#ahvie

The night should have been cold. It usually was cold. It is supposed to be cold this far north, this close to the mountains. Although she probably never felt it for long enough to admit it, she remembered what a midnight breeze felt like. A refreshing caress upon her face in contrast to the near-constant Inner Fire she once drew upon to channel the Light.

She shivered, and not because she was cold. She stopped feeling cold months ago. Years ago. The Light. Sunwell guide her dreams, she thought she could remember what it tasted like to draw on the purified stream of arcane life to help her friends. Only now, amid everything seeming to go wrong around her, that memory was as distant as the nostalgia for a fruity wine she'd shared with... with... her friends. Light, it was a funny thing.

The pale-skinned elf shivered in her shroud of shadows and dimly glowing blue hair, not from discomfort or unease or fear. She knew better than to let those seeds of emotion bloom for long. Lor'danel was still... too painful. The blanket of midnight deeper than a cloudy evening upon the sea had wrapped itself around her as a second nature, a companion, a stray kitten longing for purpose. She might have done more than just dabble in the shadow and the void in her time with the Highguard, but she never claimed to understand it. Iggy warned her about giving into the dark as opposed to the more knowable flame within.

A flame was elemental, primal, but studied and basic. A void, a sentient emptiness, however, was as inscrutable as the reasons why this Light-forsaken war even began. Why it continued. That same conscious quilt of flowing inky violet wreathed around her in a reassuring embrace, warming her in a way that still made her shiver. She knew she should not enjoy it, but a grain in her mind was distictly, begrudgingly aware that she did indeed enjoy her her condition. Or, at least, its silver lining.

Breathing out a sigh, she shook her head slightly, crouched atop a snowladen branch deep in the mountain slope brush, but mere meters from the lonely campfire she'd prepared between both sides. Here, in no-mans-land, only the spies and scouts dared tread. And, maybe, kindred souls who were sleepwalking in a waking dream of days long past when a bouncy, cheerful, short elf in bright crimson silks would ferry food and camaraderie between the commoners of both factions, oblivious to the war.

She had hoped that Vyndoriel would find her missive and maps, and... yet, she also hoped deep down that other souls would dare to shirk the division and distrust that had rent Azeroth asunder worse than any grumpyface dragon aspect could have. Any soul brave enough to risk stepping into the unknown to share soup and break bread under the sky -- the only thing yet untainted by this tragedy of a whirlwind engulfing them all.

Ahvie waited, and watched with unblinking, glowing cerulean eyes that Finryx might once have pointed out as becoming of a voidtouched Ebon; eyes that still caused Vyndoriel and Adriel to instinctively reach for their weapon before hearing her voice marred by the reverb of the void; shimmering azure orbs that once were green to have easily marked her place alongside Iggy, only to now produce anger and disappointment. She didn't blame them for their reactions, their judgment. It was well-founded. She had been reckless, curious, stupid and naive in her hubris, and invoked the attention of the very ethereals that had nearly stolen Alleria and her ren'dorei nutjobs from free will.

Ahvie watched with hope, curiosity and wistful nostalgia as her void-enhanced vision granted her nightsight of the approaching armored blood elf. Unfortunately, or perhaps understandably, the familiar young woman beyond the barren clearing stopped short of exiting the Horde encampment entirely, and the void elf's ears twitched several times.

"a FrIeNd or EnEmY?" the shroud around her asked as it pulsed around her tight black leather catsuit.

Ahvie shook her head, her thoughts forming in her mind's eye as a telepathic bond with the symbiotic and sentient voidcloak the old gods had gifted her with. Was it really alive, or was it her own mind conversing with itself? "Friend. Don't you remember her? That's Fey Fey, one of the first and only Highguard to not immediately see me as an enemy."

The voidcloak around her rippled, her body warmed from the inky mass as suredly as if she were beside that unoccupied campfire beyond. It wafted quietly in the breeze in response. "wOnT yOu SaY hElLo?"

Ahvie risked a smiled and snorted. "That would only put her in danger. We're on a mission tonight."

The needles of the frosted pine jingled lightly to her shadow-enhanced (or corrupted?) ears, but the feminine and childlike drawl of her voidcloak was unmistakably clear in her head. "hMmMmmm... tHe OnE wItH fIrE eYeS. yOu LiKe HiM..."

It was a statement, not a question, and Ahvie huffed, reluctant to admit it. Having a bond with this outcast of the void comforted her at times to know that she and it had something in common, but she could hide nothing from it. The voidcloak rustled again, a childlike giggle in her cognizance, blossoming as though she only just remembered. Even her memory was no longer infallible, and she often worried how much of her unique position in SI:7 was being exploited by N'Zoth.

"bOtH oUtCaSts, BOTH LIKE US," and giggling descended into a chittering that Ahvie was grateful to be masked partially by the whipping winds at this altitude.

"He has a familiar bonded to him, too, yeah. And yet we don't want this war. We're trying to keep the bloodshed to a minimum on both sides," Ahvie replied, whether to herself or to her voidcloak was unclear.

The chittering abated, and the cloak settled in around her body, framing it snugly, as though hugging her reassuredly. She got used to that months ago, as it had saved her ass many times in her dawning and growing experience as a double-agent. Or was it a triple-agent? The warmth of the empty void was... was... was it supposed to be comforting? At least it didn't get grabby with her chest or thighs.

"HoW aRe YoU sUrE tHiS iSn'T wHaT N'zzzzzzoth WaNtS?"

She'd considered that, too. And oft wondered if it would be better if she ended her own life rather than not know if she was secretly a pawn or sleeper agent to the great deep. But, she often reached the same conclusion as now -- when Fey Fey turned back to the tents with a sad look in her glowing gold eyes -- that it was better to live and keep trying to do good with the cards she was dealt. She had brokered alliances, trade deals and friendships between factions before. She could be patient, and hoped against hope that her friends had not grown as corrupted as she had during this costly and intensely personal war.

Whatever the cost, however, Vyn and M had to be informed. Ahvie oft weighed the risks of investigating whether the interim head of SI:7 operations really was Maiev, but time and again decided against it. She already was being closely watched by Alliance brass... or, at least, as closely as those clumsy kaldorei could. They trusted her enough to give her a modicum of power and freedom, and those were two gifts she dared not gamble with. Especially now, with the whispers in her head.

Ahvie suddenly grinned and chuckled to herself as Fey Fey disappeared back behind a tent flap.

"dEfInE iRoNy," came the childlike but girlish voice.

"A servant of neither the void nor the alliance nor the horde, exchanging and trading information between what likely once was former jailor and former prisoner."

"wHeN wE tOo ArE uNsUrE oF wHiCh We ArE."

Ahvie gave her cloak a tug, wrapping it around her back and neck as she relaxed... grinning goofily as she once had -- And quickly perked up as a shadowy figure not ten paces behind her roost approached the trunk of the pine tree in utter silence. She could simply *feel* him at the edge of her mind. Unwilling to give the illidari the satisfaction or belief of having 'won' this game of cat and mouse, Ahvie raised her voice only just so, the slight echo in her voice mimicking that of her visitor's warchief.

"I was wondering when you'd show up."

A gruff male voice as sharp as a glaive fresh from a wound replied, wry amusement in its edge. "I only just dropped my demon's shroud of concealment. I did not want to alarm you."

Ahvie pursed her lips and sulked, grateful he had not yet rounded the trunk to see her pouty expression. Her voidcloak rustled in her ear: "tHiNk ThAts JuSt A bOaSt?"

She grinned and nodded silently, waiting for Vyndoriel to come into view. Her partner in crime had arrived.

She risked an old saying, "For the night is dark,"

Author’s Note: This story was written back in May 2018, at a time when Ahvie’s role as a co-innkeeper at the Moonlit Hearth was drawing to a close. The Moonlit Hearth was an adventurer’s community village in the Darkshore town of Lor’danel, founded by Rondirin Dwarftosser. Rondirin had retired from war, hoping to find a quiet place away from the simmering faction tensions and Argussian front. In doing so, he aimed to create a place where veterans and civilians alike could eke out a living in peace, no matter their background. Ahvie had been one such guest of his.

This is not a story of how she became a void elf. Nor is it a story of how she came to gain the trust of her erstwhile (or unwitting) companions in the Alliance. This is a short story of how those peaceful days came to be overshadowed by the growing azerite conflict, and how Ahvie would not be able to remain removed of it for much longer. It says nothing of her remaining loyalties to Silvermoon or the Highguard, as it is but one brief snapshot into Ahvie being leashed back into war.

Prologue

Even in the deepest reaches of Stormwind Keep, a keen nose could easily pick up on the savory aroma of barbecued meat, exotic seasoning and fizzy ale. Or maybe the biological memory never quite left her mind ever since she and the other cadets filed through the hallways, past the kitchens and dining hall before crowding into the renovated war room.

Several heads of Alliance brass were waiting for them on the dais and around both the familiar war table and the massive representation of Azeroth pinned to wall boards, cobbled together from several parchments and maps. This was no mere policy discussion, or even a debriefing like many of the smaller talks the recruits had become used to. Something big was up.

Well, duh. Of course something big was up. The Alliance and Horde had already broken into open hostilities just short of a declaration of war. She knew this much, as she suspected many of the operatives in the room did from their own cells’ missions. Despite the seriousness of the prospect of another world war looming on the horizon not long after Argus vacated it, the pale-skinned void elf yawned aloud, drawing the stares and scowls of several agents, veteran and recruit alike.

She grinned at them and shrugged, not particularly worried about what the others thought. As it was, she was very well aware that very few of her fellow collaborators trusted her. A handful actually did remember her service record for Silvermoon not more than a few months ago, and fewer still recognized her from back when she smuggled herself into the docks and taverns in equally dark times. Almost none understood why top brass were willing to let a blood elf into the delicate and inner workings of Stormwind’s famed intelligence network.

She figured it was a the loss of so many officers and leadership in the Broken Shore mixed with the gamble that she had secrets of Horde intelligence and tactics that could be exploited in the coming war.

As the void elf sought to distance herself from the rest of the recruits taking a seat in one of the hundreds of chairs lined up in front of the dais, she spotted many recruits leaning against the outer walls and choosing to stand rather than vie for a chair. Indeed, her group was one of the last to enter, and almost all of the sitting room was occupied.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in uniform, Ahvie?” came a whisper from beside her.

Her fellow cadet, Agent Gerund, a suspiciously short worgen man both in form and uniform was giving her one of his looks.

As the others finished filing into the room and bypassing them, Ahvie shrugged with her trademark grin. She didn’t mind Gerund’s almost brotherly admonishments. She liked him mostly because she didn’t have to crane her neck to look up at him.

“What’s the point of getting all fancy if we’re just going to get changed again after?” she whispered back, almost chuckling.

Again, a deadpan stare, as the doors loudly closed behind the last of the operatives entered.

"You're supposed to be showing respect and subordinance to the top dogs. I don't know what you got away with in panty-land, but here -"

"I'm not showing any skin, I'm not wearing any bright colors. I don't see a problem."

“You think you’re special because brass likes you. You’re shouldn’t push your luck with them.”

“Oh, Gerry, they don’t like me. Even you don’t like me, you just don’t want me dragging you down.”

“Then why -“ he growled.

“Shhh. Looks like they’re about to start. I’m gonna get a seat.”

“WHAT? Where?”

Ahvie didn’t fashion a reply, as even their whispering was becoming noticeably loud in the quieting auditorium. Gerund watched her for a few moments as the navy-haired elf turned and walked right up to one of the empty desks at the back that had no chairs nearby. Topped with a few textbooks and quills, it was mostly unoccupied.

Perfect.

Just as the only sounds that could be heard in the room where the 'click, clack' of measured bootsteps on the stone floor, Ahvie sidled up to the edge of the desk and half-hopped her butt on top of it, dangling her legs over the edge of it as a bored child would. Ignoring the stares of a handful of cadets in the back row, she nodded at the officers on the dais.

Several of them were old codgers, veterans of the first and second wars, somehow lucky enough to miss out on a deployment to the Broken Isles. One stood at attention, and a younger man with black hair and a barely perceptible greyline eyed all the recruits with what she gathered was a mix of scruting and pride. As the keynote speaker made her way up the steps of the dais, the instructor's gaze met with Ahvie's, and his eyes narrowed with disapproval.

"Good evening, recruits. No doubt many of you know why you are here tonight and what we're going to talk about," said the stern but silk-voiced woman who'd entered not so long ago. A towering, sleek, athletic kaldorei in the familiar SI:7 uniform eyed the gathering with confidence as she spoke.

Ahvie couldn't help but notice that the women's SI:7 uniform everyone wanted her to wear provided her with a very good view of the kaldorei's ample chest. She almost didn't hear what followed.

"As many of you are aware, Sylvanas is launching several operations throughout Kalimdor and the Eastern Kingdoms. Some are undoubtedly distractions, others are pretexts to larger goals and targets that all of us have been successful in countering. I am very proud of each and every one of you." Ahvie also noted that the elf pointedly didn't look her away for most of the speech. In fact, Ahvie spent most of the debriefing pretending to be enchanted with the woman's cleavage while actually wondering how much longer covert operations would be able to remain, well, covert. Or her own, at least.

"... Several Horde informants have claimed to offer us intel on enemy movements and supply caches. Although all of us would jump at the opportunity to exploit a weakness in the enemy, you must be equally aware and cautious of the Banshee Queen's cunning. You can bet your asses that any intel the Horde wants to provide to us is likely a ploy, distraction or a trap. File a report, but do not act without authorization from your C.O."

Ahvie bobbed her head from side to side as she recalled a song she'd heard a bard playing outside the Slaughtered Lamb earlier in the week, wishing that she'd tipped the musician. Precious few songstresses left in this scarred world, might as well keep them around.

A hand rose into the air from the crowd, which the speaker responded to curtly with a thin smile and a nod, pointing at the individual.

"You there, speak."

The cadet remained seated, but his voice was surly and rounded with an accent that likely betrayed him as either a dwarf or a backwater human.

"Pardon, Mum, but what about our... ah... defectors? The -"

"Ren'dorei, cadet?"

"Ah, yes, Mum."

The kaldorei clicked her tongue alongside a dissatisfied sniff, but responded quickly as she stiffened her expression.

"You have been ordered to work alongside them, yes?"

A silence, accompanied by which Ahvie presumed was a quiet nod.

"And you don't entirely trust our newfound allies, yes?"

Another silence, to which more cadets around the room exchanged looks with their peers, some of them turning to the handful of void elves sitting in the room. Their pointy ears were unmistakably sliding down into their chairs under the scrutiny. Ahvie sighed, oblivious to the ones cast her way.

"You already know that King Anduin has ordered the inclusion of the exiles as members of the Alliance. Rest-assured that your superior officers have screened and ensured that the ex-pats of Silvermoon are both trustworthy and loyal. That is why so few of their lot sit among you today. You would do well to remember that we have picked them to start at the bottom, as all of us once did."

"Yes, Mum."

"If you have a complaint or suspicions about ANY agent's conduct, regardless of their past or birth, you should treat them the same way you would unknown information: File a report, and don't act without authorization."

"Of course, Mum."

A light murmur of approval rippled through the gathering, and the night elf continued the briefing, using her thin baton to point to several areas of the map to indicate where some agents were being assigned. Apparently the concept of making individual cells of operatives independently unaware of the others' objectives was foreign to the Alliance. Or perhaps...

Ahvie sighed, a little too audibly, and although M kept speaking, she locked her gaze onto the void elf in the back momentarily... as did every other officer. She often forgot how good the hearing of night elves were. She'd had to practice controlling herself more.

Ahvie tried not to respond emotionally or visibly, and simply kept up the appearance of listening patiently, although she didn't keep her leatherclad legs from swinging over the edge of the desk.

* * * * *

Ahvie wasn't sure how long she'd daydreamed, but before she knew it, everyone was already standing up and getting out of their chairs and filing out en masse. Some of the operatives were giving her amused and conflicted looks, while others were whispering to each other about their upcoming missions. Apparently individual assignments were going to be handed out later, with this being an overall operational briefing for the next few months.

Nothing new, basically.

Ahvie hopped down to the floor, dusting off the back of her violet-black leather catsuit as she landed quietly. She was just about to go join Gerund in the tail end of the departing agents, when one of the officers not speaking with the other brass called out to her.

"Brightsinger. A word."

She stopped in her tracks and looked up, distinctly aware of Gerund's sympathetic but 'I told you so' glance directed her way. She hoped that her ears weren't drooping. She turned on her heels and nonchalantly sauntered down the aisle between both sections of empty chairs. The other officers were still talking amongst each other in a half-circle, although M was casting a single skeptical eye her way. Ahvie turned to the instructor whose voice she knew quite well by now.

"Yes, sir?"

He didn't immediately respond, expecting and waiting for her to approach closer to the edge of the dais. As it was, she was a dainty 5 foot tall, and already the human instructor towered over here on even footing. Now he literally was almost twice as tall as she was. Although she was used to being shorter than everyone, she didn't like how they had to rub it in here.

"Sir?"

"You displayed a deplorable level of disrespect at the meeting tonight."

"I did, sir. Sorry, sir."

A bit of a pause, which extended into what she suspected what a dissatisfied silence. She looked up at Arthur Huwe and his amazingly bald head. He didn't have an expression of much of anything. He appeared to be trying to read her mind, or if he was capable of it, that's probably what he would look like if he was trying. Ahvie squinted up at him as though that would keep him out of her thoughts.

"You haven't filed a report in a month."

"I have no assignments outstanding, sir."

"None that we've given you, no. Your privateer's license does not count." She cocked an eyebrow up at him, daring to plant a hand on one of her hips. It was no secret to brass what she used to do to fill the time.

"Anduin seems to think it does. He signed it."

"KING Anduin, Brightsinger. Do not forget your place here."

"Being a crown-sanctioned pirate and Horde defector?"

"Defector..."

She sighed, assuming a more straightened stance.

"Sir."

"We've seen you working with the locals and garrisons in Northrend."

"Yes, sir."

He paused, his gaze studiously examining her as though her glowing locks of hair could provide more answers. Or better answers.

"You have not been assigned a commanding officer."

"Yes, sir."

"How do you think this looks to Shaw and M?"

She blinked, trying to appear confused enough to hide her internal gut feelings of apprehension.

"Sir?"

"Other ren'dorei have accepted regular commissions as cadets in cells across Azeroth. You are among the handful who have ... opted not to."

Ahvie was pretty sure where this was going, but wasn't sure how to answer.

"Yes, sir."

Huwe inhaled and exhaled slowly, and she cast her eyes straight forward. Which oddly kept her at eye level with his shins. She tried to imagine what it would look like if one of his highboots had its laces untied.

"At ease, Brightsinger."

She looked up with relief and surprise as she relaxed. Only a little, though. He stared down at her with mostly exasperation. Both waited for a bit longer. Ahvie then became distinctly aware that the other officers had stopped talking amongst each other and turned to look down at her. Somehow, at some point, M had sat down on the edge of the dais mirroring the way Ahvie sat on the table earlier. Her expression was as thoughtful as it was stern disapproval.

Ahvie looked at M for a moment before looking back up at Huwe.

"Sir?"

"How do you think your unique status as a privateer operating outside the regulations of SI:7, yet being permitted operative access to Alliance channels, makes us feel in this very volatile conflict?"

Ahvie grimaced, and looked down. She shouldn't have to answer to these textbooks, but she knew what M was capable of. She'd rubbed shoulders with enough seedy blackguards and uncrowned to know who to avoid the attention of. And now the legend herself was sizing her up like she was her next mark.

"... You may speak freely."

Ahvie frowned, her eyebrows narrowing. Her temper unexpectedly flared up at the chance to speak her mind.

"Why don't you ask her, then?"

M was quick and ready to respond, her silky void laced with almost motherly levels of scorn and disapproval. "You're an unknown variable. A dangerous and unreliable agent. Your loyalties have never been made clear, despite your so-called pledge of allegiance to the crown. You have no official commission in SI:7 because you are committed to no known theaters."

"No approved theaters of war, you mean," Ahvie countered tersely.

"We have many former pirates among our ranks, Brightsinger. It's not your line of work that we disapprove of. It's your lack of accountability. You're a loose cannon we can't afford to arm with anything more than our silent disavowal," the kaldorei intoned.

Ahvie just shrugged at her, and looked back up to Huwe, the other officers murmuring with grimaces on their faces. Huwe was not one to display much disdain for ignoring chain of command. In fact, it was rumored he was completely taken off guard when SI:7 had not long ago been infiltrated by a dreadlord.

"This a lot of stuff you lot already knew when you brought me into the fold. I don't understand what the big deal is, bringing it up right now," Ahvie said.

"As you are undoubtedly aware, Brightsinger," Huwe continued. "Privateers have had increasingly less and less room to maneuver and operate after Sylvanas has expanded her navy's reach to much of Kalimdor. How has business been for you at the Moonlit Hearth?"

Ahvie shot him a sharp glance, squinting, but not saying anything to that. Huwe continued.

"Embershield has been reining in its maritime operations and closed much of its borders and trading routes. Northrend outposts have all been ordered to cease trading in contraband and black market channels. I imagine the King's commission has not been profitable of late."

She folded her arms under her small chest and sniffed, glaring at him, whereupon M took over for Huwe.

"Escalation is drying up the breathing room for your operations, and yet you're still working in Northrend."

Ahvie remained tight-lipped, but nodded slightly at her, glancing between M and Huwe. The other officers began descending the stairs and making their way out of the auditorium. Ahvie barely managed to keep her gaze on Huwe.

"We're willing to discuss the terms of a trade, Ahvie," M said gently.

Ahvie turned to M, still crossing her arms under her chest, brow furrowed. M continued slowly, with Huwe turning to her with complete understanding and a lack of surprise. They'd thought about this proposal for a while, then.

"We know you're hunting zealots, and this aligns with some of the Alliance's dirty laundry we'd prefer didn't air out at this particular time."

Ahvie cut in, smirking slightly. "You mean with admitting two polar opposites to the Alliance forces."

M scowled at her, but even nodded. "We'll help you and give you access to the Alliance channels and support you've undoubtedly been lacking in Northrend. We'll even give you a proper commission within SI:7, rank and number."

Ahvie took a step back and returned her arms to her sides in momentary surprise. She looked at Huwe, we appeared somewhat resigned and silent.

"What? Are you serious? You know I --"

"Could care less about rank and care more about your freedom, yes. We're acutely aware of your disability," M interrupted smoothly.

Ahvie just glared at her, her glacial blue eyes glowing in the dimming torchlight.

"We also are aware of your unique talents and connections, and would be remiss not to want to sharpen the blade you've forged yourself into, Ahvie," M continued. "With proper training, official commisions, the best supplies and gear, you have potential to grow out of your former shell of being a disheveled pirate pawnbroker. The Alliance could benefit greatly from your commitment to its people and its future."

Ahvie continued to glare at her, narrowing her eyes further.

"Our people were members of the Alliance long before they even admitted yours, Mum. And they were unceremoniously shoved out by arrogant, unappreciative officers in its aging ranks. And then when Lordaeron, Silvermoon and Dalaran were sacked, we were forgotten. You're asking us to --"

M cut in, her voice growing more heated. "We're. Asking. You. To join your countrymen and women in putting more than words into your commitment to the crown, if not for global peace than to give your life meaning in the Grand Alliance once more."

Ahvie blinked, and then blinked again. "Quite a lot of benefits to lasso one pirate captain, Mum."

M then further infuriated Ahvie with a sly grin as she leaned back on the ledge, her arms balancing her on either side.

"In return, you would be required to formally join the ranks of one of the Alliance batallions active in the field. You would report to one of their officers, and send reports back to Huwe directly," the kaldorei's eyes almost gleamed with smiling daggers. "Your access to Alliance support, of our discretion, would last only so long as your batallion officers confirmed your loyalty and support to one of the great companies."

Ahvie's head swirled — but in the center of that maelstrom was the chilling core of undeniable knowledge that a bigger storm was coming, and that she'd applied to SI:7 to do more good than merely pillage supplies from mustache-twirling kingpins. It wasn't much different than when she was stranded in Silvermoon without her crew, but this time... this time she'd be giving up that life by choice. Giving up her crew again, joining a military company, taking orders, not being able to go where and do what she pleased...

She loved her freedom, but she also wasn't as heartless as her sister. Fyrevia would box her ears and maybe cook them for lunch if she found out that Ahvie of all people was trading the horizon for a duty to the greater good.

Ahvie wasn't sure how she was thinking about this, but she was suddenly aware that she was biting her lip and trembling. She'd balled her leatherclad hands into fists, staring at the floor in indecision.

Freedom or duty?

In moments, Ahvie was aware of someone in front of her who was taller than anyone had a right to be. She looked up in the shadow of the older woman. M's own uniform was stretched tight against her own muscled frame, but her eyes were hard and skeptical, much like that of wardens Ahvie had met in the field. Probably was a warden, still, for all she knew.

M planted a hand on each hip and leaned down to speak to Ahvie as though addressing a child still playing with her dolls.

"Well? How about it, Brightsinger? Think maybe it's time you stopped playing at shadows and started learning and growing again?"

Ahvie squinted at her, scrunching up her face in a reluctant resentment.

"Do I get to choose which one to join?"

M grinned devilishly, which made Ahvie shrink back slightly. "Yep."

Ahvie wasn't sure why that made M pleased as punch, but perhaps she had underestimated until now just how much she'd annoyed and tried the patience of Alliance brass by operating without their approval until now.

Drawing herself up as she swelled with courage to fight down the urge to run and throw it all away, Ahvie planed a hand on each hip and scowled as fiercely as she could at the kaldorei gazing down at her the way a viper might to a mouse. M straightened, looking just as smug as earlier, but expectant.

"You got yourself a deal, grandma. I'll get you that officer's signature and then we'll talk shop."

Ahvie then spun on her heels without saluting and stormed out of the auditorium, much to the almost mirthful and haunting laughter of the kaldorei in the meeting room and echoing after her in the Stormwind Keep halls. Ahvie knew full well why Mum would find this turn of events so funny. Ahvie had finally signed away her freedom for something that the elder elf knew she could manipulate.

The only freedom Ahvie had in this mess was her choice of Alliance batallions who would accept her.

(( Ahvie slid off her hawkstrider's saddle, adjusting her heavy backpack on her shoulders. Determination, her loyal hawkstrider, chirped with concern at her, not even being given the chance to stoop closer to the ground. The short, long-haired blond priestess was wearing violet today, and dressed better suited for a swim than a fight. She ran towards the towering double-tiered complex in Dawnstar Village, grunting a little beneath the weight on her back.

As she approached the entrance ramp to the spire, she eyed the two heavily-armored women at either side of the makeshift Batallion's entrance. A tanned but tall warrior built like a gladiator and with short black hair frowned momentarily at Ahvie. The masked priestess was not wearing her tabard or her trademark crimson uniform, but recognized her quickly enough after matching the risque outfit with the Sunreaver steed.

Ahvie merely nodded at the two as she trotted past them, but the tanned woman addressed her coolly. "Brightsinger! Where the fel have you been? The wounded arrived about --"  She cut herself off as the short, backpacking priestess ran past.

As Ahvie slid into and through the translucent curtains of the lower tier entrance, she raised a hand to a small metal engineering clip on her right ear. "-- an hour ago. Yes, I know, bosslady, Rae. I was out running the Alliance blockade around the Isle to bring us more medical supplies!"

Ahvie sighed as the room she entered was considerably cooler and more ventilated than the afternoon air of Quel'Danas. Unfortunately she knew that the infirmary wasn't always a cheerful place. The former residence had been converted into a makeshift trauma and recovery center, lined with cots and magical cooling units. So, Solweaver had improved her magitech refrigeration designs. That would speed the patients' natural healing, if their proximity to the Sunwell wasn't already beneficial enough.

"Wait! You snuck past their navy without orders? What if you'd been captured?"

Ahvie grinned despite herself, still looking over those in her charge, and pulling the violet mask free of her features. "You really think they'd harass a cute thing like me?"  She only got an exasperated sigh in response through the comms.

Ahvie skidded to a stop before a wide work desk guarding the aisles to the rest of the infirmary. As it were, this was a deck stacked well above her own height with papers, potions and inkwells. Ahvie squinted a moment to see if she could find a place to put her backpack. She shrugged, and lugged the monstrous backpack off her shoulders and slung it around and INTO the mountain of papers, making room all her own. The fluttering and crumpling of papers quickly cascaded into an avalanche of parchment that would have buried a goblin. Behind the wall of reports, a frustrated screech arose.

"You went off alone by yourself without telling anyone again?" Rae's voice cut in through Ahvie's commstone, more concerned than chiding. "One of these days, Ahvie, you'll start filing reports like the rest of us."

As the paper seesawed through the air and onto the ground, the rogueish priestess got a better view of who the short elf was who sat behind the desk. If Ahvie had to guess by the red eyepatch, blond ponytail and furious scowl on the armored woman's face, it looked like today was Nossavyara's turn to file the reports. Ahvie merely saluted and grinned goofily at her Lieutenant Commander.

Vyara just stared at her for a long moment, her one good eye twitching with frustration. Her voice came out terse but controlled. "Speaking... of reports... You've now scattered them to the four corners of Azeroth. Thanks a lot for that."

Ahvie kept her hand up in the goofy salute, grinning the whole time. "Awwww, boss, I figured you needed a break from that boring junk! So I brought us some --"

"Medical supplies. I heard. Ahvie, surely you know all of us have a commstone, yes?"  While Vyrara's tone was still hard, her one good eye was smiling gently.

"Yup! I remember, bosslady! Take a look! Ahvie Brightsinger reporting for duty after traipsing the perils of the clueless Alliance Navy!"  

Vyara waved Ahvie off with a sigh and a shake of her head before scooting the chair back to get a closer look at the bulging backpack crushing her day's work. Ahvie ended her salute and rocked excitedly back and forth on her heels to her toes as Vyara tugged one of the drawstrings loose. The bag slouched outwards from the released tension, revealing a myriad of glass bottles, vials, canteens and jars. Antidotes, elixirs, blood transfusion vials, salves, ointments, alcohol, wines... enough to sustain the Highguard alone for another week of fighting.

Vyara blinked up at Ahvie in confusion and amazement. The scantily clad priestess just beamed back at her with shameless pride and sunshine. Ahvie winked at her for good measure.

Another moment of silence passed between them, filled only by the cough of a patient further inside.

"You... could have taken a portal, you know," Vyara said.

Vyara's mouth was thin, but her eye still grinned back at Ahvie. Ahvie really liked Vyara. The Lt. Commander may be gruff at times, but she never scolded Ahvie as much as Astilaldan, and was much more lenient with her considering her non-military background. Ahvie was lucky that Vyara's stone-faced counterpart wasn't manning desk duty today, or else it would have been... gosh, what's the penalty for turning a mountain of reports into a unseasonable July snowstorm? Ahvie giggled at the thought of it, and tilted her head in response.

"That takes all the fun out of it! Besides, I didn't have authorization to use the portals!"

"That's... the idea, Ahvie. They're not for fun. Access between the Capitol and the front needs to be guarded carefully."

"Silvermoon's supply vaults are exhausted already, boss! As I'm sure General Solweaver has already told you..."  Ahvie's eyes darted quickly to the papers and noticed a few unopened envelopes among them. Letters. She looked back up, her grin lopsided now and surrounded by a blush. "Um... would have told you. WILL tell you! Yeah! These are from Northrend, where there's a surplus of medical goods now!"

Vyara shook her head and sighed, letting a hint of a smile emerge on her lips. The crazy girl would not conform, but she was resourceful, Vyara thought. She sat back down in her chair and slumped against the backrest, resigned but content. "Thank you, Ahvie. You've been most helpful. You will not be punished for securing these supplies."

To which Ahvie nearly hopped a foot off the ground in a whooping cheer. Rae peered in through the entrance curtains with an expression of curiosity and confusion. Ahvie didn't notice, only bolting upright and saluting back at Vyara goofily. "Happy to be of service, ma'am! We'll keep everyone in tip-top shape to drive off those misguided aggressors!"

Vyara nodded her head to the side and jerked a plated thumb over her shoulder. "I'll take care of distribution, Ahvie. Oh, and while you're here, you might want to take a closer look at each of our wounded. Kaelvia, Emori and Sunlerinas have each stabilized and healed the troops fresh off the field, but it never hurts to have another pair of eyes to --"

"Will do, bosslady! I'm on the job!" And with that, Ahvie dropped the salute and strode around the desk without even waiting for Vyara to return the gesture or dismiss her. Vyara snorted with amusement and just stared up at the bulging backpack and ruined pile of parchment, a giant egg oppressing a host of confused and scattered hatchlings in a nest of bureaucracy.

Ahvie immediately popped back into view at Vyara's side, scaring her enough to jerk out of her seat an inch. "Haaaay! Sorry to scare ya! I told ya about this, but I brought back a present for ya that Sol and I worked on for ya!"   Ahvie then untied the clasp on her side satchel and procured a small metal canteeen iced over with a layer of frost on its reflective casing. It looked to be no bigger than a pear. Ahvie's eyes twinkled at the curiosity on Vyara's face.

The priestess placed it on one of the few spaces on the desk not occupied by plastered reports, and unscrewed the top gently. A trail of icy air wafted from the bottleneck. Vyara blinked at the small canteen, gently grabbed at it and pulled it to her nose to have a sniff. Her features lit up in a wide, girlish smile that rivaled Ahvie's.  "ICED. COFFEE?"   Vyara was incredulous but ecstatic.

"Yup! Everyone knows you can't get enough of it, and, well, it's been so hot here on the Isle I figured... 'Why don't Sol and I combine our engineering talents and create a self-sustaining refrigeration unit! It'll last for days longer than these makeshift models for the patients! Just pour some brew in and --"

Vyara waved her arm at Ahvie as though to push her away, but held the priestess gently by the shoulder. Vyara's good eye was still on the canteen. "Thank you, Ahvie. I know how it works. My wife has enough gadgets around the house I can get the idea. Get back to healing, you goof, or else I'd suspect you were brown-nosing your way out of laps."  

Ahvie giggled and skipped off, humming contentedly to herself as she started tending to the few patients still wrapped in the blankets and bandages. Vyara turned and watched the woman work her magic, sparks of golden light spreading from the smuggler's hands to the foreheads of one young man. Vyara took a sip, closed her eyes, and exhaled softly, savoring the moment of sanctuary from the sweltering warzone. Whatever these humans thought they were doing, they were causing violence.

Vyara opened her eyes slowly, feeling the icy chill pass into her stomach. She grimaced and turned back toward her desk. Her eyes hardened, thinking to herself. Needless, pointless violence. What were they thinking? Well, whatever the humans thought of this, they wouldn't get CLOSE to the gates. The humans would NOT defile the Sunwell a second time!

As Vyara continued her break by taking another sip from the chilled canteen, Ahvie's trademark giggle echoed through the infirmary, already soothing the minds of the wounded. ))

Ahvie gets permission to wear Akako’s armor around for a few weeks for... “testing purposes.” But she discovers that the suit has more secret functions than she expected!

This is a wonderful and time-consuming commission created by @nyuunzi, or http://nyuunzi.tumblr.com/ Thank you so much for the hard work!

Black magic, and the fact that Vele is a forgetful doofus sometimes. I am also a forgetful doofus, who forgot why he didn’t like Ahvie since it’s been a while since we rped.