he could to be the strong, unyielding individual in their friendship, relationship, and marriage. He wanted so badly to be the strength he felt she needed, the guiding compass driven by the Light and unbiased by logic and reason. But as he held her, as he remembered...the feelings that he had been cursed with in his sleep, been reminded of, the guilt that had been laid at his feet came welling up inside of him. Allied with the powerful emotions of just holding her, he was unable to keep his emotions at bay, to force his eyes to stay dry, to blink the moisture gathering inside it, away, and hide it from her.

He was relieved and disappointed at the same time in that he did not have to explain himself, open the door to whatever complications his past might incorporate into their rekindled love and affections, but his disappointment ebbed at him with how easily she let it go. Did she really see him that way, that...this was normal for him? He said goodbye to her, called away elsewhere and relieved that he was able to...just get away. He didn't want her to see him like this, see him...weak. He knew that she knew that he was not perfect, and he was comfortable with this understanding...but he did not feel safe or secure enough with himself to allow her to truly witness the chaos he felt, exacerbated by her reaction to the glimpse he'd failed to hide from her.

He shut his eyes, backing away from her, and hearthed.

On the dismal shore of some coast in Azeroth, Magdalia stood with her fishing rod extended. She had been there all night and even forgotten where "there" was. She stared blankly at the water, always keeping her eye on the bobber and yanking at the pole each time it would splash. She had really increased this skill and had little care about what she was actually catching. She muttered to herself occasionally trying to figure out what had happened earlier that night. She was with Lance, on a perfect night. The moon was rising on the horizon and the water was glistening. They held each other close and she was at so much peace in his arms. But why had he turned away from her? Why did he appear to have been crying? She had asked him very politely and he quickly denied that anything was wrong. She was so happy to finally have their relationship on solid ground, she did not want to push the issue. It just didn't make sense. Why would he keep something from her? Why couldn't he be completely honest? She knew that he would tell her in his own time if it truly was that important...but she hated not knowing.

The next fish she caught she practically ripped off the line and threw down on the pile. She heard a scoff behind her. Not knowing that anyone was around, she quickly grabbed her dagger, and whirled around. Standing there in front of her was a blood elf. She quickly eyed the shore again and saw that she was on the neutral shore of Stranglethorn and Horde were often seen around here. She looked him up and down before responding, but standing in a defensive stance having dropped her fishing rod and picked up both her daggers aiming them at the elf. He was much taller than she and his hair was golden. His features were very pleasant to look at, as he stood there with a smirk on his face, examining her at the same time. He wore leather and she saw a sword on one hip and a dagger on the other. She gripped her daggers tighter as his eyes followed her body up to her face.

"What? What do you want?" She had no idea if he was stronger than her, but she was not going down without a good fight. He just stood there and smiled larger at her as her expression turned angry. "You can't have my fish or anything else I carry so you can just move along and fish elsewhere." She pulled her dagger back ready to strike when he put his hand up towards her.

"No, no...I mean you no harm..." Her mouth dropped. The only blood elves she had ever met were those on the Scryer Tier in Shattrath. She did not understand why she could understand him. "I was merely admiring you and your..." He pointed to the pile of fish, "great handling of the fish." She glared at him, and looked at her mess of a pile, most of the fish only in pieces.

"I've had a rough night, alright? And who are you to criticize anyway? I didn't say I was an expert."

"Oh, well I know you're not an expert, you're an artisan...I can tell by how you cast."

Her mouth dropped further and she glared harder. "How long have you been watching me?"

"Since you walked up and started fishing.." He pointed to a tree up a hill. "I usually sit there most nights in the shadows enjoying the sunset and I fell asleep and your fishing woke me." He shook his head grinning at her with her mouth agape and reached forward and with two fingers under her chin lifted it to close it. Why she did not slice his hand off was beyond her. She shivered at his touch, but could not take her eyes off of him and softened her look.

"What's your name?" She stood up, sheathing her daggers and folding her arms, leaning her body away from him.

He smirked at her change of composure and cocked his head to one side "I'm an apprentice of Kariel. My name is not important, but you may call me Bal for short."

She looked him over to be sure he was serious and not just trying to get another rise out of her. "Oh...you're a rogue."

He nodded proudly and put a hand towards her "And you are?"