Alexstrasza appeared to her in a dream. She was in her dragon form, but Tatia recognized her immediately.

“I have something to show you. These events took place after Tirmanel’s death,” Alexstrasza said in Darnassian. “What I show you must not be told to Naerityah. You may tell the mage Arioch that it is my wish for him to watch over him, as you did for so many years. Tirmanel was the only Death Knight to fully recover his past life. I will not let that go away in vain. However, due to the process by which I had to do this, Tirmanel is now Tiryal, an Orc that fell recently at the gates of Icecrown Citadel.”

And with that, Tatia was allowed to see how this all happened.

Tirmanel was on the back of the dragon for what seemed like eternity. Finally, he realized he still had his voice and asked the dragon a question,

“Who are you?”

“I am Alexstrasza, Queen of the Red Dragonflight. I am sure you heard of me.”

He had. She was famous among the Dragons for preserving life, that is what her Flight did.

“I have decided that your life is not worth forfeit. I am giving you a second chance. You will not remember your past life as a Druid or Death Knight. You will become a new Death Knight by the name of Tiryal. Do you accept this gift?” She asked, as if knowing his answer already.

“You know what I will say. Of course. How could I say no to one such as you?” Tirmanel asked in surprise.

“You would be surprised, young one. It is done. Your spirit is now one with Tiryal. I wish you luck, Tirmanel.”

And with that, he was gone.

Tatia woke up, still in the original dream.

“What now, Queen?” Tatia asked, confused.

“You find him. Tell Arioch to help you. It is his destiny to fight alongside Arioch. He will save his life one day.”

With that, Tatia awoke again. This time, she had a determined stare. She woke Arioch.

“It is time to go, my love. We must go find an old friend.”

“Who?” Arioch asked in half-sleep.

“Oshu’gun.”

He listened intently for the usual feminine giggle and the sounds of a portal opening to whisk away the object of Arioch’s current interest.

However this time, he heard only the sound of staggering footsteps before the door was wrenched open before him.

Arioch leaned heavily on the door frame, his eyes dim and blurry, a few seconds passed before a look of recognition washed across his face, “Oh. It’s you. I don’t suppose if I close the door you’ll just go away?”

Selwyn pushed his way into the room, “No, I will not ‘just go away,’ I need to speak to you.” He looked about the office and noted it was in an unusual state of disarray.

The table, normally covered in tidy stacks of parchment inked in Arioch’s even script, had been swept bare, all the paperwork in heaps on the floor; bare except for a keg and collection of empty wine bottles.

He raised a disproving eyebrow at the display of excess and watched as Arioch drew another tankard from the keg before plopping down rather unceremoniously in a chair by the fire.

“Are you drunk?”

“Yes. No. Not nearly drunk enough.”

Arioch waved a hand at the table, “Help yourself.”

Selwyn’s face darkened.

“Right, still not drinking since Kaayn…” The rest of Arioch’s words were drowned as he drank deeply.

“Don’t just stand there, out with it. What lecture are you here to deliver? More on my absenteeism from the family? My women? My drinking?”

Selwyn settled in the chair opposite him. “No lecture, I can see they’ve had no impact on you all these years.”

Arioch took another swig, “You turned out to be a bright pup, after all.”

“In the Citadel, when Inítrí struck down Tirmanel, you called out ‘brother,’ but you didn’t mean me.”

Arioch stared at the dark swill in his mug, “Too bright.”

“Was Tirmanel our brother?”

The mage looked at his brother with unfocused eyes and then burst out in harsh laughter.

“Would that it be that easy! No. Tirmanel was a close friend of the family before the exile, but he was not our brother. He was a good man…” the rest was lost again in a swallow of brew.

The implication hit Selwyn as if Arioch had fired an arcane missile at him.

“You mean… Inítrí?”

Arioch stared into the fire, his face becoming distant. Slowly, he began to speak.

“You know I was the first born. Inítrí came not too long after. I followed in our parent’s footsteps, sensitive to the touch of the arcane surrounding us. Inítrí did not. Could not. Ahhh, the memories are so faint, the exile took its toll on our minds and our hearts. I was young, far too young.”

He drank deeply again before continuing.

“I remember feeling pity for him. He had no affinity for magic. None. He was oblivious to both arcane and nature. Even those that choose not to wield its powers still feel it. But there he was, an elf with no connection to the world around him. It must have been like being blind. He threw himself into mastering the physical arts. I asked Tirmanel to help him.”

Arioch shuddered, “Gods, I killed him.” There was silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire.

“When we were exiled, I made my choice. Our parents decided for Inítrí. He was left in Tatia’s care. We didn’t know if we would live or die, there was no point in taking his life when he had not the power to understand why we chose exile.”

Arioch drained his tankard and staggered to the table to draw another before returning to his chair. He paused before seating himself, “We never spoke of him after leaving. I think mother and father felt he was a mistake better left in the past. The hardships of the exile, the destruction of the Sunwell, the passage of time, much has happened to cloud my memories.” Arioch lowered himself into the chair again.

“You were right, he’s dangerous. And he’s my responsibility now. As much as the thought of losing another in the family pains me, he needs to be destroyed.”

Arioch drained the contents of the tankard in one swallow, threw the mug against the wall, leaned forward and buried his face in his hands.

“First Kaayn, then Eonys. Cruorem slipped into the Nether for all we know. Our parents gone. It was just me, you, and Jhaelen. We find one that was lost and now I have to hunt him down and spill our own blood.”

Selwyn looked uncomfortable.

“Kaayn isn’t dead.”

“WHAT?!” Arioch’s head snapped up, his eyes suddenly far more focused than they were moments ago. He rose unsteadily from the chair and stumbled to where Selwyn was seated. “What do you mean, he isn’t dead?” His hands fell roughly on Selwyn’s shoulders, forcing Selwyn to meet his eyes.

“I treated him last week. A chest wound. He lived.”

“And you didn’t inform me of this, why?”

“He doesn’t remember.”

“Why the hell not? Did he take a head injury too? Where has he been all this time?”

“He’s a death knight.”

Arioch stiffened and returned to his chair, collapsing heavily in it. “By the Sunwell, will my torture today know no bounds?” He stared intently at Selwyn, “You’re sure of it?”

“I would know my own twin regardless of the cruel twists fate has played.”

Arioch sighed heavily, “I’m sure you would. Forgive me for doubting you. There is much to do and much to think about. I find myself currently unable to do either.”

“You need sleep, brother.” Selwyn stood and walked over to his brother. He reached out and with a light touch removed the alcohol from Arioch’s veins and sent a suggestion of slumber. Arioch’s eyes cleared before his lids drifted shut.

Satisfied that his brother would rest, Selwyn retrieved the tankard from where it had landed on the floor, drew from the keg and sat before the fire.

Tirmanel and Inítrí were nose to nose as their weapons interlocked, sparks flying everywhere. With a powerful thrust of his upper body, Tirmanel sent Inítrí flying backwards, causing him to land on one of the many spikes guarding Light’s Hammer, impaling his left leg at the thigh.

“HAHAHAHAHA. IS THAT ALL YOU GOT, ELDER!? THIS IS NOTHING!!” Inítrí taunted as he removed his leg from the spike. Blood began to gush from the open wound, however, Inítrí did not seem fazed.

“Are you mad, Youngling!? I do not wish to destroy you. However, if you continue this assault, you will meet your end,” Tirmanel said in a calm voice. He did not wish to destroy this Death Knight, but he would do as he must in order to stay alive long enough to find out who he once was.

As these thoughts passed through his mind, he heard the commands of the others.

“You two idiots stop it. Do you not see that we have been charged with the task of scouting the Citadel for Tirion? Where do you think you are?” Tatia pleaded. The druid knew that this fight was going to end in only one way and she felt powerless to stop it.

“Wow, you two truly are stupid. I guess lesser beings solve their problems in barbaric ways. Could you two school boys stop pissing in the sand so we can continue with our mission?” Arioch commanded. He was growing tired of these two already. Inítrí’s familiar fighting style plagued his mind… and then he remembered who Inítrí truly was because of what happened next.

“I may be young, but I am a master at the martial arts. You would do well to remember that, for the next few minutes you are alive,” Inítrí said arrogantly, not knowing where those words came from. He shrugged it off and renewed his assault, charging blade first at Tirmanel.

Tirmanel parried the assault easily. “Master of the arts? Ha. You are nothing but a youngling. Surely you jest,” Timanel said with a laugh, feeling as if this scene was all too familiar.

“A bit of luck will not save you from your end, brother. I told you to ’suffer well’ and so you shall,” Inítrí said with renewed madness as he regained his footing. Infusing his blade with pure death, he raised it high above his head.

As Naerityah watched the events unfold, everything seemed to stop the instant Inítrí raised his blade above his head. She was taken back, nearly 8000 years in an instant. They were in the glades of Teldrassil again. Her, Arioch, Tatia, Inítrí, and Tirmanel. Tirmanel was attempting to teach Initri the finer ways of wielding a sword. Inítrí had already mastered the basic arts, but needed refining of his skills.

“No, no, youngling. You must hold your sword as such,” Tirmanel said, indicating a hand under hand grip, “when striking from overhead. Doing so gives increased power in the downward motion. Watch.”

Tirmanel placed some fruit on a stump and demonstrated the act, with pure finesse and expertise. The fruit split in two. He threw a piece to Inítrí. The other he picked up and walked over to Naerityah.

“Fruit, my love? Its juices are as sweet as your kiss. The skin as soft as your own,” as he pushed it toward her.

“Well, when you put it that way, who in their right mind would deny such a thing?” She asked playfully.

In a snap, she was brought back to the present by a booming voice.

“BROTHER!! NOOO!!” Arioch screamed as he was preparing a spell to separate the two. However, he was a second too late.

Inítrí’s sword came down on Timanel, slicing him from the meat of his left shoulder, down to the just above the collar bone as Arioch’s spell went off. The blast of arcane dislodged the sword from Tirmanel cutting him even deeper into the center of his chest , tossing Inítrí and sword backwards against the far wall. Tirmanel flew several feet back and lay on his back, a pool of blood already covering the floor under his body.

In the instant the sword came across and through his body, Tirmanel’s entire life played like a slideshow through his mind’s eye. However, it wasn’t his life as a Death Knight that he saw. What he saw was his life as a warrior. A druid well-adversed in the martial arts of a true warrior. He saw his birth, his first meeting with Tatia. The day he met the arrogant, yet intelligent, Arioch. His first meeting with Naerityah. Their nights in the glades of Teldrasil. The day he taught Inítrí the finer points of wielding a sword at Arioch’s behest. The first time he kissed Naerityah. Their bodies naked in the glades. He saw her face. Her face… HER!! He remembered it all. Naerityah, his love. His life before his first death. His mind came at peace. He knew nothing more…

“TIRMANEL, NOOO!!” Naerityah cried. She rushed to his aid. “My love, I forgive you for all you have done. I know you did not remember. Light, please don’t let it end like this. Grant me the power I need to save him!!” She beckoned, pulling Tirmanel’s body in her lap as she collapsed to the floor beside him. Blood began to pool onto her robes, but she did not care.

“Naerityah,” Tirmanel said, his voice that of one at total peace, “I remember it all. Us, Arioch, Tatia, Inítrí. I remember how we all first met. I remember our time in the glades, especially our late nights below the moon,” He said with a chuckle and cough, blood seeping at the corners of his mouth. “I know who I was. I am thankful for this death. Please forgive me for my hand in your exile, Arioch and Naer. I love you all. May the light of Elune embrace you.”

“Hush, you fool,” Naerityah said through her tears with a laugh. “I don’t want everyone to know what we were doing when we disappeared on those late nights. Selwyn, help me to heal him. He is fading fast.”

Selwyn rushed to aid Naerityah. “There is nothing I can do, Elder. His spirit has already left his body. How he is still with us is a miracle unto itself. It is as if something more powerful than the Light itself has taken him,” Selwyn said in wonder.

“Naerityah, it is time to let him go. He is passing to the nether, we cannot stop this process,” Tatia said, attempting to soothe Naerityah.

“Naer, you have to let him be. Even Tatia knows she cannot bring him back,” Arioch said, placing his hand on Naerityah shoulder. His tone was much more calming than normal. It had lost all arrogance. It only contained sheer pity and comfort for his friend.

“NO!! It can’t end like this,” She yelled. “I won’t lose him again.”

“You have no choice,” Tirmanel said, his voice not his own. “I have taken this one with me. His life was that of a great hero.”

“Bury this one as you would another of your kind, druid,” The voice spoke to Tatia now. “He was one of few of his kind who remembered his old life, even if it was at his death. Remember him well.”

Then, Tirmanel’s body lost the strength of the voice, as quickly as it had come. Tatia reached down and pulled Naerityah away as Arioch scooped up the Death Knight’s body. No sooner had Naerityah made it to her feet than her eyes grew a hot white.

“WHERE IS INITRI?! HE WILL PAY FOR WHAT HE HAS TAKEN FROM ME!” She cried in an explosion of anger and grief.

In the confusion, the others were wondering the same as well. Inítrí was nowhere to be found. The only evidence of his departure was the closing of a Death Gate.

“It looks as if in the confusion, he got out while the getting was good,” Tatia said in disgust. “Come, let us leave this place of death. We must report back to Tirion what we have found.”

Tatia supported Naerityah as they left Icecrown Citadel, who was barely able to walk through the shudder of her cries of pain, as if it was a pain in her soul.

“He he. Funny I would be found in your arms, Arioch. Thank you,” Tirmanel said. “Naerityah, I have always loved you, even over these past 8000 years. I will see you in the end.” With that, Tirmanel’s last breath escaped past his lips and he fell limp. As his eyes closed, he saw an aspect of the Red Dragonflight. He saw himself mount the massive beast and fly off into the distance.

With that, Arioch teleported them all back to Teldrassil, as he sent himself back to Dalaran to report to Tirion the events of the day.

Prologue

Inítrí removed his armor, which was covered in his and Tirmanel’s blood. Sitting down in the Blood Quarter of Acherus Hold, he began to dress his wounds. Some had already scarred over, but the fresh ones needed repair. As he sat there, a pool of blood forming beneath him as he went about his work, one thought crossed his mind…

“Brother?”

Often I think, about my friend
His life taking him
Down a long path
Of loss

I think of things, he once told
Of young men dying
In an old land
So cold

His mind did change, his soul razed
The emotions speed
And confuse him
Evermore

I then realize, too slowly
My old friend’s familiarity
The man in the mirror
Is me

Tirion Fordring had arrived hours before and was still sequestered upstairs with Arioch.

The skies over the floating city were deepening into shades of violet when Fordring descended the stairs. The inn was silent by the time he reached the bottom step. No one said a word as the paladin crossed the room, nodded to Uda, the innkeeper, and left.

No sooner had the hide draped across the door fallen back into place behind Tirion then the inn erupted in conversation.

It would soon be time to march on Icecrown.

Naerityah held herself apart from the resurgence of chatter. Quietly, she glided up the stairs and headed directly to the door of the room Arioch used as his office while in Dalaran.

She didn’t bother to knock, opening the door just enough to admit her slender frame, and closed it gently behind her.

Arioch stood before the fireplace, his face lit by the embers, one hand resting against the stone facade and the other holding a glass of wine.

“When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow.” He turned to face her, “You still look pale. Are you recovered enough?” He motioned for her to take a seat by the fire as he poured her a glass of wine.

“Tatia has always done well with the restorative arts, I am in no pain.” She accepted the glass and drank, “Silvermoon Port, yes?”

“Yes, it is and that isn’t what I asked you, old friend.” He held her eyes with his until she turned away.

“You need only say the word and I will hunt him down, relieving you both of this misery.”

Her head snapped back to face him, eyes burning, “No! You will do no such thing!”

Arioch smiled, “Ah, so you do have some spirit left in you. Rest assured, I will leave him be for now. But if he tries to harm you again, you will not be able to save him.”

Naerityah cradled the wine glass in her hands, staring at the crimson liquid, “Who will accompany us?”

Arioch returned to the fire, draining his glass.

“Paleteal, Lyssianna, and Selwyn.”

“What? Why so few? Why Selwyn?”

“Tirion has ordered that this be a joint venture. It is an initial scouting force, not a full-scale attack. Unless we get lucky. Half the force will be ours, the other half will be under Alliance command.”

Arioch refilled his glass.

“As to why I’m bringing Selwyn, I trust he can provide for the safety of the party as well as you can, but he has no control of the shadows. I need you for that. There is darkness ahead.”

“And the warlock?”

Arioch grinned impishly at her, “So I have something pretty to look at. Paleteal is quite the warrior, but not my type of woman.”

Naerityah sighed at him, “Fine, I’m sure you have your reasons. Who is leading the Alliance force that will be joining us?”

Arioch’s face darkened, “Tirion wouldn’t say. I have my suspicions, but will not speak of them. Inform the others that we leave tomorrow at daybreak.”

The skies around the citadel were tumultuous and gray, with cold winds whipping the hair and cloaks of four of the five riders as they brought their winged mounts in to land on the steps of the Citadel. Naerityah was already in shadow form, the wind slipping through her with no resistance.

Tirion Fordring raised a hand in welcome from the back of his own griffon standing by the seige engine on the landing.

The group landed and dismounted, following suit as Arioch saluted Fordring. Beyond the wood and metal contraption, the party could see the gates of Icecrown laying in splinters.

Tirion looked over the group, inspecting each one in turn. Finally he turned to Arioch, “I’ve sent the others in ahead of you. You know what is at stake here. Do not fail us.”

Nodding in response, Arioch motioned for his people to follow inside. At the door, Highlord Darion Mograine sat astride his undead griffon, its eyesockets glowing blue. It shrieked as they passed, Mograine merely nodded in acknowledgement of the party’s presence as they filed past him into the citadel.

The hallway was dim, but straight, the light of unholy sconces leading the way. Entering the area known as Light’s Hammer, the Horde forces found themselves face to face with their Alliance counterparts.

Arioch instantly recognized Tatia, his heart stirred at the sight of her in full druidic battle regalia. Just as quickly, his stomach turned when he saw the death knight Tirmanel. He brushed aside his irritation and looked for the rest of her command.

A second death knight leaned against a pillar, a night elf like Tatia and Tirmanel. But his hair was white, his skin very pale, his half-lidded eyes burning hotly blue. In his hands he was slowly dismembering one of the spiders that could be found skittering everywhere about them. Arioch was sure it was a trick of the light, but it appeared that blood was seeping out from underneath his chest plate.

To the side, another night elf male, a warrior by the looks of it, was in quiet conversation with a draenei female, a paladin perhaps.

Arioch led his people into the hall, stopping in front of Tatia and dropping into a courtly bow.

“Tirion selected well. It will be an honor to fight by your side, Commander Tatia.”

Tatia matched him with a delicate curtsy, “Likewise, Commander Arioch.”

Introductions were made, with both sides cautiously appraising the other. Paleteal and the night elf warrior, Eolair, in particular took measure of each other. The draenei was a paladin by the name of Rorcia. Tirmanel and Naerityah pointedly avoided each other. The pale death knight called Inítrí made no movement away from the column he leaned against, seemingly oblivious to the meeting 10 yards away from him.

Naerityah looked about, desperate to find something to study instead of finding her eyes drawn back to Tirmanel. She happened to look directly at Inítrí and found him staring at her. A cold smile crept across his face as he crushed yet another spider in his gauntleted hand. She shuddered and turned away, grateful that her shadow form would hide her disgust and discomfort.

Selwyn watched the exchange and noted the blood that Arioch took for a trick of the light. He approached Arioch and Tatia, “Commanders, not to question your judgements, but is Inítrí fit for this mission? The man seems to be wounded.”

Tatia’s eyes darted towards Tirmanel before she replied, “He is one of the finest I could hope to choose from for this mission. He took an injury yesterday but is so far refusing aid for it. If the strength of the light is in you, you may try to convince him otherwise.”

Slightly distracted, Tatia turned to resume her conversation with Arioch and then turned to look at the blond priest again as Selwyn moved away to tend to Inítrí.

“You look very similar, yet he is day to your night.”

“Selwyn is my brother.”

“You would bring your brother in here?”

“I would bring those I trust,” Arioch said, with a meaningful look in Tirmanel’s direction.

Before she could reply, Inítrí’s low, cold chuckle echoed through the hall.

Selwyn backed away from him and returned to the others standing apart from him.

Arioch looked at him with a question in his eyes, Selwyn merely shook his head.

Conversation resumed and plans were laid for the initial steps of the assault.

Once the details were agreed upon, Arioch caught his brother. “Sel, what is your take on that death knight? He doesn’t seem quite right in the head.”

Selwyn snorted in disgust, “That’s putting it mildly. He’s completely wrong in the head and body. I couldn’t even touch him. I’ve worked on many of their order,” Selwyn chuckled,”It seems common practice to use them as front line fodder and they’re damn near indestructible so I treat them frequently. Most are focused on defeating Arthas, a few are trying to reclaim their past. But that one is hell-bent on destroying himself and everyone around him. I can feel it.”

Selwyn laid a hand on Arioch’s shoulder and turned him to look him in the eyes. “That one is dangerous, brother, even for you.”

“Warning duly noted, little brother,” Arioch smiled and his eyes flashed, “but you know I’ve never been one to be careful.”

Mounting his Fiery Warhorse, he went through the portal to Darnassus. The cold of the nether wrapped around him, making his head spin and eyes fill with a rainbow of colors. Seconds later, he touched ground inside the Temple of the Moon. Traveling onward, he continued to take the portal to Rut’theran so that he could travel to Darkshore by hippogryph and make his way to Ashenvale in Astranaar, where Tatia awaited him.

This time, when he took the portal, he felt a vaguely familiar sensation of Nature’s arms wrapping around him in a sweet embrace. The embrace was cut short by his feet hitting ground and the picture of Rut’theran filling his field of vision. He walked over to the flight master, paid his copper and was off to Darkshore. Once in Darkshore, Tirmanel mounted his steed and headed toward Astranaar.

Several minutes later he arrived at the inn of Astranaar. His senses were going crazy, as he could smell the scent of wild flowers, the tingling of arcane and the rush of the earth, all at once. He realized that the mage Arioch must have recently left here. When his attention returned to what was going on in front of him, Tatia had appeared in the doorway to the inn.

“Well, hi to you too, Tir,” Tatia said smuggly. “I know you already sense it so there is no use in hiding it. Yes, Arioch and Naerityah just left here. You nearly killed her from all your attacks, and I am not talking just physically. You put her soul into a state of deep distress. Guess you must be used to that by now.”

Tirmanel stood there and took the barrage. He knew he deserved it. He also knew that Tatia would probably give it to him. As she finished the last sentence, what soul he had left nearly broken. He felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time. It welled up in his stomach and made him feel as though there was a lump in his throat. Was this regret? Remorse? Guilt? What was happening to him? He was a Death Knight. How could he be feeling these things? These questions would have to wait, as more pressing matters were at hand.

“I had an encounter with a Death Knight named Inítrí. Do you know of him? Highlord Mograine stepped in between our battle and dismissed us from the Hold before we could destroy each other,” Tirmanel said with disgust. Why had he let himself get out of control like that? Yet another question…

Tatia stood there, a shocked look on her face. Tirmanel knew something was up, but didn’t have to ask before Tatia spoke up.

“I have recruited Inítrí into our force. He is… a very old friend of a friend. I promised long ago to watch over him,” she said, her tone indicating she was hiding something.

Tirmanel, in his time of knowing Tatia, never questioned her motives, so he did not press the issue. However, the distant sound of hoofs on stone indicated a visitor was on his way. The sound indicated the rider’s mount style was not traditional. The speed at which the hoofs hit the ground indicated that the horse was getting faster and faster with each gallop. Tirmanel recognized that type of gallop. He owned a steed that sounded exactly the same.

“It sounds as though he is on his way, Tatia. I will wait with you as obviously you called this meeting together for a reason,” Tirmanel said with impatience.

“That I did. We must plan our next move. Tirion Fordring has called for all Alliance forces to converge on Icecrown Citadel. You and Inítrí are to be my lieutenants,” Tatia said with caution. “I hope you two can get along.”

“We won’t kill each other… anytime soon that is,” Tirmanel said with a laugh.

“I should hope not. You would do well to tread carefully. Inítrí was a great warrior in his life. He may be a youngling, be he had mastered all armaments by the age of 18. There is none better than him,” Tatia said with the all-knowing air she always had about these things.

As she finished, Inítrí came into view through the trees surrounding the road. Tirmanel’s and Inítrí eyes met, seeing each other even at a mile’s distance as if they were nose to nose. Inítrí kicked his steeds flank into an even faster gallop, becoming a bluish purple blur. When he reached the pair, mere seconds later, he stopped suddenly.

“Nice entrance, youngling. Are you done showing off so we can get down to business?” Tirmanel chided.

“Hello, elder one. I see you have bandaged your wounds and gathered your hardest plate. Fancy a rematch?” Inítrí taunted.

“Will you two shut up already? We have more pressing matters than your “Dick Measuring Contest” to attend to. Perhaps we can get to them now, if you two don’t mind?” Tatia said with a snap.

Both Death Knights nodded in agreement. Tirmanel thought of the recent events. Could Inítrí be his downfall? What did Tatia mean by “friend of an old friend”? What did she mean by “tread carefully”? These questions, along with the ones he already had surrounding his existence, plagued him constantly now. Still, he had to push them aside to set himself to the task at hand, storming the gates of Icecrown.

“We leave at sunset. Gather food, drink and armor… well at least armor. The rest of the group will be here soon. You two are not to fight in my presence. You both have a very long-standing history with me and I expect you to respect that until this conflict is over. Once it is, you two can knock each other into the nether for all I care. Understood?” Tatia said, her voice that of a commander.

“Understood,” the Death Knights said in unison.

“Great. I go to… clear my head. I shall return later,” With that, Tatia transformed into a spotted tiger, and ran off into the forest.

“You would do well to heed her words, youngling. She is a very old and dear friend to me. I will not tolerate disrespect toward her,” Tirmanel said through clenched teeth.

“HAHAHAHAHA. You need not worry, Elder. I will not slit your throat at night. I want to see your eyes when I stab my sword through your chest. I will abate my thirst for your cold blood for now,” Inítrí said with utter ecstasy.

Tirmanel shuddered. With everything that was going on, with the attack on the very being responsible for his existence in this form, Tirmanel thought of nothing but the questions going on in his head. Would destroying Arthas finally bring him peace? Would he be free to find himself once the last thing tieing him to his Death Knight ways was destroyed? Would Inítrí do him in before any of this could come to pass?

Looking over at Inítrí, who was torturing a bird by cutting off sections of its wings, he noticed something odd. The wounds from their battle had not been bandaged. The scar on Initri’s chest from his Scourge Strike was still seething with unholy. The cuts were still dripping blood. It gave Inítrí’s armor the effect of being alive. Tirmanel did not know what to make of this. All he knew, was that there were too many questions to answer. These questions still raced in his head, pushing him to the brink of insanity.

Before Tirmanel could react, Inítrí grabbed Tirmanel’s ponytail, arching Tirmanel’s head back. His left arm slipped under Tirmanel’s shoulder and lifted him to his feet.

Tirmanel’s breath was caught in his throat. Inítrí’s bare chest pressed against his back, cold like granite as the essence of frost was in Inítrí’s veins. Tirmanel could feel a trickle of blood sliding down his own chest where Inítrí had dug in with his nails.

“We are always alone.”

Tirmanel struggled against Inítrí’s grasp, but the paler death knight seemed stronger than the last time they had sparred. All his attempts to free himself did were to deepen the scratches across his chest.

Inítrí twisted Tirmanel’s head to the side, exposing Tirmanel’s neck. Tirmanel tried to duck his head forward, uncertain of Inítrí’s next move, but his hair was still held tight. He grunted as Inítrí bit into the meat of his shoulder. His sense of pain deadened, he was still aware of the damage being done to his flesh. He could feel the blood welling up from the bite and sliding down his back.

Using his ponytail as he would reins on a horse, Inítrí turned Tirmanel to face him. The hand that was digging into Tirmanel’s chest now flew up to his throat, Inítrí’s thumb pressing hard, cutting off Tirmanel’s air.

Attempting to free himself again, Tirmanel reached up to drag Inítrí’s hand away, but lost his strength as Inítrí’s eyes met his. Always unusually bright, now they burned as if Inítrí was consumed by a fel fever. Tirmanel’s arms dropped to his side and he offered no resistance as Inítrí drew him close, locking his mouth to Tirmanel’s.

Tirmanel could taste his own blood, the pressure on his throat increasing as he tried swallowing down the coppery taste. His vision was starting to dim, his limbs growing heavier.

Still holding onto Tirmanel’s hair, Inítrí allowed Tirmanel to collapse to his knees. The hand that threatened to choke Tirmanel into unconsciousness moved to the buckles of Inítrí’s belt and pants.

Freed from the confines of his clothing, he swelled to full size in front of Tirmanel’s face. Tirmanel started to struggle again, but Inítrí’s hand returned to his throat. Gasping for air, Tirmanel’s mouth was instead filled with Inítrí’s member, the grip on his hair forcing him to take the entirety of the shaft.

His vision grew dimmer still, hot white flashes of light now danced under eyelids he could not keep open. Just as he thought he would finally drift into nothingness, Inítrí halted his assault and withdrew himself.

Tirmanel felt himself being lifted to his feet, stumbling as he was turned to face the wall and shoved towards it. He barely got his arms out in time to stop himself from falling face first into the votive rack against the wall. He stood, panting, arms braced against the wall, the heat of the candles warming the blood on his chest.

The dots in his vision started to clear and Inítrí was behind him, hair once again in his grasp. Tirmanel felt teeth again in his back and shoulders as Inítrí undid Tirmanels’ belt, letting his pants fall to the ground.

Nails dug into his chest again, blood flowed freely down Tirmanel’s chest and back. Without warning, Inítrí entered him, forcing Tirmanel to push against the wall lest he be driven into the flames dancing below him.

Sensations were overwhelming. The smoke from the candles began to choke him, the heat of the flames made breathing hard, the coldness of Inítrí’s frost-infused form behind him made no sense to Tirmanel’s oxygen-starved mind. Hot and cold. Bites. Scratches. Blood.

Inítrí made no sound as he violated Tirmanel, his breathing easy and paced, his thrusts slow and measured, more like the swing of a blacksmith’s hammer than of an act of pleasure.

The darkness threatened to overtake Tirmanel, memories of his meeting with Naerityah swam through the shadows. He fought to focus on her face.

He hated her.

Her face as she looked up at him from the ground, seconds before he would have destroyed her.

He loved her.

He flew through the air again in his memory, driven backwards by Arioch’s interference.

He hated her.

She looked at him.

He loved her.

No fear on her face.

He hated her.

Was that forgiveness?

He loved her.

She faded from his mind. At the edges of his awareness he sensed a shudder passing through Inítrí, heard a slight catch in his breath, the only indications that he was finished.

With a final bite, Inítrí pulled away, leaving Tirmanel braced against the wall. Tirmanel’s blood was smeared in dark ribbons across Inítrí’s chest and mouth. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Inítrí chuckled once again, “Suffer well, brother.”

Tirmanel heard the clinking of Inítrí re-donning his armor, footsteps fading into the distance, and once again his was the only beating heart in the stronghold.

Her sadness only lasted what seemed like seconds. The next thing she knew, Tirmanel had slammed her against the wall and drew his axe to her throat.

“LIES!!! I can believe who I once was… but being married to you!!! I can only believe so much.” Tirmanel hissed.

Their eyes met at this range. The stares each had were like that of two sides of a coin. Naerityah looked at him with fear and love, searching his soul for who he once was. Tirmanel glared at her, looking at her with nothing but hatred, but still searching for the truth in her words.

Naerityah closed her eyes, knowing her fate was near. After several minutes, she opened them. Tirmanel was no longer at her neck. Instead, he was on the floor, holding his head, as if writhing in pain. She wanted to go to him, but feared a similar incident would occur. After several minutes, he spoke.

“I remember it all now, my love. I have missed you so. I am sorry for the events that transpired under Malfurion. Can you ever forgive me?” Tirmanel pleaded from his knees.

“I did over 8000 years ago. Because of you, I tossed aside my arcane powers for the light. I have missed you so. My love for you has never faltered. Come here,” Naerityah said in a soft coo. She reached out to Tirmanel, helping him to his feet.

They stared at each other for what seemed like days, their eyes searching the other’s for the thousand of years lost. Each wanted to drink in the other fully, becoming one with each other so they could share all the experiences they had missed with one another.

As dark grew on, they shut the door to the room. Tirmanel released the clasps to his armor as Naerityah removed her robes. There in the light of the fireplace, naked, they shared their love for one another.

Tirmanel stared at her naked body, in utter amazement. Every inch was perfect, from her supple, perky breasts to her smooth and tight butt.

Naerityah noticed that Tirmanel was admiring her body. As she ran her hands across his muscled biceps and down this chest, she noticed that every inch of him was as hard as tempered steel, especially around his groin. She also noticed that it was much larger than before.

As they lay down on the bed, Tirmanel grabbed Naerityah’s hair and forced her head backwards as he began to suck on her breasts. He heard Naerityah squeal in ecstasy and knew she wanted more.

As she squealed, she felt Tirmanel thrust his groin against hers, inserting himself inside her. She didn’t expect it to be so enormous, and it surprised her, causing her to tighten herself. The size of Tirmanel nearly tore her, and his extremely long and hard thrusts did nothing to help this.

Tirmanel noticed that Naerityah was moaning in pain and ecstasy.

“Do you want more of me or should I stop?” He asked.

“Give me every inch of you Tirmanel, like you once did,” she said, almost begging.

Tirmanel then pushed himself completely inside of her and she screamed in delight.

They did not stop until dawn, wanting to take in the every ounce of each other, to drink from the well of emotion that had been lost for centuries.

By dawn’s break, they were nearly asleep. Naerityah placed her head in the nook of Tirmanel’s muscled shoulders. Tirmanel played with her hair, smelling it, remembering its smell of flower petals. It comforted him. Naerityah brushed her arms across his muscled, battle-hardened body. She remembered every inch of his physique like it was just yesterday that they laid like this under the moon. They kissed softly, and fell asleep, forgetting everything that had gone on the day, even the years, before.

A crackling sound and a flash of blue light alerted her to the arrival of her lover. She stood and turned to face him, water sheeting off her body. The summer breeze quickly dried her off.

Arioch stood still as she sauntered towards him, letting down her hair to tumble about her shoulders.

He raised an eyebrow in appreciation of her lithe figure as she approached. He paused before moving to embrace her, there was something different about her tonight, an air of assertiveness.

Tatia wrapped her arms around him, leaning forward slightly to kiss him. “You’re wearing entirely too much.”

“Easily remedied, my love.” With a thought, his clothes were dispelled to whatever nether he stored them in.

She brushed a hand across his lips as if to silence him before nudging him to the ground onto his back.

He complied and she straddled him, pushing his arms out to the side. Curious, he allowed himself to be positioned.

She whispered a word and the ground around them erupted with roots, catching at Arioch’s arms and legs, pinning him fast to the ground.

His green eyes went wide in astonishment as she smiled a wicked little grin at him, her eyes playful. She could feel him beneath her, swelling in response to the demonstration of her powers.

He tested the strength of his bonds and quickly found that they were as hard and inflexible as iron. He knew he could destroy them if he needed, but for now, he would resign himself to his fate.

Tatia ran her hands over his chest and his arms, her fingers picking up the tingle of his arcane everywhere they touched. It never ceased to amaze her how fit and muscled he was for spending centuries buried in research and study.

His pale skin shone in the moonlight as she caressed him. Laying on top of him, her chest pressed against his, she teased him as he teased her, gently kissing his neck. She nibbled up the length of one of his ears, delighting in how it made him shiver.

Arioch sought to kiss her, but she merely pushed his head to the side and nibbled up the other ear. She could feel him shaking beneath her now, his member throbbing against her.

“Tatia,” he groaned, his eyes squeezed shut and fists clenched.

She giggled.

The effort of restraining himself was beginning to show as drops of sweat formed on his brow. Satisfied that he could take no more, Tatia sat up and guided him into her, sliding down on his shaft.

His eyes snapped open and he could only watch, pinned in such a way as to not even be able to raise his hips to meet hers, helpless as she rode him, rocking her hips.

He strained against the roots, wanting to hold her, caress her, kiss her.

She continued to rise and fall on him, a little deeper each time. She cupped her breasts and blew a kiss at him.

Now it was too much for him. The energies swirling around were proof of how close they were to finishing. An arcane explosion disintegrated the roots holding him down, and Arioch sat up, pulling Tatia to him, drawing her as deep onto him as she could take. He buried his face in her chest as they both cried out in joined ecstasy.

Spent, they fell together on to the carpet of blueish-green grass, locked in each other’s arms.

She reached out to help relieve him of his clothing but found he had already disrobed through magical means. He winked at her and she giggled; she was becoming more at ease with his rather casual demonstrations of his abilities.

His arms slid around her, lowering her to the ground.

He knelt between her legs and leaned over her trim figure, nuzzling her shoulder. Everywhere he touched tingled with the arcane energy seeping from him. She sighed and caressed his back as he gently kissed up and down each side of her neck. His tongue darted out to lap at the hollow of her throat and she shivered, lightly dragging her nails down his back.

She could feel his member hardening against her soft skin and anticipated his entry.

But he held off, stroking her face and tracing the markings on her cheeks and brow. His fingers brushed her lips and she playfully bit at them. He slid a finger into her mouth and she sucked at it, teasing him.

His other hand dropped to her firm breasts, the arcane tingle becoming stronger as he drew circles around her erect nipples. The trail of kisses followed that hand, kisses becoming licks and nibbles across her chest.

Her skin was flushed now, deepening her violet color, silver eyes half closed as a moan escaped her lips.

Arioch wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close as he lowered his weight to her form and moved his hips forward.

Her legs wrapped around his hips, drawing him in, and she gasped as he penetrated her. She tossed her head to the side as the arcane tingle became a surge of energy. He cradled her head, his lips finding hers, completing the circuit.

She rose to meet his thrusts, slow and deep, timed to the pulse of the earth below them.

The air around them shimmered with the energies produced by their love making, nature and arcane weaving together.

Finally they could take no more, bodies trembling with the pent up power. Arioch shuddered as he released a torrent of arcane energy to match their climax, leaving them both breathless.

Carefully, he rolled to one side onto his back, drawing Tatia to him. She nestled at his side, arm draped across his chest. The stars shone down on them as they drifted to sleep in each other’s embrace.