w o w

*

Tsuuli set his pack down just inside the doorway as his brother strode in, looking around. “It’s not bad!” Jaalzek proclaimed, gesturing around the small, but tidy inn room. 

Tsuuli sighed, and shut the door. “You are used to the accommodations in this city, brother?”

Jaalzek shot him a glance, then turned to sit on the bed. “I know, Orgrimmar is nothing like Dazar’alor.” He looked up again and shrugged. “It is not so bad, but it helps to have friends, then you do not miss the comforts of home so much.”

Tsuuli frowned in thought, and set to pulling necessities from his pack. “Xan lives here, no? Quite a difference between having friends, and having a lover to keep you from being homesick.”

Jaalzek laughed, and threw a pillow from the bed at his little brother. “It does help, yes! But Xandarien does not live here. We also are renting some rooms, until we decide where to go next, now that the war is over.”

“Many things to consider, now the war is over.”

“Yes indeed! Such as, will you be returning to Zandalar, after you are done traveling? And why are you traveling alone? What happened to, umm, what was her name? The hunter?”

Tsuuli grimaced at the reminder, and Jaalzek laughed at the face he made.  “Jaal, I thought I told you, we only went out together once, but it did not work out.”

Jaalzek stared at him like he expected more detail, but sat back with a sigh when he realized Tsuuli was not going to explain. The truth was, Tsuuli had gone on exactly three dates with the hunter Onala, a pretty Farraki, until it became clear she was painfully boring. She was pleasant enough, but seemed to have no ambitions beyond getting through the campaign she was on, and settling down to a married life with children and her companion animals. 

Not that Tsuuli wouldn’t mind being married at some time in the future, or start a family even, but he liked a woman with more fight in her. Someone he could adventure with, and fight alongside. Someone who could kick his ass, if they were to fight each other. 

Someone like the feisty elf he’d met up in the mountains of Zuldazar…

“Tsuuli! Are you listening to me?”

“Absolutely not,” Tsuuli replied automatically. He couldn’t help but laugh at the exasperated look on his brother’s face, even as he realized he must have missed something important. Or rather, something Jaalzek thought was important. “What were you saying?”

Jaalzek sighed and raised his eyes and hands, as if praying to the loa for patience. It was a gesture with which Tsuuli was well acquainted. “I was saying, little brother, that Xan and I know a woman, a mage…”

Uh oh, Tsuuli knew where this was going. His brother loved to try and set him up with various women he knew. It was nice, in a way, that his brother tried to look out for him, but he’d never been able to articulate exactly what he liked in a partner, in a way Jaalzek could understand. 

He privately thought it was because Jaalzek did not care for women, that made him such a bad matchmaker. Xandarien might be better at it than his brother, but Tsuuli had his doubts. 

Jaalzek was really getting into his description of the mage, taking Tsuuli’s silence as encouragement. 

He would have to tell him. 

His shoulders sagged. 

“—we can all have dinner together so you will not feel awkward—“

“I met a woman,” Tsuuli interrupted, voice a little too loud for the small room. 

Jaalzek sat back, looking surprised, before he burst forth with a flurry of questions. “You did? When? Where? Is she going on your trip with you? Will she be here in Orgrimmar? What is she like?”

“She is a demon hunter.”

“I thought you said you didn’t care for demon hunters?”

“I did—“

“You didn’t like their ‘Prissy faces and snobby attitudes.’”

“Yes, but—“

“And you always say you like tall women, not ‘Those puny elf girls.’”

“Well you see—“

“I am getting a lot of mixed signals here, Tsuuli. Is it someone Xandarien knows?”

“Well I did not ask—“

“Though I think they all know each other, it is a bit like a cult—“

“She is Kaldorei.”

“...”

“...”

“Tsuuli.”

“Yes, brother?”

Jaalzek stood and left the room. He didn’t slam the door though, so Tsuuli counted that as a win. He went to the bed and smoothed out the wrinkles in the blanket from where Jaal had been sitting, fluffed and replaced the pillow that’d been thrown at him, and stretched out for a short nap. 

He knew his brother, and he knew he’d be back soon. Might as well get some rest before the confrontation. 

*

A single, cursory knock was all Tsuuli got as a warning when Jaalzek returned. His abrupt arrival was softened somewhat by Xandarien following him into the room with a friendly, “Good to see you again, Tsuuli,” immediately continued with, “...well, not literally.”

Tsuuli couldn’t help but chuckle at that, and the wry grin on Xan’s face meant he was better at diplomacy than one would usually expect of a demon hunter. Jaalzek was occasionally pompous and could be overbearing, but Xandarien seemed to be more than capable of handling him. Tsuuli spared a thought for how the two made a good couple, and he was glad his brother found such a bond in the middle of the upheaval of war. Even if he was being a bit of an ass at the moment, standing in the corner, silently waiting for Xan to shut the door.

Once it closed with a soft click, he began to nag, though it was tempered by his hushed tone. “Tsuuli, you cannot consort with a member of the Alliance! Our people have only just joined the Horde. The Kaldorei are one of their biggest ancestral enemies, not to mention our own—”

“How did you meet?” Xandarien’s gravelly voice cut in. “Was it after the armistice?”

“Yes,” Tsuuli replied, ignoring his brother’s sputtering. “She crashed in the mountains, on her way to her departure point out of Zandalar.” He looked at his brother directly. “She had been assisting a team with packing up a base in Nazmir for evacuation, but her mount was injured and in her emergency landing, she ended up finding the grotto. Our grotto.”

Xandarien leaned back, his mouth forming an “O” in realization. He turned to Jaalzek. “You haven’t even taken me there!” he accused. “I’d forgotten, but you told me about it when you were courting me.” He said the last with a smirk, and Tsuuli was reminded of how much he did actually like the man.

Jaalzek was unmoved though. “She told you all of this? Freely?”

“Will it make you happy if I told you she tried to kill me when she first saw me?”

“No,” Jaalzek replied.

“Yes!” Xandarien laughed. “That explains his attachment,” he said to Jaalzek. Perhaps Xandarien wouldn’t be a bad matchmaker after all, were Tsuuli to need such a service.

Tsuuli arranged his pillow behind his lower back and leaned against the wall before speaking again. “She was relaxing in the pool when I walked up, and startled her.” His eyes glazed over at the memory of an angry, naked, and dripping wet elf charging him with glaives out. “She is...quite athletic.”

He must have had a stupid look on his face, because Xandarien guffawed as Jaalzek scowled.

“What’s her name?” Xandarien asked suddenly.

“Lyrinde.”

The demon hunter tilted his head to the side, thinking for a moment, then gasped. “Oh!” He turned to Jaalzek, “I know her, she is exactly Tsuuli’s type. I think you can relax, Jaal.” He ran a hand over Jaalzek’s bicep in a soothing manner. “She’s fierce and unrelenting, of course,” he said with a proud, feral grin, “but one of the most sane of our kind. She does not suffer from her demon as much as many others have.”

Jaalzek stared at his lover for a moment before turning back to his brother. “Exactly how much time have you spent with this Lyrinde?”

Tsuuli didn’t think his brother was ready for full details of what happened when they met, and would have to adjust his story accordingly. “Weeeeelll, after I startled her out of the water and she threatened me,” Jaalzek groaned as if he just realized what that meant about her state of dress, “we spoke for a few minutes to establish that we were not in fact going to fight to the death—”

“You had to bubble, didn’t you?” Xandarien cut in, gleefully.

Tsuuli sighed at the term, but answered, “Yes, I used my Divine Shield. As a precaution.”

Xandarien’s laughing was disruptful, but Tsuuli continued his tale, “After we came to an agreement not to engage in combat, well,” he peered at his brother, “we...occupied ourselves.” He could see Jaalzek’s expression slowly turning to horror. “For several hours.”

Xandarien had to move to a small stool in the corner to sit, overcome with laughter as he was.

*

Later, when they were having dinner in the Wyvern’s Tail, a more remote and quiet inn, Jaalzek finally seemed to regain the fortitude to ask, “So after you and the demon hunter—” He swallowed and started again. “Did you talk after—” He groaned and took a swig of ale.

Tsuuli took mercy on him and replied, “She was reluctant to talk at first, but I think she found me charming.” He grinned at Xandarien, who had been nodding.

“She’s all action, not much talk, that one,” he added for Jaalzek’s benefit. “But, from what I remember, Lyr was not the type to want to stick around afterwards. I know she broke a few hearts during our time at the Temple.”

Tsuuli shrugged, “It took some finesse, but I convinced her to talk to me more, and that is how I learned of her predicament.”

“You mean, you annoyed her into talking to you,” Jaalzek deadpanned.

“If you say so, brother.”

Tsuuli was perturbed that yes, that’s exactly what it meant, but he would not give his brother the satisfaction of knowing it. Besides, he preferred to think of it as persistence. 

“You say you learned this of her, and perhaps she was not being deceitful, but the fact still remains that she is...” he looked around, then dropped his voice to a whisper, “Will you even see her again? Perhaps it was a one-time fling, and you must now move on.”

Tsuuli picked up his mug and drank deeply before answering his brother. Truth be told, he’d feared such an outcome, and Xandarien’s comments made his stomach squirm at the thought of being another broken heart left in Lyrinde’s wake.

He would find out soon enough, he supposed.

“We have written to each other,” he said slowly. “I am meeting her in Dalaran in a week’s time.”

That was the plan, at least. Her letters tended to be shorter than his to her, but he put that down to her less than fluent grasp of Zandali, her very basic writing skills in the language, and probably her strange spectral vision, fel-tinted as it was. It had been about seven weeks of correspondence since they met at the grotto, averaging at a little more than one letter a week. She’d only agreed to the Dalaran scheme three weeks ago, though he’d invited her to meet with him there before they parted ways in Zuldazar.

Xandarien gasped, as Jaal blurted, “What?!”

*

Tsuuli trudged back to his inn after dinner, a little dejected. He could understand his brother’s concerns and doubts, he could. And while he was still positive about the upcoming meeting, and that it would actually happen, Jaalzek’s doomsaying put a damper on the buoyant mood he’d been harboring ever since Lyrinde had accepted his invitation.

In his distraction, he very nearly kicked the tiny vulpera steward attempting to get his attention as he made his way through the inn’s busy common room. “Excuse me!” he yelled over the commotion. “Tsuuli of Dazar’alor? That’s your name, correct?”

Tsuuli looked down into the pointed, furred face, and saw he was waving an envelope at him. “Mail has arrived for you!”

He couldn’t help a fluttering feeling of hope in his chest as he reached down to take the letter, murmuring his thanks. The vulpera trotted off through the crowd on other business with a hasty, “You’re welcome, please enjoy your stay!”

Tsuuli recognized the careful direction written on the outer folds of the envelope and hurried up to his rooms, waiting to break the seal—blue wax imprinted with a stylized crane—until he was completely alone, a true feat of strength in his current state.

Once the door was shut and bolted behind him, he grabbed the paring knife he’d used on a tough-skinned desert fruit earlier, and carefully pried up the seal, keeping it intact as he’d done with all of the previous letters. They traveled with him in a small golden lockbox at the bottom of his pack, one of his most prized possessions.

This letter felt a little thicker than usual, though peering inside it seemed to contain only one sheet of parchment. He pulled it out, realizing there was something packed within the paper. As he unfolded it, a fresh scent of foliage wafted out, brief but invigorating. It smelled of elven magic, like the woodlands of Ashenvale, which he visited once on a short trip to acquaint him and other Zandalari troops with Horde operations.

Two items slipped from within the note, into his lap, but before he could examine them, the brief words scrawled on the paper caught his eye.

I hope this finds you, before we meet. I will look changed, and did not like to surprise too much.

Care,

L

Much shorter than her usual letters, though with the same stilting verbiage, he smiled at the note all the same. Her Zandali was rather impressive, for a member of the Alliance, and her writing was always improving. They could communicate more easily, perhaps, in Common, but she had always made an effort to speak Zandali with him, and once confessed in a letter that she was trying to improve. Having learned the basics earlier on in the war campaign from the vaunted Alliance Spymaster Shaw, she claimed using Tsuuli’s native language with him was helping her more than her lessons ever had.

Shaking off his memories, he looked down to his lap where the items had fallen out. The first was a leaf, pressed and dried, but not brittle. It seemed to be in the midst of turning, but to a shade of evening, rather than autumn. He held it between his palms and, not for the first time, thanked the loa that they’d led him to visit the grotto that one day, after over a year of being away, on the one day he might have met her.

Setting it aside to be put into the lockbox, he picked up what he at first had thought was a chain, but was in fact— 

“Oh!” he couldn’t help but exclaim out loud.

It was a long, thin braid of shimmering white hair, bound at the ends with silken thread.

Smooth and sleek, fine strands as silky as he remembered them, he caressed the lock gently, curling it into a circle, uncoiling it again to marvel at the gift, then finally when he’d had his fill, finding a coin purse to empty out and stow the precious strands in, tucking them in an inner pocket of his vest, close to his heart.

*

As far as being stranded in what was questionably enemy territory went, Lyrinde supposed it could be worse. She floated lazily in a small, refreshingly chill pool near the summit of one of Zuldazar’s lush mountain peaks. The blaze of the late morning sun was oppressive as ever. It was tempered though by the cool water, the foliage overhead filtering some of the sun’s rays out, and the general peace of her crash site. 

She spared a thought and a frown for her poor mount’s condition, after their escape from a flock of especially aggressive pterrordaxes flying through Nazmir’s southern swamps. Lixahl was formidable both in a fight and in flight, and her sharp talons and agile maneuvers had secured their escape. Somehow though, the steep ascent of their chase into Zandalar’s main province had caused her to sprain a wing. They’d landed on the top of an isolated mountain, where Lyrinde had been quick to immobilize the felbat’s injured limb. Searching for cover around the summit, it wasn’t very long at all before they located a dusty, disused cave perfect for Lixahl to roost in while she recuperated. Following the sound of water a little ways out from the cave and through the vegetation, Lyrinde came upon the clearing where she now rested. 

Of course, proper safety measures had been taken. Once she’d taken water back to Lixahl and secured the site, she used the strange Gnomish messaging device given to her for just such an emergency, to communicate her location and predicament to the extraction team. The site seemed truly secluded, with thick overgrowth showing no footpaths up, and only signs of sparse wildlife tracks. She had little else to do but wait. 

The machine sent a small drone carrying her message to a predetermined location. A homing device of sorts, though she’d soon gotten lost in the technical terms of Kelsey’s explanation of exactly how it worked. All she remembered was that it would probably be a day or so before she could expect any kind of return communication. 

She sighed, and sank a little further into the water with the exhale. If circumstances had been different, the location would be idyllic. Idle birdsong, nearly drowned out by the soft bubbling of the wellspring feeding the pool, and the whispering rush and distant crash of the waterfall spilling from it’s rocky edge, combined with the warmth of the sun on her body, the cool feel of her hair swirling about her in the water, unbound from it’s tight braid for once, the gentle rustling of the brush and a twig snapping—

She was lunging out of the water in a blink, already gripping the glaives she’d placed at the pool’s edge for just such a necessity, growling as she swung the sharpened blades into place; one to rest at the intruder’s throat, one poised and ready to slice him across his belly. 

“How did you find me?!” Lyrinde demanded, teeth bared in a snarl. “What do you want?”

She was vaguely aware that the tall troll in front of her had dropped a wooden pail he’d been carrying, and seemed to be without weapons or armor. The golden glow of a protective spell shimmered around his body however, marking him out as one of the Zandalari’s elite paladins; capable of wielding the powers of light even without a sword or shield. 

He held his hands up at chest level, and though she’d spoken to him in Common out of habit, he answered in Zandali. “I was not looking for you, Miss Elf.” He paused, and his eyes obviously dipped to focus below the blades that were ready to strike. “But what a find to have made, this fine day. The loa have truly blessed me.”

Lyrinde then took time to realize the pail he had been carrying seemed to be full of bathing supplies, and also to recall that her clothing was drying on a nearby rock, where she’d laid it after washing the dirt of travel out of it. It had seemed fortuitous that she’d had the opportunity to clean her garments as well as bathe at the time, but now she was caught out, literally naked. 

At least she had her weapons. Even if Horde and Alliance were at a truce for the moment, she could hardly expect that a troll wouldn’t be opposed to her presence in his home territory. The war was barely over, after all. She backed away, weapons still at the ready just in case. 

“I mean not to intrude upon your lands,” she spoke in halting Zandali, “and will leave at first opportunity.”

“Where is the fun in that?” The paladin’s eyes were back to her face, though he was grinning—actually grinning!—at her now. “I should like to know more about you, and how it came to be that the loa have guided you here, to my private retreat.”

She dropped her weapons a fraction, still wary that he would attack, and said, slowly, “It is only  accident that brought me here, nothing more.”

He gave a little “Tsk!” at her and, telegraphing his movements clearly so as not to appear to be readying an attack, knelt to collect his toiletries back into his pail. Once he finished, he stood again and met her eye. 

“Miss Elf,” he began, sounding like a lecturer, “this retreat was created by myself and my brother, who used his shamanistic powers to divert the upwelling of water here, where I assisted in the formation of the pool’s borders and, as you may have noticed, seating within the water along the edges for better relaxation, although you had cleverly bypassed such amenities, it would seem, by simply floating—“

“You talk a lot for glorified manual labor,” she cut in, impatient. She gripped her glaives tighter, half expecting him to take offense and decide to attack after all. 

He only looked startled for a moment, perhaps needing to parse her strange, stilting accent, then burst out laughing. 

She lowered her weapons all the way, relaxing her stance, and frowned at him. He was so taken with giggles that she even saw him wipe a tear from his eye. “Is there something wrong with you?” she demanded. 

As he caught his breath, he looked to the sky, ignoring her question and mounting agitation. “Loa help me,” he said, still smiling, “but I think I’m in love.”

She knew he was being facetious, but his words still caused her to take a half step back. Was he trying to lower her guard, in order to take her by surprise for an attack? She needed to be cautious, just in case. There might be other threats nearby. He might not have been alone, only ahead of any others coming, this strange behavior a ploy to distract her until backup arrived. 

She empowered her spectral sight, to see deeper into the shadows, through more layers of the jungle surrounding them, to see if he was hiding anything.

Oh… she thought.

“Oh!” she breathed out, involuntary.

His gaze had dropped again, and, well. Expecting treachery lurking in the forest behind him, what she found instead was that he was not unaffected by her appearance, standing in front of him with her weapons drawn, but without armor, without clothing, flushed from the adrenaline and fel fire coursing through her body. It appeared the only thing he was hiding was a growing interest in her nudity. 

Well, she was stuck here for at least the day, and possibly the night, too. He was handsome, seemed disinclined to fight, and physically attracted to her. Might as well have some fun, right? 

She grinned at him when he realized he’d been caught staring, feral and toothy, and stalked forward.

*

Lyrinde woke up slowly, warm and heavy-limbed, the impromptu nap leaving her sluggish, but well-rested. As her senses came back to her, she realized several things that should have worried her, and might have if she wasn’t feeling so satisfied.

One of these things was that she wasn’t directly on her bedroll; she was lying on top of a well-muscled, warm body, gently rising and falling with each breath. She could feel hands resting loosely on her lower back. The large, three-fingered hands of a troll.

She knew what she’d done was dangerous and would earn her a lecture, at the very least. Disciplinary action was more probable, armistice be damned. She burrowed her face into the chest beneath her for a moment, and the hands on her back tightened their embrace to hold her more firmly in place. She could tell by the troll’s—Tsuuli, he’d told her was his name—breathing and slow, steady heartbeat that he was still asleep.

He’d certainly earned the rest. It wasn’t every man that could keep up with her.

She chuckled to herself, and the motion must’ve roused Tsuuli, as she felt him beginning to stir. She turned her head to the side, taking in the last vestiges of the sunset blazing around them. They’d begun their activities shortly before midday, and hadn’t gone in for more than a brief respite until perhaps the third hour of the afternoon. Then, they’d finally settled in more or less their current position, after approximately three quarters of an hour together in the spring, cleaning up, getting messy again, and cleaning up all over again.

So the nap had been about two hours. A day well-spent, she thought.

Now though, it was time to send him packing so she could check up on Lixahl, and make sure she was prepared for the extraction team that must be on it’s way.

Bracing her hands on Tsuuli’s broad chest, she made to push herself to her feet. Instead, she found herself being flipped over onto the bedroll beneath them, tangled in the blanket that’d been draped over her backside. 

She squawked, and experienced a brief moment of wild fury at being betrayed now, after the time they’d spent together enjoying themselves, her adrenaline spiking as her mind raced, planning for retaliation and a fight likely to the death.

The sting of betrayal Lyrinde felt ebbed away as soon as it’d come however, when she realized Tsuuli was nuzzling at her neck, embracing her as a lover would, not as an enemy searching out vulnerable points. She felt the press of his upturned tusks, his lips moving over the racing pulse in her neck, the deep rumble in his chest as he hummed out a chuckle.

“You thought I was going to try to kill you, yes?” he asked, leisurely stroking her flank with one hand as he continued to kiss his way from just behind her ear down to the juncture of neck and shoulder. He lingered there for a moment, then raised up onto his elbows to look at her. 

Her vision was still hazed with green from the expectation of battle, but she could see him peering at her, saw as he brought his hand from her side to rub his thumb over her cheekbone, gently skirting the edge of her blindfold.

She reached up to grasp his wrist, not to move his hand, but to ground herself. He began to lean in, and just before his lips touched hers, she murmured, “You might have tried, but you would not have succeeded.”

*

“You must go back.”

“Lyrinde, technically, you are the intruder here, being a member of the Alliance in Zuldazar. I know you said you were on your way out of Zandalar, as the terms of the armistice dictate. But, as I am sure you are aware, the Zandalari have allied with the Horde, and from what I have learned over the course of the war—are you making ‘talky’ motions with your hand at me?”

“I am, because you talk incessantly.” Lyrinde sat back from attaching her bedroll to her pack. “An extraction team is coming for me, and it would be unwise for you to be here with me when they arrive.”

It was full dark now, and their only light was from a small campfire in the clearing. Tsuuli sat on the other side of the fire, watching her finish up her preparations. They’d both dressed again, Lyrinde’s hair tied back into it’s long braid. She crouched on her side of the fire, and gazed over at him as he sat quietly, for once, his eyes directed into the flames and seeming pensive, chewing his lower lip.

“If it’s the darkness that you wish to avoid, I can give you a small lantern,” she began. “It would ease your way home—”

She was interrupted by a small, metal thing slamming into her chest. It didn’t hurt, but it’s wild fluttering combined with the impact pushed her back onto her rear from her crouch, and she wrenched it off of herself with a snarl, ready to throw it into the fire.

“Wait—” Tsuuli was kneeling at her side in a heartbeat, one large hand at her back, steadying her, the other gently prying the now still item from her grip. “It is some kind of device, perhaps from your contact?”

She snatched it from his hand, petulant. Then she took a steadying breath and said, “Sorry. You’re right.”

It was similar to the device she’d sent upon arrival, though fashioned after a small bird. She unscrewed the head, “Morbid,” she thought, and pulled out a tightly coiled scroll. 

The message was encoded, but easily enough deciphered, as she’d committed the key to memory before setting out on this mission. 

She read out loud for Tsuuli’s benefit, “Expect extraction two hours past dawn. Stay safe.”

She let the scroll fall into her lap as she pressed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets, letting out a groan. “I thought they’d be here tonight.” 

“Well, no use pouting. We should make the best of it, yes?”

Lyrinde huffed. “We aren’t making the best of anything.” She poked Tsuuli in the chest with one finger. “You still need to go back to your home.”

“Now, now,” Tsuuli soothed, taking her hand in his, “the night will be safer with two of us.” He tipped his head to one side, considering. “You could...come to my home? No,” he dismissed, “no, I live too far into the city, you would be discovered. I will have to stay here with you.” He gave her what he clearly thought was a winning smile. 

And damn it all, if he wasn’t growing on her. She let her shoulders slump a little. “I must go check on Lixahl—my mount—” she clarified, “and I’d thought to spend the night in the cave where she rests.”

“Oh, the cave just around the summit from here, yes?” He waited for her confirmation, then continued, “Yes, I know the one. It will provide a perfect shelter from the damp of night. We should smother this fire before moving there.”

Lyrinde briefly thought to warn him off of coming to the cave, that Lixahl was likely to be hostile, but she’d already accepted that he wouldn’t listen. Or more precisely, he’d  talk for several minutes without actually saying anything, and then still tag along no matter how much she tried to convince him otherwise. Besides, she had some of the anti-venom that would clear up a bite from Lixahl. It wouldn’t hurt—much. 

Probably. 

“You said you had a lantern?”

She shook herself out of her reverie to unhook the lantern from her pack. Handing it to him so he could light it with the last of the fire before he covered it over with damp earth, the embers scattered and burnt out. He stood, brushing the dirt from his hands, and holding an arm out to her. 

Paladins. 

She snorted softly and took it, allowing him to escort her to the cave, through the brush. 

*

Lyrinde couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She stood still, hands uselessly hanging at her sides, mouth slightly open, as she watched Lixahl, fierce matriarch of the felwings of Mardum, happily receive scritches from Tsuuli. 

She suspected the sweet tropical fruits he detoured to pick on the way to the cave helped bribe Lixahl’s good favor, but Lyrinde’s mount just really seemed to enjoy the attention. He’d managed to work his way under Lixahl’s armor to scratch behind her ears, which must’ve been the winning move. 

“I think she likes me!” he said, unnecessarily. 

“I suppose she does,” Lyrinde shrugged, finally moving to action and bending to unclasp her bedroll and lay it out. 

She felt him sidle up behind her before he smoothed his hands down her arms, effectively halting her progress, and the rumble of his voice reverberated through her back as he drew her against his chest, “She is a sweet girl, but don’t tell her I like you best.”

Lyrinde turned in his arms and said, “Fancy words when we’ll never see each other again after I get out of here.”

“Nonsense.”

“What do you mean, nonsense?”

“Nonsense!” Tsuuli grinned and held her tighter. “The loa sent me to you. You to me. Do you think I am going to give that up easily?”

Lyrinde huffed, “I crashed, no one sent me—“

“On the very day I decided to visit the grotto, after being away for more than a year! It had been so long, the footpath was completely grown over and wild.” He hunched down, burying his face in her neck. “If it was any other day, I would have missed you.”

She hesitated, then said, “Still, I am leaving. First to Kul Tiras, then back to Stormwind. You are Horde—“

“Meet me in Dalaran.”

“—and, what?”

“I am traveling soon, and will be going to Dalaran in two months time. Meet me there.” He pulled back, resting his hands on either side of her neck, stroking his thumbs over her cheeks. “Please?”

“I—that is not something I can commit to.” She turned her head to gaze in Lixahl’s direction. “I don’t even know what my next assignment is yet,” she murmured. 

Tsuuli considered her for a moment, then offered, “Perhaps we can write to each other. I believe the goblins can route mail anywhere, even to members of the Alliance. Do you have spare parchment I can write my address on for you?”

He was coming up with plans all on his own, and Lyrinde could only wordlessly retrieve the writing implements for him, still reeling a little from his invitation as she was. She even let him coax the address of her rooms in Stormwind out of her. At least she wasn’t in the Illidari camp anymore. She doubted she’d be able to receive mail there without nosy demon hunters prying into her affairs. Sometimes others of her kind could be very annoying, she thought with a snort. 

“What are you thinking about over there?”

Instead of answering, she shook her head and moved to inspect where he’d finished laying out the bedding. There had been an old fire pit in the back of the cave, and after he’d shown her the vents in the ceiling that lead to the outside and assured her they would not suffocate from smoke inhalation, she’d agreed to let him make a new campfire there. He was quite handy with her flint and tinder kit, and had set the bedroll close by the cheery little blaze. Zuldazar was a warm territory, but at this altitude especially, she’d already begun to feel the chill of night, and was glad for the heat. 

She also wondered at Tsuuli, still only wearing the brief wrap about his waist he’d arrived at the grotto in, having only expected to stay for a relaxing bathing session during the heat of day.

As she approached, he stood and moved towards her, his profile glowing with the firelight. “Are you not cold?” she asked as he stepped closer. She absentmindedly lifted a hand up to the golden tattoos on his chest at her eye-level, ghosting her fingers along the bold lines. The muscles of his abdomen contracted, and she looked up to find him gazing at her, an indecipherable look on his face. 

“The grace of the loa keeps me warm,” he said before cracking a smirk. “As does my burning passion.”

Lyrinde would’ve rolled her eyes, had she still been in possession of them. She settled for an exaggerated sigh. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you are ridiculous?”

“Of course, Miss Elf,” he replied with a laugh. “It is part of my charm!”

“Charm,” she echoed. “I’m not sure that’s the word I would have used.” 

As she spoke, however, she reached up to hook a finger around one of his tusks, pulling him down to meet her upturned face. 

That’s one way to silence him, she thought, before being lost in the moment. 

*

“Wake up, you oaf!”

“I refuse.”

Tsuuli’s breath puffed against Lyrinde’s neck, and she could feel a deep rumbling hum emanating from his chest, though it was very nearly sub-vocal. He clung to her like a barnacle on a ship; arms wrapped around her middle, and a leg draped over hers, pinning her in his embrace. 

She was actually terribly, horribly comfortable, and could’ve luxuriated in such a position for a couple more hours at least. But, dawn was breaking, and she needed to prepare for her rescue party’s arrival. 

Tsuuli could not be there when they came. She shuddered to think at what might happen if he were. 

“Lyrinde,” he mumbled into her skin. 

“Yes?”

“Lyrinde,” he repeated, nuzzling behind her ear. 

“Tsuuli,” she said with a little huff. 

He finally loosened his grip enough so she could begin to extract herself from the tangle of his limbs. When she was free, she turned where she sat to look at him, still laying on his side and watching her. 

He reached a hand out, and ran a finger along her jawline. “You will write to me, yes?”

She thought to just say yes, with no intention of doing so. 

“I—”

He sat up to face her, and leaned in, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. “I will write to you,” he said. “You may reply if you wish.”

“I—I would like to,” she blurted, a little too forcefully. She felt heat in her cheeks. Ridiculous, she thought, frowning. She hadn’t felt shame at facing a would-be enemy while fully nude, but the prospect of corresponding with someone made her stomach flutter? And someone with whom she’d already been extremely intimate? 

She shook her head and stood, bouncing on her toes to get the blood flowing into her sleep-heavy limbs. Tsuuli stood as well, shaking out her camp blanket and rolling it neatly, before stooping to do the same with the bedroll. Lyrinde watched him work, efficient and tidy, seemingly at odds with his somewhat goofy personality. 

But he -is- a Zandalari paladin, not some common townsman, or foot soldier, she reminded herself. 

As she watched him take the bedding to her pack, securing it in place, she decided she could make an effort. It wouldn’t hurt anything, after all, to write a few letters. It would break up the post-war monotony once she was back in Stormwind at least. 

Right?

“You really must be going home now,” she began. Tsuuli turned to face her, tall and imposing as he was, looking grave; accepting her statement for the inevitable truth. 

He let a breath out, not quite a sigh, but suggesting one. “Yes,” he agreed, “I suppose it is time.”

He turned to face the cave entrance and walked towards Lixahl, stopping to give her a scratch behind the ear. Lyrinde walked up next to him, watching him keenly. 

He faced her, and drew in a breath. “Lyrinde,” he began. 

She cut him off, reaching up and pulling him down by the neck, standing on her toes to reach him better, kissing the breath out of him. Her fingers found their way into his hair, bumping against the golden circlet he wore, threading through the thick strands to hold him where she wanted him better, anchoring herself as he wound his arms around her and let her take all she wanted. 

When she finally relented, sinking back down onto her heels and ducking her head as he stood upright again, she said, into his chest, “Write me, and I will write you back.” 

She splayed her hands on his sides, slid them to his stomach and pushed herself a step back, finally looking up at him again. “I will be expecting a letter when I arrive in Stormwind.”

Tsuuli smiled at her, and she was charmed. Reluctantly charmed, but charmed all the same. 

*

“‘Twas a lucky landing spot, it was!”

Lyrinde hummed agreement as the Wildhammer agents strapped Lixahl into the special harness they’d brought to airlift the felbat to the ship. She’d attempted to help, to keep herself occupied when they first arrived, but she’d been very politely shunted off to the side so they could do their work properly without her getting in the way. 

Gryphon rescue wasn’t entirely unexpected, and she did like the fierce dwarves, but she still found her mind wandering. Most of all, she wanted to figure out why she was, well, mooning over a troll, of all people. 

She sighed. 

“Don’t worry lass, the ol’ girl will be just fine and well get ‘er back to the stable master to get fixed up in no time.”

“Thank you,” Lyrinde replied, firmly giving herself a mental shake. 

No time for distractions. The dwarves were finishing up their flight preparations, and it was time to leave Zandalar, and everyone in it, for good. 

*

Epilogue 

After the third try, Lyrinde finally slotted the key into the keyhole of the door to her rooms. She’d been waylaid nearly an hour and a half ago, getting stopped for drinks and chatter in the inn’s tavern. After several rounds with some friends as well as some new faces, she retrieved her key from the innkeeper and made a stumbling retreat. 

She was happy for the warm welcome and the company, but she was tired. 

She’d only spent a couple days in Kul Tiras before the long journey by ship back to the Eastern Kingdoms, and finally, finally into Stormwind harbor. With no upcoming missions, and orders only to, “Get some rest, champion!” she fully intended to spend at least a couple days lounging in or near her bed. 

Dropping her bags inside the door and tapping the rune on the wall that activated the room’s soft, magical lamps, she locked up behind herself, fully intending to fall flat on her face into the newly refreshed bedding. 

She started towards the bedroom to do just that, when something caught her eye—a stack of letters on her table. She wasn’t surprised the staff would’ve brought her mail in when they were preparing her rooms for her return, but that she had mail at all. Unless—

—unless Tsuuli really did write to her. 

She honestly thought he wouldn’t, despite his insistence. She’d thought he was caught up in the moment, probably hadn’t bedded many women lately what with the war in his own homeland. She thought he was just eager for companionship and the coincidence of their meeting along with his, well, if she was being honest with herself, both of their desire for a release, no matter if it was a one-time and done, was a lucky happenstance. Lucky their meeting ended with mutual pleasure, and not with bloodshed. 

She’d put away all the inconvenient feelings she’d felt at his kind words, infectious smile, and soft touches. Had decided it would just be a memory, and perhaps a scandalous war story to tell at a pub, at some future date, further away from the actual conflict. 

Bah, she thought, giving herself a shake. You’re soft when you’re drunk. 

She snatched the mail, rifled through it, and found that there was some correspondence from friends she’d made in Stormsong Valley, and even Nazjatar. And two letters that were curiously postmarked, with no discernable return address. She concentrated her slightly wavy vision, and it seemed they bore stamps through— 

“Booty Bay! The goblins!”