#milodus

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Melith stared at the paper in front of him. During his time in the inn, he'd worked out what he wished to say, but to find the words and arrange them satisfactorily was a different matter.

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Dear Szandor

I know you give Milo screaming orgasms. I like Milo very much and would like him to have them. I don't care that it's not me. I love him, he loves you, therefore I would be very sad if anything were to happen to you. This is my 43rd relationship that has ended because somebody else fit my lover better. I am very used to this and can say with all certainty that I will not ever try to take Milo back. I am just sad that I didn't get to give him a wedding present and it's a bit late now. Now please quit being an ass and embarrassing Milo in public. I've had over 80 years of extended family and every social circle I've been in telling me to kill myself. You're really not effective.

Love Melith.

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Melith promptly closed his book of notes and stood, approaching the door.

"Is she in the guest parlour?" he asked, and the girl shook her head.

"No, Master Melith. She said she would wait on you in the garden." A little confused, Melith left the house to check the gardens. He found Amry in elven dress looking at the roses his mother had been meticulously breeding for the past five decades.

"Amry, it's good to see you, though I admit I'm surprised," he hailed her, and she turned around with a bright smile.

"Come here, Mel, and bend down so I can reach you." He did as bid, folding himself down so that Amry could stand on tip toe to press a kiss to his cheek. He took the opportunity to not so subtly examine her for any injuries.

"Stop that, Melith, you know full well I'm nigh invulnerable," she scolded him, taking his hand to lead him into a slow amble. "I come bearing news. The only reason I wasn't here sooner was because I decided to spare your esteemed mother's sensibilities and bathe."

Melith couldn't help but stiffen at the notion of news. News had not been a kind word recently. "The siege is done, Mel." He sagged slightly, surprised at how much the news relieved him. "You can see I'm well, as is Khalua, Breem, our other mutual acquaintances. We finally downed Garrosh. He's been claimed by the Pandaren for trial."

"For trial? I would have thought he'd have been killed before that."

"He almost was. King Wrynn of all people stayed Thrall's hand. I suppose he wanted his share of blood price. Taran Zhu claimed him, and Garrosh is now a prisoner in Pandaria, though we're not certain where."

Melith frowned, digesting the news. "This is an unexpected kindness for one who has caused so much suffering." Amry laughed, the tone he'd learnt meant she chose to be amused by something because otherwise it would make her scream.

"It's not a kindness Melith. It's the cruellest thing we could do. To Garrosh, a true Orc's death is screaming and thrashing on the battlefield. Instead, he's been knocked down, is going to be paraded around, put on trial, told he's a waste and either imprisoned for the rest of his miserable existence or put down like a rabid dog," Amry summarised. She shook her head.

"But I haven't come just to give you news. Melith, tell me true, how are you?"

Melith paused for a moment. They had come down by the brook in the meadow, quite alone. If there was anyone…

"I'm broken."

"Lay down and tell me all of it, Mel."

And he did, encircled with her unflappable experience and resting his head on her stomach as he vomited up all the words poisoning him. How he'd never realised just how vicious the world was, how he didn't understand, didn't want to understand how a person could subject their own allies to so much woe. He didn't understand how Orcs, so bent on honour, could forget the bounds of honour of hospitality that the Trolls and Tauren had shared with them, when they gave the trolls of the Darkspear amnesty and in turn were rescued from blind starvation by the Tauren. How could things have ever gotten this bad, fallen apart so thoroughly? He had recognised people who had been on the wall. Some of them had been Hellscream supporters, though not ardent enough to save themselves. He knew torture. Had seen its effects. But that had always been in cold blood against true enemies, with no love lost between them. He knew! He'd done his apprenticeship with the victims of Amani, themselves masters of brutality. He'd seen some of the handiwork of the Mogu, masters of their craft, in those who had survived long enough to be shipped home for proper care. But to have the raw wounds in front of you was a different matter. To have them grip at his arm in terrified agony as they passed, to have to call those who were too far gone to save. To discover that he was so weak in his craft to buckle and fail and be sent home in disgrace…

"Shhh, Mel'a." Amry murmured, stroking his hair softly. "You held up admirably. It was two months hard slog before you were cycled out. For somebody never in the heart of war before, you did well."

"Do you have nightmares? Or Breem? Khalua? Do any of you vomit at the mere memory?" he asked. Amry's face softened and she bent enough to press a kiss to his forehead.

"I discovered the world was unfair when I was four and we left my cat behind in the evacuation before the Horde arrived. I was five when my mother died in Westfall, and I learned the world is cruel. That lesson's been repeated over the years. I first killed somebody when I was thirteen. I've seen good men driven to terrible things, and last redeeming acts. I saw the horrors of Zul'Gurub and Scholomance first hand. I've been hardened by it, Mel, that's what happens to us adventurers or we never get anywhere. You've done a lot better than I would have at the same stage. The same goes for all of us. We've been fighting together for years now, and separately before that." Mel held still, pressing his face against Amry's dress. Amry waited for a few minutes, still stroking one hand through his hair and the other over his massive shoulders.

"The siege cost me more than my peace of mind," Melith finally said, haltingly. "It cost me Milo. I… was a fool. To hope that he would wait for me on such few grounds."

"I'll listen, Mel, but you know I'm the last person to advise on this." Amry cautioned, and Mel blew out a sigh that ruffled her fringe.

"I know it is unwise to hold on to thoughts of him. He has a new love. One who makes him happy. More than I could ever provide. Do not try to correct me on that. Yet I held on to him for so long, to try to pry my fingers from his image…" he trailed off, at danger of crying again. He'd done that far too much lately for a grown man.

"I know, Melith. We both do," Amry said gently, and Mel smiled through the tears at that reminder. "And no matter how happy they are without us, no matter how unsalvageable the relationship, there's still a part of us that screams and rails against it, that wants to steal them and keep them and never let go." Amry sighed a little herself, twisting a lock of hair around her finger. "Ignoring that part is something we just have to do, like breathing."

"…. He said he would keep me. As his own. For his own. Just as I am." he admitted, voice broken.

"Oh Mel," Amry breathed, sitting up to cradle Mel better as he curled himself around her, vulnerable and lost.

"Never tell, Amry, swear it to me you'll never tell, not a soul. If mother…"

"If she?"